My brain is a cup
I fill to the brim

Still half asleep
Nose is runny
And I don't even want to begin
About my hair.
But I am alive
And that's all that matters
Another day appears before me
So carpe diem
Shall I live
In fear and hide in a box all my life?
Or live to watch the sunrise settle on the far side of the hill?

Do I plan to get up
Early on weekends to finish my
Homework?
Do I plan to celebrate my grandmother's birthday
By saying:"happy birthday I'll be upstairs learning about photosynthesis?"
Of course not.
Homework interrupts the daily life
The life I planned out
I have so much I want to do
And so little time to do it
I want to fly in the sky, arms outstretched
I want to hide in the dark night of
My soul and talk
I want to swim in the warmest water
Until my skin withers like a raisin
I want to watch the sunrise
And wonder if it had any homework
So this is me 7:18 am
And I'm doing homework
On a saturday

Hang on me on a telephone pole
And let my skin crackle and
Crinkle in the sun.
Let the ravens make nests in my hair
Until they cloak me with a cape
As feathery and black as death
Who comes to say hello.
He embraces me.
Tells me my soul is desirable.
He wraps his arms around me.
And kisses my mouth.
The kiss is soft and cold
And permenant

Only one nostril works
Only one.
If I am lucky.
I can breathe.
My mouth turns dry like the
Dust on a two hundred year old piano,
My teeth, like the keys, are slowly yellowing.
I'm breathing like I'm opening
Only one eye,
I'm lopsided.
And why must I breathe at all?

It's funny how alone
Someone can feel in the middle
Of a swarm of people.
Who talks to me
Who asks why alone in a crowd of people

Yeah you said you
Couldn't make it,
But a tiny sliver of hope in my heart
Festered itself down in the cardiac
Muscle and I thought
For one second,
You might open the door with a
Dramatic
Whoosh
And walk right in.
And is stop performing
Just so you could take a seat,
Then is continue.
But you missed it.
You weren't there.
And the sliver shattered into a tiny
Splinters that I now have to pick
Out with some tweezers
Because you weren't there.
You didn't hear the words I sang to the
Crowd
The tune I played to the audience,
That I dedicated to you.
Nope,
You weren't there.

I am angry
Mad
Seething
Grinding my teeth,
Clenching my fists
I AM ANGRY!
I think I will not matter in this world
This world will survive
Without me
I am nothing but a speck of dust
Under your feet.
Why do I matter?
I will become a nobody
I am a nobody
And I cry and cry
But the world offers no comfort.
I am angry
I am mad at myself
I am stupid and fat and ugly
And I matter to no one

Hi

I see their eyes,
Wide open
Months as open as tea trays.
Fish, lots and lots of fish.
Sharks, rays, tuna, jellyfish, octopus.
All in different tanks,
Sleeping, eating, swimming.
But what if we are nothing but just
Another school of fish,
More advanced
Sleeping, eating, swimming.
Different types of people:
Tall, short, thin, fat, extrovert, introvert,
So really fish are watching fish.
Where is the sense in that?

The lamplight is
dimly lit.
here am i,
shoving
panda express
into the dark cavern
called my mouth
where the stalactites
and stalagmites
dance together and apart
it's a bit tangier than usual
my taste-buds concur
the rice is lukewarm
and falls off my fork
paperwork due tomorrow
SAT prep
projects
my future
and all i want to do  is
write poetry
7:18 pm
and i sit,
writing poetry
for me writing is breathing
air
and sometimes i hold my breath for
days at a time
i cannot be a hermit
i must have interaction
though i
want to be alone
far away
where even
beethoven's fifth symphony
wouldn't drown out the noise
he laughs at me
who?
who are they that mock me?
beethoven
shakespeare
poe
conan doyle
even
charles dodgson finds me funny
"so you want to be a writer?" they boom, and suddenly i
am as
small as dust
"YOU a FEMALE WRITER and MUSIC LOVER? ha! i never heard anything funnier!"
and the voices mush into one
and it softens to become the voice
of my inner critic
my nemesis
my arch foe
my ennui
and that is only the 14th
of April.

I wrote this poem while I was asleep
About swimming birds,
And Cheshire cats,
Purple trees,
And broken hearts.
I wrote this poem while I was asleep,
My head hurts
My eyes are as heavy as
Stones
And I cannot
And I so not want to move.
I breathe
Silently,
And I wrote this poem
While I was asleep.

