I live on an island
all by myself.
I rest easy while I work in the shade of day
and battle imaginary monsters in the dark.

I put together sticks and wood
and use my hair to hold it together,
making a shield.
but it's only wooden
and as the imaginary monsters beat down-
the shield breaks-
but just in time for morning to come.

During the day I sit in the shade
and pull out my hair
and make a new wooden shield
readied to be broken that very night.

I've thought about perhaps using a rock as my shield,
but I'm all alone
and not strong enough to lift its weight.
so I continue to pull out my hair
and tie together wood
to help protect me
against the imaginary monsters
that plague my every night.

my eyes are raw
and sting
from the constant blotting
of deep
and soulful
resurrections of emotions,

perhaps I would feel better
If I stopped trying to hide them.

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

air smells like vanilla bean
this candle will burn all night
and I'm exactly as distant as I seem
you don't have to raise your voice
I made my choice I made my choice
I hear you loud and clear
every day since I was baby dear
everybody told me
no-body would want me
so hey hey shut your mouth
let me be
I'm stayin pretty in my head
spend the last of my life in my bed
hey hey leave be me
nobody's gonna come lookin' for me
dreamin' forever in white heaven sheets
dream me likes to gamble
play for keeps
sell all my possessions
so I can keep my obsessions
don't you raise your voice
I made my choice I made my choice
just let me sleep
let me dream
give it time
give it time
I'm sure I'll rest in peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm, dreaming...
        of a white....
         christmas...."

Did she stop singing,
because she didn't know the rest of the words?
because she disliked the sound of her voice?
or because the echo of her tune
was far too small
for a house that big?

It is an everlasting headache,
one to torment the soul.
It is a constant throbbing of the cranium,
from which I suffer.

It is the feeling of a knife on your skin,
It is the feeling of a bat against your bones
It is the feeling of wires bound around your chest
                               squeezing till' you nearly burst.

It is the result of loneliness
It is the result of starvation
It is the result of an addiction
                            to something quite sick.

Something form the yellow of your nails
the shedding of hair
and thin skin
where veins pulse a quiet blue.

A something not many people notice,
save for their glossy eyes;
   windows to the soul they once had,
but lost, so long ago.

movies
meals
activities

choice of dress
choice of words
choice of pets

events
laugh
decor

thoughts
feelings
actions
decisions
ide­as
revisions

there is no denying
in every aspect of my life
I am mild

The only thing that works
is drowning it out
with these happy sounds
so loud
my ears bleed
my head throbs
but oh
these sounds are so good

Miss Wilde
Miss Wilde
he says with a smile
Miss Wilde
Miss Wilde
  he shakes his silly head

I cook a grand meal
but not without leaving behind a mess
  Classic Miss Wilde
he says
  Classic Indeed!

I'm ***** and clumsy
efficient but messy
I mix up my words
pronounce things funny
I sit on the floor
in funny positions
I'm kind but sarcastic
innocent but *****
knocking things over
tripping over flat surfaces
stealing the blankets
sleeping in strange positions
these things he calls quirky
these things he says are part of me
these things make me scared
one day he'll say
Oh Miss Wilde
        Miss Wilde
        I've known you awhile
        But you're just a child
        Miss Wilde
        You had me beguiled
         But your personality is really quite mild
         Miss Wilde
         Your antics have got me all riled
         You're wild Miss Wilde
         and I'm absolutely reviled
         so go on your way
         get out get out
         to the sandbox and play
         because you're just a child
         My dear young Miss Wilde

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

I saw a thread
and it told me not to pull
I couldn't help but see where it could go
so I reached and I tugged-
then pursed my lips and shrugged
pretending not to care
about the tapestry that came a crashing
that came unravelling
kicking up dust
as my dreams began dismantling-
it would happen again
and again
I can't resist a thread
even though I can see, at the end, only dread.

I heard you like models
tall
pretty
and thin

I heard they're half your age.
I don't care.

I'll wear those heels
cut my skin
and starve myself,
maybe someday I'll be good enough for you.

Do not mistake me when I say that I fell,
for I did not fall in love,
not persay
not perchance
I fell long ago as a child
and I shattered.
I shattered and each of those
broken pieces reflected a monster.
And though through life
I have reached for the light
the darkness continues to encase me
consoling me with the one solitary fact
that only a monster can put me back together again.

