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 write so many poems
every single day
in such a flurry of emotion
I have to use all my strength
to restrain myself
from posting them all at once
posting them as I feel them
one after another
clogging up your homepage
so you feel as clogged up
as I do
in my heart.
but it's good I don't,
for even though those poems
were produced
in a moment's emotion..
that emotion never truly fades,
and carries on forever.

I'm 18 today
but I feel 80
more like an old crickity relic
long forgotten,
never treasured,
wandering around
trying to figure out where I fit
where I might belong
hoping someone will dig through my crusted dirt
and polish me off
knowing that I am gold underneath,
but I fear I will have rotted away
before that ever becomes a possibility.

I want an ugly boy
so rough and tuff
don't care bout anythin but me
I want an ugly boy
he'll act as crazy as can be
crazy in love with me
maybe he zef
so I can be blessed
anything I need
he got it
anything I want
he got it
I want an ugly boy
my pitbull
my protector
I don't need to tame him
I like him how he is
he like me how I is
he likes that I am his
he don't need me to change
perfect to the letter
but I change anyway
for the better
I won't have to spend my nights so cold
in fear of growing old
he'll drink my tears
for they're tears of joy
all I really want
is an ugly boy

ugly girls cannot stomp their feet,
ugly girls cannot hoist their nose
                  cannot spit demands
                  or scream childish fits,
ugly girls cannot take
                     only give
                     only serve
             only be complacent,
ugly girls may not be served,
may not be shown off,
may not be pampered,
and they may not request so,
for they are only beautiful in soul, not appearance,
therefore,
to the world,
are not worth the trouble.
The ugly girls
must remain
ugly.

an Umbellularia
rose up in Atlanta
priestly and tall
shading my squall
Breathless and begging
I swear
if I got
just one night of your love
I wouldn't break your stay
I wouldn't let her sway
I'd **** them all-  I'd let God die
if they made you cry
Umbellularia I swear
just give me one
and I'd walk back into the sun

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.

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.

I don't know how not to be alone.

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 always wondered,,,
if I could, play you a tune
and sing blue moon,
would you listen??

If my hair were a little longer
and it flowed just like hers
If my skin were only clearer
would you take photos of me,
so you can see me when I'm gone?

If I were only braver
and grabbed onto the rocks
you would see a lioness queen
hunting for your heart
If I told you what I wanted
we'd be dancing in our socks
on a rainy day we'd risk our lives
crossing the river path
I think if only I were only braver
I could climb to your height
I think if I only were only better
I'd be able to send the letter
that I wrote you for your birthday
still sitting in my desk drawer

I think if I were braver
I'd take what I want
I think if I had courage
I'd face the monsters
If I really cared about myself
I'd tell you no more
I'd tell you  you have twisted me
and made me cry
I'm not gonna keep asking why
for I think if I were more
I would leave you behind

been laying here for hours
rug burn on every inch of me
every inch of me
the itch can't make me forget
how it felt when you touched
                                                         ­ every inch of me
it's impossible to say
how much I hate
                            every inch of me
                            every inch of me
my every day-to-today
is consumed
with thoughts
of what if
                        every inch of me
                      every inch of me
were not really me

I wander through my own carcass
putting duct tape on every corner,
caution signs on the slippery bits,
and stitching every opening,
even those that should remain open.

I can't tell what's whole
or what's shattered
or what's cracked,
I have no idea what's broken inside me,
so I'm trying to fix everything,

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.

Hollow inside;
someday, a secret bride.

fists clutched, arms wrapped tight,
a hug or a fight?

vocal chords distilled
unable to rebuild.

bones so cold
and heart so old,
happy thoughts covered in mold
to match the soul too much like wold

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

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

every slow song
        reminds me of you
every held note
        a lingering memory
every lyric
        tattooed on my heart
every pause
             the emptiness I feel in your absence

Your eyes are not blue.
I can't swim deep in them
explore your lost memories
like Atlantis,
no,
your eyes are better than blue.
They're nearly black.
Your eyes
lift me off the ground
and float me,
breathless,
into space.
Your eyes are black as night
with a lighter brown rim of galaxies,
your eyes are otherworldly,
and I like them so much more
than the bluest blue.

I play it over in my head
Afraid to forget a second of it
Every word
Every laugh
Every view
The way you touched me
The way you reassured me
The way your honest eyes demanded truth
How you turned me
Molded me
Hands on my face
Down my chest
Squeezing my hourglass
And commanding my hips back and forth
I’ll keep my eyes closed
Hearing your voice on repeat
Listening to this song again
in bed
clinging to every second
you made me feel alive

I hate looking at you,
I'm always looking off-
down-
side-to-side-
always dodging your eyes-
they are so... Blue.
The bluest of blues,
a royal effervescent
clarical blue
and as my name implies
if I look
I'll want to go swimming in them.
Curse your golden-spun hair
fine skin
sly smile
shapely nose
and above all
curse those tempting blues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give me a sword
and I will cut through the tension,

give me a gun
and I will shoot the bullets
into the dirt
so they don't go elsewhere,

put me in a ring
and I'll tap out
before the bell has rung,

try as you might,
gossip
spit
hit
kick
blame me
insult me
taunt me
and tease me
there is nothing you can do
to make my fists clench,
to make my brow furrow
to incite a rage within me,
for even in defense,
I am a lover,
not a fighter.

