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.

The human vocabulary is vast and complicated,

there are endless possibilities,

but there's a glitch in my system,

for no matter what sentence

is spoken to me

the AutoCorrect of my mind

only lets me hear

that I am not wanted.

just a girl
confused about boys
trying to find her place
laying on the floor
watching Skins
dying to be skinny
but can't stop binging
crying over silly things
heartbroken over matters
that in years won't matter
lonely
angry
misunderstood
broken inside
writing poems
because I'm so deep
and unique
no idea
how to be social
without the media
staying away from drugs and drink
because that's the only way to cope
with past tragedies
that have soiled my good dress
so I only wear pants
in case I need to go on an adventure
so my life can be more like those teenage movies
with dancing
montages
love triangles
and happy endings
thinking I'm extraordinary
pretending I don't notice
how conformed and ordinary I am
unsatisfied
reactive
and inactive
I'm just a teenager
no different from the others
I'm just a teenager
and soon I will grow up.

"You can't win the war if your mind is always starting the fight"
I stop cold in my tracks upon hearing this.
My heart thumps slowly,
my mind is blank.
"win the war"?
By this time in my life
the idea of winning the war inside
is so foreign
I hardly process it.

"win the war"
I search inside and find ruins,
the war ended long ago,
it raged filthy
and strong
and deep
and my frail body could not fight back.

"win the war",
nearly an insult
to my body
which is now just a tomb,
a deprived carcass
whose flesh was picked off
by the crows
long before I was told it was possible to
"win the war"

The war took my mind
swallowed my soul
drowned my heart
and doused the air in flames.

There is no longer a war to win,
only a forgotten soldier to bury.

I'm not paying attention,
I glance around the room, distracted.
My eyes glaze over to him-
**** ****
he looks right at me
oh god- he probably thinks I was staring at him-
he's probably creeped out
oh god no
please don't hate me-
oh crap I looked at him again.
ugh.
great. now he thinks I'm creepy.

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.

Maybe it's time to grow up,
the fantasy world I've been hiding in
is killing me,
there's hardly anything left,
just an empty shell
for a heart
that once beat true and blue,
or did it ever?

I try to convince myself I'm special,
I can do something great
that I'll leave this **** town
and not be as poor as the ***** who raised me,
that I'll be somebody,
that I'll be loved-
I'm not looking for a fairytale
I'm just looking for a way out.

I've spent too much time
cowering in my books
and spells
and Doctors and demon hunters
and wizards
and zombie-slayers
--but it's been so long since
I've written something I could be proud of.
It's been so long since my imagination
has brought me euphoria,
since my eager anticipation
of the impossible
has granted me talent
to write a story
to bring readers to tears...


I guess I'm growing up.
Shaking solemn hands
with a childhood
thats lasted too long.
good.
maybe now I can die.

I didn't know I wanted you until I saw you in that tux,
holding her hand,
lord, she looked beautiful.
so **** beautiful it ruined my night.
She's tall with clean skin and luscious hair
and a smile that lights up the room ,
and she gets you-
thinks like you
she's clever and so ****** poised and stunning-
what must I look like compared to her?
what does the mud look like to the diamond?

The way you scoot closer
and touch me
and laugh with me
and hug me
and make every excuse to have me leave class with you
even though you could do what you've always done
and ditch by yourself
and opening up to me
and I wanted you to be my friend
but I didn't know until today
I wanted it to be more.

It's unfair of me to feel sad
at seeing you with her
or angry at her because she's so perfect-
it's unfair of me to be jealous
or to feel longing
because I know I couldn't be with someone like you
I know I wouldn't do it-
not with those drugs in your system,
but oh, tall skinny boy who's not even my style,
I didn't know I wanted you like that.
I didn't know I wanted you.
I didn't know.