Do not mistake me when I say that I fell,
for I did not fall in love,
I fell into a sickness.

I fell,
into the dark.

There is a line
between
pain and
pleasure.
But when that line blurs-
When the pleasure overthrows
your inhibitions
and the pain numbs your body,
When pain becomes pleasure
and pleasure becomes pain,
how do you know when to stop.

I glorify it.
I crave the taste
of the sickness.
of the disease rippling across my skin,
boiling in my veins
and flowing through my blood.

Is it Healthy?
I love you,
I love it,
but is it healthy
To walk the streets at night
in constant fear
not only of what lurks in the shadows
but of you too.

Anorexic bodies
falling all around us.
Mine included.
Skinnier by the day,
yellow nails chipping and peeling,
grinding of the teeth
to procure a never ending headache.

Pale skin;
cold to the touch
from lack of circulation.
Weak in your arms
an intoxicated mind
and a heart struck through with daggers.

Blasting screams
and beats
to block out the world
and create a throbbing in our heads.
Your freak show;
My guilty little pleasure.

So sick
So satanic
So tenebrific
So twisted
so disturbed
so disgusting
so beautiful
so broken.

cradled by poison,
hold me in your arms,
a monster in the shadows
with thanatognomonic eyes.

With my thanatophobia
You manage to keep me alive.

You do it to feel the pain,
as a confirmation that you're still alive,
But I do it to feel nothing,
to feel all this pain
all these repressed emotions
disappear.

Overall we do it to stay alive,
and shred away
our pitiful sorrows
one by one,
piece by piece.
For inch by inch
we come closer
to meeting the same
fate
of our cold,
useless,
easily forgotten bodies
lying on a metal slab.
Soon to be greeted
by the maltreated Earth.

Where do I go from here
trapped inside looming fear?

How do I step one foot out,
into this everlasting drought?

How can I move down the street
when, facing the wrong way, are my feet?

Where on earth would I go
when my reactions are famously slow?

Mr. Money's never satisfied
and all those tears you've cried?
honey they better be diamonds because
every penny counts
when you're down
every penny counts
when stomach grumbles sound
Every nickel hurts
every nickel burns
every dime
is worth more than your time
You give it all
to Mr. Money
and Mr. Money
gives all
to none.

Lurking in the shadows:
Nothing.
Sneaking about the night:
Nothing.
Watching from the sky:
Nothing
Blending in with you and i:
Nothing.
Some would say it sick,
to be in this state of mind.
How can one not be?
Reality hurts,
whether it be happy or sad,
it rips at my heart.
I'm a bit lost,
I'm a bit crazy,
A girl stuck in a fantasy world,
waiting for a fantasy man.
Perhaps it is you who are crazy,
Reality is too real,
I refuse to believe that this is all there is,
I will never give up hope,
lock me up and judge me,
I'm not going to accept this,
accept that what we see is as simple as it appears,
I'm not going to stop,
Stop while this life has so little to offer.
Then again,
it has plenty.
Plenty of life and opportunities to keep happy;
for those who are lucky,
for those who can afford it.
For those of us that are stuck,
struggling for breath,
striving for survival,
Begging on our hands and knees for a chance.
The teachers,
Didactic,
such motives and lies as they preach but judge.
It seems those who have accepted their fate do not understand,
A girl trapped in a fantasy world,
waiting for a fantasy man,
a fantasy life,
But you see,
things get a bit muddled.
When your body is stuck
and your mind and soul are elsewhere.
While your skeleton is hurting,
working,
sacrificing,
you're not really there.
You're where you'd like to be,
where you ought to be.
Where you have a purpose,
and I say,
it's a **** GOOD PURPOSE.
You can find a million reasons to live,
A thousand reasons to smile,
A hundred reasons to laugh,
A few reasons to keep going,
but there's always ONE.
One part of you that will look to the stars,
searching.
waiting.
hoping.
praying.
begging.
faithful.
Always.

Adopt me
and love me.

I'm free so
kick me
break me
***** me
drug me

so long as you love me.

It consumes my every waking moment
devours the hours
is the polluted oxygen for my lungs
everything I taste and feel
it is everything around me,
it is my world.
I cannot leave it-
not for a second.
I was born inside it
and will die here.

I am self loathing.

I am misery.

