She has become owned by man.
Someone who is unworthy of her gifts and love.

She runs wild like a river.
But her insides are constantly being frightened and filled with fire.

She fills the air with life.
But is sometimes blinded by the smog from sad souls.

She is everywhere around us.
But you deny seeing and feeling her presence.

She gets higher than heaven.
but on the way down she is torn up and tossed aside.

She is the greatest of Mothers.
But people deny her the respect of a God.

By you choosing to be silent.
You are choosing to slowly destroy her.

There is nothing stronger than a Women with something to prove.

Last night I looked in the mirror
and for the first time in a long time
I thought I looked so ugly.

So I covered the mirror up with a ******* sheet
and pretended that when I stared back at my reflection
I was just a ghost.

I laughed because I scared myself.
I cried because I couldn't see any soul staring back at me.
I screamed because not having a face is really scary.

SO eventually I got sick of being a ghost.
SO I took a hammer and I broke the glass mirror
and it shattered into little pieces everywhere
and in it's place I wrote with blood U-G-L-Y on a wall
after I cut my feet on the glass shards from the mirror

And U-G-L-Y stayed there for a long enough time
that it felt like it had always been there.
and it grew and grew until the blood covered the whole wall
like an unfortunate behr paint sample from Home Depot

But there wasn't a mirror
so there wasn't really any ugly, just a word.

The mirror?
oh yah, that old thing used to be so daunting.
But, I kind of miss it.

I kind of miss seeing that big bug-eyed girl
who always looked at things just a little too long
you know, the one with the spots on her face
yellow teeth and round chin when she laughed
she had these great *****
but she also cried a lot more than she complimented
and also cared a lot more than she prayed
and I wonder what she does now a-days
who she is, where does she call home?
does someone think she is beautiful?
After all these years is she still just words written on a wall?

because now when I look at that wall
I still see a mirror and all I see
is a lifeless pale face and these ******* charcoal holes that just melt away into nothingness
and I think if that isn't ugly then I don't know what the **** is.

I am eating myself alive
every sweet bite tastes like forbidden ecstasy
sinking my teeth into sugary soft pink flesh
finger lickin' fun
my lips taste like my last meal
I am not scared of how good I taste
only that I am hypnotized by my inability to stop
So I keep savoring the sweet flavor
it's the worst binge episode I've ever had
but you can't lock this kind of fridge
it will just open back up again
I leave the spicy flavor on my skin
still searching for the saltiness of slathered meat
How big can I get I question,
as big as I want
when food is my only friend
who else cares what eats me alive.

Her last class assignment asked a simple question
1. Write a timeline of your career goals.
She looked at the blank page for a half hour.
She looked at the blank page for a whole day.
She found the blank page crumpled up in her backpack a month later in between a moldy sandwich and a warm water bottle.
She found the blank page in her sock drawer a year ago right next to the pair with little pink hearts and xoxo's.
She found the blank page on the side of the highway 5 years later after it had been ran over by cars and wheels and all that was left was little pieces of white paper crumpled up and lost.
She found what was left of the blank page on her mirror & it read in scribbly handwriting.

2018- nowhere.

The worst kind of fear is the kind that you can't escape
the kind that maneuvers through your bones
implants into your side
programs your muscles to feel that stabbing pain
it is so hard to even stand up
it takes everything for you to even get up in the morning
and they scream in your ear to "fight it"
but even your ears are plugged up with this horrible wax
there is no turning back
I am scared of my own body and i want to run and hide from it

I can't find a way to get out so it is useless.
   I am useless.
     This is useless.

We have always crossed paths in each other's lives
we've been characters, too scared to develop a major plot
actors, who won't step up and be the lead
writers who don't have the confidence to pen the truth
directors who get lost on their own way home.

But I am not a show, I don't want to be seen by only your eyes so tell me now if we are canceled because I have better things to do.

She looked at me with glassy blue eyes
They looked like the pebbles that I used to collect by the ocean

Her cheeks shined like the stars
and she tried to stop the tears from dripping into her coffee cup

The best stories have always begun with
"I have to tell you something,"

and the worst stories have always begun with
"I have to tell you something,"

So I stayed inside that day because rain reminded me of her face
and I called my doctor and asked him how big the human heart is

When he said, "the average weighs 10 lbs,"
I said, "Well I think i'm sick because mine weighs about 50."

I have stopped looking for her face
because it brings back memories of when I was 17

and I walked through halls of hell and tore up my insides
looking for a thing that couldn't be forged in fire.

