Since we were born we are given these ideas of how the world is supposed to be

I always thought I couldn't be beautiful because I wasn't blonde, I didn't have blue eyes, I wasn't good enough and you didn't understand.

and I paint these words and see how they turn out, but when I read them back I can't help but think there's got to be a better way to get my point across.

If only we didn't have these eyes that mislead us to thinking the outside mirrors the inside

Maybe if we didn't have these ears that allow us to listen to the lies spewed from the mouths of those are are stained and damaged, trying to pull others down to their depths

Perhaps if we didn't have these tongues, we wouldn't have to taste one another, and become hooked on the expelling lust that causes us to do things we can't believe

Could it be that if we didn't have our hands, we would have to accept everything we couldn't touch? and we couldn't write these poems but instead we could feel them inside us, like blood keeping us alive

My heart is ear-splittingly screaming but my voice remains a painful silent. The disparity between the two bickering halves leads me to a final inquisition,

darling do you think it's conceivable that if we couldn't talk, we wouldn't have to? do you think you'd hear it all?

~

Stupid **** cat


Attempting sleep on the balcony, a railing at my back,
twisted iron creating stripes on my skin
Crisscrossing as I slide across a Craigslist mattress
or not, still my body moves

slightly used

The cool night air shifts direction
west becomes east (ah east) on a northerly flow
Dry leaves gather at my feet, dead but still with some color left
extending beyond the shadows now painting me with patterns

security lighting

Small slits where my eye lids blink find the neighbor’s cat
now chooses my chest to sharpen its claws
A quick swat sends him flying,
taking small pieces of my skin as a trophy

starting from scratch

New scars eventually seek old scars,
I can feel them reaching, (blood trickles on wrinkled sheets)
digging through my skin, exploring the muscle,
the tissue, finding the damage done to my heart

sliced open

Tunnels carved into my body, wormholes to a different dimension
Time passes beyond the depths of my being, flooding streets
and low water crossings with the pain (excruciating), echoes holler,
holding the volume to a dull roar  

strange sounds

A siren in the distance startles me, breath leaves me as I sit up
reaching for my chest, nothing is there
Alongside me you sleep, peacefully
I touch your skin , a smile finds your face

so very beautiful

And I thank my lucky stars for sleep (finally), this dream,
the comfort, the softness in visions pure of love,
as reality is left outside, two stories up
on a balcony with a twisted iron railing...

stupid **** cat

I remember when I was in the hospital and I didn't sleep for two days straight because I swore to god that if I did the demons would step out from under the bed and seep into my head.

I remember when it was three am, and I was shaken awake from the girl three doors down shrieking from the night terrors that her mother embedded into her skull with her fist and a belt when she was eight. But, they were then stored away until she was thirteen years old and a man swore that he'd beat her if she didn't cooperate. So, now they hide during the day, and creep back up when the sun falls.

I remember when I witnessed a boy unintentionally scratch at his skin until he bleed for an hour because the voices inside of his mind told him that if he didn't hurt anyone else, he would just have to hurt himself. and he swears he'd never hurt anyone besides himself.

I remember when I met a girl who had cuts up and down her arms and legs from when her mother told her she'd never survive the world because she isn't good enough. But, I swear to god that she was the strongest person I've ever met.

I remember when my roommate stayed up all night rocking with bloodshot eyes and deep purple circles underneath of them because she swore that if she slept the monsters inside of her head would crawl out and bleed into her soul.

I remember when the boy five doors down hit the wall so hard that it shook the entire unit because he hallucinated a man and a little girl trying to strangle him, and he swore he could feel the noose around his neck.  

even through all of this, for some odd reason teenagers think it's lovely to have deep scars and to hear voices telling them to **** themselves and everyone around them. I swear, nothing is lovely about demons eating at your brain and thoughts.

I remember when it was four am, and I was up weeping from the fact that people think my suffering is lovely.

I can swear to you, it's not.

i've a predisposition to pretty prose,
i look in your eyes, and stronger it grows,
you are sways from branching willows,
you are songs that nobody knows,
your scent is enchanting, like earth over-grown.
you walk with such grace, your poetry shows.

Do not poke the sleeping beast
that hides behind another's mask
his words not written to inspire
but to wound and belittle.
He crows for attention, 
this loathesome creature,
with boundless ego
and tongue firmly 
rotting in pustuled cheek
he will not be the thief of confidence
he will not be the silencer of hope
for he is the keeper of bitter misery
the captain of a sinking ship
not one will touch his heart
as it sits within it's cavern of disdain.