there's a lot in me that wants you closer
but more in me that doesn't care
there's a lot in me that wants you far away
more that wants my blood in your hair.
most of me
while we're being honest
claws at my own chest
and is broken at best.

A sleeping river freezes
The fire that is lit at her base goes out and she's left there.
The hot coals will melt in imprints on her skin.
The residue will surface and those who depend upon her for warmth and solidarity will perish as soon as her body relaxes.
But we are not a river, the cold air has repelled that thought, I am a woman with a burning body leaping from the building in attempt to quell the flame.
You sir, are the smoke that rises from her melted contorted corpse.
Because falling is easy, jumping too.
Landing is difficult, when there's no one there to catch you.

Do you know what I have just realized? Do you know what has just crossed my mind? I cannot have you.
Not like I'd like to, not like I want to. I can't have you because she does.
Which is fine, because you can't be mine.
I'm sad.
Which is okay.
I'm hurting.
Which I will get through.
For now I just need to write some poetry and draw and cry and hopefully soon.
I will wake up, and your voice won't choke me.
The memories won't ******* me.
I will get through this.
One.
Day.
At.
A.
Time.

If I could tell you one more thing.
It would be a simple confession.
Something that I didn't realize.
Until after I had heard it again.
I missed the sound of your voice.
Like it's a melody that cannot be undone..
Like it's a song that cannot be unsung.
I won't get any notes for this one.
Because it's not a poem.
It's a confession.
I miss the sound of your voice.
Whispering my name,
S E
I'm sorry.

i dont miss you like i used to. it's not there all the time

but when it is there i cannot sleep

he said i felt sad like someone feels sunburnt or frost bitten

like you had somehow smothered me and infected me with your touch

you truly are fire and I have melted beneath you.

I doubt I will freeze again but if it's all the same.

I don't think I want to.

I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna kiss you, like I wanna go down on you… Wait, sorry.
Hey, I like you like, I think you’re pretty, like I want us to get along, hey! I really like this song wanna dance? I like your tight pants, I don’t mean to stare it’s just kind of there like Wow, sorry that came out wrong, Hey I’m Esther, nice to meet you, cute shoes. Who knew converse would create this kind of tension. Do you watch Dr Who? You hate Moffat? Me too.
I’m sorry this is supposed to be a love poem and I’m blabbering,
Hey! I like you, like I think  your finger tips are spider webs the way you pull me in, Andrew Garfield, spider man, have you seen that one? I’m a huge fan.
Hey, I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna  take you out on dates and hold your hand in parking lots and line ups, like your laugh is contagious and your eyes are outrageously beautiful.

You’re pretty, smiling eyes and nervous laughter, not quite caught up in the moment.
I’d sing you a love song; I’d walk ten thousand miles. I catch my breath when your lips part to smile.
Your eyes sparkle when you see something you love; I wonder what it feels like to be the subject of your stares? The object of your affection.
So, I think you’re adorable; it’s deplorable how much I wanna kiss you.
Hey Tight jeans! Was that rude? Because I can be crude, and kind of mean, in the sense that I say what I think and a lot of people say I’m forward…
Take me out tonight; the stars are just bright enough for me to see your features, I’d paint pictures of your hands if mine would just stop shaking. I’m afraid,
because you’re just a little bit older and more bold than I’d have expected you to be, but you see it’s not written in the stars that we should be together, here I see in your eyes that you’re excited because you don’t realize this poem is about you, you idiot.
See what I mean, I’m not cautious. Torturous really I couldn’t stand to see you saddened, because  you’re beautiful which is trivial, I mean a man who looks like you must know this right?
Do you like romantic? I could say your eyes are waterfalls and your temples are the gaps in the sidewalks where puddles huddle.
I want to get to know you, I want to hold you while it’s raining, straining to keep my eyes on the movie we’re watching but your face in the half light is ignited
Your nose is the bookmark in the middle of my favourite story, marking the points before the hero has to leave and after he’s realized he can’t stay.
I can feel your heart beating from where we’re dancing, every inch of your body, I’d memorize, your curves and lines like you were my times tables and I wasn’t ever able to get those down so I might have to go over them a few more times before you’re committed to memory.
But now, in the blissful morning after sunrise, you lie.
sleepily kiss my forehead and mumble “I have class”
and I spend the last few seconds before you leave my room admiring your a-
… eyes.

