I wish I could paint
for the emotions I feel I'm not sure how to put into words.
Words run away as saltwater drips from clinched eyes of pride
believing if she can hide that hollow heart that beats inside
of a young girl stuck in a young adults shoes she will feel brand new.
She demands control but her soul, wont let well enough go.
Perfection she will never achieve for she is not headed into the correct direction.
Anger and disappoint in herself seems to effect the progress of her health.
She wants help but too afraid so this being called fear tends to get in the way.
In hopes to cleanse her body of derby of sin
she showers to the the degree of obsession then the sun rises so she repeats her acts all over again.
Signs.
Signs so loud that she can not hear her voice as her lips move
She forgets the sound it makes.
She struggles to breathe as her lungs inhale hate exhale frustration
of how much she types yet nothing is spelt just right.
As if every word misses a letter,
every line misses a word her mind has yet to learn
so she digs deeper hoping to find the words her fingers burn for.
Eyes fixated on scares made to force perfection but she can't see if for she travels in the opposite direction.
Nails grow from undeserving hands,
hands that grew from arms the cradled a being so young in days that his eyes were shaped as small buttons of love.
Love, affection, approached with either she ran in the farthest direction
for if love equaled happiness that would dissolve much like she wished she would everyday she blinked and a reflection of her face was me she didn't want any part of it for it was too much to handle a
perfect definition of imperfection as she.
As she weeps I watch for I know
the person she cries to be nothing a like is me.

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
    No want of conscience hold it that I call,
    Her “love” for whose dear love I rise and fall.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

An afternoon with you
beside me, with me
as we talk about things
and sit in companionable quiet
seeing you lost in your thoughts
dwelling on ideas I know naught of
writing these lines
not saying my mind
that I love you beyond
belief and thought
that I'm happy
with what we've wrought

'I write about the butterfly,
It is a pretty thing;
And flies about like the birds,
But it does not sing.

'First it is a little grub,
And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,
And then the butterfly
Eats its way out soon.

'They live on dew and honey,
They do not have any hive,
They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,
And to be as good as they are we should strive.

'Bright shines the summer sun,
Soft is the summer air;
Gayly the wood-birds sing,
Flowers are blooming fair.

'But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
Sadly I dwell,
Longing for thee, dear friend,
Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell!'

'Through sunlight and summer air
I have sought for thee long,
Guided by birds and flowers,
And now by thy song.

'Thistledown! Thistledown!
O'er hill and dell
Hither to comfort thee
Comes Lily-Bell.'

The words inside of me
setting me free
free
letting me flee
So I can run laps
on the things
       that chase
             me
Surprise what
      I fear most
  by facing it
head on

    Who doesn't say
to do such a thing?

   love what you hate
        for the hate that
                    it brings
         love the pain for
                    such things
such beautiful words
such superb
feeling

Pain is beauty
fear is love
there is nothing to
fear
nothing to
run from
It is all beautiful.