I told myself,
"don't get too attached"
"He's just being nice"
"Don't get too attached"
and now,
as his perfect face looks down
and his crystal eyes cloud over with depression,
I ask him what is wrong,
even though I already know.
He replies with exactly what I had feared
"It's.. just a girl.."
I panic not to clutch my heart in pain then and there.
Stupid girl,
I think,
stupid stupid girl!
He's beautiful, clever, funny, a ****** animal
with flocks of girls following him.
Why would he want me?
Why would anyone want me?

Constantly acting
constantly tightening the straps on the mask I wear
but there are times when you can see it.
When you can see,
not pain,
not heartbreak
no,
you'll see tired.
Because that's what I am.
I get tired of it all.
Tired of this longing.
Longing, constantly longing.

My god,
how pathetic.

I’ve lost all respect,
Yet at the ****** of admiration
I am despised
But adored
I am anorexic
And unhealthy
I am calm but quick to break
I hold my head steady
As I stumble down the street
I am solid,
But dripping;
Dripping with desire
And all your worst fears.
Like a skeleton,
I drag along,
Hearing my muscles moan and bones snap
With an irregular heartbeat.
I am in your nightmares,
Lurking in your fantasies.
You deny it.
You plead to be different.
You are no better,
You are not special,
I’ll envelope you in toxins
And leave you in guilt
With a frenzied need for more.

Harley found her Joker
she fell head over heels
he got her
understood her
was one in the same
made her heart flutter
scared her so bad she'd stutter
but made her feel unstoppable
and happy--
but Joker didn't love her
like she loved him
Joker didn't want her around
Harley didn't realize
how much pain the Joker really caused,
so Harley found Ivy
who taught her she didn't need mista J
and she was fine
and free
and happy by herself--
but every time she sees her mista J
she falls once again
forgetting all she learned
wishing nothing more
than for he to be Harley's Joker,
and she Joker's Harley

It's an Affliction
A dangerously terminal attraction
How the Angel's cries
are watched by spies
but only heard by the Devil himself.
Dangerous, Unique, Beautiful
The Angel cries just for him
She suffers for him to hear
She is good and she is pure
But she is sick and needs a cure
He breathes quercetine,
is ruthless and mean,
His gender it would seem, a mystery.
...Influence-Love-and Turmoil
He/She is nothing but desire
Of his/hers soul she cannot tire
Revolting in his mannerisms
Unsightly in appearance
yet dripping with ****** appeal
and all must have him.
The Angel is no better,
The world is white and black
with sheep crammed together in a stack.
He dismisses their devotion
is malevolent and confident.
He changes form but is consistent.
Cringe to look at him,
but unable to stop.
He draws you in and beats you down
until he takes the win and you're on the ground
Like fine wine he gets better,
older and older the legend grows.
Stealing more hearts and sanity.
A disgusting man with turbulent ways
yet somehow there is nothing the Angel desires more.
Revolting in his mannerisms,
Disgusting in appearance...
yet I find it so horribley attractive.
Such a sick need to have it.
An Affliction of Attraction... My My...
It would seem that I am the beast and he is the beauty...
that sick, anorexic, drug beaten beauty.

I'm in the habit
of thinking bad
and feeling sad
and wishing I had
all these things
owned by the likes of kings
years marked by tree rings

I'm in the habit
of being lazy
no sleep I feel hazy
can't control my emotions-I'm going crazy
breaking smashing going insane
because I'm angry in the brain
obsessed with the idea of fame

I'm in the habit
of eating junk
trying to stay calm as a monk
Hiding knives in a trunk
because childhood nightmares
keep sending these flares
to open a door nobody dares

I'm in the habit
of being jealous
thinking I'm Wiccan worshipping tellus
but I haven't the energy to be zealous
straight jacket
maybe rabid
what's that racket


I'm in the habit
of forming habits
and ticks and quirks
wishing I could leave the stratus
busy wondering if I should
but it does me no good
picking up fragments
should I sew or stitch
confused from the start
outcast built of wood like a witch
these habits
set fire to my wooden heart

What kind of society do we live in that makes people feel this way?

I told myself I would never succumb,
I pace back and forth with tears streaming down my face
telling myself again and again
"I'm strong I'm strong"

I look in the mirror
and I beg to see something beautiful.
I beg to find pretty,
but I have yet to see it.
"You're beautiful You're beautiful"
I tell myself again and again
But I never believe it.

I collapse to the ground, sobbing
because I've failed.
six water bottles
and feeling sick
as that hopeless feeling takes over me.

I look in the mirror
and beg for a sign that I'm okay
something to tell me I don't have to do this.

But there I end up,
crippled over the toilet
vomiting my insecurities.

What else can you do.
You starve yourself but nothing changes,
You exercise none stop
but you stay the same.