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

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

There's a space
next to me on the dance floor

I picture you in it

I raise my hands to the air
           praise you
run down my neck
           your hands pressing in
down my body
            squeeze me
my crotch
           feel me
to the floor
            exhaust me
throw them back to the air
a room filled with sweat
             *smells like you

With you,

I grow stale,

Without you,

I die.

hugging myself
only makes me feel colder
wish I could make it out of the storm
but I walk with a ball and chain
foot dragging along the ice
bloated
like a rotten fish
puffy face
from all the times I've fallen
and smacked my face against the hard ground
still I got up and kept walking
then crawling
then stretching my flabby hand out
reaching
and reaching
till only my eyes
could look forward.

Why does being told to take care of myself
make me cry so?
I always feel like crying,
I'm always on the brink
of letting waterfalls drip down
but I hold them back
which sets them on fire.
You would think with my daily tears
that I would run out,
dry up like my **** skin,
but they keep coming.
I am an everlasting well
of misery and heartache,
I know not what keeps
this well so plentiful,
but I wish it would dry up and crumble.

it's been a week

but we okay

our faces long

but we don't sway

purple crescents under our eyes

but still our fists

face the skies

he,
has been on my mind lately.
Just a google search away,
there's his face,
wait,
that was 2012?
I was 15,
could have sworn I was a child,
absorbing the crime
with less acknowledgment
than an ant on my arm.
How could I have been 15?
I was so small,
it was so familiar,
and now it seems not so far away.
I suppose I like to think,
the trauma stopped when I grew up,
that all those bad things happened
when I was very small,
but they didn't stop.
They still haven't.
And at the end of the day,
I'm still a little girl,  
clutching my stuffed animals,
trying to make sense
of the world around me.

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

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.

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

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.

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 come home

and there is no one to hold me

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.

Truth is,
I suppose I really would like to be one of those girls
who frollicks in the sun in white dresses
and ballet slipper pink cardigans.

But I can't.
Something inside me fears it,
I don't feel... safe in those colors.
They don't fit me.
I'd like to look like Kalel from Wonderland Wardrobe,
but she's like every other girl,
tiny and naturally cute.
I'm too big to wear those clothes.
I have a big head and big arms
and a long torso
and strong horse legs.

I'd like to be a lady,
cute and sweet,
but I was born unfeminite.
I was born ugly.
A goblin amongst humans.

I'd like to wear my hair like that
and flaunt just like all of them,
but I could never do that,
for I was not made like that.
I wasn't made
for lace and ribbons
I was made for leather and chains
even better, a box,
a cardboard box suits me best
as it'd hide all my features
and keep my hidden from the world.

Phantom of the opera,
I do love the opera,
covering my pig face in a mask
and stumpy body in a black shroud.
I'm doomed to be like this.

I wanted to be like the other girls so bad
but I couldn't
and I started to hate it,
hate those colors
and stupid flowers
and ribbons
and makeup-
because they didn't look good on me,
made me look like a fool.

And now I'm trapped in
black, black,
black,
black
and more black
only ever black
black and bulky
because my body isn't like theirs
and my head is big
and like that of a pig,
so I'm stuck hiding
knowing I'll never be able to wear
white dresses
or those Ballet Slipper Pink cardigans.

slowly
the notifications ease to none
Inbox (1)
midnight advances
lovers drift from romances
I still stand-
though the web I spun spanned
-alone,
watching drifters drift home
no one left to speak
isolated feels the freak
I'm still awake
my leg begins to shake
I wait
I know it's late
but I still post
ask the server host
is anybody out there
breathing internet air
who else sees night and is alive
Friends Online (5)
I become the owl
responding to the wolf howl
our communication afoul
"Hoo?"

Bite These Wires
Let you carry me away
Help me escape
Fill my silence
With words of pain and turmoil.
Each note overflowing with guilt
Every word trying to forget your mistakes
But the tune is beautiful
And calms the soul.
You say you are insane
I say no to your lovely name
A hard time for you
Is my cure for all,
You rose when I fell
But fell when I built myself back up
You ask who will love you
Only to receive my undying love
Never-ending respect
And adoration to last an eternity .
You speak of strings and battles,
We listen
with our glasses filled to the brim with Champagne,
eagerly waiting for the light to arrive.
Twilight comes and you ask us again who will love you
And though’ we respond it seems you do not hear us.
Ask us again and again as if you do not believe it.
A lad insane,
A lad to be loved.

I like to wear
the bare minimum
and sit out
in the pouring rain.
I let it wash over me
until my peppered shivers
are convulsions.
I lay back
and swallow
the fresh drops,
letting it rejuvenate me,
hoping I will melt in
with the rain
and wash over the earth
into the dirt and roots
spreading
feeding
nourishing,
doing some good,
finally of use.

Today was the first time I felt it.
As I looked into that wretched reflection,
the feeling washed over me.
Nothing but self loathing and disgust.

I hate my fat face
and my fat body.
I hate my acne
I hate my frizzy hair
I hate my awkward body
I hate my limp
I hate my grades
I hate how alone I am
How unwanted I am
I hate how I can't talk to people
I hate how ******* ugly I am...

It was the first time I felt that feeling,
of convulsing into that mirror,
smashing it to bits
and using the shards to paint
the walls and floor a gruesome red.
It was a new feeling,
but one that I knew
would soon become all too familiar.
All too common.

Death didn't scare me.
The pain didn't scare me.
What scared me,
is to think about all the people it would effect...
and by that,
I mean no one.
no one at all.
They wouldn't notice if I left.
They wouldn't care.

Mark it down.
10/11/12
I willed myself to end.

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.

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.