But not Fish,
she'd say,
"Fish isn't damaged like the rest of us".

"I bought a lucky charm,
it's of a knitted fish,
because that's what you are,
my lucky little Fish"

"You're my kind little guppy"
"You're my protective piranha"
"Solitary Angel-Fish"

With all these names,
all this faith in me,
day after day
told
that I am their
"Lucky little Fish"
all because I'm not damaged.

Her forrest eyes looking into mine,
the admiration in her face,
the hint of hope in that stranger's,
at the mention
of my not being damaged.

"You're a quiet one, Fish,
but you're not damaged,
you're okay,
you're miraculous"

In that moment I felt guilty.
Thank you for believing that,
thank you for holding me high...

if only I could not lie to you.

I'd gotten so close to wanting to tell the world
no I'm not okay
No I haven't eaten today,
nor yesterday,
yes I'd like a hug
Yes I'd like to die.

But it's that faith
from those who are undoubtedly wounded
that tightens my binds.
I'm grateful
for the way they press into my skin,
holding everything in...

I needed that.

I needed that burst to regenerate
my need to keep quiet.

So I shall.
So I'll never stop.
I'll forever be your
"Lucky Little Fish"

I want to hang out with you
but I don't drink or smoke
I want to laugh with you
but I'm not as funny
I want you to like me
but you're way skinnier than me
more attractive too
and oh god that hair;
funny ***** and lovely
to match your personality.
I overhear you say
no one gets the anger that fills you up
that makes you smoke
but I guess you'll never know
that same anger
has eaten my soul,
I want to know more about you
but I'm sure you eyes glaze over me,
you don't even know I'm here.

He plays the guitar
        with a soft raspy voice
             we spent last night *******
                                   this morning too
                                he didn't mind
                        take after take
      of my audition video
seventeen strong
but he demanded ten more
             shopping
      and laughing
      and kisses
                        losing count
                              of how many times
                                          he tells me I'm beautiful
resting my head on his
as he watches all twenty seven auditions
again and again
to make sure I am successful
and choose only the best
        I fall asleep in kingsize white sheets
        peaceful
and smiling
                    knowing that I am safe and happy.

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'd like to say
I'm an honest
loyal girl
I always keep my promises
unless they're to myself
because I promised myself I would be happy
promised myself I'd take care
get off the ground
stop getting stepped on
do what I could
                       to get the best out of life
and here I am
here I am
breaking those promises with every breath.

I don't know why
I don't want to admit
I need somebody
to hold me
and love me
and tell me I'm beautiful.

Skin pale as white roses
laid upon a sleeping corpse.

Eyes of the sky
and an unknown part of the universe,
forcing one to get lost in thought-
lost in their depth and memories.

Lips, oh snow white
a thousand expressions in every twitch

So frail,
the wind teases the thought of pulling you away
-which it could-
but it lets you stay so we can see your beauty.

In the mirror
what do you see
a goddess unlike me
or anyone, really.

Light steps through the halls
small tight frame striking and bold
a smile so sweet and so genuine
and raven hair that floats like silk.

You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
Better than any magazine.
You haunt my dreams
and tantalize my days-
truly,
there is no one more beautiful than you.

ta meg hjem
gates bevoktet av Troll
sterke menn
sterke kvinner
sterke folk
la meg kjempe sammen
med deg
bror
søster
den kalde kan ikke skade oss
la oss gå hjem
til skjønnhet og fredelig
til frisk luft
og vennlig gatene
feire til Ragnarök
og henge vår elendigheter
på Yggdrassil
over bro
over Troll
der det hele begynte
la oss være brennende som våre forfedre
smart som vår kin
vi har fortsatt tid
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,

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.

Sometimes,
in the night,
I wake up crying from a dream.
A dream that was good,
so incredibly good.

The kind of dream
where I'm invited to do things
and let in on jokes
and lives
and thoughts
and everyday things,
even the simplest...

the kind of dream
in which I can speak freely,
and I'm afraid of nothing.
The kind of dream
where I'm a normal person,
and people want me.

But then I wake up from the tears
because even in sleep,
even when I try to hide in dreams
I still know I'll never be like that.
I'll never speak freely,
be brave
be normal
be liked.

be wanted.

I'll never be someone people will want
and remember
and cherish,

I'll only ever be me.
and me isn't worth existing.