You've thrown away the food in the house
to keep the bare, healthy minimum.

Nothing changes.
Nothing but shivers
and a voice
that knows you'll do anything for a touch;
Maybe if I'm skinny,
I won't be alone.
Maybe,
Someone will find me pretty enough to ask if I'm okay.
I wouldn't have to sit here sobbing
feeling hopeless.

But nothing changes.
Nothing changes and I can't stop the tears.
Looking into that horrific mirror,
Looking back at that red,
pudgy,
unpleasant face
mocking me.

A broken body

with a  broken mind

what else can I do,

when nothing changes?

From a single supernova explosion.
We are stardust.
I am stardust.
Stardust that has become self aware
And learned to question oneself.
Blood, flesh, bones, cells, arteries, veins, brains,
A product of God,
Or the product of a funny little happenstance?
The same as everyone else.
But I like to think I’m different.
Personality?
A conundrum,
Paradox,
Silent,
Stone,
Made of stone,
That is what they tell me I am.
Lost in a garden of graves
I reach for the light
But retreat back into the shadows
When it reaches back.
Speaking in sweet solitude
My heart lies with green
But my body is draped in black.

Quiet, a mystery,
An ignored enigma
Wrapped in Bowie’s melody.
Life in slow motion,
Seen on tattered film reels.
Long nights of insomnia,
Driven by an attraction to the monsters,
Let’s forget my past,
Let’s forget my name,
Let’s forget I’m a coward.

Long hours
With shaking hands
Trying to write a happy poem,
But that simply won’t happen.
That simply won’t happen.
Forgive me for my morbid ways.

Tell us about you,
Tell us the real you,
An assignment to create forced poetry.
Poetry should not be forced,
Poetry should come from the heart,
From my heart does not come my favorite authors, such as Scott Westerfeld,
Nor does my favorite food, sushi, my goals of being a director, or the llama as my favorite animal,
From my heart comes something much darker,
More complex.
I was asked to tell no lies,
And no lies were told.
The truth is all there,
The real me is in plain sight.
It all depends on if you know where to look.

In short, to tell you about me, I am a cube.
I am a rubix cube no one has yet to solve.




(This was a school assignment to write a poem about myself...)

Chubby quivering droplets falling from the sky,
splattering themselves across my skin.
Too foolish to look up from my computer screen,
from my technology,
publicity,
my box.
To see the many shades of moss green and grey
that had been laid like a blanket
across the city
overnight.

Running.
A compulsion.
Tight tank top,
shorts,
sneakers,
and gloves.
I run with my long hair down,
whipping wildly as I dash down the street.

Into the forest I go,
It’s dangerous they say,
There are bad people there,
But I don’t care.
I run through the forest,
Dodging trees,
Hopping over logs and ditches,
My heart beating faster with each
Ominous rumble of the distant thunder.

As I run,
An uncontrollable smile breaks out across my face.
1 mile marker,
2 mile marker,
3 mile marker,
4 mile marker,
of nonstop running
and a nonstop smile.

Fresh air,
With the calming scent of rain.
You can’t run forever though,
I reach the end and see a gate,
I could go on but the thunder rumbles ferociously,
Beckoning me.
Thunder is easy to ignore when you’re otherwise occupied,
But when you’re stopped,
The irrational fear of the distant booms take over,
And I run back.
4
3
2
1
out of the forest with the lightening and
beating of the drums
smacking at my feet.
I come inside,
Soaking wet,
I open my window and turn off the lights and open my computer to write a poem.
The power goes off.
The thunder rumbles kindly,
As if asking me to come back outside,
In nature.
How beautiful it is, this rainy weather.
How sad it makes me, to know that tomorrow
I will still be wet,
Not from rain,
But from sweat.

I love the grey,
I love the moss,
I love the flashing of lightening
Streaking boldly across the blank canvas above.
I flinch at the thunder.
But I smile as the rain comes down,
Breathing vivid life into a bleak world.

the thunder talks to me
and tells me to be afraid
of it's glory
and power
and boom.
it tells me that if I don't want to see the lightning,
then I must close the windows and draw the shades
and turn my back.
The thunder sounds
even when there is no storm.
the thunder is always there within my heart,
warning me of the lightning,
telling me
to close my eyes
cover my ears
stay inside
and stay afraid.
always.

I asked Ana to help me,
be my best friend,
she said it would be hard
and once I start
there's no going back,
sometimes,
some people,
take it too far,
and can't stop.
She said there's no telling the outcome.
She's wrong in that sense,
I know the outcome,
the outcome is beautiful.
It doesn't matter if I'm a corpse,
I swear if this kills me
I'm going to be the skinniest corpse
you ever did see.

They told me I looked beautiful
in that long purple dress,
and I so would have liked to compliment them back
and carry on a conversation-
but I only said "thank you"
and could not force another word out.

