I adore the rain,
I long for those cloudy skies
and chilling winds,
with those shocking flashes of light...
but why does thunder shake my heart so?

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

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


please, God,
please.

Please do not take my sister.

She walks on egg shells
        there is no second chance
she wears a dress of broken glass
         the consequences will be dire
She's heard it all her life
          this isn't baseball- there's only one strike
Even in drama games
          one small ***** up
                  one unintentional mistake
                          the crowd goes wild
                                 SHEEEEEEEE'SSSSSS OUT OF HERE!

Don’t you dare ask me that question,
I beg of you, stop looking at me.
All of you stop!
Just leave me be.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to,
I’m not mean
I’m not crazy
How dare you say that I’m selfish,
I’m trying my best but can’t you see?
Clearly it’s killing me.
There is no shame in my honest silence,
Unlike the provocative lies you spew
Day after day
Pretending that you are good,
Fibbing that you’re okay.
I don’t lie like that,
Completely invisible when I lie flat,
Talk to me,
Set me free,
For I am she,
She with no name,
No chance of fame,
When you speak the tears will flow,
I promise this is not a show.
All the horror stories that I hear,
What is audible,
And being noticed,
THAT is my one true fear.

Sick, Sick,
Sick and Twisted
syringe make me uplifted.
Bone, Bone
and a layer of skin-
Lord I wish I was that thin.
Hair.
Shedding.
Stare,
Beheading,
Cynical insults
ignorant little ******
fighting each other with sticks
throw more stones
take out more loans
shout profanity
with such tremendous calamity
watch me care
about everyone else but you
Bake your lack of heart in a regurgitated stew.
My judgement is gone,
but not for long.
My heart beats fast,
An effect that doesn't last
Syringe Syringe
I disappear bit-by-bit
Syringe Syringe
I'm sick and twisted
Syringe Syringe
I want it, I need it
Syringe Syringe
I'm gone, I'm gone.

It's dark in here,
in the caverns of my heart,
it's cold and still
where my blood should be flowing.
Caress my cheek,
look into my eyes,
know that I am yours,
and you will never be mine.
It's damp here,
where I sleep,
from modest tears
shed like rain,
just a drop to go unnoticed in a storm
to fall upon your shaggy locks.
Darling shield your face,
rather I shall do it for you.
Hate to see your makeup run like this,
yet so fitting
when melting down to your wide smile.
Darling let go of her hand,
darling do not make me sad.
How many hearts
you have broken,
how many hands held like mine,
brief and behind her back.
Do not look at me with those eyes,
do not rest your head upon my lap,
do not hold me long after the public eye is gone.
Darling I am sad.
I know you are too,
but darling you are hurting others,
leaving limp surprises
for their mothers.
My love you do not mean it,
but my love you are cruel.
You are the monster
taking on the form of a boy
cowering under his blanket.
My love you make me ache,
but my love,
my darling,
you need help.

Constant chatter of the students
honking of the cars
sirens
barking dogs
wind chimes
and when you've turned the TV off
music is still there to accompany you.
But when you turned it off
only the electronic hum and buzz of appliances is there.
But what if those were off too.
What if all you had was the rustling of the trees?
and what if you didn't have that either?
Can you remember the sound of silence?
Or have you forgotten it's purpose,
forgotten how you used to be friends,
blind to its beauty.
What would you do if there was silence,
and the tapping of the keys and scratch of pencil
and the sound of breath disappeared?
What would you say to the world's forgotten friend,
if it came back around?

what's so wrong
with a moment
that  won't last long?
I avoid it like the plague
"what's the point,
there's no time for anything to happen"
time
******* time man
always against me
because I'm so ******* up
I need time
I need all the time in the world
but I know
what's happening now
cannot go on
can only last a few weeks
and thinking about it
why does it matter?
Not enough time
has always been
almost a sin
but **** that
there's no time
there's nowhere for this to go
nothing that can fix that
and you know
that's okay,
that's perfectly okay,
because it's now
and it's okay
and it's going to hurt later
but now,
just for now,
it feels good.

