I've read adventures
heard tall tales
I've smelt the wind
at the top of mountains
I have glimpsed treasures
and jewels of glory
I have chased
the ancient fantasy,
for since I was a child,
I have dreamed of dragons,
I have dreamed,
of you.

Do you think I'm pretty?

if you say no,

I'll slit my throat.

what will I be worth
when I am no longer
19
my young naive appeal
to the forty-year-old's
with cash in hand
they'll go somewhere else
who will want me
When I am no longer
19
20
21
I'll be too old
for these lackluster fillers of my time
I think
it seems
death may come sooner
than originally thought

I decided to keep a flower box,
outside a window with a rusty lock,
I based it with tender soil,
and water left to boil.
I planted, with careful hands,
flowers fit for the greatest of lands,
I let them soak in the sun's rays,
watching them grow for days and days.
Each day I poured, with determined stealth,
boiled water to keep their health,
I swooned and sighed at their beautiful sight,
eagerly waiting first bloom at first light,
but with all desperate love and care,
these shaking hands had not been fair;
boiled water drooled through the box,
and like a thousand shattered clocks
I broke down in quiet sorrow of what I'd found,
careful lovely flowers withered and drowned.

How dare I
how dare I
do such a horrendous thing
how dare I
how dare I
do something I can't take back
well here I go
saying no more
            no more
my body my temple
my mind my palace
my soul... my ******* soul.
how dare I
fall so easily
how dare I
maltreat myself so
how dare I
let myself feel so miserable
how dare I
eat bad food
how dare I
lose all control
never again
no not again
I keep telling myself
next time I'll say no
but this time the hurt is too much
the need is too great
how dare I do these things
so no more
     no more
I'm going to make a promise
pray for me that I keep it
how dare I let myself hurt so
so no more
please, to yourself, say no more too
if you, like me,
have dared to inflict horror
have dared to give up your body
have dared to give everyone a try at your heart
make it like putty
drop it get it *****
how dare I tarnish my soul
so no more
    no more
here I go
taking a step forward
                                                         ­    saying
                                                 no ******* more.

I'm happy,
As the knife drags across my wrist.
I'm loved,
As the skin is torn away.
I'm okay,
as the blood comes pouring out.
I'm worth something,
as my tears water down the blood.
I'm happy,
as it pools around me.
I'm happy,
as the overwhelming pain is bliss.
I. am. Happy.
as I lose the long awaited consciousness.

I had a queezy feeling in the pit of my stomach,
but somehow I knew it would be okay,
and it was.
But then she said she'd have to do a followup appointment,
to make sure it was gone.
That's when I felt it.
My throbbing heart knew,
by some cruel choice of fate,
it would not be okay.
Then I got that email,
I got it at school, first period.
It wasn't okay,
the cancer had spread,
had grown and festered
and was taking over her body,

I couldn't smile the rest of the day,
oh, did I manage it?
What must have that smile looked like?
Did it mask my fear well enough?
   I'm changing my name for a reason,
I'm leaving my life in this town behind,
but there's just one thing I'll miss,
one thing, rather, person,
I'll forever cling to and love.
and that's her.
She raised me.
Not those lying, cruel creatures who call themselves parents,
it was her.
She taught me to drive,
to flirt,
to swim,
to eat,
to cook,
to sing
to do anything and everything.
She's the one I love most.
Please, God, let me keep her.
I can't lose her.
Do not take her so young,
do not take her from
her blue-eyed baby boy.
We have to write a book together,
act in an indie movie,
visit greece,
make videos,
dance,
we have so much to do,


please, God,
please.

Please do not take my sister.

I'm happy I know I am
but there's still a bit of my heart
left behind
in that old mining town
that green valley
and I thought I took it with me
I thought I had forgotten
and could focus on this new man
but waking to a text
and feeling that empty space
I remembered
why I couldn't feel for this new man
like I should
like I wish I could
confirming
that I had slipped part of my heart
into T.L.'s pocket
and I might never get it back.