I don't understand why it's so hard.
Why my brain shuts down
in fear of having to speak.

why when he jokes about his fear of Luna Bars
my mind laughs and says "and why is that?"
but in reality all I said was an awkward "oh?"

why when they attempt to discuss
and associate
and connect
I gain a one syllable one maybe two word vocabulary.

I don't understand why my voice is so afraid.

The walls are thin
and I can hear them
talking about me.

They don't bother to whisper,
shouting my faults
insults
teases
blaming me
for all that is wrong.

The walls are thin,
and even blasting my music
lovely lana
cannot drown out their curses.
but the walls don't really matter.

Funny,
people drive me home
and they say
they wait
to make sure I get inside safe,
but don't wait
to make sure I come out safe.
One foot in the door
and the insults come rushing
it's a battle to breath
only harsh cruel words are spoken
and my silence cannot lessen them.

Every breath I take
is deserving
of a slap in the face
and screams
inches from my heart
the air is cold
and tense
so I keep the lights off
so the only light
comes from my computer
where I can hide away
in fictional stories
and superheroes
wishing I was one of them.

The walls are thin
the walls don't matter
it's like they're not there at all
I'm always under attack
getting text messages at school
to let me know how bad I am
I have nowhere to run
nowhere to go
no place to stay
I'm stuck fighting every night
bones too weak from the fight
to get up each morning
the best I can do
is stay barely alive
seconds from tears
hoping one day
I can be liberated.

Indigo darling,
Puff disappeared
so I stopped reading your poems,
I didn't know
Puff turned purple
but now I'm reading
now I'm reeling
Indigo darling
put your gloves on
wrap a scarf around your slender neck-
it's winter now
and the world to you
might seem mighty cold
so keep wrapped up tight
keep warm through the harsh winds
and dreary rain
that matts your envious mane
Indigo darling
look at your hot breath
in the cold air
know that you're alive
and human
and nothing can be more beautiful
Indigo I think of your smile
and soul
and century-old eyes
that glisten like stars
mapping out your past
and hopes and dreams
Indigo darling
you are loved
by many
by all
by I
Indigo darling
don't harm yourself so
don't say unkind words
you don't deserve that,
know that it's winter
clouds are overhead
but the sun lies just underneath
just wait
just wait
eat well
and breath
and adventure
don't you dare weigh yourself
until those clouds break
the holidays are gone
and the sun's warmth
can wrap around your slender neck
and lighten your hair
and blare brilliantly
off your pale hands
reaching to the sky
thinking philosopher's thoughts
Indigo darling
let that warmth touch your heart
because you can say unkind words
and shake your head at the mirror
and stamp your feet at the scale
but these things
won't stop the world from loving you
it won't stop the truth
so Indigo darling
write a happy poem
wander up a mountain
and please
just stay warm
stay warm

Focused on the concrete jungle and cyberworld.
OPEN YOUR EYES.
Stop, Dance in the rain
Soak up the sun,
Climb a tree,
Swim with the fish,
One with Nature.
At home in the original jungle, before being torn back to the concrete world, of Artificial looks, war, crime, abuse, prejudice, love, tears, smiles, pollution, charity,  riots, drugs, support.
Mixed together in a mess called society,
Destroying forests, fields etc for what, a shopping mall?
Don't forget.
The world is not our servant, but we are a servant of the world,

I am dirt,
I like to bury plastic
and broken glass inside of me.

How do you get rid of a body?
you bury it.
How do you keep treasure safe?
you bury it.
How do you plant a garden?
you bury it.
How do you express your emotions?
you bury it.
                     ..right?
You can bury a lot of things
so why can't you bury those?

My soil is no longer plentiful
all my sprouted plants have died
the grass is thick weeded fuel for fire
because I like to bury
the worst kind of things
inside myself.

I must remember,
that it simply will not do,
it might seem otherwise
but it's true,
you can't bury everything.
                                             (Not without repercussions)

I must remember,
that I cannot bury my fear
bury my lonlieness
bury my depression
anxiety
anger
longing
and heartache
under    food.
My feelings have been hurt
but if I bury it under
some nachos
I won't have to look at it.
I'm not as pretty as the rest
but it's okay,
I'll bury it under a mound
of cinnamonroll frosting
a burrito
a smoothie
a banana
It's okay,
I know how to make myself feel better
my body knows what to do
when it is in peril
to survive
to thrive
I must bury the bad things
through satisfying my tongue.

I must remember, though,
these things cannot be burried
under a buffet
cannot cower behind Ben and Jerry
no not even the fruits of the land
can gain me enough weight
to forever keep these feelings bound.

I must remeber that the only way
to survive the feelings,
is to expel them.