I found an old box
of disposable latex gloves
and became
  entranced
  aroused
  foolish
I pulled them on,
   becoming breathless as their fibers
   closed tightly around my fingers
shaking
I raised a hand
to my throat
and let it caress
and clamp
tightly around it
the other hand
smoothing into my stomach,
together they moved
and groped
and pulled
tracing memories
of latex gloves on my body
desecrating my temple
praising my goddess
freeing me of-
         - I ripped them off-
                                       exhausted
                                       breathless
                                       ashamed
          I wanted more
          I wanted to ask for more
          I wanted to run back and ask
          I was still his sub his slave
          I fell to my knees and worshipped
          I was ashamed I felt weak
          I didn't care
        
          I wanted more

My head hangs
like a bridled horse,
I am worked to the bone,
I long for a loosened mane,
for open wilds,
for photographers to seek
my natural prancing
with praise
Oh I desire
to rear my giant legs
neighing unfaltered
and still
be glorified

She offered me chocolate
she had brought home from work-
I lashed out
and shouted my decline,
slammed the door
and cried,
screaming into my pillow.

I'm still going to pretend
that this isn't taking over my life.

"Nothing Tastes as Good As Skinny Feels"
                                  --Kate Moss

I disgust myself
                             with how I can't help but agree.

I listened to my stubby heels echoing light clicks and clacks

on the ***** pavement,

a sound far better than the the laughter and chatter of the previously escaped classroom.

I mozied along the empty campus, feeling warmed by the bits of fog that clung to the air

and moss trees towering from pine needles in a very still way

that if not for the fog's gentle swaying I would have assumed the world to have stopped.

I liked it that way best.

When things are still and quiet and full of posibility

but you choose not to reign in that possibility because you love the freshly chilled air,

air so fresh it makes you want to fill your lungs with it

and take a To-Go bag as well.

Sometimes I sit and look out,

silently hoping that if I sit there long enough I too,

will become quite still and fresh fog might cling to me

and someone else might admire me as part of a still world,

like a picture in a golden frame.

Take me to the city, boy.
Take my hand and drag me along
with nothing but the clothes on my back-
I'm sure we'll be okay.

Take me away to where the lights are pretty
and the noise muffles our voices
and we can swim with the crowds.

Take me where anything is possible,
to where the money and fame
and stress and hectic are.

Take me away to the city, boy.
Take me away from the small town
too far from anything.

Take me from the normal,
from reality.

Take me to the city,
where we can be who we want
and they can't tell us no.

Take me to the city, boy.
we won't have to sleep
and we can keep smiling
and loving
and dreaming
so long as the lights stay on.

Take me to the city, boy.
it's all I've ever wanted.

Nothing depresses me more
than when a picture is taken.
A day of bliss
but when the camera comes out
I suddenly remember
how ugly I am.
Even on the days I feel pretty,
I smile and it flashes-
and the results bring me to tears
for even though I know I'm a heinous beast,
born with a pig's face
isntead of a human,
I still always wonder why I was cursed like this.
why I am perpetually a mutant.
I still have hope that I'll be satisfied with a picture one day,
that I won't grimace
and cry
and not feel a tremendous amount of guilt for the swans
that have to share the same photo as I,
and that maybe this nasty pink pudgy acned pig face will peel off.
I know it won't.
But I can hope.

Snow Globes make me sad.
Such simple,
stationary things,
so easily upset by being
turned round.

There's something rotten
about the way
the cheerful snow and glitter
flurry about
and float effortlessly
into a quiet mound
on the bottom...
still
and forgotten,
until someone takes an interest
to turn their world upside down,
and for a moment,
just a moment,
the Snow Globe is brimming with life
and magic...
and then it settles,
and is forgotten.

Snow Globes make me sad.

Let me post a selfie
how's my hair
makeup
angle
filter
how do I look
did I get likes yet?
Let me post a status
one about how much I love my besties
another on how I learned a new lesson
now here's a photo of my breakfast
I have to comment
like
poke
post new updates
every day
becuase that's just what you do nowadays,
that's just how it goes
because we're all so afraid
if we don't keep posting
if we don't get those likes
and invites
and pokes
and fill up our messages
and notifications,
that we're going to be forgotten.
That if we don't solidify our presence
on social media
then we don't have a presence at all.
We spend so much time
trying to make other people
think we exist,
that we never end up existing at all,
not really.
We don't need all these people
and confirmations
to tell us we exist.
we already do.
If only it weren't so easy to forget that.

