what if she tipped over
would you still say you loved her
what if every time you looked her in the eye she cried
if you saw the real her with the scars on her thighs
would it make a difference if you tried
to look her in the eyes?

I want to write a poem about
                    how
the poems I write are personal now.
I want to write a poem about
why this has become so.
I want to write a poem
explaining
                    how
everywhere my complaining is heard
through my type-work
my mind becomes a big ole ****
and shoots me down.
Ya know, I was once I flying bird.
Who could live outside of herself, while also bringing out the within
This
               is
                                too
                                            personal.
That I cannot r e s t, enjoy
the characters
I've created with the beater of my chest
or a song
or a quote
or a word.
                 instead
Into the paper I come out.
                               It
                    is
           too
personal.
When I cannot seem to
let it go
to let me go
and free my inner me's in pieces and in bits
instead.
Instead of dramatic fits, and murders of lines--
virtual ink inclined to think like me and respond
to this tip, tap tying.
Oh
I               am               too                 personal
With this bit, and that bit.
Of me.
And no more, do my stories reign
The randomness is replaced with madness or glee
whatever feeling I feel, in the poem
it is therefore connected to me.
I'm connected to every word.
I want to write a poem, that not speaking for me.
I want
             to write a poem.
I want
                    to write
I want
to              not

       be

so

personal.

Mother, Father
I am six foot one and I can see over the trees
I can **** mountains and bury my bones in the soil
I am six foot one and I am just tall enough to see the truth
I can look over others but I can't look over myself
My shoulders bend like a bow, waiting to break
And I can feel it all. I can feel it all.

And to you,
May your temporary smile be a golden forever
And your heart existent with or without hope
Let your brain open doors your hands cannot touch
And your chest not collapse when the smoke is too much
To live and to love with you is the grandest adventure
And to cut myself on your edges, bleeds into itself
And to live in your heart, is the biggest place I've ever found
And to kiss you until my hands break and there is no sound

And to all of us,
We're a dark piece of trash
Ribs are a cage and holographic souls sing
Disenchanted by the human experience
We're pretentious and objectify everything

And to all of us,
We're all light, we're all eyes wondering wide
And we all shine bright, some of us cannot hide
May your hands slant, slowly slinging
towards the bells that are slowly ringing
and may you strike a chord in all of us.
May your existence be a temporary forever.

There could be too much inside me
There could not be enough
There could be belief
There could be love

I'm afraid I'll never see
The me I want to be
Is it too much to ask to simply
Be happy?

The scars on my arms
Trigger submergence
Sounding great alarms
And pain in abundance

From the daze and craze
From the stress and mess
From the pressure beyond measure
My heart suffocates

Happiness is an alien concept
Maybe contemptment is sane
But I wonder 'Does any light remain?'

I have a feeling
I keep it locked away
I can only use it once
And I await that special day

There are parts of you that make you who you are,
And parts that don’t.
Parts of you, that without them,
You don’t feel like you belong to the group you
Once associated with.
Having my ******* removed in order to enter remission
And beat breast cancer
Feels like my womanhood has been lost.
Flat chested takes on an entirely different meaning.
It’s crazy how I hear women
Wishing that their ******* weren’t so small
But they don’t know what it’s like
To have no ******* at all.
Or that they wish their hair was longer
When mine is the length of the guard
On an electric razor that my husband uses.
How does a man begin to love a woman
That has scars where her ******* should be?
The hair on my head has yet to grow back, even a little bit.
Reminding me only that I’m still a woman
Is the gift Mother Nature sends each month.
The cramps in my abdomen seem ten times less
Compared to heaving an empty stomach
Into a pan or toilet bowl next to me
After the chemicals have entered my system.
Throwing up from morning sickness
As my unborn child has just started to live
Told me that I was indeed a woman.
But now after she has grown and must
Watch her mother battle cancer,
Lose her hair, throw up nothing but emptiness,
And she still tells me that I’m the
Most beautiful woman on the planet.
How do I tell her that I feel like
An alien from Mars?

its a very slow build up
almost unnoticeable

throughout the day you feel off
it seems like you're putting more effort into everything
mentally that is

everything just seems harder
it not difficult
but there isn't any will

you notice you're faking a laugh
and staring off into space

and then it'll hit you

the smallest thing triggers it

maybe breaking a plate
cancelled plans
burning your finger

but sometimes there isn't a trigger at all
it's a tsunami tide that fills your whole body
and you wish you could push the sad away

but it claws its way into your heart
and muffles your brain

nothing is connecting
and all you can focus on
is the sadness
that is overwhelming you

crippling you into a ball on your bedroom floor

shaking your body in the shower

a sadness that you didn't see coming

because
you
don't
know
why

why you can't stop crying
why you're so sad
why your brain won't just work right!!

WHY can't I be happy?
why do I have to put an effort into being happy?

and for a second you understand suicide
because you could stop all of it

for good