How do you get rid of an old blanket?
throw it out.
How do you toss a moldy peach?
throw it out.
How do you get rid of the emotion-fueled eating?
throw it out.
Throw it out I say
Rather
Throw it up
expel it
get it out
It's burried deep
so I must throw away all that's inside
in hopes maybe these feelings will be cured
throw it out
throw it up
you can throw out a lot of things,
so why can't I throw out this?
I can't burry these trials
so I must briefly drown
and send them down the drain,
that's the only way to feel better
that's the only way to get through this
the only way my body knows how to survive
                                                         ­  and thrive
don't bury it!
throw it out I say
throw it out
rather,
throw it up.

I wish I were a tea kettle,
so that silencing the screams
were as easy
as turning down the flame

I thought I was doing so well
and lost so much weight
and hell I felt pretty
and I put on that dress
that ugly blue dress
and I thought I looked okay
and was proud to look okay
in that ugly blue sparkly dress,
but then she took pictures
and showed me the result
and I nearly broke down crying at the horrific sight.
Hiding my tears, I finally realized
no amount of dolling up
and no amount of weight loss
is going to make me pretty.
I'm ******* ugly
and a nasty little swine
a fat porker pig
a mole on the earth's pretty face
coal that can't become a diamond
a face to make goblins laugh
I'm ******* ugly
and that's all I'll ever be.

Hear the bass
louder louder
driving you insane

look at that fire
consuming
transforming

hellish entity
that is your
insatiable yearning
to be touched

Today,
I woke with confidence.
I excelled and did not disappoint.
I got a bit tired.
I became so happy I felt like I could die,
I was love-struck,
I was nostalgic,
I gained new inspiration,
I made a bad mistake,
I aced the test
but failed the homework,
I had a severe panic-attack.
I cried in utter self loathing,
I was comforted.
I was sheltered.
I was loved.
I was picked up
and put back together
by strangers.
I misjudged
I gained new confidence
and lost it.

Today was the best day I've ever had.
Today was the worst day I've ever had.
Today, was perfect.

underneath our fiery skin
back when we learned to begin
I watched you wash ashore
****** with your sin.
Bearing all the sorrows of your kin.

You pull yourself up by those jagged bones,
faltering under oppression.
But what can we do?
we've got the world at our finger tips
but are arms are stretched out
from behind these bars,
pressing until bruised
simply trying to reach it.

For they say that
free speech only works
if you know when to keep your mouth shut.
Is that true?
Is that the air we breath?
We are taught to live
taught to love
taught to bear the scars
of the whips
that lash at our fragile skin
from the moment of birth
and for what,
to produce this same cynicism upon the next generation?

Cruel.
Cruel.
We fight for the rights of cattle
perhaps in denial
to the fact that we are the cattle.
That we are the animals.
brainless, mongering fools
who wag their tails in hopes of a pretty penny.
A pretty penny,
shiny to distract us from reality.

We are raised to be sick.
We live to be corrupt.
We breath to maintain this broken society,
and we die to protect it.

The steeple's bell
ringing ominously in the distance.
So far yet so close,
resounding inside of my throbbing head.
bare feet brushed in earth crust and moss
dragging themselves over the wet grass,
body stuck in a mechanical forward motion,
having given up
on breaking through the thick ice now encasing her rotting bones.
Onward and onward,
toward the never ending bell.
Eyes pale and absent from vision,
she stomps on and on.
A wicked attraction
to that Godforsaken bell,
forcing itself from side to side
atop a burning prison of religion.
She opens her frosty,
melting mouth,
unable to speak truth
or reach her own thoughts-
she brays out quietly,
like that of a sheep.
Mindlessly her numb body
continues to follow the clanging of the bell.
Hearing only a glorious sound
to guide her in a world of dark,
foolishly braying her heart out to what she cannot see,
too frozen and numb to feel
the scorching flames
licking at her feet,
engulfing her,
enjoying her,
kindly leaving,
only her crisp ears
to hear the bell's final toll.

I adore the rain,
I long for those cloudy skies
and chilling winds,
with those shocking flashes of light...
but why does thunder shake my heart so?

No color but red lips and luminescent green eyes.
My hair flowed into my golden corset dress,
into my pale legs,
to my golden heels,
they weren't my favorite heels, but they were small,
and you were rather short.
    The black hair
you spent hours styling
lay across your face just right.
Black, skin tight jeans hooked
to a plethora of belts, buckles and chains,
complimented by the black and blue shoes you kept
religiously clean.
A checkered, black and blue button-up
with a black and blue scarf laced carefully around your neck.
You carried a complicated satchel by your side so that I could be handsfree
You told me I looked beautiful,
as you fidgeted with the
skull ring I gave you so long ago...

Us against the world,
trailing behind the rest,
Waltzing down the city's streets
arm in arm
clutching a black umbrella
as the rain came rushing down around us.
The neon lights of New York
creating reflective neon pools along
the grungy streets.

