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.

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.

I often feel miserable.

but then I twirl a knife in my hand

and think about dying,

and I feel a whole lot better.

I've been sitting all day
eyes trained on electric screens
I've been dry-eyed all week
the world melts away
I'm in a daze
tapping tapping
the keys
as constant as breathing
but at 4:09am
I pull my eyes away,
they hurt so bad,
though these electric screens
wouldn't seem so bad,
had they not the memory,
of once looking upon you.

there's a great suffering abound
and lots of wilted potted daisies around
a child in a grown-ups dress I've found...
she's so close.

and the room temperature
makes the rag heavy
and her eyes
drip down pushing against the gravity
she is so sure it can't be true
it's been a dark and bruising venture

there's a great suffering abound
I'm kicking through dried petals scattered all around
a child grasping the fundamentals of trauma I've found...
she's so close.

burden pretty like a feathered Jay
his beak a needle
that sews her presence shut
crystal ball binoculars
waving to the fog coming for the day

there's a great suffering abound
I'm bathing in stiff stems cutting all around
a child bewildered by debt i've found...
she's so close.

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

You see, I've got, so much poetry
and flow in me
I don't demand you agree,
just concede slight reprieve
so that I may breath
deep like the sea
and just as vibrant
and endless
a world on leave
I feel
in the end
there is beauty in me,
I'll never demand you agree
only please,
concede slight reprieve

Let it infect you
let it be that itch you can't get
let it grind your teeth to the gum
let it burn your skin raw
let it be a restless night
Let it effect every breath you take
every move you make
every thought that passes through your mind
let it poison them
let it break you
beyond repair
beyond redemption
let it transform you
into just a thing
that can be described
in just one word

Unless I'm crying,
I never spend more than 10 minutes on a poem.
Even then, 10 minutes is quite rare.
I wonder why I'm not a great poet
but that lies simply within my time.
I could write philosophy
and deep words that resonate
and be like the poets I admire,
but you see they all spend time on their poems.
They think it through and have something to say.
I just write,
blindly, quickly, pointlessly.
my poems are simple
and dull,
quick rantings of a messy teenager
with no conviction
or strength
or beliefs
or heart-
just quick words written in a minute
that mean absolutely nothing.

I often wonder what I could do,
should I spend time on a poem,
but I've got no conviction
no dedication
no patience
so I write poems in a minute-
I paint words and frame them
before they've begun to dry
so they drip down across the canvas
and make a mess of themselves
and get jumbled
and end up useless and ugly and dull.

But I keep doing it.

the expanse
    cold and relentless
      mocking my nose
   it knows
       my mind is too wasted
     to throw hands
         so it taunts on
       while I
                limbs limp
stare on

ugly.

If God were there,
If God were as good as he claims to be,
Then he’d answer my prayers.
My nightly prayers,
Me down on my knees
Begging for the courage to die.
If God were good,
He wouldn’t keep me here.

draped in white

fringe and lace

the fraud

loses their breath

There was a time,
when I wrote poetry
for the sake of poetry
for the sake of emulating my feelings
and expressing an idea.
But that broke
when the likes kept coming
and the comments of praise
and the follows kept growing
and each day I stuck my tongue out
so I could taste the satisfaction
of having another poem trend.
It ruined my poetry
it ruined who I was
groveling-
writing meaningless words
that sounded okay together
because I didn't care to write my heart
I cared to write what would trend
and what you feed my crippling self-doubt
make me feel like I was good at something.
It poisoned me.
and I fed off the poison
and mutated
until I shocked back to reality and was ashamed of what I saw
and stopped.
I left.
without even a proper, dignified good-bye.

But I wrote poetry still.
without posting.
and I kept on at it
and slowly my smile grew
slowly the spark came back
I told myself I would post on HelloPoetry again
when I was worth it
when my work was something I could be proud of-
but with each poem I save as a draft
I think
"no no, not ready yet, I can do better, I am better,"
and I dig deep and am creating works
that for once-
show that I am growing-
progressing
taking the steps all great poets should.

I had forgotten what it was like to write poetry for love.
I only remember feeling disgusted with myself
for less than twenty likes.
I hope someday I know only love,
and forget what it's like to be addicted to stranger's "approval".

I like the way
the purple pen
glides thick and smooth
against the off-white pages
of my coping,
so I write aimlessly,
nearly blind,
barely present,
utter nonsense.

Yesterday in church,
I saw a face
and heard a voice,
smooth and low
it blew softly against my neck..
I said Oh who can it be
the Devil he is
starin straight at me
I fall into his arms
and he lets me weep,
he lets me weep,
and I rest at his feet

I don't know how not to be alone.

scribbling aimlessly
what lackluster passion
not passion
just defeated mimicry
shining a light on all that's been lost
the mourning shall never cease
I've been shaped by this disease
and I'm over the envy
undone by instability
the unbearable inadequacy
******* illiterate insanity
and the fight has been tired for so long
             too long
I'm ready for that long sleep
I don't even care if I dream
I can't wait to appease
I can't wait for ease
Oh I can't wait for sleep