She was Lead. Jacketed with Steel and Copernickle. She was so weighted and dragging in movement, one could not be sure she's been standing still her whole life. Waiting, as if packaged on a shelf. Her own mass betrays her, every day. Exhausted from fighting her own weight to reach very high, or step too fast.
She was as shocked as anyone, when the package was opened, and she removed.
She had as little idea as anyone, what would occur when he, like a practiced marksman, skillfully loaded her, knowing just where to aim..
and he shot her, with a bang her bullet  sped fast outwards and streaking through debree and walls and hearts and nature.
Structures big and small her bullet punctured,
it was a marvel, the bullet would not stop.
Never ricochet,
perhaps it would circle the earth.
perhaps it would break the atmosphere.
anyone who's anyone
walks with shielded head
for the answer was not clear.
Anyone who's anyone only knew,
that when her bullet was fired, her bullet, would not stop.

Hello, weeping angel.
How are you, fallen star?
Where have you been, thorny rose?
Deflowered
and snapped,
left to turn crisp
and brown
in winter's quiet wake.

How do you feel,
with clouds hugging at your shine,
Cobwebs masking your beauty,
how does it feel
to be destroyed and
shattered by them?
Left in shambles, broken...


Tell me, flower,
how does it feel to die?

the charming figment of a man stood against the wall with hands in pocket

"feel drained, my love?"

"Lost in the fog, I'm afraid"

her eyes grew and drooped to cartoonish proportions

grammar and spelling amiss

she sighed and hunched

typing typing typing

the ever secretly questioning robot

going about it's robot business

"Want to run away, my love?"

"very much so... away from my mind... very much so"

she forgot to write a poem that day,
and the day next
and the day next,
she forgot to write a poem that week,
and the week next
and the week next,
she forgot to write a poem that month,
and soon forgot that she had forgotten to write a poem,
she forgot all about words that rhymed
and titles
and tags
she forgot to write poems,
because she forgot to be sad.

here we are in the dark
did they
ever tell you
how hard this would be
how hard you'd have to work
we
here
here we are
you're learning now
                learning to
break through the lies they told you
it's hard to understand
you're running around
with your hands above your head
surrender surrender
they like it that way
kick your heels up high
you'll never stop learning
they never told you
about all you could be
how hard it would be
there's so much more
to everything
and you're just figuring it out
they could have taught you early
but they didn't
by the time you're ready
your skin is sagging
your mind is running in circles
with hands above head
see what they've done
see what the dark has
it's all beginning
you're just now learning
not prepared
and you'll make their same mistake
repetition  
repetition
hands above head
jogging to the beat
trying so hard
but your skin is sagging
and you know
it's too late
to reach your potential.

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.

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

My father hit me.
Hands strangling my neck.
I was just a kid,
he said it was my fault,
I believe that it was.
He said I didn't deserve to live,
I believe that too.
I believe his screams
and the bruises he laced my body with
I believe his words
that I'm nothing
that I'm garbage.
I blame that monster
for breaking something inside me
that 7 years later is still not repaired.

I blame her for never calling the cops.
For calling me a liar
for telling me I gave the bruises to myself.
for making me feel guilty.
I blame her for telling me she wished I was one of her miscarriages
I blame her for telling me I'm good for nothing
for telling me I'm fat
for telling me,
like him,
I deserve to die.

I blame them
for the anxieties
and anger
and fears
and panic
and the scars on my heart.

I'm scared of the world.
I'm scared of it's people.
I need help.
I'm dying.
slowly.
quickly.
steadily.
and not at all.

I feel everything,
every word
every breath
is a dagger to what once was a heart
when every day
you're told you're wrong
you're told you're a mistake-
an inconvenience-
that could never be loved
it takes an effect
you cannot fight
and just when I think
maybe I can get better
a single word
sends me spiraling
dying
crying
suffocating
and scared
wishing someone would touch me
in a kind, gentle way
would hug me till I fall asleep
and love me
even though I cry a lot.

I was told
the blame was on me
that I ruin
and poison
everything I touch,
but I blame them,
so much so
I can't get better,
so maybe we're both to blame.