I can’t act,
not at all.
I’m a disgrace to the theatre community.
Every word I write is shot
and my body feels so **** hot
and so **** cold
both at the same time
should I even bother trying to make this rhyme?
I can’t make eye contact with anyone,
I can’t speak to the ones I like,
the people I wish I could be friends with…
the closer I want to be
the farther away I sit.
Something inside me has changed
I keep crying
and I feel so scared
and so sad
When was the last time I did homework?
I don’t even have the time for netflix anymore
I need sleep like I need air
do I need air? My lungs hurt so bad
I keep having these dreams
these awful dreams
each one I die
those I love most devour me
and at the end always
I **** myself.
I feel so sad
so ******* sad
and I don’t know what to do
and I don’t know why I feel like this
I just know that through the day
my eyes sting like hell
from holding back all the tears
trembling on the brink of release.
Something has changed,
I don’t know what
or how
or why
or what I’m supposed to do about it,
I just know
That something has changed.

The Rock N' Roll man
hung an arm loose
around the pole of the jerking train,
he swayed about like a rag doll,
a half cocked smile on his face,
pants exposing a sharp, ****** hip,
he didn't care.
He's so Rock N Roll

Come with me space boy,
don't let gravity get you down
let me kidss that tender frown
do not let go-these failsome hands
to me
you are king
of these lesser mans
so please do not stay
I see your eyes stray
I gie you all I can
the ship to the expand
it leaves at 6 o'clock
grasp my body and rock
we could be together forever
so I ask you not to say
I'm floating away
come with me space boy,
it is all I've ever asked.

It’s hard to speak
to the people around me
when I know
that when I go
they’ll forget all about me
and I’ll be just a name
with a face
they can hardly place.

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.

I want to feel
your traveled hands
lift my head
as you bend to kiss
and devour
my adulation

When I wear makeup
I feel unstoppable
courageous
beautiful.
so beautiful.

but I don't mean regular makeup,
mascara lipstick eyeliner blush etc,
I mean the kind that takes hours to apply,
transforming myself into hit characters
ghastly ghouls
alien creatures
minotaurs
ziggy stardust
I mean painting myself
with all the theatricality I can afford.

I feel like I can breath when I wear my makeup,
I feel okay and calm and like nothing can touch me
above all else I feel safe.
so safe
with that paint,
everybody's looking at the makeup
instead of me,
they admire and compliment the mask I've crafted
and it makes me happy to know
they can't see my plain pale face underneath,
the outrageous conception
has formed a shield
allowing me to step out in public
without being afraid to exist.

when I wear my makeup
I'm allowed to be whomever I please
and mingle-talk freely with all I want,
my makeup lets me be like everyone else.

The only downside is that not every week is spirit week,
my gentle skin is too irritated by even the most
hyper-allergenic makeup and acne protrudes
and at the end of it all I still have to wash it off,
watch my happy colors go down the sink drain,
the mask doesn't last forever,
and I'm left standing there the next day,
without my makeup
without my shield
and I feel so naked,
I feel incomplete and scared.

I wish every week was spirit week,
and that my skin was tough,
so that I could paint my face every day
              so I wouldn't have to be afraid.

draped in white

fringe and lace

the fraud

loses their breath

little baker is it true,
your payment is due
and there's no escape,
nothing to conceal your shape

little baker is it true,
your body is cold and blue,
did you lose your head
restless in bed
you thought you could beat this
each hit gives you bliss

little baker what have you done
now you've gone and lost your son
your health sadly dwindles
because of your swindels-
they'll come quite soon
you're already doomed.

Little Baker why couldn't you keep
no money to pay, your soul they shall reap

Little Baker you've lost it all
seemingly in a never ending fall

Little Baker you thought your addiction would heal
but  you knew deep down, your life it would steal.