Tales marketed at the edge of all existence,
formulated by mass hysteria
and poverty
spit from the grinded ideals of our fathers
but our fathers were twisted and aged-
but our mothers,
our mothers
whom were convicted as the criminally insane
and held at a lower standard
knew the future,
they knew we would crumble,
that we must crumble.
For it has been predicted since ancient times
that mankind would fall
but the fall was blamed on Gods
and those of a higher power
because they could not believe
that man would wound himself,
slowly poison himself until he drags
his black and blue skin across the lands
and eats all he sees,
gorging himself till he bursts
and drowns our cities in his impurities.
Funny,
built like monkeys we are fools,
but more to the liking of our pink skin
we are pigs at heart

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

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

Do you think I'm pretty?

if you say no,

I'll slit my throat.

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

my darling is like most
and does not understand.
He believes
because our trials are different
that I do not struggle the same.
He does not see
my desperate battle to crack a smile,
only another mood swing.
He does not understand
how hard it is
to throw 18 traumatized years away
and pretend it never happened.
He sees twelve hours sleep
excessive and lazy
because he cannot understand
how one can be so sad
they cannot get out of bed.
He can worry
about clean hands
and crumbs
but the millions of worries
that send me sprawling
to sharp breaths
and tears
are inconceivable.
My darling is always level headed
calm cool and collected
and is unaware of my days.
I spend all day
doing what I can
to make sure he is happy,
I avoid the mirror
for a glimpse
summons waterfalls
I take mood stabilizers
exercise
and eat well
but most days
I walk around the house like a zombie
in despair because he,
like most everyone,
will never understand how hard it is,
the weight on my chest
the constant tears
the black dog
the ball and chain
the panic
the fear
all the little things
I struggle through
everyday,
the daily war I wage with myself
the never ending hell
the bravery
and strength I have
to admit I need help
and speak my troubles
to one I trust,
my hours of hard work
are not spent at a paid job
but trying to love and live and breath
and smile and be healthy
for I've got a long way to go
and it will take a long time, but,
my darling does not see this
and is now
no longer my darling.

I want to light a thousand torches
to guide his way.
I want to lasso the moon
so no matter the darkness
he has a light.
but he is my moon,
he is my light,
so I can't be his.
I can't be his last match
I can't be the wind
that pushes the clouds from the sun
I can't be his cup of tea
on a rainy day
or shade on a sunny day,
I can't be the one that makes him happy.
when my only happiness comes from him
I can't be the girl
to make him smile
or wake up every morning thankful.
I want to be the hand,
forever stretched out
ready to pull him up
if he falls,
but I can't.
I can't.

I dreamt

of Ombra

and others

violating

the sanctuary,

and the Goddess,

   loved it.

I'll play a song for you,
you who told me I was strong
when the bruises raged on.

I'll write you a melody,
for you who was the armor against their words
and happily sat in the sinking ship alongside me.

you who turned your back on the world
because nobody understood us, like us.
You who knew every inch of me
and I of you.
You who knew when I was lying
when I hadn't eaten-
when my stitches had come undone
in the middle of the night
there you were,
needle and thread in hand,
without warning,
simply because you just, knew.

This song is for you,

For the years you kept me company,
for the looks you gave
for the undying trust
from keeping the knife from shedding my wrist
for letting me know it's okay to break the rules
to know there is no shame in who I am
for letting me know day after day
that I'm stronger than any,
and I'm kind,
and I'm worth it,
and awesome,
and... that I shouldn't care what people think because,
because I'm all I need,
and
you'll always be here.

But you're not here.

So, I guess despite the unsewn stitches
and long nights
and month where I convinced myself I hated you...
I guess it's true that I'm all I need.

I've left behind who I was,
our names no longer rhyme,
you found someone else to rhyme with.
But it's okay because I'm ignoring
the pit in my stomach,
the void in my heart,
the voice I once used so often,
I'm ignoring it all because-
I'm all I need.

so indeed,
this song is for you.
You who told me,
from the start,
I can do this alone.
You,
who is more like an imgainary friend
I see ghost from place to place
every now and then...

This tune is for you.

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.

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.

Icy breeze
whipping through
my freshly curled hair,
goose bump covered arms
holding on to creaking chains
as I swing,
with her,
under the night sky
salted with stars
and bright planets
and oh look,
over there is the Little Dipper