Let me write you a poem, not because I can but because I have to
Your name drips like candy off the tongue, in a world that seems empty of all else your pulse feels like drag racing on a highway.
Put your hands on me.  Bluntly and stop, thinking and start feeling me. Crawling into your bed and holding your head up so I can peer into your mind, to see what I can find.
I want to remind myself of how much I mean to you
and how late nights are form fitting dresses on an anorexic,
Sugar pills given to diabetics.
red markers given to cutters, or braces given to people who stutter.
You, are every if and or but I’ve ever ignored. I implore you to understand me
my nooks and crannys, my would’s, should’s and can be’s.  
I want you like ****** coursing through my veins.
I can’t contain myself.
Skip town on a bus, to find your way into my room on my bed under my sheets, my skin, my heat. Beat me, leave bruises on my thighs so when my lovers see them they have to ask why and I have to hide you, like a drug addiction and bad breath in the morning, you feel like global warming against my skin, when you literally lift me up I’m reminded of how small I am in comparison.
Let me write you a poem, not because I want to but because I’m in love with you.
Had you fooled didn’t I?
Let’s get one thing straight.
I hate the way you make me feel.
I’ve taken too much time to heal these wounds and you remind me that they’re still fresh.
My body feels like it’s in love, I can’t think of anything else when you’re around
except the sound in my own head.
I fell in love with you like a razor blade cuts across fresh skin.
Quickly, and with the malice of a thousand swearing tongues
I found your name on the end of a list too many times to forget.
and I hate it.
Because I never write poems for people I am not in love with.
So forgive me if I can’t come to grips with the idea that I have
fallen for you like a snow storm, like the rain that shatters glass.
Kicking and screaming, on the soft grass.

Let me write you a poem, not because I can, but because I’m afraid that I have to.
If I don’t write these memories down then I might forget you.
and I don’t want to.

You drove me home in the rain.
The tension was driving me insane and i couldn’t withstand the strain of it upon my shoulders.
You should know i respect you way too much to let this go.
I just really need to let you know. That if you don’t i will. So just stop. Stop doing that thing with your mouth where you talk.
Because its hard to kiss you when your opinions getting in the way
Stop. Stop doing that thing with your mind where you lie. Next to me and whisper that I'm worth the risk
Stop, stop doing that thing you do with your eyes. When you see my smile but you know my mind wants to cry.
Stop, stop doing that thing with your hands where you demand attention because the suspension between us is too great and I hate that I'm writing you a poem because I only ever do this to people that I love
And I'm not in love with you. So stop.
Stop doing that thing with your smile. That makes me want to walk a mile just see it sprint across your face.
I don't want a happy ending I want fate
I want a nice smile and a bed mate
Not an intimate promise of tomorrow
I can't stand the distance between us
So I fall on my knees, take me please I'm yours to break and bond. I'm bound to the ground exactly where I was found. So stop.
Stop, stop doing that thing with your ears where you hear what I mean and not what I say.
You make my brain fuzzy, and I can't think
Can't cant. Can't. Can't think straight
I've never felt straighter in my life.
Which causes me no strife other than the fact that I can’t ******* talk to anyone without thinking about your taste and how fast I would surrender to you without haste so just Stop!
Stop that thing you did with your mouth when you talk.
Because its hard to kiss you when you're opinions are getting in the way.

I’m tired of trying, I just want to rest.
If you want my body, go on and take the wreck,
I’ve made myself into something I despise and if it works for you then I guess that’s fine.
By the time you read this I’ll be gone, and your sick memories will become one.
A dream I’ve been haunting, and keeping inside. In a desperate attempt to hide
I’d like to take all the things you taught me to see, bundle them up inside me.
Cry myself a river to let it all out. Then punch my ticket and with it take a razor to a clean arm.
You’re the abuser and the user the king and the accuser.
“Careful follow my instruction, and I will show you self-destruction.”
it’s criminal how you can consume me, how the thought of you makes a muse out of me.
I thought you were my friend! But there is nothing left to mend, but a sickness and the ability to bend.
I’ve been losing my mind, and I tend to assume you’re right I’m wrong, can I do anything but not make this choice?
I used to say I miss your voice, but I’ve become so custom to hearing it so loud that it blocks out any and all sound. Even if you’re not around
I’m floating in a sea of lies, and I’m deprived of the basic need, to feed. Food is too simple I need something more; help me forget the pain of remembering her.
Now that we’re alone together
can you help me forget her?
I can’t help but want to fight you
I’ve been through shades of blue
but this is an entirely different hue.
Keep me close, hold me here.
Whisper in my ear, you’re not who they say you are,
I don’t want to believe how much you’ve been hurting me
But it’s over now I’m all dried up, the ocean I was swimming in has become un done.
And I’ve been tired of trying for so long now. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t doubt you.

I stumble out of bed
Taking dream out of my head
Running razors across dead hairs
As they fall like the leaves in my back yard
I feel naked in my skin, basking in my sin
As I fall back down
Will you turn me around
My face to the ground
Hold me alive, I don’t wanna die.
I don’t wanna die
I understand your disappointment
As you stare blindly at my scars
I find life hard to bear
I find love hard to care about
when I’m clouded with doubt.
about you and I.

