I want to hang out with you
but I don't drink or smoke
I want to laugh with you
but I'm not as funny
I want you to like me
but you're way skinnier than me
more attractive too
and oh god that hair;
funny ***** and lovely
to match your personality.
I overhear you say
no one gets the anger that fills you up
that makes you smoke
but I guess you'll never know
that same anger
has eaten my soul,
I want to know more about you
but I'm sure you eyes glaze over me,
you don't even know I'm here.

I don't know why
I don't want to admit
I need somebody
to hold me
and love me
and tell me I'm beautiful.

I'm doing great!
OH, JUST DANDY
fantastic!
fine
okay, you?
pretty good
well, and you?

maybe if I keep lying to people
when they ask me how I am,
maybe eventually my answer will be true.

My eyes water hard
as I focus on the train floor
that hasn't been cleaned in maybe years

"Don't look upon the outsider" I say to myself
"Don't look upon the tall skinny man with sandy hair and age old eyes. He'll stomp out your freedom with those pointed leather boots- he'll curse your breath with those cracking hands-
that geometrical jaw will whisper all you've ever dreamed of"

I kept my eyes down
He had no scent
yet I could smell the divine.

Was he looking at me,
or gazing past?
If only I had the courage to look,
now I'll never know,

I'll never know.

I see flowers blooming
snakes grooving
fleeting moments of serenity
with gasps for air
and hands trembling
as they touch, treacherously,
the skull of their own,
desperate to know relief.

I sat on the bus
and drew a frown
on the foggy window
and realized I had little
to no idea who I really am.

If I weren't so afraid to speak,
we could maybe be friends,
you and I.

If I weren't so afraid to make eye contact,
we could maybe say "hello" every now and then.

If I weren't so afraid of the world,
things could maybe be different.

**** I feel so fake
but there's so much at stake
I can't let it fall without a rake
**** every breath I take
these groovy moves and shoulder shakes
**** this **** is fake

The walls are white,
floors hardwood,
     lines painted on canvases
costing 6,000 each,
      outside
               there is trash on the street.

"Why don't you come inside, Fish?
or you could just stay out here,
because I know you like to be alone"

That hit like daggers in my heart.
Especially coming from him,
I look up to him so much,
I shouldn't but I do.
He means well, I think,
it was more of a joke, sort of,
he wasn't being serious,
but the way he said it hurt.

Sure I lingered a moment in the rain
waiting for the rest of the people to enter the lobby
and I'd go last but-
I don't know.
it hurt.
him saying that.
that people think that.

No, Rob,
I don't like to be alone,
but being alone is easier
and the world is very scary
and I'm not very brave
so everyone thinks I like to be alone
but I don't.
I really don't.

It's too hard for me to speak
I don't know why, it just is.
It's too hard for me to step forward
and be like everyone else
I try so hard
but it's so terrifying.



the feeling of loneliness chills my insides
and makes me cold and still.
think what you like of me,
but please,
especially not you,
don't think I like to be alone.
because I don't.

I look through my telescope
from my small dark cave
to admire a great and mighty tree
unlike any I have seen.
I wonder who else, has admired this great tree?
I wonder who has sat beneath and read poetry?
What has the tree seen?
what will it become?
has anyone ever tried to cut it down?
does it weep over the scars?
I want to know all the tree
feels and thinks,
eager to hear it's stories,
wondering
if it would like to hear mine.

The fact of the matter
is that when you're alone,
things are so much easier.
No complications
fears
worries
regrets
mistakes
arguments
bruising
j­ealousy
wonder
fear
fear
gone-
it's all gone.
it's all simple
when you're alone it goes away
and it's so much easier
to trick yourself
into thinking you're happy.

Where do I go from here
trapped inside looming fear?

How do I step one foot out,
into this everlasting drought?

How can I move down the street
when, facing the wrong way, are my feet?

Where on earth would I go
when my reactions are famously slow?

