i cannot make my anger beautiful.
or my pain sweet.
i refuse to make this easier to swallow.
i am not yours  to consume.

I want to tell you,
Everything,
But I'll never,
Get the chance,
Because,
When I see you,
(Almost never),
The words catch,
In my throat,
My hands,
Won't stop shaking,
And when I look at you,
Your eyes burn me,
Alive.

I pass the graveyard,
So many souls resting there,
Death I do not fear.

the world is a judge,
and I am the accused.
no trials were held.
but the verdict was guilty.

there is
a           mess
about her,

fluttering
towards  open

    space.


writhing

below pale
skin,

refusing to sit

so structurally,
so secured

in flesh.


wildly
           bending
and      swelling,


becoming

the
           savage


she so calmly
swears

isn’t there.











*-MJS

To whom it may concern,

I am fragile. I will pretend I'm okay when really my shoulders are collapsing under the weight of the heavy universe I do not feel a part of.

To whom it may concern,

I am tired. I have been running from things I dare not face since monsters began appearing under my bed and now all I'm left with are mirrors. I would rather join the monsters under my bed.

To whom it may concern,

I guess you could say I'm running from myself. Maybe I am. All I know is that the reason I hear my heartbeat so clearly is because my chest is hollow and I push people away for fun, like they're the dinner table I'm sat at and now I'm full.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Victoria, the meaning of Victoria is victory but the only thing I've been victorious at is ripping my own soul until it bleeds black. I've been trying to dye it red from the blood of others but colour fades and I'm tired.

To whom it may concern,

I am made up of layers, some are impenetrable by choice and some are just hanging under my fingernails. I can't seem to get them clean.

To whom it may concern,

I am a riddle, to some, I am a muse. For me, I am trying.

She is made up of unwritten poems, and unsent letters.

Silence was her confidant although her heart was screaming and her thoughts were tempests.
Thunder was music to her hears; and the strong gushing winds lulled her to sleep.
Unconquerable; afraid to be vulnerable.
She is made up of layers of high walls and unraveled facades.

She carries pain like a paper-back book and knew tragedy like home.
She's loquacious but her silence means more than the words she ever said;
Feeling everything and saying nothing;
Saying nothing and meaning everything.

She saw more sunsets than sunrise;
but sees sunshine in both just the same.

She held roses by its thorns and saw stars die as blackholes;
but still carries a light like a supernova that outshines the entire galaxy