Trapped in a fatal instinct.
I carry an ideal of a prince,
When I find someone of those qualities
I reach out.
I reach out in desperation for that kindness.
But my hand lowers as I take in the view,
between the Prince and I,
a field.
A field of broken glass
and the unruly truth
that I will bleed out
before ever reaching him.
I venture a few anchored steps forward,
feeling the glass cut into my skin
but again, I will bleed out.
So I stay behind the field of glass,
hand pressed against a window.
I remain in my dark corner,
shrouded in monsters,
because monsters make sense.
The prince, he is a silly ideal,
But the Monsters aren't.
The monsters let me breath easy
and though coated in violence
I feel safe.
It's hard to explain why,
but I suppose it's rather simple,

The kind ideal of that Prince is silly and terrifying,
but the monsters aren't,
because the monsters make sense.

It is amazing
how just the thought
of having to go home
can incite such tremendous fear,
trembling hands
watery eyes
a bad mood
and heavy weight
making my body tired and slow?
Isn't it fascinating how
no matter the great day
the timeless adventures,
the tender hugs,
going home
can make it seem
like it never existed?
isn't it wild
isn't it phenomenal
isn't it crazy
how simply going home
can make me want to die?

Who are you
tall and muscular
where can I get eyes like that?
your voice mingles
and cloaks itself in thunder
violent
and strong
better than Hercules
what should I do
to woo you?
be fast and strong
femme version al you
be still and sweet
for you to protect my meek
Is there nothing you can't do
brash giant
gentle ******
vengeful warrior
wrathful knight
careful cat,
*where can I get a man like that?

None of this has hit me yet.
It hasn't hit me so hard the absence of feeling has rippled into the rest of me,
to all things;
all events
and all goodbyes
are said with not even a hint of a tear
nor a hint of a smile
nor a fast or slow beating heart
it's said with words I know I mean
but they do not sound so.
This leads me to believe I am terrified.
So terrified
so frightened
so unsure
and scared
it has shocked me frozen
paused in time,
because if I recognize this daunting task
this great fear
this leaving of the few people who truly mean something to me
and the only place I have ever known,
I will not be able to venture one size 8 step into this great adventure.

You
make me weak
disregard
my wants and needs
You
bite me inch by inch
run your hands through my hair
kiss my neck
shove your hand down my pants
You
arouse me
more than is necessary
You
invite an animal
to stay in my heart
in my soul
You
bring out the beast in both of us
You,
want to play a game
to have a little fun
to **** around for the night
then venture back
again
into the wilderness
leaving me
wondering
what any of that really meant
You
make me weak
shaking knees
lightly pressing
my safe word is "Red"
Red
Red
**** you
******* listen
RED
You
take away my ability
to say no
to know what's right
You
make everything seem okay when you're here
and everything scary and lonely when you're not
You
want to touch me
but
You
don't want me
I
want both
yes
I
want
YOU

Let me grab your hand,
rough from long days,

Feel your heart beat slow,
as your stress begins to flow..
away and away it will go
as we venture into nowhere
into everywhere...
Where we can rest easy
and be free
from the ****** insensitivities of society
and forced compression of our precious time...
Of these stupid expectations
and plastic things we once thought were ideals...

Take a breath from this pleasantly lurid fantasy,
and come away with me.

There is little here
in this sun-scaped city
to press a frown onto my face.
I feel free
I've lost ten pounds
my skin is smooth
I bought new fashionable clothes
and I laugh more than ever before,
and that is what people see,
will amber annex buster dani skyla rashid duane kiki chase adrianna
all these new people
who laugh at my funny name
only see this happy smiling girl
who is kind and quick to help
and make jokes
and dance
and offer advice
and yet despite the freedom I feel
it comes with equal parts guilt.
have I ever smiled so much before?
The me people meet now is so new to me
it feels like a lie
it's nice of you to ask me on a date
but how could I tell you the horrors of my past?
with all this smiling
you'd never believe the years of frowns and tears
no one would think to look for the lines where you can see my burn scars
they wouldn't look at my differently
when I trace old bruises
they don't think
to be careful when touching me
they don't have a clue
and it's all I've ever wanted
to have people think nothing is wrong
for me to be like the other girls,
but now that that's what people see,
my smiles though real
make me feel like I'm lying to everyone around me.