Thunder in the distance
and lightning
snapping across the sky.

What a beautiful night,
for perfect seats at WICKED.

What a beautiful night,
for a sushi dinner.

What a beautiful night,
to forget how sick we were,
or why I was mad at you,
or why you were mad at me,

what a perfect night,
to put the umbrella down
and let the storm take over
for a memory
of a time
when we still knew each other.

What a perfect night,
to end our friendship.

Don't wake up,

Don't wake me up,

Don't drag me from the only place I feel nothing.

Sounding alarms, a wretched voice,

telling me I can't go back.

Weak bones push a barely functioning body up and onto bruised feet,

cracked back- I go through the motions

I pretend to eat

I dress in the slop in front of me

I look to the mirror and pretend to like what I see.

I drag myself to a car nearly as broken as I

and off to banality.

I hardly breath

I hardly speak

My mind is elsewhere,

a where they'll never find me.

Fatigue overhwelmes me,

I taste the need.-

It's already sixth period-

what happened to the day?

I don't remember,

it's rare that I do.

Long hours curled in a ball

hoping their eyes pass right over me.

I sleep walk through the day,

a ghost to all who glance.

I'm home again,

where no one has the chance to see me,

I hide behind usernames

and craddle their comments.

With no voice and an empty belly.

I mindlessly tap away at an electric screen.

It's not really me.

I turn my thoughts to things so strange

and much much older than me.

Wasting away the hours,

maybe the more fantasy I watch

I'll forget about where I really am.

It's 2am-

I no longer bother to try and sleep

I can shut my eyes

and wait all I want

still nothing but darkness

and a quiet house-

why is no one ever home?

Not that I care, of course,

I'll go to the dark but comforting

corner of Tumblr,

and wait.

4:30am

like clockwork

I sleep,

dream of dark things

much older than me,

and quietly beg to never wake up.

You held me close
and the tears began to flow
I'd like to thank you Huckleberry,
for never letting go.

Such a short time
in which this feeling of fear
has grown enough
to control my life.

I "woke" each morning,
eager for the day,
eager for that class.
Acceptance,
and laughter-
a place where
we all look like fools
and our problems are left
on the coatrack outside the room.

I thought,
maybe I can do this,
maybe,
I can be happy,
just for a little bit.

I went so far as to socialize.
I thought this could be the year
to turn things around,
to finally be happy,
but then I made a mistake.

Socializing with someone
whom I would see in class,
outside,
and online.
Talking to me out of pity
or to make a fool of me
I know not which,
but I know now it was a mistake.

I was so happy,
just for a little bit,
and he made me happier,
but now fills me with fear
and an uncontrollable
nervous shake as we talk.

Chill, relaxed,
lucky for him as
he makes my heart beat fast
and not in a good way,
in a way that makes me self conscience
and close to tears.

Carefree personality,
but the way he speaks of women,
When he speaks,
like males often do,
of the petite sort of girl.
Bouncy and bubbly,
with short dyed hair
flowery skirts,
and spunky
with a perfect figure.

She's perfect!
He'll exclaim,
as his sort always do,
and I have to then hide my tears.

I go home and fall to the ground
curled in a ball
of my own pathetic tears.
Body overrun with the knowledge
that no man will ever lay back
at the end of a day and think
"I'm glad she's in my life"
"She makes me smile"
"I can't wait to see her again"
"How beautiful she is"


I'll never know that feeling.
I'll finish my starved
and shaky day
by confronting
my plain,
fat self
in that cracked mirror.

Now I "wake",
dreading the one class
I really liked.
Fearful of the irrational self loathing he causes.
Looking around to see a terrifying standard
of what is desirable.
Observing those beautiful girls
who know how to match their clothes
and style their hair
who leave school to live their lives,
while my mismatched cloth
and scraggly hair
goes home
to read books on how to fix a speech impediment,
on how to socialize,
on how not to be me.

How pathetic I am.
I'm not even sure why I'm scared,
or why his words hurt,
I just know that being there
kills me.
It rips me apart
and leaves my lifeless body
broken on the floor,
begging for death.

It's time.
the prologue has been set,
the characters introduced,
the inner conflict clear
and the goals established.
and now it is time.
This plot cannot progress
unless you turn that page
start the next chapter
and watch your hero,
one foot in front of the other,
bravely go
to a world unknown
and face trials untold.
You cannot read the end of the book
you cannot get your answers
unless you read the hero's hardships
and triumphs
and all the times of love and loss.
A book without an antagonist
without plot twists
and tears
and complications
and thoughtfulness
is hardly a book worth reading.
there are necessary
unavoidable
plot elements needed
to craft a story for the ages.
the first draft may be a rocky road
and you'll be overburderned with tools and guides needed to write
but soon
all you will need is your bare hands
a paper
and pen
(for you cannot erase the kinds of things written in this story)
and determination.
And on your story will go.
On your hero will walk.