Make me forget his name
I’ll let you say her name
Killing won’t help us now
Ending this will just hurt you more in the end
Jewel, diamond in the ruff, you’ll pay for the pain you’ve put me through
Ask me if this is ok?
My hurt won’t help you stay sane
Is this worth the pain in the
End
**** the heart
Organized crime is what’s left to find
Dead men running through town
I’m gone for you, now.

Is this worth the pain in the end
Saying it’s over doesn’t mean it’ll end
Ask yourself the question,
I’ll burn the messages you’ll send
And all the rules we’ll bend
Ha, payback’s a *****.

Lie down
He’ll encourage
let me
He’ll say
how was your day?
He’ll ask me
Fine,
I’ll say
She wants more and so do I
Let me go
I’ll shout
Calm down
he’ll soothe
condescendingly
All I want is to be able to fly
without having to let go
or say goodbye
he doesn’t get that I’m screaming
he doesn’t get I’m not worth it
He doesn’t want better if better isn’t
me.

She’s not alive anymore
Something inside her broke
and it was the last string left
and the first time they spoke
They don’t talk because
no one cares
No one’s there
Then there are her friends
She doesn’t even like them
and you don’t get it
she’s bleeding
She’s numb
and if you weren’t so dumb
and maybe if you got off your ***
and sold the banana and grew a pair
she’d smile and sing
like she used to
but now every other word’s a sting
and she sits behind me in math class
but we’d never let her in
and she doesn’t tell me what she thinks
the national geographic
was being too graphic
when all she wanted to know was the traffic
in London, and somewhere in France
and the size of that ugly fat ladies pants
and the weather and whether or not she could cry
and if she would actually die
To be the size of the ladies on tv
As she reads her books
She gives her looked
She hurt herself
She hides her heart
She’s torn apart by you
And if you’d open your eyes
You’d see her tears
And tear
Yourself from the hurt and hate you
Harbor and see that

You like the hiding behind closed doors smile
Don’t you
You like the Shushed, Hushed hub bubs
Don’t you?
You like the long silences and awkward pauses
Don’t you
You like the “Shh, don’t tell anyone what. We. Did”
Don’t you?
You like keeping secrets and letting people say
Don’t you....
You like locking people like me in closets, knowing that my clothes will never be closed to people like you and your sick twisted...
Don’t you’s.
Well this virus isn’t going to go away, thats right I’m here to stay and nothing is going to get in my way so baby sit tight cuz it’s only going to get harder, better faster and finally stronger.
Don’t you
think that this is getting old, maybe we should try something else, maybe you should get over it and let me go, from this fun house mirrors
Don’t you
wonder if one day I’m going to realize that you are not.
Who you want me to be
Who they look up to
Don’t you
Know I’m going to take the edge and step from it
I’ve out grown all my briches and
Brunt all my bridges and
Cryed all my rivers
I’m trying to get over it but
You don’t know how hard it is to let it.
Go.
You like the “Quiet timing”
Don’t you?
You want me to stand back while you
Hurt me?
Here we lay,
broken at best
Shattered Pieces
Shattered Rest
Left alone
Dead beats in my chest
Cold and hard
lest we let go
Lest we rest
Lest we think over this terrible mess
Don’t you
Know about the ending the finish
Don’t you?
Think maybe we should give up
while we are ahead...

Nigel had said a lot that day, he spoke of old love and Jesus and other such fun and ****** things, he swore only once, and the lines from the poem stuck out like bright pink bubble gum on the soul of a black shoe, special lines.
Sunday was a long day, I didn't think anything would come of it but he still made me nervous.
We went to the skate park and he sat across from me and we were together and talking about the terrible person who had broken his heart, and how he never really loved her, he loved the idea of her.
I thought of how dumb it was to think you were in love with someone and then only like them for who they seem to be.
The windswept us under a skate jump and we just sat away from it all tucked away, then it started, he was annoying,
His hands found my extremely ticklish sides and he wouldn't let them go. At one point I tried to get out and he pulled me
Onto his lap, I was sitting on him and every inch of my body was screaming about something, about how much I loved this man and
How on Monday nothing would change and we would just go back to being friends, then he grabbed me and we found ourselves cuddling
Out of the wind and my lips were too close to his I opened them as if to prelude to a kiss, that day he had been licking his bottom lip
Lip which was a sign that he wanted to kiss someone, My lips parted and I spoke the line that reminded me of everything I wanted,
"I wanna kiss you like a traffic jam."
He smiled and laughed without moving his head back, "I wanna kiss you so badly, I am willing to chop of my own head and throw it at your lips"
I taunted him, my nerves tingling. This was wrong, or was it... it felt to good to be wrong,
And yet...I challenged him.
"Bring it."
And then we were kissing.