I fell in love with the man runnin up the stairs
I fell in love with the man with the yellow satchel waitin for the train
I fell in love with the man with the golden voice
I fell in love with the man in the blue coat boppin in the rain
I keep fallin in love
with every pretty soul that passes me
I keep fallin in love
with men that belong to a girl I'll never be
I keep fallin in love
with masterpieces I can't touch only see
I keep fallin love
with the idea of a man that can set me at ease

my own mind

is a merciless masterpiece

still holding

the dripping dagger

I'd like to drink true
and bold
and fearless
and honest,

instead they tell me to bottle it up.

I'd like to breath easy
sleep steady,
smile
drink more
and sigh at a sight-

but instead I'm just foolish.

I've been told it is wrong since forever,
and have tried my hardest to drink
only the freshest wine-
like all the other people my age do,
but I cannot.
It results only in my lying,
Faking emotions I could never have,
pretending to like the pure taste.

I've never seen a problem with it,
but
Not only do they say it is wrong-
it is illegal.
It hurts my soul, for now,
but soon, just a year, I'll be free to love and drink
aged wine the same as I do now,
only with less scrutiny.

I'll be free to be held in public with few judging eyes,
I'll drink unto it
and it will drink into me.
and the brief
secretive moments of passion
that have always stayed hidden that people say is wrong
can end-
and cautiously enter where the sun's rays pour.

I have my eye on a fine bottle of wine,
it gets better with age,
they tell me I shouldn't,
taking a drink would be wrong,
I've only had sips-
but soon
so soon,
I'll have a glass.

the first time I felt human,
was in your arms,
don't let it be the last
I'm reaching
I'm reaching
my arms are weak
they're shaking
they're shaking
don't let it be the last

I washed my hands
but like waking frantic from a dream
I stopped,
and observed the knuckles.
They were so smooth.
The skin was even, white, and moisturized.
The sound of water splashing porcelain seemed so quiet,
and the soap... it was just soap.
The water did not thunder in my ears and linger hours after,
The soap did not feel like acid on my skin,
each pump no longer a breathless affliction,
and my skin was not red,
it was not violently cracked and scraped and bleeding and stinging my hands were not these raw bones that split apart with gritted teeth at my every movement.
And like falling back asleep I went into a daze,
curious how one could forget such a thing,
but on further concentration it did seem so long ago,
when the tear filled affliction plagued every moment,
my teenage life filled with
washing my hands washing my hands washing my hands
but now
I could not remember how many times I left class to clean them until I forced myself from the sink.
Perhaps my hands are clean, finally, perhaps they are washed of what I desperately tried to purge them of.
Or perhaps I remember now, because they have once again begun to feel unclean.
so curious.
how long ago that seems,
how long ago indeed.

it's been a week

but we okay

our faces long

but we don't sway

purple crescents under our eyes

but still our fists

face the skies

I seek enlightenment
and lo, what darkness I've seen along the way

A blind judge sat down on a throne high above the crowd
"Life has begun, who would like to start?"
in unison we all shouted
"We would like to begin living!"
The judge nodded,
and having heard their voices
allowed them passage to where life would begin.
They left in happy clusters
more and more
till none were left-
except me.
"I would like to begin living!"
I cried out
but the blind judge sat still, having not heard me.
I mustered all I could and cried out once more
"Please! I'd like to live my life!"
the judge stirred
"Is it the wind, or a whisper? Have I heard a voice?
Shout again if you are there,"
"I'm here I'm here!"
I shouted with tears welling in my eyes.
The judge sat back and quietly said to himself;
"Must be the wind, simply resembling the sound
of  someone with not even the courage to sound their voice,
a coward who shouts their soul but is too afraid they'll be heard, so unknowingly, they whisper."
I began to cry and wail
but my even my sobs were so quiet
they were heard as nothing but the wind.

So I remained behind,
clusters of newcomers
who had the courage to be heard
and thus the courage to live their lives
passing through in steady streams.
But I stayed, shouting till my voice should have been hoarse,
but it wasn't hoarse, because I wasn't really shouting,
in fact I wasn't even whispering.
I wasn't saying anything.
I was too afraid to be heard.

Your dark eyes ****** me in like a black hole
now I'm lost, floating, out of control
unable to catch my breath.