Forcing,
Grinding,
Beating,
Breaking,
Till’ it dissolves-
But without reward.
Without poetry.
I wander through an empty house,
With a blank slate.
My mouth hangs open
In the frightful anticipation,
A grotesque eager waiting
To hear the crackle of the quiet,
Long forgotten voice.
Merry music to accompany.
Faint lies,
“It’ll be alright”
but the merriment creates an anger within.
Suffering,
Broken pencils, wasted ink,
Slamming themselves against stone walls
Leaving themselves behind
In the pitiful agony of hope
That something pleasant might emerge.
But alas, it is useless.
There is no more ink,
No led,
No charcoal,
All the wells are dried up,
Nothing but my own rotten blood remains
To help produce a work of words
I can be proud of,
But without success.

He writes it in cards,
one every year,
he asks for my forgiveness,
and to hold me again.
He asks me
whatever happened to my dear sweet girl?
"You put your hands on her," is all I can say.
Why must you be so cruel?
"I'm nothing compared to you,"
Please forgive me
"I'm too empty inside. I don't want to."
Lets be a family again
"Never."
Please
"*******"
Let me be a father again
"I hope you burn."
Wherever did my dear sweet girl go?
"You smashed her head into a wall, she forgot the innocence but remembered the pain."

wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?
she wore sunny dresses
and never stopped smiling.
she liked to laugh
and dance in the sun,
she liked to be alive
she liked to breath.

wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?
her smiles are fake
her laugh constricted
she sleeps in the rain
she hates to exist
she cannot breath.

wherever did his sweet little girl go?
her corpse is somewhere,
maybe in those sheets
face hidden by that pillow,
her soul a ghost
that wanders tall gardens.

wherever did his sweet little girl go?
wherever did she go?
wherever did she go?

Nobody has time to define
their own beginnings
middles and ends
non linear format
muttering disguise through minimalism and simplicity
in it's rawest of transformations
and I can't bare to sit still long enough
to appreciate it.
The world is going too fast
we can't sit still
shaking our legs at our desk
instant updates
sweet sugar
instant pleasure
instant
asap
at a whim
we're moving so fast
we can't slow down
not enough to appreciate
a tune that can lift you
and carry you
into a mindful experience.
I'd like to lay here
and listen to the bloodflows of sohn
but I was raised in this very fast world
and I don't know how to slow down
to close my eyes
and listen
without checking my texts and notifications
I can't slow down
I can't be still
I can't breath.

spirit man
holy man
you make a martyr of me
emotionally
lungs wide
the sweeping energy I see
glory in the eyes of you
an addiction I won't refuse
an affliction unexplained
a reaching cure for century long pain
spirit man
holy man
careful man
see the energy
enter me
betray me
all forces en heigh
spoken loud and deep
I shall wallow in my keep
desiring sultry repent
sweet florida scent
of beautiful spirit man's intent

Making something
from nothing,
is harder than it seems.

We all have our place in this world,
a talent unique to each,
a calling,
a purpose,
a reason to breath...
so maybe that's why my lungs hurt.
they struggle each intake
and nearly give up on the out.

Drums beat slow in the distance,
and so many walk to the beat-
but my uncoordinated feet stumble soddenly.
My fingers are long,
but fumble too quick to play music,
so I cannot create my own beat.

We all reside at the bottom of a pit,
black and coarse,
with the light of the world atop,
gathering at the edges, we start to climb,
but I'm too weak and cannot get very far.
I'm left behind by the others
strong enough to climb to the top,
and no matter how hard I work,
my arms remain weak,
so I sit at the bottom
watching the other weak
gain the strength to climb the walls.

The beautiful,
the bold,
the brave,
the blind,
the clever,
the artistic,
the talented,
the determined,
the kind,
the old,
all kinds of people
in all kinds of color
and sizes
find their own way,
yet mine remains imponderable.

I drag my feet to the sound of silence.
I push through the next breath.
my weak arms barely holding on.

I'm nothing
that simply can't become something.

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?

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 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.

I walked by the counter

and noticed the roses,

drained pigment

now pink

and wrinkled

crisp and withered.

I think to myself

why, when ever did that happen?

only yesterday they stood tall and red.