I'm eight tablespoons vanilla
a cup of lemon juice
a heavy layer of mustard
dry like cocoa
rough baking soda
I'm quite thick
and risen
oh yes,
I'm bitter and sour with a dash of flour.

Remember
when I told you
you were a handsome man
whose personality
was a grand slam
how beautiful I felt in your gaze
how god-like you were in mine
how possible all my wants seemed
how dastardly my feelings became
isn't it quite phenomenal, how you caught me so
hook and line
Fish out of water
how miraculously
you let me think I was more than just a thing in your eyes

So what do you think of me?
You think I don't try?
well I try
oh my god do I try
do I cry
always lie,
you think I'm reclusive
                         elusive
                         aloof
                 and kloof
You think I like it that way,
solitude every day,
think I don't care to talk
or catchup to you and walk
you think there's a reason
I don't and haven't socialized,
well It's because I'm being terrorized.
You can't see it
not from where you sit
step in my shoes
feel what it's like to lose
see the earth on fire
trapped on a spire
a hero holding arms out
too petrified to jump or shout,
you know where safety lies
but black rain falls from black skies
and you're not sure if those arms are for you
or another in need of rescue too.
So hear what it's like
with nowhere to hike
overcome by a thousand eternal flame
that make you think you're to blame
that you feel this way because you set the fire
it got out of control only growing higher,
you feel ostracised and unwanted,
hated ugly and shameful and jaunted.
You live in fear
it's all your fault,
growth maturity and experiences put on halt,
post traumatic stress
a scared, shameful child and nothing less.

So what do you think of me?
think I don't try
I don't care
nothing behind my blank stare,
well there's everything behind these eyes;
apocalypse covered in flies
bruises and scars
heart to the stars
a longing shiver
pristine liver
paranoia and neglect
depression can't forget
a pig reflect
insignificant insect
-So what do you think of me,
look and tell me what you see,
and for you I can guarantee,
nothing is as it should be.

"Nothing Tastes as Good As Skinny Feels"
                                  --Kate Moss

I disgust myself
                             with how I can't help but agree.

"It's so sad"
they say,
"I'm so sorry"
they console
"You had such a good friendship".

Did we?
is that what it looked like?
funny,
well,
I'm sure we did:
our loyalty was immaculate,
our trust undying,
a series of never-ending inside jokes
and practically identical bodies.

They look at me with sad eyes,
mourning the close-knit memories
that would never come.

Funny.

We were closer than any
in the eyes of the world,
and yet,
I don't miss her.

Snapshots,
So little to remember
Dark rooms,
A dresser against the door,
Shattered windows,
Alone and forgotten
Faces creased into frowns,
Lies, tears and terror.
In truth, just images
From a childhood I can’t remember.
A dog I loved,
Behind the couch
In his golden fur,
Sleeping to a violins melody.
Theatricality in all it’s might,
With logic forced down my throat.
A friend, a foe, an acquaintance all in one.
Six years strong, it’s a wonder we’re not done.
David Bowie to sing me through long nights,
Trapped in a fantasy world to pass by the long days,
Bare feet hard against the pavement,
With continuous failed attempts.
Forced to wear dresses, because that is what girls do,
Bought Barbies instead of Legos, because that is what girls play with,
Books about horses instead of heroes, because that is what girls read.
Dyslexia,
Bad Eye sight,
A speech impediment,
Homeschooled.
Day after day, what did it matter that I’m clever if I’m alone?
No supervision,
Plenty of judgment,
Brewed and engineered by ****.
I swore I’d be different,
And so I forgot.
I forgot the life that taught me exactly what not to be.
At 18 my name will change
And these few fuzzy snapshots will fade to black.

Hold me till I fall asleep
so I can feel you
and maybe see you
in my dreams
so as to be protected
from the nightmares

I am ashamed.

a girl
you can't call me,
I'll chop off my hair
long enough to cover my face
My brother's clothes
with ***** tennis shoes-

a girl
you can't call me
don't you dare.
I'll hold hands with a pretty girl
a rusty beanie atop
I'll smile and laugh
and do crazy things
because a girl
you won't think me.

I once had so many friends
never saw a movie alone
long conversations
and midnight swims

back then I wore my brother's clothes
and had only two pairs
of duct-taped tennis shoes.
No one looked at my bulky calves
cankles
and thunderous thighs
they smiled and kissed
my round round face
supported by a thick thick neck.