When the spider and the rabbit dance.
The tiger never wins.
The spider has his webs of steel and gold
the rabbit his tunnels and the stories he spins.
the tiger runs to his princes defense.
but the spider has a tighter hold
though the rabbit knows his way around.
the story’s left untold.

Itsy bitsy spider
Crawled into rabbits brain
Then came the murders
They made bunny go insane
Out came his tiger
To take away the pain
But the itsy bitsy spider
Will take control again.

Itsy bitsy magpie
Pulled bunny down to see
Though the pills he took were great,
he’d never quite be free.
Bunny tried with all his might
to scare magpie away
but the magpie ushered him to the mirror
and whispered “ look, You’re me!”





itsy bitsy bunny
was tired of his game
he wrestled with the magpie night and day
but never felt okay.
Finally bunny had had enough
And threw his hope away
His tiger took him by the wrist and mumbled.
Just one more day.

Procrastination is evil.
2. Heartbreak is not the same thing as death.
3. Food is good for you, starving is bad
4. People think you’re beautiful, but that doesn’t mean they like you
5. Loving someone is about giving them all and knowing they give all as well.
6. Poetry makes the world around.
7. Success is measured by you, not them.
8. I don’t think I know anyone who hates me as much as I hate myself, which is probably a good thing because most days I don’t really hate myself that much.
9. Pressure is something you apply to an open cut, not your life.
10. People will always change, nothing is permanent.

The science of missing you is the distance between the roughness of your tongue and the softness of your lips.
The exact moment we connected I've been separated from my mind since then, because you roam inside of it. Held my momentum down with a single claw.
the mathematics behind how it feels to touch you is a million to one, I have come undone under the pressure of your memory.
The exact science of missing you is an equation I can't keep myself from memorizing, your scent is still thrilling, your memory is killing me but I would rather die than never have myself
entwined with you.

Caress me with the shell of your fingertips
Kiss me with your teeth.
Show me whats on the outside
I can’t afford to fall for whats underneath.

This is not about you. This is about the demon who lives inside your mind. The one who is starving alongside you, so he gobbles up the good thoughts, the positive reinforcements we try to tell you.
He poisons your food, which is why you won’t eat.
Its the only explanation I can fathom, unless there is another.
Then PLEASE, tell me. I am begging.
This is not about you “habit”. This is about being scared to complement you on your good days. And holding you on your bad ones.
This is about telling you, you can come to me if you need it.
But never knowing how to fix it when you do.
This is seeing a mold infested wound.
By not having the guts to sever it before it grows.
This is not about the food. It is about the ashes you inhale with every drag of the *** between your pale pink fingertips.
This is isn’t killing you, this is suicide.
This is not about the help offered, but the impossibility of accepting it.
This is not about how well you understand yourself.
Rather, how well you understand the world.
Every starving woman I have ever talked to have the kindest hearts.
They see the world with wide eyes and hungry minds, hungry bellies too, but they cannot see to that. So they feed their minds with the sore sights of their over sized bodies in the mirror. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT HE’S LYING.
I’m lying, I love you, more than you love yourself, and it’s hypocritically because you look so paper thin that I look up to you, not just because you’re taller than me.
I stopped.
This is not about me.
This is about you, and loosing you.
To him.
This is about you.
About helping you,
“you’re beautiful, my broken mess”

I am not your lover, I am not your sister, I am not your friend I don’t depend on your for knowledge I’m not in college to listen to your lies if I try hard enough I can still see you standing there with her.
Do you remember when we met? You told me in Latin that our hearts beat in syncopation and that the trepidation underfoot was caused by the ****** tension. That the earth quake that made my hands shiver would melt like winter into spring if I sprung myself onto you but here’s the thing it didn’t. Of course that didn’t stop us from trying I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t love every second of it.
I can’t say that I never loved you, and I can’t tell you that you were the closest to heaven that I had so far felt but that doesn’t stop the fact that I wasn’t your ******* therapist. I couldn’t fix you, you told them all that I made you fall in love with me just so I could dash your dreams like I enjoyed hearing you scream, darling I’m not that mean. You fell by yourself and I tried to catch you but I couldn’t hold you up to the bar on par with the mentally stable, I wasn’t able to fix you.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. When you cried about the darkness I held you in my arms, when the sunlight shone too brightly I shielded you from harm and your rigorous charm melted my cold heart inches apart from where I let you in.
I am not your sin, I am not your sanctum, I am not your addiction, I did not tie you to this post and beat you, I didn’t cheat on you and I didn’t lie. I cannot begin to pretend that I am someone that I’m not for you anymore. You hold me down and call me a ***** but I’m just here hoping you’ll let me walk away from you untouched because I’m not your enemy or your hatred. The battle that is going inside of you has nothing to do with me, can’t you see that?
I’m sorry you’re hurting, I can’t imagine the pain you must be going through it’s just that I throw myself in front of trains for you and you’ve never ushered so much as a thank you. So here’s my response, ***** you! I’d scream from the top of buildings and beckon down the doors of the palaces. I want you to know how much I don’t like you.