"She leaves at about two o'clock"
" whoops sorry"
"You think it's five?"
"You'll come home early?"
"I've got the info on my computer"
"I like paper"
"Slipped out somewhere"
"We could go at one forty"
"Cool"
"They pick up the trash as they walk along"
"Very much a servant"
"It is not up to me"
"I didn't ask that"
"Sometimes"
"You just have to make it yummy"
"No all the time"
"Yeah"
"I do try to limit myself, it hurts your teeth"
"I eat a lot of it"
"You would use it out at the graves"
"So she could eat that too"
"We won't drink it all"
"We need to stop by Sam's to pick up my cooler"
"That's the idea"
"They won't go out to dinner with us"
"I'd be happy to"
"There's an Applebee's there?"
"We should call and make a reservation"
"He's got a special place in his heart for Applebee's"
"I'm happy to take him."
The car ride
And I'm writing poetry
When they are the poets

I remember when we were first together
And I said I felt so happy I could die.
You said you were the right fit for me
And to you I believed.
But in reality you didn't have what i need
So I left
But you didn't have to cut me off
Act like I was a nothing.
I felt so alone.
I am so alone.
So don't treat me like a stranger.

Shouldn't be doing this
Super hungry
Won't have lunch
Until I go home
In two hours
My hands a pruny and withered
Like raisins
From doing the dishes
And praying for those
Desperate enough
To come into my mjnd

You say what I read is
****
You say I need to get
The best education I should have.
Thank you auntie the great
And terrible.
I hate your efforts,
But I know you're trying to help me
To get farther.
Than I can reach on my own.
Thank you auntie
My great but terrible
Auntie.

Once I start writing I can never stop.
It's like birth, once you start breathing,
You can never stop.
It's like drugs, once you start using,
You can never stop.
It's like love, once you start loving,
You can never stop.
It's like dying, once you start dying, you can never stop.
Writing is like birth, a new beginning, a blank page a fresh start.
Writing is like a drug, addticting, making me see alternate universes and strange creatures,
Writing is like love, there once was a Romeo and a Juliet. And they lived happily ever after.
Writing is like dying, with each  page that's bleeding ink, you seal a little but more of your soul onto the page. A different kind of horcrux,
One that cannot be broken.
It's written in blood, in ink, in thoughts and dreams.
In life and death

I'm board
Board out of my mind board
Board as in so board
That I can even saw through my own
Boardom
I'm so board I have to nail myself to
Something else so I'm not board
Board as in board that I paint over
My fatigue and lack of enthusiasm
Board as in obstinate
So obstinate I don't even know what
Death is anymore
It doesn't visit me
There is no gravitational theft here.
Board as in people step on me
To get to something board
Board as in I've been hung under something else for stabilization.
Yeah that's it I'm board

Considered the staple of life
Is nothing more than ground up
Grain from
The ground.
Bread,
What so many peasants fought for in
France and Russia
Is nothing more than
Carbohydrates smushed together
Bread,
What everyone eats today,
Is nothing more than gluten free,
Wheat or multigrain.

But could some thing so simple
Be so important?

I'm writing again
I'm breathing again
After weeks and weeks of holding
My breath
And it feels so good

Today's the day
When people
Marched
Down their streets
Away from their houses
Towards the big outstretched arms of liberty
And equality
Today the
Fifth of May
Hooray hooray
I say
With paper flowers on either wrist
I'm American I don't understand
Your culture
Only the diversity of my own.
Which can include yours
But we shouldn't be alone

I thought you were taken,
As one of the only paintings in
My house.
I should not be the one to take you,
Even though you are very nice and
Friendly to me.
I'm going back to the museum
And I wanted to know if you
Wanted to come again.
I'll make interesting comments
About life and art like last time,
And stomp my feet when I see
The parking garage next to the garden
Of Rodin's statues.
Yes, I'm going back to the museum
Because I need to write,
And I need to be inspired.
So mr. Painting, would you like to come?
I don't want to just stare at you on the wall you're hanging on.
I'm not in the museum yet.
But as an artist I see art all around me,
So maybe I really am
In a museum.
But you're not an exhibit,
Not you're a person,
A friend,
My friend.
An artist.

Life is not a contest
There is no winner or loser
There is only the survivor and the dead
The survivor, while they live on,
Feel like a loser for living
And the dead, while they cannot speak,
Feel like winners for reaching eternal rest.
Yet they have lost their lives,
They are losers,
And the survivors are winners.
Or are they not?

