She wears a sad smile
Flaunting a ruby necklace of tears
Her sobs are her sweet song.
She tried to cover up her scars
But now they are her bracelets.
There was a time in which
She tried to change herself for others.
But now
This is her new reality.
She knows that she is pretty
It is all because of her honesty.
They say the candid shot is the lovliest
And her candid shot is wry and skeptical
She is a cynical beauty
And she couldn't be happier with herself.

I’m still convinced
that my purpose in life
was to look out
at a beautiful spring day
and write a poem about it

he said i was beautiful
my scars make me beautiful
he said that we ended like a hurricane
that it was a storm and than calm
he says we ended beautifully

he killed me inside

As much as I look around
This great wide world
I see you in every place that I go

In a boat at Maine
In a train in Boston
In a Jeep in New Mexico

But why do I search?
And think?
And search?
When I know no hope remains

It's because I had hope
Then lost hope
Then had hope, but lost
And all hope, to me, feels the same

sun-soaked and bittersweet;
that's the way the memories are.
and the lust for life i used to have
makes me so nostalgic at times
i feel that i might *****.

Michael was a teenager who made straight A's
and participated in any sport he could,
but Michael was flamed for being gay
for society deemed he should.

Michael didn't seem to have any friends
for all were repulsed by him,
simply because of the way he bends,
And thus, his happiness dimmed.

When Michael gets home, it's straight to his room.
His father a drunk, his mother out of state,
giving birth to a constant loop of daily doom
So you could say things weren't that great.

Michael was beaten daily, for why he knew not.
Mr. Smith always began by lifting his hand,
stating these bruises were a lesson to be taught
and confused Michael couldn't take a stand.

If one person could've stood up and been kind,
Michael might still be here.
Instead, one dark thought stole his mind
and with it, all of his fears.

Feline Feminity made masculine
by hands that want to...
LOVE

I sometimes imagine my hands on your  

                           cool skin.

Hush, love, just let your warmth grow

                                                    from within.

Let your light seep out the corners of your

              almond eyes.

I ache to hear the cacophony of your lovely,

                                 begging sighs.

You make my laugh tumble like inefficient

      lovers dancing.

As you writhe and swirl, my heartstrings are for your

                                                         fingers grasping.