Little Baker you gave up on life
for the same addiction that took your wife
and you were much too scared of the knife
and couldn't handle the strife
so you did as she did and dug a hole,
Little Baker it's time to pay the toll.

I sound a war cry for peace
but waves of negativity drown me.
I struggle
and fight against the cruel pressure
with arms made of hope and love.
My calm and quiet feet
break against the steep water
but without result
for the ocean is far too big
to be battled by a single person.
My years of fighting are over.
my heart sinks with my body
to the ocean floor
where hatred and vindictive lies
slowly cover my carcass
and I become just another reef
forever tied to the pessimistic battlefield.

"She's dying"
please stop saying that.
Stop the tearful calls
and sad looks
just stop saying it.
"she's dying"
******* I heard it the first time,
and once is far too much,
stop saying it.
I don't want to believe it.
This doesn't happen.
This shouldn't happen.
She's so young,
she has a family,
she has a brand new
beautiful baby boy,
with the bluest of eyes
and the most innocent of smiles
please God,
don't do this.
She has to see him grow up.
She has to see him happy.
We're going to eat pizza at the same place
we always have whenever one of us graduates highschool.
She's going to see my first book published,
my first short film.
I'm going to see her books published,
I'm going to see her happy, quaint life.

She's not dying.
She's not.
stop saying that.
I'd give anything to be nothing but a child
too young and ignorant to understand what's happening.

Please God,
don't do this.
I'm crippled on the ground,
can't sleep
can't eat.
I've felt my body go completely comatose.

Please, God,
give me a miracle.

It's time.
the prologue has been set,
the characters introduced,
the inner conflict clear
and the goals established.
and now it is time.
This plot cannot progress
unless you turn that page
start the next chapter
and watch your hero,
one foot in front of the other,
bravely go
to a world unknown
and face trials untold.
You cannot read the end of the book
you cannot get your answers
unless you read the hero's hardships
and triumphs
and all the times of love and loss.
A book without an antagonist
without plot twists
and tears
and complications
and thoughtfulness
is hardly a book worth reading.
there are necessary
unavoidable
plot elements needed
to craft a story for the ages.
the first draft may be a rocky road
and you'll be overburderned with tools and guides needed to write
but soon
all you will need is your bare hands
a paper
and pen
(for you cannot erase the kinds of things written in this story)
and determination.
And on your story will go.
On your hero will walk.

not a moment of peace
serenity
constant noise
and fighting
and ignorant immaturity
this tank is too small
I am not a fish
I am a shark
a beta
don't keep me in this bowl
where I can never be by myself
I want to scream and cry
I'm going to lose it
I'm going ******* crazy
get me out of here

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

So I will tell you this.
My body is breaking.
I spend my nights in agony,
screaming,
bones writhing.
But I will tell you it's dedication.
I'll look at your past-
what you thought was a shining future-
I see you look at me like a stranger
A monster
A product of standards
Skinny-
Athletic-
Talented-
Forced.
But I will tell you it's dedication,
something required,
Something you've never had.
I'm sick
I'm suffering
But Lord
I have dedication,
Dedication is all it Takes-
The Will
The Need
To have it.
My frail bones are shattering
but dedication is all I need
Dedication is the sick habit
that has overtaken my body
Dedication.
Dedication-
to this life
Dedication to this illness
To create something...
Something... of myself.

Swank to the floor
My ears are covered
So I hear nothing except you
Dancing in front of the mirror,
In the dark,
So I can picture myself any way I want
Any way I need to…
I close my eyes and move
No longer fearing the dark
I hold my knife close to my heart
Protecting myself from the horrors of the world.
Monsters try to bring me back to reality,
Turn on the light
And open my eyes
Forcing me to see what really stares back from the mirror
Knife protect me,
Bring me to safety.
Back to this gothic but garish look I adore
Wrap me in your melody
Carry me until My feet are far from the ground
Until my voice is in sync with yours
Continuously until nothing else matters
Until the tears are gone
And I do not clutch my chest in pain.
My Knife My Knife,
Protecting me always,
Leading me to good places,
My knife,
Delivering me from a world of strife.

