I wish I could write love poems
as beautiful
and enticing as all the other poets
as all the other heartbroken teenagers
and young aspiring children
and wise old fools
all happy to let themselves be whisked away
with a flurry of emotion.

I wish I could write like them.
I wish I could make my a reader smile
and sigh
and feel envious of my sweet sweet poetic love
but I can't.
I wish I could write poems like him and her
like all the others,
wish I could write a love poem,
but I don't know love.
I don't know what it is to love
or what it is to be loved
so how could I possibly write a love poem?
where would I begin?

I wish I could write a love poem,
but I don't know love,
and I'm so scared that I never will.

I don't want to break
but what's the point
any one
of these old fat rich men
I'd never have to worry about money again
I'd never have to feel the preassure of the outside world
people say I'm brave
maybe I'm tired of that

skin rubbed raw by cheap sheets

yet another restless sleep

hindered not by freezing hands and feet

but by unknown trials of tomorrow

that may weaken my clutch,

that may finally be too much,

and relished by no more morrows-

lets me slip into the endless sorrow

Baby you can talk
you can talk to me
everything little thing is gonna be okay
and that's all they ever say
like it's so **** easy,
but speakin up like you ask makes me queasy.

They let me know
every other day
"I'm here for you
you can tell me true
if you're feelin blue
I'll do the best that I can do"

no.

Once again
assuming
presuming
talking is a matter of having someone
to make the past undone
make you stop tracing
where bruises once were
because apparently it's all a simple matter of facing.

them.

them is all I think about
it's always on the brain
clouding vision like a storm
flooding my system with rain

You say I can speak
say it'll make everything better
but I can barely write a letter
to myself
I'm sittin dusty
on my study shelf
lots of words written
but none of them read
because the world is blind
and they need to hear it
to believe it
to make it real
and I want to speak
to those who are undeniably kind,

but it's not as easy as it seems
fraying at the seams
I'd like to speak
speak up loud
evaporate the storm clouds
but given the chance to vocalize
give you an issue to focalize
in the end of it all
I'll just run away,
because I don't know where to begin
and I'll never know what to say
so afraid of my sin
though,
in silence,
I'd still like you to stay.

She was only a little girl when it happened.
Only a child.
The world shattered around her,
a void opened up
as her throat closed.

Her body limp,
eyes blank,
struggling to see the good in the world,
to cling to the smallest bit of magic left.

She was only a little girl when it happened,
she was only a child
when she was forced to grow up.

I wrote no poems,
then I wrote them all at once,
falling into the satisfaction
diving into the acceptance
that he is all I could ever want
all I could ever need
all I had never dared ask for,
My heart was quiet,
then it shouted and sang all at once
it asked to be with him
it asked to deserve him
it promised to treasure him,
and all at once
quickly
deeply
I was encased
in unwavering loyalty and adoration
and I would not
deny it.

they crowd around

         "what does it mean?"

         "what does it mean?"

a man steps forward
  
phone from pocket

         "it means this insta pic of my shoes
           will be more than fresh and clean"

I want to write a poem
that expresses
my insecurities
in a way
that will justify
my emotions,
but I'm lacking the words.
I want to express
the tears that fall on the page
prompted by feelings of self loathing
and betrayal
and shame,
desperate to communicate
how ugly I feel,
but the page remains blank.

She kisses the frog
in knowledge that
a handsome prince would arise.
But would she still kiss the frog,
should he be anything less?