She is glory
    the girl with dark hair
she is music
    in her red pants
she is lyrical
    twirling through the crowd
she is inspiration
    eyes closed, smiling,
she is soul
    the girl who stomps her feet

If I said that I long to be happy,
that would be a lie.
In truth,
Happy hurts more than anything else.
At this point I'm not sure
if hate it,
or am afraid.

What is happy?
What is this feeling
that leaves me miserable when alone?

Being miserable
and in pain
is by far easier on my soul,
than those fleeting moments of happiness.

Happy is something that hurts,
Happy is something brief,
Happy is something I do not wish to experience.

black pig
little thing
so different
from the rest.

Black pig,
outcast,
kicked out
of mother's nest

black pig
thrown against the wall
father says
you're nothing but a pest

black pig
raised with religion
despite these bruises
I'm supposed to feel blessed

black pig
grows up
fat ugly
lonely and depressed

black pig
******
scary memories
making it feel stressed

black pig
can't forget
the pain
inside it's chest

black pig
remembers
hands around it's throat
too small to attest

Black pig
wonders
why there was never
any arrest

black pig
haunted
broken
by things repressed

Black pig
not fixed
wants to be
the best

but Black pig
black pig
cries and shakes
with a deep fearful unrest

so tell me
what do you think about love?
should it be something you struggle for work hard for
spend hours stressing and sweating
over how to make it work
letting it consume you
with fear
and anxiety,

or should it be effortless?
should it be comfort
and easy
should it excite you to the bone
and fill you with carefree procrastination
and a long
drawn out
well deserved sigh?

She breathes fire
from the depths of her soul,
She shouts victory
from lungs black as coal,
Her nostrils flare
and her eyes, a chilling stare.
She breaths fire,
for all those who admire.

She cracks her wings
and snaps her tail
to the awe of kings
always without fail.

her stomach rumbles
low and deep
making theirs
humble and meak.

Her heart burns like embers
her bones like sturdy trees,
a name no one remembers
that once made armies flee

Fire comes out like a spout
from her mouth
from her throat
from her heart and soul,
fire comes out
and without a doubt
fire will take its toll.

She breathes in smoke,
and kindles the flame,
body dragging low
head to the ground
but eyes to the sky,

She breathes fire to the earth,
and lets the ashes fall to heaven.

I just want to write a grand masterpiece
that'll make the world swoon,
but I'm too busy wallowing
in average doubt and self pity
about how I can't write a grand masterpiece
to actually write one.

See you quake in your boots,
so sick,
can't resist,
Everything wrong,
everything sick
too irresistable,
something's wrong in my head,
something of desire,
a ***** little need,
get down on my knees
I got no problem,
I will plead.
Take me,
take me anyway you wish
take me fast- take me strong
take me till I'm black and blue.
I swear to you,
there's something wrong with me,
I'm broken rag doll.
I've been sewn up, time and time again,
tearing at my seems --begging to played with,
please just one more time,

I'm nothing but a broken rag doll,
pulling at the seems,
crying out with my ***** little needs,
I'm nothing but some cloth strung together,
waiting to be broken,
expecting harsh wounds.