I am the ghost in the machine
You raise the curtain and what Tim Burton told you would be there is
I will feast on your Innards and cast without regard to your suicidal aunt
a hand gun and tell her to have fun
I am the devil and it's not evil I seek it's retribution.
Join my clan; you don't still believe you're part of some godly plan!
Ahahahahah! You're so cute when you’re terrified. Go on try and run, you'll never hide.
but behind your eyes I smell desperation.
And any chance at rehabilitation would be *******
And yet you have hope behind those eyes. Your mind racing with possibilities that I might be lovable and changeable.
But I’m the devil and hell is my navel
I control the universe.
Your dog got hit by a car.
Blame me,
He looks better as tar
he makes a great floor mat. Should have trained him in hand to paw combat.
Your mum is terminally Ill
Send me the bill.
You best friend dies, hate to say it but did he even try.
I control and contort; I do not send hope or
Comfort. I am the devil. They say third times the charm
Maybe this Time you'll remember I'm here only to do harm.
I'm the ghost in the machine.
But I'm only as strong as you make me seem.

He says I am dangerous, like I am not a woman but a flame, black eyeliner and a course vocabulary. He says that he keeps his vices at arm’s length, and that is all I will ever be. You see I am not his princess, I am not life giving or presently persuasive. I am simply charcoal used to cure poisoning. I am nothing to him but a warm blanket to store until the winter months settle in. He would have me fester and burn on the floor of his dorm as the wind whispers our love into his ears.
I would be his wool blanket, hand knitted and stored in safety until his warm hands clutch mine in the moonlight. I would be his cigar in the pale dawn of Sunday, I would be his eye contact.
Don’t look away, stay focused on me. Here on the brink of destruction we stand, and I would band to you like hot wax melting against my back, attack the vermin which subsides in the history of our people. We still hold dear to the ideals of that period. However, we haven’t grown out of our britches yet.

Don't ******* a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. ******* a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.

We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.

Notes from a broken heart.
1. It’s always easier to write poems in list form because you can always just rhyme the words with the numbers, like one and fun, and sun and undone and ***, and oh.. and um…
2. When seducing someone who is only in it for the physical don’t tell her that her cheek kisses give you butterflies, the power will go to her head and instead of wanting to ******* she’ll just want to cuddle and huddle around her favorite book and you don’t want that. Or maybe you do, but she doesn’t want that. Or maybe she does, but that’s beside the point because she can’t have that, and neither can you.
3. Never fall in love with the cute girl who is leaving, it’ll leave you heaving for air and she crushes you with her inevitable departure here after she’ll be nothing more than a memory and you haven’t shed a tear for her yet don’t lose that streak
4. I can still taste you, and I know that I never will again and I will never utter your name to anyone but the insane as a mantra to the boy I deserve better I can still feel your cold hands against my back you taste familiar like someone I used to know, and I wish it would snow outside I’m trying to hide from the fact that heart ache brings out good poetry and not very good studying habits no one is going to know this section is about you except you and that’s okay because I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this part, because these are just stupid notes from a broken heart that’s trying to mend.
5. I’m still alive, I’m still breathing even though I’m lonely I’m still smiling even though you’ve driven me crazy and I’m still shining because in the end there is nothing between me and the things I can’t do but a door way and if it’s locked I will hurl all one hundred and twenty… thirty pounds at it.
6. *** is never as good as friendship.
7. I can’t tell the difference between the pain I feel and the emptiness I enjoy
8. I don’t hate you though I think I should
9. I’m a diamond that you won’t be able to mine anywhere else. I’m a rare breed but you see you can’t have the cake and eat it too don’t be greedy. Behave.
10. This needs to end.
1. It’s much more fun for me to lie about you then it is to say that you wanted me to stay, because I spent all semester ogling about you when I should have been focusing but I get a clean slate now that I’m in control I made my bed and I will be more than happy to sleep in it because even though you ****** me over it’s not really me you messed with is it, no. It’s yourself.
2. This poems slowly becoming notes from the other woman, when really I only ever wanted to know what your lips tasted like
3. I can’t see past the lust in your eyes and the inside of your mouth where you hide your demons and you swallow your pills. The hill from my dorm room to yours is frozen over if I slip and fall there’s a chance I’ll land face first in the small river that flows under the bridge.
4. Did she know? Did she take one look at you and say “*****!” did she feel your guilt as you moved inside her? Did she hold you closer because she knew another had already touched you
5. I took three showers after I left your house I thought you were the one with OCD
6. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that he hurt you, I’m so sorry that I played along I’m so sorry that we let ourselves get caught up in the idea that we could be something that wasn’t a one night stand hold my hand and feel my pulse.
7. It’s beating just like yours.
8. It quakes when he touches me, does the same thing happen to you?
9. In time this will heal over I don’t know you but I know you deserve better
10. I can’t show this to anyone.

