The future is an unpredictable at best,  
Never tired of feasting on my nerves.
My untitled foe continuing my misery,
Making me feel less and less human
The only comfort coming from the trees  
Offering me a taste of their freedom.
By the view of their branches.
Tasting freedom is lonely.    
And I can't hardly handle being alone this long
Convinced I am worth only pennies.  
But the space between my ears is full of ideas.
And this is simply a window to view them
Thoughts for a penny,
As my worth degrades.

Hackneyed
Ruminative
Glasslike
Surfaced
Lake
Is
Never
Original
Only
Reflective

Smoking white horse
On the horizon
A trick of the eye
The land, low and flat
Always speaks of goodbye

I pick bits away
From the moment
Developing gently
Slowly degrading
Filed away in
My glass bottle memories

Listing the faults
That I see in society
The gas pedal suffers
They make me so angry
Increasing distance allows me to breathe

I pick bits away
From the moment
Developing gently
Slowly degrading
Filed away in
My glass bottle memories

Glass bottle memories
Litter my mind
I could take them
And Break them
But they still would be
Lying there shattered
Forever to see.

From the moment
Developing gently
Slowly degrading
Filed away in
My glass bottle memories

She says
“Yes.”
Vaguely apparent.
Tension tightly traverses
Through my body
“Yes, give me that”
Five dollars in a parking lot.
Teeth rotting.
Amber from thoughts long forgotten.

Five minutes for five dollars.

I hated you like a scar
That stubbornly wouldn't go away.
And people stared
And people judged.

I wore you like a bruise.
You were a stray puppy
And I took you in.
And slowly, I fell in love.

I held on to you like a cast.
Clinging on for dear life
And I needed you
And I truly did love you.

You left me like a cold.
Lingered for a while
And when I got used to you,
And when I needed you,

You disappeared.

Idle ambitions
And unattainable goals
Squandered by those
Who don’t even know

They don’t know where you’ve been
They’ll never know where you’ll go
They won’t give you a chance
To even show them your soul.
They can’t comprehend that
There is so much more
Behind those green eyes
In that mind of yours.

Anxieties raise
As they wander below
Unable to relax until
You are finally alone
Alone with your thoughts
And alone with your dreams
The ones you’ll never say
The ones you can never speak

**They don’t know where you’ve been
They’ll never know where you’ll go
They won’t give you a chance
To even show them your soul
They can’t comprehend that
There is so much more
Behind those green eyes
In that mind of yours.

Waiting is sometimes the best thing you can do
When you aren't sure if anyone will be there to catch you.
Walking on tightrope seems a difficult task,
But a harder battle for me is not turning to a flask.
But is turning to a blade a better choice
Because I feel that I can never have a voice?
or would it be better, falling off my rope into an abyss
but then again, I know there would be things I miss...
So, if I promise to be your safety net,
Will you promise you are a safe bet?

Shackles promise freedom
But the laughs of clattering chains
Are pulled back by inner demons
I allow them to remain

Links from past to present
I’m unable to let go
I try so hard to forget
But it’s out of my control

So I cry to know I’m living
And I scream to know I’m here
The pieces are not fitting.
Do you hear me?
I cannot help but wonder
If freedom is near

The world crumbles around me
But I’m chained to the wall
Too attached to what could be
My demons hate me all and all

Suffocating in my past
I’m trying to break free
The world is stable in contrast
To what’s inside of me

So I cry to know I’m living
And I scream to know I’m here
The pieces are not fitting
Do you hear me?
I cannot help but hope
That my freedom is near

We cry to know we’re living
And we scream to know we’re here
The pieces are now fitting
Do you hear me?
**We cannot help but know
That freedom is here.

Debating if their
Way of being in a relationship
Is correct; for common belief consisted
Of believing in
Love. Not simply discussing
The way it should be. If
We focus only on that, it
Seems we ask ourselves, if it even truly existed.

You do not know who I am,
For I have too many layers to count:

I am a strong woman.
With high regards to others.

I am a scared little girl.
Too afraid to face my fears.

I am the one who blends in.
Never seems to be noticed

I am the loudest in the room.
Voice resounding through the space.

I am beautiful.
But I do not make a big deal about it.

I am ugly.
And I don't feel like putting makeup on today.

I am ****.
And I like to wear tight jeans.

I am lazy.
And I can sometimes only bring myself to wear sweatpants

I am timid.
I do not talk to new people often.

I am confident.
When I wear combat boots and lipstick.

I am a writer.
And my words touch people all over the world.

I am insignificant.
And my words often do not make sense.

I am stupid.
I am never the best, always second.

I am a mother.
Natural born that is, and I often take that role with my sisters.

I am abusive.
And I scare myself with my lack of control.

I am a loner.
I need time to myself to function.