I'm not a porcelain doll,
don't think I ever was,
I was born in the mud,
broken in the corner,
sewn up by your lies,
stitched closely by these wounds.
I'll tell you time and time again,
I'm nothing but a broken rag doll,
pulling at the seems, crying out with my ***** little needs.
Sick little wretch,
who pretends to be so good,
a sick little monster
who begs to be flesh and bone,
I'm nothing but a doll,
forgotten in the memories,
broken and fixed
far too many times
that things are starting to get loose.
Do you understand my need,
I see you stare across the room,
you quake in your boots,
I know you see a sick little monster,
and that's what I see, staring back.

Coming home from Prom,
locking myself in my room
and crying.

Just another night.
same as all the rest.

what does that say about me?

you passed by
like a hurricane
a tsunami following your wake,
you turned my world upside
I had no choice
but to go along for the ride,
so much happened
I thought
it must have been years
but it was only a second
that you passed me by,
in a whirlwind
so fast
so driven
you didn't notice
I slipped my heart into your pocket,
and you kept on going
leaving me behind,
forgetting...
I know not where you have gone,
but I wonder
if you ever took your hands off the beast of life
and dared to relax them in your pocket,
if you would find my heart there, still,
or perhaps it fell out
tumbled down into the bush
on one of your adventures,
lost forever,
it hurts
it hurts so bad
that you have my heart
but I do not blame you
for not giving yours in return
no,
for you didn't know I gave you mine,
to blame you would be unfair,
so I shan't tell you of the tears I've cried
from my loss
my pining
no I do not blame you
for not returning a love
you don't know begs returning.

I long for you to touch me
and love me
feel your fingers up my back
pulling on my hair
I long for you to touch me
and love me
but I
can't do it again
no I
can't feel the pain
of knowing
you long for touch
but not for love
you long for me
but
        not
                for
                       *me

It’s terrifying,
            Realizing just how little you know about someone.
Without realizing it,
Without even meaning too,
            They became important.
So important that everything reminds you of them,
  Their wish is your command,
And you overflow with jealousy when others draw near.

It’s terrifying to think about;
            Realizing that you may just know only one side of them,
            Knowing that they don’t think of you at all,
Understanding that they are more important to you than you will EVER be to them,
And Accepting that that will never change.
            It kills you to know this.
That when they are gone,
When they find love,
Or when they stray from the one thing that connects you
(and I can assure you they will)
            They leave without a word,
            Without a care,
Unknowing of the scars they have left behind.
Leaving you broken and battered,
Wallowing,
Hurt,
Stressed,
Feeling more alone than ever
With a piece of themselves missing.

You may have been lovers,
Acquaintances
Friends,
You may not have even met
But somewhere along the line,
            They became important.
And somewhere,
On some day,
You looked down in anguish
At the grave you had unknowingly dug yourself.
            You can pretend,
            But your dirt-covered hands will prove true.
It kills you to know this,
But eventually you will dig your way out,
Clean yourself off,
And start with a new patch of ground.

A patch of ground with which you may either
Build a house,
Or a grave.

Blonde,
blue eyes,
skinny and toned,
a mesmerizing laugh
and an infectious enthusiasm
that forces a girlish smile
onto my rough face.

Too bad he's gay.

Give me adventure,
an expanse of possibilities,
give me everything
in the form of  incomparable beauty;
give me the universe,
and all its curiosity.
I want galaxies on jewelry
and dresses
and shoes
and ribbons to put in my hair.
I want galaxies in my eyes
and on my nails
and for my breath
visible in space's cold
to spool and twirl
like the milky way.
I want you to gift me
with things like no other,
I want you to take my breath away
with the views of above
impossibly replicated
and bottled
for my own pleasure and adoration.
I don't want the world,
not just,
I want the whole universe.

Hair waving up and down in the wind,
paper flapping lightly.
Maybe I'll let it go,
maybe I'll let this poem be taken by the wind.
Maybe I'll write something from the heart
and release it.
No name,
no Title,
Just words that hurt;
words I'll soon forget.
I write them down,
but why do I keep them?
I should let them go,
forget.
The world would be a prettier place
if the garbage we pass on the street
was filled with beauty.
There's no point in keeping them,
rhyming thoughts
to remind me how sad I am.
There is no point in writing them down,
but nevertheless, I'll keep writing,
and I will hold the paper down
as the wind tries to pry it from me,
and I will promise not to let it go,
because somewhere in the depths of my heart,
these words matter.

