I am the only one left.

I am the only one left, at the end of the fight.

Past your drunken Friday night.

That really remembers and feels the insults,

That are later etched into my burning skin,

That moments later will release a near frozen blood stream.

I am the only one left, at the end of the night.

That remembers the yelling of a drunken man.

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

These words sting I know, as they hit my mothers face,

And slip under my door.

And yet not a word comes out of her mouth.

Because there is no point in fighting a drunken man.

Because when the sun shines the next morning, and father is sobering,

The fight is forgotten,

Until.

Until there is yet another night,

Like this one.

For each shot thrown back,

And each cigarette put out,

There is a hurtful word,

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

After all of it I say,

And say over,

And over again,

I do not care.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.

Youth.
   It is pretty, naive, and innocent.
Death.
  It  is grotesque, wise, and tainted.
However, both are equally
  
   beautiful.

It begins with a slight touch of the arm.Then her fingers, full of teases, trail down his arm, skip his hand, and land on his thigh. As her hand slowly roams, her eyes look his entire being up and down, as if seeing what it is exactly he amounts to. She doesn’t even like him, she does not appreciate him. Witnessing this hurts me, and an aching feeling manifests between my muscle tissue and skin. Anger itches under my fingernails. But she is beautiful, and womanly, and he is after all, a boy. And so he falls for her bag of tricks and smiles, as I sit, and watch. Her words are like slow jazz music, wearing fiery red lipstick. My words are the opposite,the sound of a child beating a xylophone. He of course, has chosen the smooth jazz, leaving childhood behind. We had been together forever, and as we often said “til the end and farther.” But then, he met her. That gorgeous girl with a wide smile and an alluring walk. She wore heels of grace, and the swagger of an Egyptian queen. I know I am not perfect, or as pretty as her. This saddens me, creates an empty feeling at the pit of my weak stomach.

He blew a kiss.
A filthy, nasty,
leaves your skin crawling,
kiss.
In his hand,
was his wife's hand.
I quickly made my way down the street.
But my mind stuck to that moment,
as if it was a child's chewed up piece of gum.
Left alone at the side of the curb,
like a washed up actress from the 90's,
who just sort of lost her flavor.
I loathed the moment that had just occurred.
I know I am a woman,
and that I have a larger than average-sized chest,
and maybe even a decent face.
But treat me with respect.
Or at least make sure your own woman isn't watching you,
violate my existence.
Please just make the filth that runs through your veins,
a little less noticeable.
Think about me later while you're ******* her.
But don't acknowledge me in the street,
if anything but a small smile,
is what you have to offer.
Because I will not accept your ***** kiss.
And no,
I will not climb into your bed.
Just because the pieces fit,
doesn't mean I wanted the puzzle in the first place.
Because I know,
as that woman with a larger than average-sized chest,
and maybe even a decent face,
I deserve better than **** off the streets.
I deserve respect.
So keep your kiss,
for a ***** with no self-respect.

I look within the mirror,

and I see myself,

I see dullness,

I see brown hair, brown eyes, and light beige skin,

I see a square jaw, but a round face,

I see the absence of height, and the extra width of my wide set hips,

I see specks of dirt located across my face, and arms,

Oh wait,

Those are freckles,

I see a chest that sticks out farther than my arms can reach,

and an *** that does the same,

Deep breathes,

In and Out,

Look down,

Look back up,

I see myself once again,

I see how the beautiful pieces of my mother are floating around within me, each separate piece making up my DNA.

I take a bite. I taste sweet nectar, after my tongue feels the smooth skin, and my teeth make their way into the warm insides. The juice, unlike the meat, is cool and sweet, and I quickly lick up a dewy droplet just as it is trying to make it’s escape around the curve of my lip. This is the sweetest sensation I have felt today, and my mind takes a minute to recognize this splendid pleasure. I quickly yearn for more however, and I take an even larger bite, this one hits the center, and so I rotate this delicious apple and find another spot to sink my teeth into. Finally, and unfortunately, I am left with the core of what once was a satisfying way to end a tiring day.

Be careful!
             they may spill!
And ruin your nicely shined dress shoes.
    
My insides have been turning for quite sometime.
     So to me it is no wonder,
that they are about to unwind.
      You see I always have lived
in a state of worry,
It's been the same old story,
       My heart is weak,
       My intuition is bleak,
       My mouth hardly wants to eat,
       My soul is nearly beat,
       My body can't take this heat,
My mind is slow,
And my feet won't go,
      But I haven't much time left to complain,
My insides are falling out,
      So I am kind of in a lot of pain,
I swear I am not insane,
      I still have a story to tell,
So let me begin it.

       It all started when I was yo-


                          SPLIT...
                          SPLASH!!!
                          SPLATTER...