Do you ever want people to ask you
Certain questions?
Ever feel like you have something
To prove? Or someone
To prove yourself to?
If only they would ask you the right questions...
What do you think of music?
How does my soul seem to you?
What do you think of me?
Am I being too presumptuous?
And then those moments when you want them to ask you anything at all,
Anything so it isn't just an interview
With you on one side,
Lacking recorder or a notebook
And them on the other
And it isn't even for posterity
Yep....
How are you this morning?
Good
Did you sleep well?
Yes
Is your throat still bugging you?
Yes.
And that's the end of it. Your interview is worth three words and no more.
Even a nice, did you too? Would work.
But she likes to be the interviewee and if I want debate, contemplation, joking I best look elsewhere.

I wheeze
And my throat creaks
Like an old door
That needs oil.
I gasp,
Like a fish out of water,
And I cough
Like an old man with a pipe in
His hands, about to
Meet death face to face.

Faces,
Square
Rough
Marble. Their eyes empty and gray,
Lacking life,
They're dead.
Faces
Chiseled into stone.
One then another
Four in a row
W, J, R, L
Four names in a list.
Yet not in chronological order.
None smile
Yet we smile at them,
Who are they?

I shudder,
My face is drenched in tears and snot
And I quiver
Keep it together keep it together.
I cry to God to come upon my soul.
Save me
Keep it together. Keep it together.
My eyes fill with tears
Puffy eyes,
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
I wipe my nose .
I need a tissue
Puffy eyes
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
And I feel myself being held like a small child again.
Hold me
I need a tissue
Puffy eyes
Save me
Keep it together, keep it together.
And I cry
Hard

Both communicate
My feelings for you.
I could dance forever in your arms
Like a twirling ballerina
In a music box
But if rather talk.
And dance
At the same time.
Hang into my words like
Your life hangs on by a thread
You're not dead,
Don't be led
Away from me.
Live within my words
And dance within my dreams
And I will breathe your words
Back to you

I was bullied once
Seventh grade. I hid myself in books.
But to me being bullied is better than being depressed.
Being bullied you are at least
Significant enough for someone
To pick on you,
Call you names, and hurt you.
Being depressed, you're as insignificant as a quintessence of dust.
You're nothing.
Even to yourself.

Rain can be heard anywhere
Not just on a tin roof.
I hear it on the car top as
I curl up
Drivers seat
Writing this poem.
I heard the rain in my
Brain.
White noise
Background din.
Rain was once appreciated.
But I've blended it into the background
Like a chalk painting,
Wiping it again and again
Until it's nothing but
White noise din.
Rain rain come and stay.
Don't ever go away.
I want to hear you.

I am a disease,
Avoided by everyone around me.
My own sister on the phone
So she doesn't have to speak to me alone.
I am a lost cause
No one gives me a pause.
I am alone.
My disease undone

Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets
Of Baltimore at 4 am.
I too walk the streets of my own mind,
Hearing the raven's cries
And walking up at midnight to the sound of a tell-tale heart
Wondering if it is nothing more
Than the bells in my brain
Or the black cat running up the alleyway.
Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets
Of Baltimore at 4 am.
I took have whisked into the shadows
An inky cloak upon my back
Wondering whether my heart feels more like a pit or a pendulum
Or whether I will fall like the house of usher,
A gold bug
In the masque of red death.
Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets of Baltimore at 4 am.
Never more
William Wilson.
And silence- a fable,
Or is it?

Cut this
Keep that.
This is clutter.
This so good.
reword this.
I felt you here.
This is awkward
This is powerful.
I'm being pulled in a tug of war between good and bad.
And sometimes I want to give up.
But I can't.
My piece must be as beautiful
As blown glass.
And even if I die getting there.
It will work.

I talk to dead people.
I see their faces upon the walls
I see their faces in my dreams.
I see their faces,
In the reflection of my own.
And I speak to the deceased tongue
That hasn't wagged in ages.
Hello corpse.