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.

Tug at me
with your yellow teeth
stained by cigarettes and alcohol.

Assess me with dilated eyes.

Show me a gross kind of love,

the kind of love I'll understand.

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 looked into my shadow,
black with such ignorant purity,
yet with the good judgement
I am void of
to shout out
"Don't look at the mirror!
Don't you dare even glance!"
Why not? I'd ask,
foolishly looking into
the reflective glass,
eyeing the pink,
pudgy,
fat,
stupid,
repulsive
stain on society that is me.
Cringing at the image that displeases me so,
the image that has caused the scars on my wrists.
the image that haunts my days
and steals away my nights.

it hurts.

"Because the mirror is a liar"
My shadow replied.
"Because the mirror is a monster,
what you see there is not you,
what you see there is pain.
Look closer,
for that slight warp in the mirror
that gives you a slant to your mouth
is not a malfunction of manufacture-
but of the mind,
carefully crafted
and polished
by society
that you are not good enough,
that you are something you should be ashamed of
until you hand them those so easily torn papers
you've spent so long working for
so you can be chiseled down to nothing
and pumped with plastic
to satisfy a twisted need
for standardization.
That is why you don't look in that mirror.
Because you will not see yourself,
you will see a false projection
of everything you've been told
is not okay."


I tore my eyes away from the mirror-
And for a moment.
just for a moment.
I believed that I was pretty.

Cafe girl
     writing in your notebook
about needles and knives
pausing the white knuckle
to post an instapic
of that chai latte
with cinnamon sprinkled on top
  too perfect
    for the heartbroken caption
you thought of a week ago
             do you
             do you
             do you wish
you had someone sitting next to you
        reading over your shoulder
head in the crook of your neck
smelling like vanilla
   cafe girl
            I bet you have lots of dreams
so why don't you write those down instead

Sleep is the natural state
humbled and secure,
aluminum containers feed energy into me
coffee stained teeth
vanilla spice energy tea
smashing through my veins,
              the only way for me to stay alive
                                                           ­             is if I am forced

I confront all that you have done
barr my teeth and hitch and scream
I want you to know you have not won
that I did not feel or hear
a word you spat
a hand you slapped
that I am a beast of the new world
glistening motives totally unfurled
marching on
living on

what a fantasy it is
the winning of the battle,

in truth
I am weak,
and burdened,
longing for sleep.

no
no
go away
you've caught me at a bad time
no
no
not right now
I'm busy
so busy
my head is spinning
I can't hang out today
I'm busy breaking mirrors
I can't party all night long
I have to stain my bed with tears
I'd love to see a movie
But I'd rather see scars on skin
I could celebrate with you
but I'm choking on candy confetti
Why scream at a concert
when I can scream
my own self loathing and frustration
till my throat is raw
no
no
go away
I can't come out to play
I'm busy
so busy
dying and dying
and dying

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

A dark,
empty classroom.
Sitting here alone,
feeling no different
than when it was full.

I've never been scared like this before,
not until now,
never has someone known my secrets
Never has someone known how damaged I am.
It terrified me.
My poetry,
my true heart,
sewn together with scraps,
splayed out for strangers to see.
But that's just it,
strangers.
I'll never have to come face to face with them,
I'll never have to hide
and blatantly lie to them.
But what happens when I come face to face
with someone who knows my writing best?

I felt scared.
I was worried this past-stranger
would let something slip

The people I see daily must never know I'm hurt,
must never know
my nights of insomnia
are filled with tears,
and must never question my bitter humor.

But I was lucky,
lucky that the stranger,
like everyone else,
simply doesn't care.

I look at this empty classroom,
desks in shambles and dusty books
with plain walls,

it sends an eerie shiver up my spine
with the creeping question of
"what if?"

What if someone cared?
I can only pray
that will never happen.

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

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
I'll crack a window,
if you want,
so you can find your way in,

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
to light your way,
let you know I still burn for you,

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
so long as you promise not to knock it down,
promise not to set flame to what I have built.