There is a place I go,
that swallows me whole,
when I allow my eyes to rest.
In this place,
my mind thrives,
and I have no say,
as to what use my thoughts are put to.
Here,
I am small and feeble,
swallowed by darkness,
and drowned,
in the hues of shadowy black,
and morbid red discoloring.
In this place,
my writing comes to life.
Wrecking all in its' path,
including myself.
This place I speak of,
is simply my imagination.
And it takes hold whenever it is given the chance.

The way sunshine looks good on you,

the way words escape your mouth, even if it's just a few,

         The way you touch me,

sometimes causing me blindness,

         It's hard to see,

The way I stammer,

         The way you are harsh,

Like a hammer,

          The way I naturally back into corners,

You are tough,

           I am not strong enough,

You are my opposite,

           yet, you seem familiar to me.

The way I fear talking to you,

           afraid to turn you blue.

The way I am to shy to fully give myself to you,

            In fear of being turned away.

Not taking the right cue.

My mind is sometimes a dark,
twisted place to be.
With monsters that make the human race
look like the church-goers they pretend to be.
I find it easy to rhyme with my words.
I get along well with my adjectives and verbs.
But ask me to use my voice,
It won't be heard.
My mind is sharp and quick,
not my tongue.
My mouth fumbles all the words inside,
the words that fight,
to catch a glimpse of the daylight.
My voice just isn't cutout for my cranium.
I am not built out of Titanium.
Just blood cells and muscle tissues,
and within my head,
world wide issues.
Laugh if you want to,
but you all know it's true.
This countries blown its' nose on the other half of the hemisphere,
Including you and I.
Now all we get from them is oil and overworked sneers.
Bad business for even worse businessmen.
It must be the environment,
that is poisoning my tongue.
In this country my mind does not belong.
Let's make a move on the board,
take a risk.
No airports though,
they tend to frisk.
Just you and I,
and a couple of novels,
we'll be good.
It's you I want to float in this ocean with,
as the city's burning.
It was awhile ago that these children
stopped learning.
In this world,
we each had our moments.
Look what just fell,
the monuments.
So, put your hand in mine,
we can be what's right for each other.
Won't ever need another.
Let's make a trip around the axis,
in a brand new Lexus.
I'm not paying though,
gift of the previous world.
Guess my mind's not as twisted as I pretend it to be.
I am with you for one reason,
You always know what I am thinking.
So I don't have to speak it.
You're so understanding,
It's terrific.
You're my other half,
no doubt.
You are what it could all be about.
Now let's watch this Apocalypse together.
We will float  here forever at sea.
You are a reoccurring dream,
that I never want to leave.
There is  nothing to worry about.
Just you and I.
And this vast sea.

When it rains, I can be found outside, in the mist of Nature’s free-flowing tears. With each clear, and magnifying droplet that travels across my chilled skin, I let go of a guilt. I take a deep refrigerated inhale, then, I shut my eyelids, and let out a much needed exhale. An exhale that releases the toxins that the World shoves into my body, through my pores. With each gust of wind that knocks my body against an invisible force field, I become new again. I become enlightened. With each crack of thunder that bellows within my eardrums, I let go of all the negative things, all the things anyone has ever done, or said to me. With each flash of blinding lightening, I let go of a horrible image. One that once suppressed my thoughts. The rain washes away the cocoon of dirt I am forced to roll around in, which then allows me to spin another, gleaming web of hope and happiness.

If only it took one shower to become clean, and rinse away all the dirt.

Swaying back and forth. Carrying my mind in vast directions. It is getting hard to stay with the current. The water tugging at every corner and crevice of my state of being. I can feel my muscles tiring, along with my cerebellum. I yell into the void and empty sea air, “LET ME GO. LET ME GO. I can make up my own mind! I am my own person!” But I am the only creature floating in this ocean of debate and discrepancy, so, not a soul can hear my helpless cries of dull agony. All I have left to do is wade, and wait. So I am waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Still waiting.

Soon waiting overwrites wading as my body gives up, and so I begin to go limp.

Now I am limp. Limp. Limp. Almost lifeless.

Almost is the word my mind seems to be holding onto, as if it is some form of a flotation device.

The Ocean continues dropping in temperature as the sun rushes itself towards the bottom, to leave me cold and alone with the moon.

He mocks me. Mocking. Mocking. Still Mocking me.

I am still limp.

“You have to keep yourself above the line.” My mind begins feeding me truths based on lies and mistakes. My mind knows that I am giving up. “You are the only person that can keep you above the line. Depend on no one else.”

For some reason, I choose today, of all days, to take what he is telling me to heart. -Yes, I remember now. I have a heart. And my heart has a beat. BU-***. BU-***.- Maybe it is the sharp, glass-like ocean, or the pitch-black air that paints the sky, that has amplified my trust.

Whatever it is, I am thankful for my mind.

I now stop waiting.

And I begin to Wade. Wading. Wading. I am saving myself.

And then,

as if I have pressed a button on a simple children’s toy,

I awake in my bed.

The sun’s arms wrapped around my apartment windows.  

The air fresh, and the day looking up at me, hope painted across her face.

I have survived another dream, to live another day.