Take me home
gates guarded by Trolls
Strong men
strong women
strong people
Let me fight
alongside you
brother
sister
the cold can't hurt us
lets go home
to beauty and serene
to fresh air
and friendly streets
party until Ragnorok
and hang our woes
on Yggdrassil
over the bridge
over the Trolls
where it all began
lets be fierce as our ancestors
smart as our kin
we still have time,
let's go home,
let's go home,
let's go home.

ducked by the toilet
fears and sorrows
vomiting hoarsely
I can't help but wonder
will the pain ever end?
Will I ever be satisfied?
I can starve myself all I want
and purge all the food
and never stop the exercise
but when will it change
when will I finally look okay
I weighed 135 once
that was just a few months ago
I weigh 110 now
and that's not drastic enough,
I can do better,
I can do better,
Will the pain end?
I don't know.
Should I just take that razor and end it now?
no,
no,
because deep down I know
that one day,
someone will love me
and I'll be okay
and that it'll all come together
if I just do better.
so I wrap my stomach and sweat disgust
***** my organs if I can
throw the food away--
I can do better,
I know I can.
I need Ana's help,
she's always there,
encouraging me.
I believe in Ana
and Ana believes in me.
I'll destroy myself
until I feel okay.
Again and again
until the pain numbs.
I'll never stop,
because I can do better,
I know I can.

I come home

and there is no one to hold me

The air feathers around me
like the tender embrace
of one that is not there
it feels so joyous
but so torturous

I shudder

this isolation

akin to religious torment

is breath taking

I often wonder,
with a feeling of great tragedy
and listlessness,
of what would have happened
should I have scrounged up the money
to pursue my dream.
Overcome by woe,
I can't help but fear
how different things might be
had I flown off
where no one I know has been before,
cringing at the thought
that I might have sacrificed triumph
for comfort,
happiness
for safety,
that I let the mere matter of money
pour cement over everything I've ever wanted.

I think about my cousin,
the girl I never met
because she died too young.

Who were you?
what was your favorite color?
I heard your hair was curly black
and your eyes were ocean blue.

Were you in love?
depressed?
blissful?
what did you like to do?
what did you want to do?
Who would you become?
Who were you,
you whose name has never been said since.
They've all forgotten about you, it seems,
Yet I who've never met you
think about you too often.

I have a million questions for you,
but one reigns over them all,
black haired girl
with blue blue eyes...
I want to ask a dark, twisted question:

What were you thinking when it happened?
Did you scream?
how could you not,
must've hurt like hell,
Did you fight back?
Did you thrash and beg?
what did it feel like to have your body set aflame?
flesh melted away.
what did it feel like?
what did it feel like,
to burn alive
at the hands of your father?

It sounds silly to complain,
every other girl would say I'm lucky
say I've got it in the bag,
that I've got things I thought I'd never have,
yet still I am not pleased,
for while my bank account as been eased
my heart
has not

He always tries to talk about my family.

So I shut him out.

He asks if I'll spend the day with my mother

and I hardly refrain from cussing him out.

He asks me about my father,

he says just one word about it

and I scream at him

or throw something

or throw him out of the house

and slam the door in his face.

I still tell myself I'm okay though.

That it didn't damage me.

That I'm not still that child inside.

That I've gotten past all of it.



He always asks me about my family.

That's why we're not friends anymore.

I need to keep reminding myself
that these people are not my friends.
They will not remember or cherish me.
Despite a gift exchanged or two
I refuse to be a fool.
I can't get offended
or feel left out
I know my place
I know the structure,
these people are not my friends,
a friendly word
here and there
make not a companion.
I have no friends
that I can see
no one to miss me,
so I must not miss them
no I refuse
       I reject
         I repulse
the idea
that I might love them.
On the outside looking in,
I must remember,
that these people,
are not my friends.

Brother
see I love you
till the end of time
come home
I won't look back
if you promise to look forward
P(ain)hotographs
they're so old
let's take new ones
tell me how you're doing
brother
protector
fighter
lover
you had it hard
let's fight once more
I'll read you a story
like you used to read to me
no one else can take your place
you are still my brother
you are gone in the desert
adventures
you are having adventures
I like to believe
you are happy
with loved ones
if only
you hadn't drunk so much
brother
I love you
come home
you don't have to bring the bottle
don't bring the bottle
curse the bottle
brother.
'till the end of time
I'll be waiting

I do everything I can
all in my ability
I'm trying so hard
above and beyond
it's not good enough
I am still not worthy
I am still just ****
sitting half on the littered street
half on the drain

I don't understand

Amnesiac
Addict
Artist

how do you live
without coping?