How to be a *****.  Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re **** buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have *** with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just **** her she’s your *** toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.

I hate the word beautiful, but it’s all that I can think of right now, there’s the sounds you make when I grab you and the color of the bites on your neck but there’s nothing in between the rapid heartbeats in my chest and the next best thing sitting beside me, you could hide from me, put yourself in a little parcel and package your mind up for sale until you’ve sailed half way to Australia, you could have lied about your past and cast aside a shadow of a doubt but instead when I settled down beside you, your unexplainably soft lips touched the tips of my fingers and lingered on my hips and dipped beneath me whispering beautiful.
I hate the world beautiful, its cliché. Thesaurus’ are made for a reason, I’m caught up in the changing of the seasons and it would be treason to say there is a more fitting word that I’ve heard about you but… I’d really rather not admit to thinking your be-
When the snow softly falls on the lit trees in the moonlight, or the message lights up the screen on your phone and the butterflies in your stomach start to scream. There really isn’t another word for your eyes blood shot and captured by passion, I only have some idea of the way you taste but I’d hasten a guess that it’s sweeter than sugar. That! Was cliché, but hey… please say you’ll forgive me for being so **** forward.
The smoke in this room makes my eyes squint, if you could take a hint instead of taking a hit we’d be a lot closer than we are. Thanks to Mary Jane, and if it’s all the same to you I’d like to say that you are handsome, attractive, be-
I dislike the word beautiful because it’s trivial, of course I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think you were hot. Because ******* do I? Not a volcano, you’re molten lava, after the fires of Pompeii. You’ve single handily wrecked me, crashing into your shore I’m sure you still stretch out your arms to heal the burns left by your fellow man. I can’t stand when I’m around you, my knees quiver and I shiver from head to toe. I must really think you’re beautiful
And I am not about to deny that for every word I’d rather use the word you like best is the most appropriate. And it’s a scientific fact though it’s not backed up by experiments but experience; I’ve found a new way to exercise my right to use something redundant. Here’s my poetic licence, you can check the date of its expiry, I’ve hardly gotten to know you but I know I want to hold you while it’s snowing outside and hide with you from our not quite forgotten fears. So here I am, standing quietly. Stripped of my superfluous splendor and you still look at me in awe, everything is still in this darkness and this snow, I’m not trying to be an actress for you, this isn’t a show I’m just here so you know that it’s true. Your tongue traces your lips and you murmur.
beautiful.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really alive, maybe this is just all a sick joke.
Then the pain in the core of my existence pounds against my rib cage
I realize that a pain that strong can’t be faked.

Sometimes I place my hands on my neck and squeeze just to make sure my pulse is real.
Because it seems I live in this parallel life of pain and numb happiness.
I’d give anything to be happy all the time.
But I’m bleeding inside.

Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone and abandoned
like the stray on the side of the road
I push through today one step at a time.
I’m not real, is all I hear.

You know I’d forfeit it all,
for another night with you.

If his eyes were stars she would wish upon them.
Perhaps then, he would look to her the same way.
If his breath were a poet she would hang upon it’s every expression.
Wishing for a day where her remarks would take his breath away.
She drinks in his breath, as if it would give life to her dull bones.
If he could tell her how she made his life light up like a Christmas candle.
She would blush at every line.
Her lips puckered with ****** request.
It was the most innocent of caresses. She held onto ignorance
with no wish of letting go.
Because when she’s with him, the voices don’t cry so loudly
she could write ten thousand poems about his gentle eyes.
Describing every part of it she would sweep with her damp burnt, licked lips.
Drawn into a line to stop the flow of words she wishes to whisper.
So she doesn’t open her dark bat filled mouth to his spring filled questions.
In the obscurity, she imagines his soft hand next to hers.
She sings a lullaby into his ears, and he wishes he could kiss her.
And she wishes he could too.
As of now, she’ll cry out to the voices to hush themselves.
And the dusk to enlighten her,
She cannot see the light at the end of tunnel; this façade is blocking the way.
All she knows is that she needs him closer.
If he could tell her a thousand times that the sun shone down from the heavens and through her expression.
She would glance down at the floor and hear.
He’s lying. ҉