Heavy breathing
Tears down face
Bones aching at the sudden spurt
no time to stretch
only time to run,
running is the most logical option
the only thing that seems possible
the only reasonable course of action to take.
run.
run fast.
run until doubled over with aching sides.
running solves a lot of problems, or so it seems,
but more often than not, it's like running on a treadmill.
going fast, going hard, but going nowhere.
most days running doesn't solve anything.

I laid out twenty-two new shining glasses.
Regal, sparkling and tall.
I took each one in hand,
a rag in the other,
and turned on the water.

Suds spooling round
up and down
whirling softly
with old hands
washing with precision.

It's three am and I stand solitary
and tired at the kitchen sink.
I keep my socketed eyes
down to the glass and suds
for fear of looking into the reflection
of the window above.

An hour drones by,
I don't notice.
Busy standing still
in the dead of night,
up and down
round and round
suds bubbling
from old hands
washing precisely.

I wash them once
I wash them twice and set them to dry.

I dry them once
I dry them twice and set them side by side.

I won't be using these, no,
the glasses are for others,
to look proper while shining and clinking
and tipping and sipping
and laughing and being happy.

Eyes down from the window,
where a haggard thing waits,
I look to the glasses,
and wash them once more.

I daydream constantly
because reality hurts.
I keep my eyes closed
because when I open them
I see everything I'll never achieve.
I keep my head up in space
because there, even in death there is beauty
but down here death is ugly,
as with each passing day.
.
I lock myself in my room
because the world is a horrible place.
I turn off the light-
because even this room shows humanity's true nature
I dare not look back at that mirror,
for even in the faintest of moonlight I can make out
the monster that stands in my place.
.
I spend each day in misery, because that is how I learned to be happy.
Happy hurts,
Happy is quick,
Like fleeting love
I hate the feeling
of losing something so quick.
I block it out.
I fill my aching body with unused, dusty tears.
I hear my body groan under the pressure but I do not let it out.
I do not let the misery out,
because then Happy will have a chance to seep through
but with Happy comes horror and sorrow
and other such I cannot bear.
Happy hurts more than this depression ever could,
so I've decided to be nothing but that.
I hold up each day in a wicked,
painful misery,
while others might say it unhealthy
I feel it as nothing but fuel,
nothing but quick snaps of the whip
that keep me going,
just barely alive,
hardly breathing,
stiff like a tin-man
-
I hide from what's real,
I hide from what's happy,
because Misery is the only thing keeping me here.

and suddenly-
all the minor boys
all the petty crushes
vanished into thin air,

the only thing that mattered was him.

he is a lovely person
with lovely hair
and lovely thoughts--
he is the only one
I do not feel scared of,
one I could let see me cry
and tell all my feelings
every little thought I have
and all of my truth,
never a lie.

He is one who makes me warm
he is one who makes me happy
he is one who makes me feel
like I may yet, be important.

I feel what he feels
and I know how it hurts,
I only wish I could make him happy
make him never sad
and the thought
that he may
on occasion
feel like I do every day
horrifies me
and makes me weep,
for he is a good soul
who could do me no harm,
a man the world has wronged,
a truly lovely person
who deserves
no such pain.

Two heads
rest upon the bed
where genetics went haywire.
A simple mistake
with a complicated result
often too much for some to take.
Little cat, tumbling to life
two faces morphed and mewing
stumbling right to eternal sleep.
But it's not a life lost-no
it's a spectacle,
tiny monster,
floating in a jar
for nothing but "oohs", "aahs", and study.
Nobody mourns the little cat,
a second face deeming it unworthy
of concern.
Did mama cat know
her precious baby wasn't called a "kitten"?
but a Janus Monster,
a freak of nature,
a prime scientific diamond.
Little monster cat won't get a coffin,
it'll be jarred-catalogued-and stored,
burried in dust instead of dirt.