The isolation increases Ebullism,
my heart is swelling up
a feeling of explosion
blood flow constricted
days practicing
holding my breath
all for naught
fifteen seconds and I'm shot.

But I'm lucky, in that,
entranced by your everlasting beauty,
my eyes are open wide
and there they will freeze,
so I may look upon you forever.

It consumes my every waking moment
devours the hours
is the polluted oxygen for my lungs
everything I taste and feel
it is everything around me,
it is my world.
I cannot leave it-
not for a second.
I was born inside it
and will die here.

I am self loathing.

I am misery.

She was Lead. Jacketed with Steel and Copernickle. She was so weighted and dragging in movement, one could not be sure she's been standing still her whole life. Waiting, as if packaged on a shelf. Her own mass betrays her, every day. Exhausted from fighting her own weight to reach very high, or step too fast.
She was as shocked as anyone, when the package was opened, and she removed.
She had as little idea as anyone, what would occur when he, like a practiced marksman, skillfully loaded her, knowing just where to aim..
and he shot her, with a bang her bullet  sped fast outwards and streaking through debree and walls and hearts and nature.
Structures big and small her bullet punctured,
it was a marvel, the bullet would not stop.
Never ricochet,
perhaps it would circle the earth.
perhaps it would break the atmosphere.
anyone who's anyone
walks with shielded head
for the answer was not clear.
Anyone who's anyone only knew,
that when her bullet was fired, her bullet, would not stop.

They say he is the man
I say he is a great and mighty tree,
he stands tall
and moves with the wind,
he wears a color for every possible emotion
so bright it contradicts
his quiet, watchful eye.
His thoughts and words are funny
and wise beyond the years of his youthful appearance,
I can't read his face
or hair that's here today but gone tomorrow,
and he is too far away
for me to search his eyes for answers.
He is beyond my reach
out of my league
there in the distance
amidst a raging sea
on a beautiful island
all his own
he stands
an enticing mystery,
a great and mighty tree.

He writes it in cards,
one every year,
he asks for my forgiveness,
and to hold me again.
He asks me
whatever happened to my dear sweet girl?
"You put your hands on her," is all I can say.
Why must you be so cruel?
"I'm nothing compared to you,"
Please forgive me
"I'm too empty inside. I don't want to."
Lets be a family again
"Never."
Please
"*******"
Let me be a father again
"I hope you burn."
Wherever did my dear sweet girl go?
"You smashed her head into a wall, she forgot the innocence but remembered the pain."

wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?
she wore sunny dresses
and never stopped smiling.
she liked to laugh
and dance in the sun,
she liked to be alive
she liked to breath.

wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?
her smiles are fake
her laugh constricted
she sleeps in the rain
she hates to exist
she cannot breath.

wherever did his sweet little girl go?
her corpse is somewhere,
maybe in those sheets
face hidden by that pillow,
her soul a ghost
that wanders tall gardens.

wherever did his sweet little girl go?
wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?

Vain and careless children
speaking tall tales
looking for acceptance
no time for repentance
for they were taught
acceptance of themselves
is not necessary
it's not a thing
they should explore,
what is oneself
but that which
you've been told to be

spinnin' round and round
movin' bodies
can't touch the ground
vain and careless children
playin' till dawn
making too many mistakes
they can't fix
before they are gone.

coffee

nicotine

routine

coffee

nicotine

routine

coffee

nicotine

routine

The happiest music in the world
couldn't move that girl form her spot,
her tears had dried to a sticky tar
and wouldn't let her break free,
the most beautiful of tunes
could not move her
to anything
but heartache.

in my final moments,
will I be kind,
wrathful,
vengeful,
forgiving,
spiteful,
in my final moments,
will my last declaration be worth it all?

I just want to stop being ashamed for existing

It doesn't matter
how many layers
I put on,
this bed still feels
too cold to sleep
when you're not lying next to me

Stumbling into the yard,
still blinded by electric light.
I look to the sky,
as so many heroes I've read of  have done,
and try to understand what I'm supposed to see.

I see a set of stars,
bright,
they're pretty,
but that's all I can think of to say.