I know only survival

you see I get you
two times a week
if it's convenient
for you
but there are times
when it's not tuesday or friday
that I need somebody at my side
but that'll never be
for like always
you don't care for me
like I care
for you

I've always been told,
since I was a kid,
that I was mean.
I'm told it nearly every day.
So I try my hardest to be the nicest person I can be
and sacrifice my limbs and time
to helping others
and worrying about them
all backed by the fear that I'm not nice
and I think I'm nice
but at the end of the day
there's always someone to say
"You're really mean"
which sends me into a depression.
I go home and cry
and try harder the next day
and keep trying and trying
trying to be nice
but again I'm always told that I'm mean
almost as if the harder I try the meaner I get
and today when he told me I was really mean
and an awful person
I stopped talking
drove him home
and then cried in the car and sat in an empty room
and cried some more
and I'll never understand
how no matter how hard I try
there's always someone there
to tell me I'm cruel.

You'd like to look into my expressive green eyes.
If only they weren't blocked by my two extra "eyes".
You'd like to kiss my lips,
if only they didn't share the same face as this acne.
I'm sure you'd like to run your hands through my hair that's quite soft,
if only it was cut to not look so long and scraggly.
You would like to hold me too,
if only I was skinny.
And you would most certainly like to hold my hand in public,
if only I didn't dress like a fool.
You'd like a lot of things from me,
if only I were someone else.

I saw what she wrote
and that sat me thinking.
Cruel eyes,
cruel hands,
painting me
black and blue.
purple here,
green there,
I'll stitch it with my hair.
Grit my teeth,
naked in the sheath
salt pouring out from
those that saw it all.

Close them.

Maybe this time
the dents in the wall,
the splintered bat-
the window
where my feet
set running
on that muddy earth-
-
maybe this time it'll hurt so bad
that it'll have never happened.

I held a knife to my face
and was tempted to cut
layer by layer
the ugly, pink stained fat,
because then my face would look skinnier
and I'd be so deformed
that people wouldn't dare call me ugly.

I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorryI'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorry

I'm so sorryI'm so sorryvv

I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorryI'm so sorryI'm so sorryv
I'm so sorryI'm so sorry
v
I'm so sorry

I DON'T need them to like me

     As I spend hours picking out an outfit I'll let them see me in

I DON'T need them to like me

     As a wrong look can send me spiraling

I don't need them to like me

     As I spend my weekends alone

I don't need them to like me

     As I cry myself to sleep

I need them to like me

     As their every word dictates how I feel.

wrapped in his arms
                 I feel only warmth
               and un-yeilding
                  
                              *serenity

how do you love yourself
love yourself
tell me how to free myself
                        see myself
ooh
       show me how to breath and become
       how to conquer and be done
       ways to stand and speak with the sun
       methods of coping with memories spun
       hacks to keep these fingers not guns
      
learn me a becoming like none

she slept
  till 1pm
                thinking about last night.
she stayed in the sheets an hour more
playing every second
  over in her head
toying with the idea
that she could live in that night
                                       *forever

At it's finest,

love

is a double edged sword.

Where did the artist go?
Not even she knows.
Is it depression that suppresses
those lifelong idealics
of stage and acrylics?

Has she broken from her cocoon
                                                       -too soon
still blind
to what she has become?

The artist wanders but does not wonder
The artist works but does not create
She nods her head but does not sway
She feels but does not write
She remembers the things she's supposed to want to do
but does nothing
                nothing
                nothing

the artist has gone,
she knows not where,
perhaps she refuses, this question, to ponder
for fear of learning
the artist has gone,
and shall not return.