Trapped in a disorder,
Surrounded,
Encased by a series of heated lies,
An arrangement of glass dolls by my side.
Here it comes,
An energetic melody that makes my heart beat fast
And brain overreact
So I cannot write proper poetry.
So hyper, so happy, so nothing.
Misery is in the past
But still clinging tight
So I wonder what it is,
That prevents the many powerful words I once held
From emerging in splotchy ink down on parcel.
I’m not happy,
That’s for sure,
But I’m not miserable,
I’m at some horrid place in between
At a place where I am not happy enough
And not sad enough
To fill page after page with
Rhyming thoughts that flow.
This place kills me.
No matter the dark rooms I once cried in,
I’d suffer a dark earth for an eternity
To see my bony hand swishing swiftly across the page,
Producing miserable rhyming thoughts once again.
What am I without poetry?
I don’t know,
And I don’t ever want to find out.

Insomniac
driven by dry tears
a barely beating heart,
and scarce,
pained lungs.
In the dark,
eye lids lowering.
Staying awake with fear,
without a choice,
cold on a hot summer's night
the shivers em pattern themselves on my skin,
a pattern of another's arms.

Shivers tracing up and down my body,
imprinting themselves
to a place,
in a time where maybe I am not so lonely.
Curled up,
pale and frail,
long sovereign hair in tangles
with sad eyes
glistening with the tears
that are yet to come.

The house is empty.
The air is quiet.
Nothing but the quiet heartbeat of
me, myself, and I.

A distant melody of a land faraway,
where I do not mind being lonely.
But that is not where I am.
I am in a place where the shivers
run up and down my arms
with every minute
of every day.

I feel the loneliness closing in.

Shrinking into myself,
I hate that feeling,
of being cold on a hot summer's night.

I'm not who I am,
I'm not who I wanna be,
I hate where I'm at
I'm not what I say.
I'm not who I claim to be
nothing to set me free
Trapped inside a shell
is this me?
I can't tell.
Perfect,
It's not mine to claim
I deserve no such fame
I used to treat life as a game,
but that's what brought me to this world of pain.
Oh Vanity, sweet insanity
teach me what I don't,
it's a fear of what I won't.
Do nothing but speak
I am one of the weak,
Vanity comes with such calamity,
make me feel okay,
from now until the end of days.

boy moves my feet
to some good musik
funky soul vibes
marble eyes
lady sighs
avener chill
this boy moves my soul
bless my broken heart
giving us a chance to start
swimmin in seas
reflectin galaxies
boy makes my nose scrunch
lady swoons
for the space boy grunge

The key is to remember,
I really do not matter,
not to a single person I meet,
not to a passerby on the street,
To unlock happiness
and never be disappointed,
the key is to remember
I am nothing
and no one.

you ***** me
                        up
                             up
                                 up
you fuel me
             c
                r
            a
               z
            y
              c
                r
            a
 ­              z
            y
you prompt me
           n      u       o     i           n      u       o     i
                e      r       t      c             e      r      t      c
you make me
        s o m e                   t h i n g

              I        I  
   don't     \/     don't      
    want             want    
        to                tobe
           be          be
                 \/

I promise
I’ll never forget
the way we moved
when we first danced
you in warpaint
me in white rags
the sweat
the beat
the chemistry
I swear I’ll never forget
being set on fire

The only way to really know me,
is to read my poetry.
I've only ever shown my poetry to the internet,
making sure nobody knew who I was,
until I met a boy who read my poetry,
and loved it
and helped me with my problems
and turns out I knew him in reality.
He's a ******* now but that doesn't matter.