My neck hurts as I crane to look at the sky,
but I persist.
What am I supposed to be seeing?
this mass universe beyond our atmosphere,
I see nothing but a few stars
that all look like they're Orion's Belt.

The wind rustles,
I feel like it's telling me something,
but what?

A few more stars appear,
I didn't notice them.
more and more and more
as my eyes come to an understanding with the night
and I see it.
The sky is bursting with those lights-
but I still wonder what to think.

Should I feel inspired?
motivated?
awed?
puny?
insignificant ?
powerful?

what is it so many great minds
have seen in the sky
that eludes itself from me?

I never think too deeply about anything,
couldn't, even if I tried.
So I just stand with an aching neck
acknowledging their beauty.

I search and search the sky,
neck becoming stiff,
I see small stars lightly throbbing,
and can only think of how this light
is proof of the stars death.
and then I see it,
a shooting star.
It hits me, it hits me all at once.
My first shooting star.
Something about it,
so bold
and swift
and striking,
there for a moment
and gone before I can blink.

Something about it lifted a weight.
I've always wanted to see one,
and now I have
and I felt something.
I'm not sure what,
but it was definitely something.

Feeling satisfied I go back into my room
and blind myself with yellow and blue light.
I have no idea what I got out of staring into the sky for thirty minutes,
I felt something but I know not what.
I only know that I feel like it helped me in a way,
like the sky had talked to my soul,
like I had been keeping my soul caged up like a bird
when it wanted to fly,
it wanted to say hello to the sky.
I'm not sure how looking to the stars that night helped me,
it just did.

I'm going to look at the stars more often,
as much as I can.
Maybe someday I'll find what so many others have found.
Whether it only ever lets my soul fly
or grants me so much more,
I think we should all look to the sky more often.
In times of joy, or sadness, or tragedy,
look to the sky, day or night,
breath it in
and let your soul fly,
for you might find something more.

I'd like to say
I'm an honest
loyal girl
I always keep my promises
unless they're to myself
because I promised myself I would be happy
promised myself I'd take care
get off the ground
stop getting stepped on
do what I could
                       to get the best out of life
and here I am
here I am
breaking those promises with every breath.

The sick days are piling up
I can't go on like this
hiding in my bedroom
ashamed of the way I look
so much so
I cannot dare
to enter into society.

Maybe if I keep eating
I'll fill the emptiness inside

spirit man
holy man
you make a martyr of me
emotionally
lungs wide
the sweeping energy I see
glory in the eyes of you
an addiction I won't refuse
an affliction unexplained
a reaching cure for century long pain
spirit man
holy man
careful man
see the energy
enter me
betray me
all forces en heigh
spoken loud and deep
I shall wallow in my keep
desiring sultry repent
sweet florida scent
of beautiful spirit man's intent

Sometimes,
in the night,
I wake up crying from a dream.
A dream that was good,
so incredibly good.

The kind of dream
where I'm invited to do things
and let in on jokes
and lives
and thoughts
and everyday things,
even the simplest...

the kind of dream
in which I can speak freely,
and I'm afraid of nothing.
The kind of dream
where I'm a normal person,
and people want me.

But then I wake up from the tears
because even in sleep,
even when I try to hide in dreams
I still know I'll never be like that.
I'll never speak freely,
be brave
be normal
be liked.

be wanted.

I'll never be someone people will want
and remember
and cherish,

I'll only ever be me.
and me isn't worth existing.

The only thing that works
is drowning it out
with these happy sounds
so loud
my ears bleed
my head throbs
but oh
these sounds are so good

what's so wrong
with a moment
that  won't last long?
I avoid it like the plague
"what's the point,
there's no time for anything to happen"
time
******* time man
always against me
because I'm so ******* up
I need time
I need all the time in the world
but I know
what's happening now
cannot go on
can only last a few weeks
and thinking about it
why does it matter?
Not enough time
has always been
almost a sin
but **** that
there's no time
there's nowhere for this to go
nothing that can fix that
and you know
that's okay,
that's perfectly okay,
because it's now
and it's okay
and it's going to hurt later
but now,
just for now,
it feels good.