I'll leave a candle lit for you,
always.

Deep in the womb,
an innocent beating,
unaware of the terror outside.
Ignorant
and thrashing,
begging to move-
to be released
and learn.

Emerging only to see
darkness
in an abandoned society.
The need to thrash replaced by the need to sit still
and keep things as they were.
That need to learn diminished
by the forced ignorance
and fear of truth.

That small,
beautiful being
would grow large in size
but small in mind
while living in this corrupted world.

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.

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 hands
twirl my hair
clockwise
as my being is paused
in uncertainty,
for none is your master,
not even time.
no, you refuse to consort
not for any thing
not for any one
not even time,
not even time runs your schedule,
so here I am,
my hands go clockwise
as I wonder
how long
you will keep me waiting

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.

for once
I would like to fall asleep
in someone's arms
and drift to happy dreams
feeling safe,
and warm,
and calm,
perfectly at ease
breathing in their scent
knowing
that I wouldn't mind
waking up.

"Why don't you come inside, Fish?
or you could just stay out here,
because I know you like to be alone"

That hit like daggers in my heart.
Especially coming from him,
I look up to him so much,
I shouldn't but I do.
He means well, I think,
it was more of a joke, sort of,
he wasn't being serious,
but the way he said it hurt.

Sure I lingered a moment in the rain
waiting for the rest of the people to enter the lobby
and I'd go last but-
I don't know.
it hurt.
him saying that.
that people think that.

No, Rob,
I don't like to be alone,
but being alone is easier
and the world is very scary
and I'm not very brave
so everyone thinks I like to be alone
but I don't.
I really don't.

It's too hard for me to speak
I don't know why, it just is.
It's too hard for me to step forward
and be like everyone else
I try so hard
but it's so terrifying.



the feeling of loneliness chills my insides
and makes me cold and still.
think what you like of me,
but please,
especially not you,
don't think I like to be alone.
because I don't.

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 happy.
I am happier than one can be
If happy is another name for Misery
because then my Happy is endless.
It's a sick kind of misery,
a kind I've written of before.
It eats me from the inside out
but gives just enough
to keep me living off it evermore.
.
It's a ***** kind of misery.
One I can't quite place.
Each day I saunter from place-to-place
with such broken elegance
I feel as if I'm floating,
my puppeteer gently tugging at my strings.
.
It''s the kind of misery I cannot live without,
the kind of misery that taunts me
and keeps my mind occupied for hours
with thoughts of atrocities.
.
I focus on a spot,
I let that spot consume me.
The name,
*******,
it soothes me.
I'd never do drugs,
I'd never drink,
I claim this time and time again,
but why do I need it,
something I've never experienced,
something a naive young girl like me knows nothing about,
yet I dream of it.
I think about it all day long,
snorting
and an assortment of needles too
not to feel alive of course,
but to feel nothing-
to feel nothing at all.
Sometimes I sit in the dark
and I wheep,
I wheep for such atrocities as those
for they are horrid
but I want them
I NEED them
an addiction to something I've never known.
.
That is not all.
I'm in desperate need of hurt.
Desperate need of pain.
Desperate need of nothing-
need of death.
I do not want to die,
I simply want to feel nothing.
When I don't think of atrocities
My heart is pinned to dark Angels.
These dark angels change from time to time
but there remains a constant-
they are sick.
Bowie is my love,
my life,
my light,
he heals me in every which way
but there are other Angels too.
Those such as Joe Van Moyland
that sick little man
bone with a tight layer of skin
with floppy hair
have you seen that man
so sick
so grotesque
how can I not admire it.
I look at the healthy and I cringe,
I look at the sick and addicted
and I swoon.
I see these sick monsters whom
I've conjured up the idea that
monsters like them know the secret,
the secret to nothing
and secret to misery.
.
As my grades plummet
and quality fades
I leave friends behind
to spend my hours in a dark room,
starving myself silly
daydreaming of atrocities
and dark Angels
so that I may fill my body with misery
and maybe someday achieve the ideal
of nothing.