I am a scholar.
I love to learn.

I am a procrastinator.
I should be writing a paper about Kennedy right now.

I am a hippie.
I believe in world peace, and I shop at an earthy store.

I am a punk rocker.
I listen to weird music and I like black leather.

I am an athlete.
Captain of the Volleyball and Softball team.

I am damaged.
Sexually assaulted and mildly depressed.

I am triumphant.
I can forgive him.

I laugh at inappropriate times.
Because it seems better than crying.

I am seen.
I am heard.
I am understood.
I am loved.

Why, when a baby cries,
we feel potential.
Like we know that his life
is the best its ever going to be
right now.
And we ponder telling them
that it only gets worse
but we stop short,
fearing maybe then he'll never stop.
But life does become better-- meaningful.
Sometimes.
However if when we are born
it is a marvelous accident,
then why do we scoff at oblivion.
Why do we strive to be more
than those who came before
and why the hell
are we concerned with disproving
heaven.
Why exactly can we find meaning
in a place that was formed out of chaos.
Why, when we see a baby laugh,
do we smile back.

Pick small bits away
From the moment.
Highly regarded,
Slowly degrading,
Listing the faults
Developing gently.
If I shouldn’t be alive,
Why breathe?
Difficult combinations
Of outcomes
Come with
Time.

The last of the leaves blew off today.
But don't worry, they are biodegradable.
And they realized it was their time to go.
And they really did give us quite a show
Their sacrifice was appreciated by a few
And now they are given a mass burial
Their corpses lying on the sidewalk...

And I've realized that
The beauty of fall is prettier
When shared by two.

I wear you like a bruise
You will not go away
I am at your every whim
I have to obey

You hold me like a gun
Pointed at my own head
You won’t leave me alone
Can I please go to bed?

I am your only weapon
You use me
To hurt me
Scars that I had no say in
Scars that only stay.
That won't go away.

I am my only weapon
I abuse me
And hurt me
Scars that I have no say in
Scars that only stay.
I cannot go away.

My heavy jaw shifts forward
As if a string
Attached to the ground tugs at it softly.
My head drops and I look at the sidewalk in front of me
Not daring to look up in fear of condemnation.
Moth carcasses lay scattered on the sidewalk
Washed through the gutter by heavy rain
Unbeknownst to us all
Until the rain revealed their fate.
It often takes rain
To wash away the veil
Of a perfect world
And show us that our demons
Are simply sitting at the top of the rain gutter
Waiting to be brought out by the rain
To be put on display
And trampled under everybody's feet.

Woman,
Too old for her age,
Constant frown engrained,
Into her once beautiful face,
Telling of lost love
And trials in her difficult life.
She taught me,
To prevent what plagued her

She wanted to live forever.
She wanted to see the world
Travel, sing, dance in the streets.
She wanted to perform for eternity
Never losing her youth
Never losing her zest.
Yes, she wanted to live forever,
But she died trying.

There was a sense of wonder as I wandered through my childhood, gazing up, knowing the trees never ended.
There is tranquility where none previously existed.
There was disappointment when the fence was discovered.
There was a splendid sense of bliss hidden in the clouds among the alligators and elephants.
There were smiles there.
There was patience there.
There was poetry.
There were smiles.
There was music.
There were phone calls that lasted upwards of an hour.
There were times the phone never rang.
There was a need for change that burned so deep, if not sated would choke its way out.
There was self-creation, cut and carved out of the mold.
There were few words spoken and the ones that were usually wished they could take the first plane out of town.
There was coffee.
There is coffee.

Why can't I trust
That all you say is true.
I truly can't believe
That the truth could sound this good.
I hate the reservations I have
Toward those who have reservations
To see and feel my emotions.
Appointments with the person
Whose personality is not as personally oriented
As some would like it to be.
But don't assume you know me
Because assuming just creates types
Which I try to undo with these types
That I pour my soul into;
But they somehow only seem to fit perfectly
Under perfected soles of shoes.
And do not try to read between these lines
For I often do not foresee these foretelling's endings.
I perceive that under these pretenses
Which do seem to be a bit false
I may leave a conversation abruptly
Trying to preserve my reputation and not make this situation
Worse.

The way you speak
To me and
About me,
Well, its no wonder
Why I hate myself.
How can one expect
To speak any differently
To one's self
Than those around you?
So lets skip the formalities
While I cut to my vain,
I mean chase;
These double standards are
Rediculous.
"Be yourself!"
They scream.
But behind closed doors,
They only whisper that
"Be yourself",
Really means,
"Be me."
"Be who society wants you to be."

But can I blame her?
For that's how she has been raised:
Be quiet
Take up less space
And never
Show cleavage.
Its our fault they stare
We are simply sinful and
Cannot expect men to exhibit
Self Control.