I was a girl
they knew
but
dressed in camo shorts
Tee and hoodie
they never said a word
they never hurt me

you can't call me a girl
I won't let you
I'm so miserable like that
       so miserable like this
As long as I keep wearing his clothes
shoving my hair in a beanie
and forcing my laugh a little deeper
I'll keep going to parties
I'll keep all these friends
Everything will be okay
because when I'm a boy
people don't question
how big or how ugly I am
everything's okay
as long as I wear these clothes
so you can't call me a girl.

I promised myself
that if I ever saw you again,
you'd be shocked.
I'd be so skinny
and dressed well
and interesting
and you'd kick yourself
for giving me up.
But of course
the day you say you'll be there
is the day I'll be cosplaying
and it's what you've always made fun of me for,
why you ended our friendship; because I'm weird.
Because I wear weird clothes
and say weird things.
I wanted to impress you
but as I spend hours in the mirror
observing my costume
trying to make myself still look good
and stop this stupid dress-shirt
from bubbling up in the back
so you can see my slender hourglass,
I start to think that I might just not go.
feign my usual sickness so that I don't have to face you,
so that the reason you gave me up isn't confirmed.
You're a popular model
with expensive clothes and perfect hair and makeup
and cheekbones to die for,
I'm a balloon next to you,
you'd look like a stick
posing next to a farm pig.

I sit down and cry
because the panic overwhelms me
and tears sound like pig snorts
and I realize that you make me feel bad about myself.
you make me hate myself.
My best friend for six years
and you made me disgusted with myself.

I wish I were strong enough to
tell you that I don't want to see you
and that I have better friends.
but I still want to impress you.
To show you that I'm more
than just your old fat ugly nerd loser friend.
that I'm better than you.

but I told you I would see you.
and now I'm afraid to step out of the house.

I look around and I’m not anywhere.
I’m not in a cage with rusty bars,
I’m not in a crowded room,
Nor an empty one.
I’m in a place that is nothing but black.
I’m neither inside nor outside.
It is neither light nor dark.
But there are windows.
Windows I may look through to see happy couples,
Happy families,
Happy friends,
Strangers side by side,
A silent agreement that they are all together.
I look out the windows with envy.
That is where I am;
A blank expanse with windows,
Windows that let me know,
Yes, yes, you are alone.

Nothing makes sense
this world is nothing but chaos
I need a way
to control something
to find order
wake up at 5am
jog
yoga
smoothie
shower
dress
meditate
school
(hell)
wash my hands
until they bleed
eat myself sick
wash my hands
wash my hands
shake my leg
twitch my hand
twitch
twitch
twitch
cry
no control
I have no control
I can't cope
I can't deal
so I'm going to do these things
wash my hands
wash my hands
so it feels like I can control something.

I'm a lot like you,
I really am,
we could get along great-
but people don't seem to understand.

I wasn't raised like they were,
they didn't experience my neglect.
I have sixteen years of life to catch up on-
lost time of learning how to be a person
I need to reclaim.

I was raised in a cave.
I learned how to live on all fours.
I know how to fight
I know how to run
I know how to eat and sleep
and I know how to howl at the moon.
But I don't know how to be your friend.
I don't know how to snuggle up close
without biting the hand that feeds me.
I'm a predatory creature
but a submissive one,
and if you shout too loud
I'll tuck my tail between my legs
and cower.
I'm loyal too easy but harsh,
barking at anyone who comes near.
I don't know how to trust like you do.
I don't know about hugs
and love and rewards
and all common that makes you human,
I don't know any of it.
I know how I was raised,
on all fours,
head to the sky,
fending for myself.

I should work out
or do laundry
or eat dinner
or do homework
or be productive
and do things that need to be done.

but I sort of just want to curl up in a ball,
cry and sleep.

I do that every night though...
but then again,
I like a set routine.

If you comment on one of my poems.
thank you.
If I don't reply to your comment,
I'm not snide
or ignoring it.
Sometimes,
certain comments are just too kind.
I don't know if you've noticed,
but I just don't know how to deal with that.

I appreciate any and all comments,
but sometimes, if I don't reply,
It's not that I don't want too,
I just.
can't.
I don't know how to respond to things like that.
So,
thank you.
and I apologize.

lack of rhythm keeps the music from flowing,
keeps the anger wrapped tight
and unleashes the screams of anxiety.

It's such a simple thing to want
such an easy thing to do
until you break down in tears
realizing just how pitiful it is.

I just want to play a melody
something beautiful,
hours each day
of nonstop practice
each ending with
the smashing of the keys
and the screams from my throat.

It all ends with tears
as I do not understand-
spending years on the same melody
yet it only follows one tune

How much longer will it go on?
When will this need to play a melody stop?
for until then
those sweet tunes bring tears to my eyes
in the knowledge
that I try every day
week after week
month after month
year after year
and those different tunes only blend
to a jumbled mess of one
due to my shaking
aching hands.

I just want to play a melody.
Why is that so hard?
It's the same song over and over
and though I try my hardest
it comes out the same
each time
and ends with
my screams and tears,
due to these shaking hands.

