what were you thinking as
you walked into that lake
with your pockets full of
rocks and a letter for your
husband on the kitchen table?
your mind ate you alive
and there was nothing
anyone could do to stop it
- how i wish i could have stopped it

in her whisper i hear fire
in her screams i hear storms

Oh Donald Trump may be an angry, narcissistic fool;
A racist, a misogynist and all-round half-baked tool.
Upon his nation and the world, he represents a curse,
but all of that's okay, you see, for Hillary was worse!

Oh Hillary, she had mad cow and syphilis and rabies.
She drank the blood of virgins and she lived to dine on babies,
and from her eyes shot laser beams while on a broom she flew.
In every way she's crooked, for The Donald says it's true!

She once was witnessed soaking in a lava-filled hot tub,
where she was playing footsie with her pal, Beelzebub!
To the Gulf and Caribbean she released the hurricane.
She brings the earthquake, fire, plague, and drought and flooding rain!

Although she now is history, with influence no more,
we must all hate her while The Donald's failings we ignore.
So while Trump spews his hate and puts all progress in reverse,
we must embrace his evil ways... For Hillary was worse!

I want to write a poem
But I don't know what to write.
I'm such a broken doll
I wish I could make this rhyme
But nothing works in my mind
Well except those two lines
Well now it's three
Oops

My Brian isnt really working right now
Oops spelling error I mean brain
That probably proves just how little my brain wants to work
I think I might be in denial.
I've probably been in denial all day.
But once I finally got there
The denial went away

Now I'm crying
I was crying in the ICU
And I'm crying now.
In the waiting room.
I want to put my words down onto this page.
I want to make this page my stage
I want to pour my emotions into this piece
But I can't seem to get it right
Seeing as this poem barely rhymes
Not that a poem ever has to rhyme.

I read her one of my poems while I talked at her.
Well I should say talked to her
But she couldn't respond.
She was trying.
I know she was trying.
But it didn't really work.
She had, I think it's called a respirator, down her throat.
So she couldnt speak a single note.

I think I'm going to go back in soon.
My dad is talking to her alone.
They say there's only a 50% chance she'll make it through the night
And everyone says they're praying
But I'm not quite sure who to pray to.
So I don't pray.
I just hope
And I believe in her
I trust that if she wants to fight and make her way back that we will.
And I hope that that's what she wants.

I feel like I never really spent any time with her now.
I feel like I barely know her.
I feel like when it comes down to it.
We don't really know each other.
When I first found out she was in the hospital,
I was getting ready for school.
I had to get to band at 7
And it was already 6:40
I needed to hurry.
So when I heard them talk about it
I wasn't sure what to say

There's been some scares before but it always turned out okay.
But now they say it's worse
Now my family is coming into town.
My family doesn't talk.
We aren't close.
We only speak if necessary
We do the least, not the most.
The fact that they are coming
Leaves me in shock

Is this the last time I'll see her?
I don't know
I have hope that she'll make it.
She keeps trying to talk
I'm sure it will all be alright I guess
But I can't help but worry.

"...Tell me, for Love's sake, what is that flame which burns in my heart and devours my strength and dissolves my will? What are those hidden soft and rough hands that grasp any soul; what is that wine mixed of bitter joy and sweet pain that suffuses my heart? What are those wings that hover over my pillow in the silence of Night, and keep me awake,watching no one knows what? What is the invisible thing I stare at, the incomprehensible thing that I ponder, the feeling that cannot be sensed? In my sights is a grief more beautiful than the echo of laughter and more rapturous than joy. Why do I surrender myself to an unknown power that slays me and revives me until Dawn rises and fills my chamber with its light?  Phantoms of wakefulness tremble between my seared eyelids, and shadows of dreams hover over my stony bed. What is that which we call Love? Tell me, what is that secret hidden within the ages yet which permeates all consciousness? What is this consciousness that is at once origin and result of everything? What is this vigil that fashions from Life and Death a dream, stranger than Life and deeper than Death? Tell me, friends, is there one among you who would not awake from the slumber of Life if love touched his soul with its fingertip?"

-- mapping the world,
freckle by freckle
with my tongue,
I have found there are four of them
at various points across your belly, and

have I not allowed them entry
into this angry constellation
of teeth, and raw degradation
that has become my mouth

in the absence of you

I have digested them wholly,
never speaking of their beauty, for I
can not possess what I can not crawl into.

-- understanding the stipulation that what is
temporarily borrowed is not freely given,

again, it is you who are
so good at burning for me
what affection can imitate.