If only my heart beat in syncopation with my mind.
I wish to make the words collide, but separation is all I can find.
Still I force my hand to tell a tale a soul would plead to hear.
I pray to some cigarette and wine stained God that tomorrow will draw me near.
Yes, tomorrow I would fly high and caress the sky with such a tender touch.
But tonight I am buried, beneath emotion uncontrolled and contorted.
Tonight I cannot so much as separate a single strand of hair from my eyes without the flood of passion.
Pass the salt, pour it onto my self-inflicted wound we so often refer to as love.
But my love has been bruised burnt and destroyed.
I have cursed, killed and polluted my own mind with thoughts of sickness, and now I crave it.
Had I only believed the goodness in myself?
Not let the demons creep up and **** all hope of a new beginning.
Had I so simply as smiled and thanked the lady when she spoke, the gentle kisses of her soft words had pulled my mind from where it had been.
too where I am now.
There are no words. No motions, no belief.
I am Godless and covered in the spit of my immortal demons.
Would it be better if I simply let them win…
their knives are as sharp and their whip is warm.
Their sick pretend grace causes my hands to reach for them. But they’re not there.
Not here, I am without my demons, my lover, my God, my destroyer.
I am alone.

I question the laws which are shared among our youth during these hard times; we have no great war, no question that burns the nations to their knees blaring. We simply have our poverty and power, our endless struggles and our eating disorders.
                We are the nation of winners and runners; we are the hypocrites of our father’s religion. Welcome to America, so jam packed with fast foods and cigarettes that you can hardly taste the reality before it has bombed you down.
                And then there’s you, and you’re sitting there, staring at the screen… laughing at the mother with the black and white face have her daughter slaughter and eat her, and I’m laughing to, trying to hide the little girl inside me screaming.
                “Kiss me,” I’ve had enough broken hearts and sleepless nights to know what it means to have a hand to hold and a body to cling to when the street lights flicker and people ponder about your past.
                Talk to me, open your mouth and share with me the secrets of your mother, tell me what tragic car accident brought you to this position and how far you’d run to hold her hand. Question my beliefs and my relationships. Chose kind words over replaceable concerns, fight for my attention, and question my devotion. I want to watch movies with you, discuss some kind of universe beyond my mind, and our boundaries, hold me close while the lights in the theater are dim we’ll dance behind the stage. The lights will be our stars, predict my future with your soft hands and gentle grin.
                Because you’re a stranger, I can get away with wanting, because you’re new to me, I can fantasize, holding your hand in mine, resting my head on your chest, listening to your heart beat as you sleep.
                Because I’m alone tonight, I can ****** a thought, fish for a chance to be on my own with you. Tell me something; open your mind to the possibilities of me and you.
Of course, all this is wasted on time, and I’ve tried to send you signals, I want to be your friend, I want to talk to you into the late hours, stand in the midnight man’s circle sweating, calling out into the darkness, sharing songs and secrets until the dawn shatters our dream.
Then the bell rings, and you move, get up and leave, go outside to smoke, and my mind goes blank, the thoughts and dreams of the tomorrows that we could have spent together have disappeared, into nonentity. The audacity of my fantasies have brought me nothing, so I move back to questioning the laws which are shared among the youth of these hard times, and I am shaken into a reality of obesity and anorexia, of Christians and Muslims fallen in line with the atheists, I don’t mind, because tomorrow, we’ll meet again and I’ll smile and you’ll nod, and I’ll dream while you giggle.

her tongue tastes like ashes, her voice cracks when she’s lying.
you throw imperfections, because you know you can’t have her.
If you say it out loud you can’t keep denying. You need her.
you can’t go to sleep without envisioning her beside you.
Her hands entangled in your hair, she’s screaming.
her soft brown hair looks red in the naked moonlight
Your mind plays games, you awaken and she’s gone.
You’d give anything to taste her lips.
She’s dying to pass your way.
her size five feet dangle on the edge of infidelity.
while you wait for her to sway.  
Or stay.vigilant.
in your mind, you can hear her sighs from the next room.
Let’s pretend for a moment, she’s sighing for you.
*ah

When i see them together my heart drops
such a distance between my throat to my lowest point
my mind believes she’s worth more
but who am i to question her price
when i too have stayed.
her hands tingle when she walks.
the distance between her self worth
and her incomparable lust
trumps his long gaze
his wide lips
his thin eyes
her small hips.
shrinking sickly.
one more package.
smoke them quickly.

Lola could laugh at his anger.
He could smile at her tears.
they could never be together
even after all these years
the policemen they came running
the officers had dogs
but Lola she was stunning.
even after the night time flogs
when the stars were high as drops outs
and the moon was wasted on air
the two of them imperfect
were perfect laying there.