I still try to find myself but I stopped looking in dark spaces
because those have a way of pulling you in too close

I laid on my back, the grass was wet, but felt refreshing against my bare back. His hand was sweaty so I let it go. We were in a field so the stars were bright as could be, they seemed to speak to me.There were rumors that the stars in the next town over shined brighter than ours did. Some people said that there were less fast food chains over there so therefore less lights to block the stars out. I told the glassy eyed boy that we ought to tear them all down and use the towns money instead to build a telescope the size of McDonald’s. He just laughed and said that my idea was stupid and then continued to **** me, with his filthy, cheeseburger hands.

You are no longer around but I still feel you
Your skin still smells the same against mine
I still feel your breath against the back of my neck
your fingers still trace my back bone
I am still with you
I will never leave you
promise you won't leave me too.

And I have touched them in places where they are supposed to feel things but they have still felt numb

How long does it take for love to fade
for a stain to go away
for someone to lose something forever
Does it take time
or maybe something more.
Help me find whatever it is I need.
Because I need to forget your face
or else I fear I will forget mine as well.

I look at you
and see everything that I am not
and maybe that is why I love you
or maybe it isn't.

I don't make promises
because some things are supposed to be broken and remain that way.

When you see the stars do they swallow you alive?
Do you feel smaller then you did before?
Do they call out to you wondering if they are enough?
If they are pure and good
If they are magical and mysterious
Do they make you ponder what distance actually is
Do they divide you and isolate your system
What do they make you feel?
When I look at them I feel like I am home
and I'm not sure if that is supposed to be scary or happy
What do the stars tell you?
What does your soul say?

Is it really love if we have to lose ourselves to find it?

He said in an angry tone "well why don't you just go write about it"
you can bet that I **** well did.
Only not one word was about you.
Oh, darling, I would never waste one word on your sorry ***.

I am afraid that you don't miss me
so why should I bother missing you
We were both doomed from the beginning
and I think we always knew.

Every time I begin to miss you
I start to write
so far I have 5 notebooks full
and I can recount every line on the palm of your hand
but I don't remember the sound of your voice
and some things are too hard to put into words
please make this pain stop
I'm wasting my time writing for someone
who has no desire to be written about
and that is a disgrace to the art
and a waste of words.

There is no such thing as scared words, only scared writers.

They say this is love oh this is life
wrinkled covers and naked bodies could never lie
they say this is love oh this is life
abortion clinics and the sound of babies cry
they say this is love oh this is life
pills everyday so it doesn't happen twice
they say this is love oh this is life
turn off the lights and go to sleep
they say this is love oh this is life
some nightmares cannot be forgotten
they say this is love oh this is life
dreams are dreams and they don't just go goodbye.

Well, all my love is gone
it has spilled out on the table
and slid through the cracks
now it's on the floor
and never coming back
I wish I could pick it back up
but it is scared of my touch
I miss it more and more everyday
It's hard not being able to explain how I feel about you
when I can't feel my love anymore.

I have ran out of words to say
maybe it's because it's been a while since I've visited Hello Poetry.

I never expected for this to happen
I promise to you it wasn't my intention
I loved you more than I loved myself
So when you snapped I feel down as well.

Anyone interested in reading something I wrote for grammar and content? I just would like some feedback!

It is not all about the fashion trends
or the latest shoes on the runway
about just the liquor or the tequila shots
not just about the boys or the dj's playlist
not just about monogrammed bags
or monogrammed shirts, hats, or ***** packs
Not just about the house or the cook or the decorations
or the long *** nights, or the laid back days
it's about the things we do for others to make a difference
it's about friendship, it's about sisterhood, and it's about family

I have never seen that much pain
on that pretty of a face before
I didn't know what to do
I could not say it would be alright
I could not make promises to keep
I just sat there and watched her weep
she talked of their future and of their past
their plans of longtime companionship
that were sure to last
soon that would all be gone
in the blink of an eye
in a situation that couldn't feel more wrong
did he jump or did he fall
the answer would shock us all
I hope he knows what he left behind is damaged
but high above he'll help her become bandaged
the laughs, the tears,
they are all still alive
for our loving memories never die.

You are raw emotions
and I am fired up winds
we smell differently but taste the same
I am shredded up pieces
you are put back together branches
we are broken the same way but put back together different
I am tossed aside, long edged lied
You are overused, sad and blues
We are power but not a presence
I am untied strings, thrown away wedding rings
You are dusty shelves, rebelled hells
We are gone oh we are faint, but not condemned to any state.

Me:  I am sad I am empty, I don't like what I'm feeling.
Him: I don't know what to say
Me: People around me keep dying
Him: I'm sorry
Me: This is why I drunk call you because I want to tell you that I love you at every waking moment of every day.
Him: I'm sorry I'm such a **** to you , you care about me so much.