I wish I were a tea kettle,
so that silencing the screams
were as easy
as turning down the flame

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"

You think because I'm quiet,
that I am hateful too.

and you think,
that because I am quiet,
I am clever.

Quiet means so many
different things to different people,
innocent,
bored,
unhappy,
angry,
resentful,
narcissistic,­
dreamy,
mysterious,
quaint,
selfish,
shy,
rude,
ignorant,
misant­hropic,

But did you ever think,
that maybe my silence
is the loudest
of all cries for help?

Did you ever think,
that maybe I am silent,
because I am afraid?

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.

When the silence takes the stage,
and I am called upon to perform, oh what a fool I shall be.
Dance monkey dance they'll say, and dance I shall.

On all fours I crawl,
your *****.
Leash me up
in a tight collar
speaking for your laughter.

Here it is,
my self respect,
I present it to you,
I give it all, unto you.
For I no longer need it.

It's a small price to pay for this life.
It's a simple token
for the price of a fancy gown,
for the reward of approval... from strangers.
To be able to buy that fancy car
To be the envy of it all.

To be admired...
For this handsome repayment
loss of self worth
seems nothing.

and it is nothing
until late at night
when I stare at my skinny bones
in a large
but empty apartment
with the city's lights
shadows dancing out my regrets on the walls,
reminiscing of the whole person I used to be.
when I was someone you could respect...
someone who could say no
and had control
and didn't live under constant contract
and scrutiny of the monster that is the media.

Late at night,
with a morning soon coming,
a morning filled
with my stripped body
contorting itself
and writhing
for the camera
to please a generation I will never know.
To flaunt materialism
and narcissism
expected to sound sagacious
and preach this deceitful verisimilitude
but teaching the youth
to be broken and hateful-
to live with these quixotic expectations.
and
it
is
disgusting.

Yet here I am.
Stripped,
broken and battered,
pouting my photoshop lips
and limp, sick body
to preach it day after day.

For It was so long ago,
that I was respectable.
perhaps I could better remember those days-
but in this life
with a restriction on ennui
you are not allowed to be anything but
deliriously content
and that is not a problem so long as this bottle doesn't run out,
so long as I keep swallowing these pills,
drowning out the voice
that despises me.

So long as I keep on acting.

They said
    "there's no one else here, so we'll use you"
but even after
  hair and makeup,
they snapped 3 pics
        and refused "no more"
for even when there are no other options,
  I am still not good enough.

she's been staring at blank pages
tapping her pencil against the desk
shaking her foot
she's been staring at blank pages
lost for inspiration.

she's started to cry
late at night
sometimes in the day
she's got a weight on her chest
she overwhelmed with emotions.

She's been filling up those blank pages
pencil swishing back and forth
paintings
drawings
poems
stories
each tear drop
a new chapter
every sniffle
a stroke of the brush

overjoyed to produce lovely work
dying from the pain
loathing the necessity
that artists
need to be miserable
in some way
or another
to be great

She sat in the artist's warehouse
listening to the quick drip drops of fresh rain
becoming polluted as they passed through rusted drains
and lightly onto ***-holed puddles filled with crushed cigarettes.
She let her warm breath
spool into the air and fill the silence,
she closed her eyes, smiled,
a private moment to recall
what made her smile,
what made her sit in the artist's warehouse writing poetry
rhymes about how light her heart felt,
how clean and fresh the air she breathed was,
how she couldn't keep herself from smiling
when she thought of him,
how he touched her,
looked at her,
how he breathed into her
an earth shattering exhileration
of posisbility, curiosity, fascination
and unexpected livlihood....
She opened her eyes
and caught her breath,
as she did every time
she thought of him
and how he made her feel.
She uncrossed her legs
threw back her head
and came one step closer
to understanding what it was
she wanted
for her heart.

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

black pig
little thing
so different
from the rest.

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

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

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

black pig
grows up
fat ugly
lonely and depressed

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

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

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

Black pig
wonders
why there was never
any arrest

black pig
haunted
broken
by things repressed

Black pig
not fixed
wants to be
the best

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

discard me, darling.
I'm water-damaged,
torn
and not worth much.