I was created to destroy
resurrected to ****
and where I hailed I was known as the rain
and now that I’m here I’ve been named.
Ashamed, but what is in a name?
What is called blood, by any other name would still taste as sweet.
And cause me to retreat into the darkness
leaving behind my sick mess and
your body,
rotting.
I was destroyed to create
killed to be resurrected
Where there is rain, I pelted like hail
Now that I am ashamed, I am but a name

Your body is nameless and stripped of it’s existence.

So it’s 11:46 and she’s dreaming.
curled up beside me like fingers around luke warm tea.
I would kiss her head if I could
hold her in my arms, like I should.
but my mind belongs somewhere else
a seeping darkness pulling, pushing, pursing me.
To stay around, but not.
With her.
Just sit a little, she had said.
You need a place to rest.
That was three weeks ago,
Now I need to move
away from her beauty, as it intoxicates me.
Her smile as it fills me with dread.
I’ve been here before
it’s so easy to stay.
maybe I should just say…
“I’m not hungry.”

She starts, awake in me.
she stretches, like she’s been asleep for centuries.
“It’s nice to see you again, old friend”
I wish I could say the same to you.
I should get up, I should go…
but she’s so tempting…
I guess in the end I
am alone again.

Kind of a tickle
Sort of a trickle
Tastes like rust
And broken nails
I’ve given in, fail.
Slit a wrist,
Take a piece of glass.
Don’t worry this too shall pass.

Sweet blade sink in.
Think thoughts, think thin.
As the end sinks in
Sweet blade cut deep
Rivers  of tears weep
Oceans of blood deep
Sweet blade cut long
Sing a sweet sorrowed song
He’s been gone too long
Sweet blade sink in
As the depression is deep
And the night is long
The force is great.

As the liquid rolls down her cheeks.
She shakes her eyes and weeps.
For she has voices screaming her name
And creatures of her nightmares live inside her brain.
“I love you.” they taunt her
“I hate you” they haunt her.
With failures and science
With fears and with doubts.
But we can’t leave the phrase.
“god isn’t here” out,
Once she’s sleeping she’s safer
When she’s alone its okay.
For dreams are for sleepers.
Where little girls play.

Someone screams
Rain falls softly
My cat purs
Rain falls softly
Pain shoots through my body
Rain falls softly
Two lines to do
Rain falls softly
I miss Jesus
Rain falls softly
Bio test, Monday
Rain falls softly
You and I need to talk more
Rain falls softly.
France is beautiful and I hated it there.
Rain hails mercilessly.

Sunlight; you’re out my window.
Smiling; I look down and see a friend, a lover
The perfect match.*

But my window is closed and the curtains are drawn, someone is laughing
But it is not me
My tired eyes scan the room
My dream has imprinted itself to the skull of which I cannot break.

Poems that do not rhyme,
Songs without rhythmic time
Footsteps and dollar store wine
Wall mart rings, of promise and other silly things.
The one that was laughing has left
And I feel she was part of the theft
Of the beautiful thought I once had.
I’ve gone mad.

Turth hurts me.
I’m tangled in your golden hair as that scene I never watched is played beneath my eye lids
Careful camera angles, make it hard to breathe,
But I’m no where to be seen, in a jelous **** stars dream.
I hide behind the smiles, pretend Im over it, but if I was allowed to, I scream and throw a fit.
Hurl things at your battered skull till it burst
Force my mouth on your wound so I know how it hurts
I’m not even at the worst
Stop,
Breathe… It’s just a jealous dream.
He screams…. Like he can tell them from reality.

forcing her knuckles
working them to the bone
she writes poetry
in verse and in rhyme
she keeps to the beat
she keeps to the time
her hands will never stop shaking
her mouth will be sewn shut
but as long as her poems are truthful.
she feels good enough.

For your hand I untie the laces of my corset to disclose the eternity of my mind and body on the cold cement floor. For your eyes I remove the molds which ever so carefully holds my insides in tact and allow them to flood the careful corners of our existence. For your mind I caress your knots, untie your passions and pry at your past. For your soul I allow your mouth to wander the brief and quick passages of my short exiled being.
for your heart I cut out mine own and press both thumbs on your disjointed limbs.
Severe heads and pass into the point of no return.

You popped into my mind today
might have been the leaves,
the music, the mindset I was in.
Maybe you never really left,
just slept in my head, like a tumor of turmoil and disgust.
until a moment when I’d stop to think about the past
and your face would rediscover itself.
I’ve stopped writing poetry, maybe it’s because nothing ever happens to me.
I used to try so hard to write something that would make you fall in love with me.
He doesn’t make me impress him, although I always try.
I don’t know where I’m going with this.
his hands, are too far away tonight.
Your face, isn’t far away enough.
It’s been years, but you’re still here.
not nearly near enough to hear me scream.
set me free.
an undeveloped poetry moves between my lips
your smile glistening on the glass of my shattered past.
I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re gone.