I then let someone else see it,
someone I saw in person daily,
that was a big step as I wasn't entirely trusting but-
I think my trust, my faith has been betrayed
As then someone else I knew followed me,
and then someone else,
and then someone else.

No, no,
all these poems I have saved as drafts
because I'm scared-
because I see them in reality
because it's all too much for me.
So it can't go on.

Every now and then,
I'll post a poem or two,
but nothing too incriminating.
But other than that,
this is my farewell.
It hurts because there are poems on here I really do like
but I let one person see my account
and from there too many people
followed me,
too many people who know my name
and face.
that's unacceptable,
I've never wanted that.
They can't know my story,
I don't trust people like that,
people who can touch my skin.

So that's it,
Goodbye Fish and all the poems I wrote here,
goodbye your kind words and likes and follows.
Thank you for taking the time to read my words,
all you lovely strangers.

Farewell, Hello Poetry.

I don’t get mad.
Somebody’s yelling- frowning
Nobody seems happy
Everybody’s looking at me
  what’s with you?
sunshine
no sunshine
my wrists -- I’m sorry
  feeling hot
  cold
  older
  stressed
  upset
  furious ~ I shake
wanting both hands to stop
  stop
Breath  -- Just Breath
I can’t see
this monster
let slipped
         prying my neck
my eyes
melting eyes
trying to avoid hamburger
    I didn’t want a hamburger
      this monster looking at me
yelling
    What did you do?!
avoid
avoid hamburger
   stop
   furious
   cold
   upset
I’m not normal
outside my name
  somewhere
I didn’t want a hamburger
wanting to protect
  for once sunshine
   finding me
for once into me
why do I care
I didn’t do it
  on purpose
  on purpose
  I hurt
  my wrists
somebody’s yelling
          Breath
      Just breath
        I’m sorry,
        I’m sorry,
I’m mad

Conversations cause friction
and loss of conviction
it's a fiction addiction
that's my affliction

I can't give you a proper depiction
on reality's constriction
though there's a strong prediction
of life's soon eviction

It's the definition
of crucifixion
waking up is cause for benediction
from interdiction

obsessed with science fiction
with an aura of dereliction
because life's infliction
has too much restriction

it was just a few days ago
I asked What Is Love?
I was so afraid
I might never know it,
and here I am
tears in my eyes
"9-1-1
I'm having a heart attack"
I was so afraid
I might never know it
now I'm afraid
this is what it feels like
I'm afraid I've fallen in love
and I pray
please god
if this is love
take it away
take it away
it hurts
it hurts.

I
cannot sing
hardly speak
but my fingers
can press the keys
can pluck the strings
I
cannot sing you a love song
but I
can write a tune
so long
so dark
so deep
it'll make you close your eyes
make up your own lyrics
and you won't need to hear my voice
to know exactly how I feel

Why can't we just read?
I love to read,
we all do,
somewhere inside.
I love the way the words flow,
I love how quickly it transports me
to vivid new worlds.
I like the feeling of fragile paper
and the smell of a dusty,
long forgotten book.
Pages of excitement bound together,
you think it could never lose its magic,
but you'd be wrong.

You go to school
and the magic is lost.
These light words that mean so much
are weighted down and draped in logic,
the book becomes dull and painful.

I don't care if the colour of the curtains
is a metaphor for the author's struggle with homosexuality,
I don't care to take this painted porcelain
and smash it into bits,
entirely digested,
sorted into categories,
and picked into nothing.
I do not wish to burn away
the heart and soul
to leave nothing but the bones.
I read to escape,
to love,
to learn,
to experience,
I read to forget where I really am.

I do not wish
for the thought of this fantasy tale,
to be flogged over the head repeatedly
with reality.
I wish to forget,
read for pleasure,
read for interest,
read for love,
read because I want to,
read to fully appreciate
the well-thought out story
by a person long gone.

Is that too much to ask for?