there is a girl,
who won't give in.
you pollute her life,
with every lie and every sin.

this girl is strong,
courageous and willing.
she thinks she is tough,
but this is only the beginning.

there is a girl,
her smile so pure.
but innocence won't last,
and there's never a cure.

now this girl,
what does she do wrong?
maybe a cut on her wrist,
will prove she is strong?

there is a girl,
she can't stand any more.
she feels too weak,
her wrists are too sore.

there was a girl,
she had enough.
she didn't want to be strong,
she didn't want to be tough.

now this goes out to all the bullies.
you think you're clever, wise and loud?
well now she's dead,
do you feel proud?

///   \\
0  0
::
<>

                                                            ­       ( it's you ! )
/•/                                                

Tender

                                                       ­     The night reveals the paths

That lovers take                

( From                            
                                ­Here to There )

//

Those that last are those that

                                    Take awhile

That wander thru countless centuries                                      

•

That

Touch every Door

That never break hearts

/:/

Tenderly

                 Every step

Gentle and sure                            

               //://                  //://                

Alone

We walk alone in the rainy streets

Where broken promises litter

The sacred song with

Such indescribable pain

And blind forgetfulness

••

Walk on

•

The light in your eye

The lightness in your step

Is not

Vanity

••

Alone in the tender rain of undying mercy

//

The story that lasts

Takes time to unfold

And a heart 's true intensity

//

Ah

There you are !

In the shadows

Watching !

I knew that you were always there

Waiting

For the moment when

Forever

And the moment meet

•

When we truly are

Who we were meant to be

The year you were born
was the year I turned 6,
leaving my second home
to a place where I didn't exist.
It was the first time
I remember being scared,
of a knock on the door
to a dark street corner,
not a voice to properly
enunciate my fears,
hands trembling,
I was naught a writer then,
just a poetic mind
inable, hands not stable,
to open doors to
concrete streets,
the gentle ****** or
the careful cat,
daddy loves you,
under my breath.
He only had time to run,
from place to place,
the most logical option,
for his career,
but not his young girl.
The world's forgotten friend,
having not a voice,
to say hi at the door,
or accept the house-warming gift
from the neighbor girl.

Dear Fish the Pig,
The year you turned 6,
I hit puberty.
Grew tusks,
that kept inching,
toward a person
hidden in the swamp,
watching beneath reeds
the blondes and skinnies
courting Hercules.
An ugly pink pig,
jealous of the swans
gliding across water
drowning my squeals for approval,
left behind from highs and *** and flight.
Snarling away the bugs,
company that could have been friends,
retreating to being busy,
terrified of high school eyes
that adjust to the darkness,
and call isolation insecurity.
No worse a disease.

Dear Fish the Pig,
The year you hit puberty,
I lost my virginity,
my naked body
a prime scientific diamond
to the boyfriend who
just wanted to love me.
Two heads rested upon his bed,
vocal chords distilled,
when I replied "love you too,"
and felt hollow inside.
His mirror cracked
with my scraggly hair and fat.
I was a treadmill mess
with no time to stretch.
My secret of the weighted, edible variety.
How could he be skinnier than me?
So I traded being a pig
for the femme version al him,
and gleefully changed
my nickname from stocky
to skinny-Minnie,
until I could wear his pants baggy.

Dear Fish the Pig,
two years from now
you will be 19.
Let me remind you of something
from someone who is 23
and is still uncomfortable with her body:

Don't be.

To be is a simple mistake
with a complicated result,
Because
A haute girl fainting in university,
isn't martyrdom for beauty.
It is stupidity.
Purging friends for a toilet,
isn't just punny.
It is insanity.

Dear Fish the Pig,
Don't turn your fantasy
into my nightmare.
Don't sign the loneliness
that wastes me.
Don't bury yourself in dust —
it doesn't feel as good as the dirt,
knowing the roots,
and working through their kinks.

Dear Fish the Pig,
I admire your honesty.
Your struggles
make for great poetry.
But idolizing a girl with
skin pale as white roses
also made a good story.
Longing is beautiful
with the promise
of a happy ending.
But depression
sporn from jealousy
isn't so pretty.

Dear Fish the Pig,
wear your tattered clothing,
blow my mind
with beautiful melancholy,
sit in that obscure place to reflect,
but never forget,
your life doesn't have to be an indie movie.
Weave words into beautiful tapestries,
but when you tire of their decor,
go out into the world empty.
Tint white walls joyfully.
Don't re-write my history.

looking for forgiveness in the eyes of strangers
in every train station on the hudson line
breathing the beauty of the rush and hustle
of every train in the pouring rain
scribbling heartfelt worthy lines in a dogeared notebook
with her name etched with loving care into the
weatherbeaten cover

while standing at the top of the stairs
the faces shuffle past
offering absolution to the pawns
offering escapism to the bishops of twisted truths
gaze down the halls of forgiveness
looking for a familiar face to unleash your hearts burdens
to unwrap the tear stained words for
hoping like hell its somebody who could tell her
that you weren't so bad after all
if she only see her way to giving you that
holy grail of the heart known as a second chance

but in the end you catch a glimpse of your
reflection in some woman's poem
makes you look and see the state your in
see how far you have fallen
how far you've run from the light of day
carrying the weighty truths close to the heart
but never looking them in the eye
live again my friend
forgive yourself and live once again