It's hard to keep caring when there is no one who knows what to say when you feel nothing.

One: People “really” don’t give two ***** about the arts. They are more interested in different aspects of our society. ****** tabloid magazines and celebrity instagrams have replaced real news and artistic expression. People care about what color hair Kylie Jenner showed off at the latest red carpet premiere. They cross their fingers hoping it was beach blonde so they can fit in just like the royal snobs of our pop culture obsessed generation. People don’t pay attention to stylistic word choice or diction of a story, they can’t even get past the first ten words. If you're still reading this I applaud you. They don’t care if your writing flows right off the tongue, they only care if their sarcastic and arrogant tweet made some rando follower giggle. Technology has disconnected the power of our words from our audience.

Two: Being a broke college white girl isn’t cultured enough for some. No I have not been to Europe, London, or China. I have not tried real Italian Spaghetti, I’m lucky if I can find a decent piece of cheese pizza that has the perfect cheese to sauce ratio at my caf! For readers I am not enough of an adventurer or an explorer. I haven’t done sunrise mediation over a 50 foot drop off cliff or taken a cute touristy picture of me “ holding a famous landmark” in my hands. I trip over tree branches when I attempt to hike metro park trails and even though I’ve studied German for four years, if you ask me to speak it, I’ll probably tell you no because I can never get the accent quite right. I always sound like a dying horse with a sore throat.

Three: I am just shy of nineteen and let’s be honest I have no ******* clue how actual life works. I am just like every other mild tempered youth that gets fired up when you take something away from her and gets the occasional scare that in ten years I will be living alone with not just five cats but ten. I fear I will never find a job, that I picked the wrong major, that I’m not good enough to be anyone’s someone. And what twenty-something year old wants to read about someone else’s fears and **** ups when they don’t even know what they’re doing in life either.

Four: As a youthful writer I have faced a lot of rejection. Being only nineteen it can really make you want to give up and go crying on home to mommy and daddy. But I have stories, some not one single person will ever care about and will probably never even read. But at the end of the day all you write is just words. If they don’t mean anything to anyone, if they don’t leave someone feeling changed, then all you really did was waste 500 of them.

its easier to go numb to the pain
then to pretend like the hurting will go away.

The last time I kissed your mouth
you still lived in the mitten with your heart in our town
my hand was still mixed in with yours
we laid on grass that had been a family of geeses' bathroom
mosquitos ate us alive
and fountains spit water up in the air until gravity pulled it back down
your cookie dough ice cream melted all over your hand
I ran to go get more napkins
we drove to our special place
the back of your car was like a home
2000s pop radio played a strange mix of r&b; and pop
and I poured myself all over you
again and again and again
until the clock struck 10:30
I cried when I said goodbye
and you cried all the way home.
You may not always be in the mitten
but your heart will always be in my hand.

You are not your mother or fathers mistakes.

You were beautiful before the heels
and the high *** hair.
I saw your beauty everywhere.

Stacey lou grew up in a sad home too
where her mom smoked cigarettes and drank coffee for dinner
skipped a few meals, downed a few pills
woke up everyday prettier

Stacey lou began high school and felt uglier everyday too
She skipped all of her class to hide in the lou
met a man at the drive-in named dan
dropping out wasn't originally apart of the plan
but he made her feel like a million bucks

Stacey lou started drinking too
and every time she lost her mind
she swore her face would turn back time
her insides were a dyin' but her outside was a stylin'

She woke up one mid afternoon
looked into the mirror in the powder room
saw her momma looking back
and had herself a heart attack

She was beautiful before the heels and the high *** hair,
I'm tellin ya' I saw her beauty everywhere.

I walk away from my childhood home
the way a priest walks away from a tempting maiden
with eager footsteps but a deep hallow grief

A new beginning is on the edge of what feels like an unknown terrain
but I decide to jump not knowing if I will land on flat ground
I feel like one big fat question mark
except I am holding myself back
by being just at the end of what is about to happen

The memories have started to trickle back into my mind
the smell of freshly squeezed oranges and turpentine
he painted my room a dusty grey
promising me that the light would always make the room brighter
but good and pure light does not fix problems
it only blinds our eyes from what is really happening.

I promise this day is not a joyous occasion
but it is not a funeral either.

I am alive,
and my eager footsteps are already an *echoing rhyme.

Tell me why do smiles not cure sickness
why can the sky not ever meet the sea
where do new beginnings begin to shape into endings
How does one ever become found if all they've ever been is lost
dreams are reality just more asleep.