I asked him
how many others
he said 81
because of course
I only had the courage
to ask him in a dream
but in the dream
I leapt from the bed
I ran out the door
and cried in the dirt trails by his house
waking with a start
unsure if it really happened
knowing it HAD to happen
I had to ask that question
and stop leaving myself
letting my tears roll into the sheets
as I clutch his warm naked body
stop fooling my self
c'mon girl
you know you're nothing special
just a tight young thing
his thing
and no matter how much you daydream
it'll never be more
so stop the ******* dream
you tiresome little kid
this is real life
people are animals
and not everybody has a heart of gold
let your tears wash away
the ideas
of how you think the world works
because baby
you see the bruises on your heart
it'll only get worse from here
so pucker up butter cup
don't let yourself turn into a ****
because you want to convince yourself
fairytales are real
and the nightmares
could never be based off reality
but you got to stand up
ask that **** question
you know you won't like the answer
but you have to stop this nagging painful
atrocious
feeding frenzy
destroying you like cancer.
be brave,
and get that **** answer.

Mortality is poisonous,
it corrupts the beauty of now.
Mortality wanes the future,
makes eyes lower to the ground,
not wanting to look at what the future holds.
Mortality is infectious
always looming
Mortality kills before it should
it slaughters decades too soon
Mortality is the enemy
the nemesis
the seed of greed
of lust
of materialism
of egotism
of broken hearts
of viscous words
of broken mirrors
and wealthy doctors
Mortality,
another word to mark a piece of time
in which there will be no more,
inadvertently became a beast
a nightmare
a phobia
that shreds my society
to bone.

Did I grow up too fast?
or not at all?

Breath in,
breath out,
time will continue to pass.

Gasp for air,
and struggle hard,
the waves will continue to crash.

Keep pressing your feet
against the steep path,
for it grows longer by the day.

Stand up and hold tightly,
the bar is being raised.

My dear,
       the end is near,
so do not regret,
     do not lose faith,
let go of your hold,
give your feet a rest,
struggle no more
and take your last breath.
because, my dear,
                      the end is near,
          and you must greet it with no fear.

When that song comes on
and I close my eyes
swaying
mouthing the words
feeling them to the core
it's clear I sing them to you.

When that song comes on
and you can't take your eyes off me
swaying
mouthing the words
feeling them to the core
it's clear you sing them to me.

With you,

I grow stale,

Without you,

I die.

what's it like to raise your voice

to stand atop a mountain and scream

to clench your fists tight

I wanna know

I wanna know

I'm trying to breath
but my open mouth
is drowning
in my tears

The grass is greener on the other side
the sky is blue
the air is clean
and the sun is shining always
and that's how it is over here
as long as the pictures I post make it seem so,
as long as my statuses are vague and humorous,
as long as I reveal the good and not the bad
no one will know
how hard things really are.

I fear the way you look at me,
such love and adoration,
I fear the sweet things you say
and all those classic movie actions of love.
I fear how deeply you care.

So often am I filled with anger
at your sweet words;
I am not an Angel-
how dare you call me your princess!
I'm nothing but a piece of trash
waiting for this bond to crash.
I'm a ***** fat creep
a disturbed dying freak-
I beg of you, stop loving me,
you do not know you are not free.

I'm a liar,
a sad dying liar,
you embarrass me
you're a *****
you're quite ugly
and lame
you have no sense of adventure
and not an inch of loyalty.

My dear I'm a liar,
a cruel, sick patient.
I'm a ***** fat creep
a disturbed dying freak-
I beg of you, stop loving me
For I've never loved you.

Keys
Ivory fingers
pale poised
passing promptly
across the keys
of the loneliest sounding instrument.
Cold little bones
pressing
precisely picked notes.
Eyes closed
as the music carries,
for I learned this song
when I was just a little girl,
a song of loneliness
of heart ache
I learned this tune
because I lost the will
to say
   I am unhappy
   I have been used
   I long for your love
   Tell me I'm not all that my mind thinks I am
   How long shall I play this song?
Ivory fingers
pressing poorly
pastored keys
the song ages with me
it becomes slower and slower
and lighter and lighter
as the will to press the keys
as the will to express anything at all
slowly fades away
with my surrounding's discouragements,
     *how much longer will I play this song?