It is a never ending turmoil,
that breaks my untuned heart.

Sasha's greatest hits
*******
shaved clean
young thing
short hair
fake blonde
pouty stare
bullet wand
strip tease
there to please
unblemished-
                       smooth skin
stick ******* thin
tormented by how
I just can't win
measure up
*******
fantasy feline
maybe next time
you'll want me more
than your perfect pornstar *****

Maybe I'd like to be a Homecoming Princess,
Maybe I'd like to be a Prom Queen,
Maybe I'd like to have this solo,
Maybe I'd like to have the spotlight on me.

Maybe I'd like to join a band,
Maybe I'd like to speak my mind,
Maybe I'd like to win Poetry Out Loud
                                       or
                                       anything, really...

Maybe I'd like to see,
                               hear,
                               do,
                        and be so much more,
Maybe I'd like to be like everyone else...

And maybe-not maybe- quite absolutely
I'd like to ***** panic, anxiety,
and all these stupid hinderances--
and do all of the above.

he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end
I know if I say my soul all this will end
-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total     exposure


I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks

I see your past relationships
I'm gettin the scraps
you built an empire outa bricks
I got sticks
wolves come huffin' and puffin'
I let em' in for 120
you got the dough
my wallet empty
treasure the penny
livin off tips
just the tip
for an extra fifty
takeout thrifty
took a showa
I feel filthy

-- he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end
I know if I say my soul all this will end
-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total     exposure

guess I'm looking for a little closure

too much left to interpretation
tryin to be patien
but it's got me down in the pits
these hairy pits itch
but if you need me
call me
what's the sitch
I'll be there on the fly
'cause you my only guy

in my head I'll be asking why--what who when where
but my vocal chords would never dare
afraid one word will end it all
I just want you to give me your all.

he askin' why I ran out in the rain
can't tell him he made me feel this way again
that boy's goin' to vegas at the years end
I know he likes his thai massage with a happy end


He can get whatever whenever
nervous of all the girls passin by
he got his arm around me can't see why
scared I can't match up to the pharo
feelin' like a popper in his maro
windows covered in steam
marry me
make me a queen-

-- Boy you've got me turning
in circles
crazy like bipolar
red hot then an icy shoulder
lost my composure
walk home rainy night
total     exposure

I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks

I see the train coming
what if my shoes moved
I think my favorite-red-dress
would look best on the tracks

I see the train coming
see the train coming
see the train comin
what if my shoes moved
what if my shoes moved
my shoes moved
my favorited red dress
it looks best on the tracks

My life is like sand,
kinda nice,
kinda irritating,
and very quickly slipping through my fingers.

mechanical girl,
of blood and bone,
killed a pig with knife and stone,
she took it's leather to make it her own,
and sewed it on when she got home,
with a curly wig to impress,
and a twirling sundress,
she fooled them all,
but when they looked closer-everyone saw,
it was simply a tale, much too tall.

I'm different
yeah I'm different,
I'm different
yeah I'm different,
been praised
since birth
for my originality
*****
mentality
bow down
to the freak of freaks
with the good techniques
compliments of god
just for being odd
think I'm plagued by benality
cursed by originality
they think it's the coolest
they think it's so great
they don't understand
how this twists my fate
I'm different
yeah so different
pretending to be indifferent
to being treated
maltreated
isolated
outcast
never understood
different isn't so good
and if I could
I'd be so much more generic
I'd have little simple thoughts
eco friendly watts
get starbucks on weekends
do my nails and hair
highlights down to there
and if you only knew
how it feels
to be so **** alone
you wouldn't be so prone
to envy my creativity
when it's met
with such negativity
to have no coherence
of proclivity
I'm a slave
in captivity
people come by and watch
but don't touch
they point
ooh and aaah
but they don't know what to feed me
how to care for mee
my biggest strength
is my biggest flaw
Since birth
I've been told
I'm so original
but I'm so broken it's clinical
almost criminal
these thoughts I have
living in a world so fictional
I'm so ******' lonely
and hungry
and slowly
freezing to death
with no one to keep me warm
or speak to
I'm cryin up a storm
because no one understands
no one knows my heart
no one knows my soul
you'd think with all this praise
I'd be able to climb out of this hole
but truth be told
lord behold
I am a long sad story
nobody can unfold.

I hung plum curtains in a circle
To hide from the world.
Sometimes I hear passerbys
Tapping on the glass
Wondering if there’s anybody in there;
A cockroach trapped in a glass jar.
I pretend there’s not.
I sit perfectly still in the middle
And let them tap away,
Knowing that I’ll never tempt to
Peak behind the curtains,
Afraid that what’s tapping
Isn’t human at all,
But my paranoia
With malicious intent.