And he used to tell me take off your glasses kid
you don't need them to see
you see from your soul not your eyes

Because of you I can no longer enjoy
eating reese's mcflurry's
watching Wes Anderson films
wearing my monsters of men t shirt
watching fireworks
swinging on porch swings
or playing Resident Evil 2 on my Wii
And i really liked those things so *******

I know this is a website for poems but I would like to share a blog post I wrote. I'm hoping you'll all check it out!
http://wgrt.com/entirelywomen/embracing-your-flaws/

The scars on my cheeks match the scars on your legs
only difference is that we were both two different kinds of sick
I had stevens Johnson syndrome
you had mild depression
doesn't matter
the scars show we both survived
they are our stories that we were stronger
than what threatened to **** us.

Since when do people fit into a time slot
do you have to look at the clock
to know when you'll be able to fit them in
for a quick lunch date or maybe a glass of gin
do you call them at late hours of the night
because that is the time you are the most lonley
do you cancel on some because others are more fun
tell me since when did people become appointments
if you are free you'll pencil them in
from exactly 10:03-11:10
people are people they are not hours, minutes, or seconds
they do not care if you are busy
they just want to know that you care enough to make time for them.

"Some people just love people who are bad" -via my drunk best friend

And when the time comes to pull the trigger
will you know your enemy from your friend
or will you be staring at someone who could be both.

If you listen to the wind long enough It will tell you a story of many generations breathing it in and out and letting it consume them and run through their hair and blow on their skin. If you listen closely enough you will hear their voices sometimes they will be shouting for peace, praying for help, laughing around a campfire. It will bring in gusts of smells like incense and perfumes that they splattered on. It will tell us who they are and what has become of them. Even when we are gone the wind will carry the soil that we touched.

When he looks at me
I see everything I love staring back.

His mind was his only useful weapon
his hands so soft and smooth
his eyes darted around like he had something worth hiding
He was dressed like a white collar business man
yet his smell reeked of gas station food
his leg shook violently
I wanted to see inside his soul
but I wasn't sure if even that could be ruled as innocent.

I am a mountain
I am built strong and sturdy
I am a danger to others never to myself
People try to challenge me
Use me to overcome their own fears
But don't always succeed in their endevaurs
At the end of the day I am left alone

I am a river
flowing to someplace new
hoping to not repeat my same past mistakes
I am polluted with other people's waste
I am thrown off by intruders
I try to keep what belongs in me safe
but I cannot save everyone
I wave,rip, and roar
I wish I wasn't always in a rush

I am a lot of things but one thing I am not is controlled by anything man made, therefore I will not be a form of destruction

while you are complaining about your nonexistent love life there is single people out there still living, still going to their jobs, still hanging out with their friends, still spending time with their families. Their lives are still moving, they are still happy and alive and free.

As humans we were not programed to always have a partner.

I am sick of the halls echoing the same names
moaning for some kind of pleasure
from a girl in a skirt that slips itself past her thigh
I have never been one to scream
but it feels sometimes like I am being swallowed alive
the windows only show some sort of imaginary picture
when I am trapped on the inside
I sit at a desk and stare straight ahead
how do we not call this some form of punishment
breathe me in until there is nothing left but stale air
I promise to always let you see who I really am

I don't like you when your sober
Or when you look into my eyes for more than a few minutes
when you hold my hand in class
or laugh at me as I embarrass myself on a daily basis
I don't like how your pants always hit just above the ankles
how you say nothing when you are too scared to be honest
when you see right through me like I'm crystal clear ocean water
I don't like how you're always telling me that you're sorry
when you don't try to change
when you fall to pieces and I am the only one who bothers trying to put them together again
when you always leave me behind.
I don't like how I can't move on from loving you
even though you are the worst person for me to love.

Today a teacher called me out in front of the whole class and made me feel like stupid **** so this is an open letter to that teacher.

Dear Mrs. (she who should not be named)
You say that you are an educator of the youth
yet you take pride in proving your student's ideas and interpretations wrong
Rather than listening to the words coming out of your student's mouths
You call them out when they do not understand something
you do not listen to the ideas that one provides to the classroom setting
because you are like every other privileged caucasian housewife
"Educating" our youth on a **** salary and ******* about how much you hate it
Sorry but you chose your own career and lifestyle
it is your own fault that you are being forced to teach invalid information to a group of teenagers who will value or even use your information in real life
which by the way stories about your children are uninformative
for the pure fact that you "faked" being nice to me the very next day
only proves my point that sometimes even the most highly esteemed educators
know nothing more than a dim witted teenager about how to treat one another
a simple rule that was in fact taught in kindergarten cannot even be fathomed by adults
yet we are wasting our time teaching the youth time tables and history on the French revolution.
Let that sink in.
Sincerely,
A dim witted student who respects her teacher and just wanted to be treated back like she was an actual human being with feelings.