You expect me to like you
After you've asked me to prom
You expect me to say yes and no
And to grin and bear it
And to introduce myself to your friends
Because you won't introduce me
Expect me to be "happy" with the
Stigma you gave me
Because you have made everyone
Silently expect
What you expect of me
You have made me famous
A celebrity and when people
Ask if I'm the girl you went to prom with
I grit my teeth and wonder what I
Did to deserve this stigma
Do me a favor
And
Expect me
To be alone
Expect me to not love you
But to be an acquaintance not
Even a friend
For that seems to close for me
Expect me to cringe at the sound of
Your name
And try to hide myself from you
And your family
Expect nothing from me

I lie on the bed,
Relaxed
But then the screech of the two metal
Arms wakes me up
And I feel the hot wax just above
My eyelid.
And I feel the heat on the sensitive skin
And I harden what muscles I can
When she tears off my hair.
That I will never get back

Long and thin,
Claw like,
Like spider's legs
Frail
They run
Faster and faster,
The talon-like nails tapping
The table,
Mimicking Beethoven's fifth symphony
We grasp
We clench
With white knuckles
a cold white
A hard white
An icy white
Holding onto the last life we have.
Without fingers,
We cannot hold each other's hands,
We cannot play music,
We cannot write our thoughts.
We are not human,
Without our
Fingers

I'm in a fog and I can't tell
Which way is true north
Not to mention where trees and hills and rocks are
Nor people either.
I'm in a fog and I couldn't tell you
Why there are voices in my head
And where they come from.
I'm in a fog and
I hear thunder and lightning
Edison and Tesla are at war with each other in the sky
And I'm in a fog
Just listening
And groveling like a coward
Hoping not to be hit

I rarely shouldn't eat.
I'm not hungry.
But I need to save my strength,
For darker days ahead.
So I sacrifice the fullness,
Of my occupied stomach,
And build up my strength,
Or maybe just excess fat.

I lean on the side of my car
Watching the numbers perpetually spin
And realize it's not gas I'm buying
It's time
Time that I will spend in the car
Uselessly driving around
Wondering what I'm doing with my life
But I'm also buying distance
Distance that I can drive away from
My family my friends
My enemies
Distance I can sit there and zone off
And think
But if I'm not buying gas and instead buying time
What in really buying is money
Because time equals money
But it doesn't feel that way
It's always negative
And the equation in the end will equal zero

Ever wanted to stand in the spot light?
To have your name praised,
To be known
And have your face recognized?
Ever wanted to ride on
Angels wings
And stand on the shoulders
Of giants
And see you fellow humans
As ants.
That's glory for you.
Glory is a drink that goes down
Cool and crisp.
It has a pleasant after taste,
A bit bubbly, like champagne
But too much of it
Cannot be good for you.
So ride on those wings
As much as you can.
Because you don't know when the
Last swig will be.

I have big hair
Hair that looks like medusa
Using loreal.
I have hair that is a
Short version of Merida
But isn't as firey as the mad hatter's
Hair but is
Big enough to be called that type
No I didn't stick my finger
In a light socket today
It's just my hair
My
Big
Poofy
Hair
That seems untamable at the very least
An accomplishment for anyone
I will never control it
And yet it is almost a super power
To have untamable
Hair

Hello again to the words
On a blank page of my
Heart that got crushed
Under the rotating tires of your
Rejection
Because I'm not good enough to
Be seen as anything other
Than a human being
Not an artist or an imagination
But numbers and a name
An address and a telephone number
And haven't even told you what my favorite color is.
It's purple.
So hello again to the life I once wanted
To be a diva
Because I thought I was such a star
In the universe
Next to Ursa Major
She's not my mother
No I'm an orphan
Alone.
Hello again to the sound of the discord
Of the out of tune piano
I've been playing my whole life and
My name is not Chopin

I sent it to you,
Somewhat encoded in an email,
But you never read it.
You said you're too busy,
I'll try to find some more time,
And sure you said it,
But meanwhile my cry for help
Is unanswered, and tell me,
Did you ever make me feel special?
Whenever your response comes,
If it comes,
I live to dread it

He has no home
But pulls
His head into
His head
And Holmes comes home
He smokes a pipe
He does not type
And Holmes comes home
He befriends a doctor
Considers every factor
And Holmes comes home
A genius
Almost a superman
But yet explainable
I understood

They think I'm weird for seeming so
Affected,
But does any one else wonder
Why so many people were rejected
With no type of blunders?
People lost God,
They lost their lives,
Am I the only one that feels like crying?

They say eyes
are windows to the soul.
I see them as weapons,
I see them as weaknesses.
I see them as
caverns, so deep and dark you get
lost along the way.
I see them as mazes,
you can't even tell which way
is up or down anymore.
I think that when I look at people,
they see inside of me,
they see how scared I am,
how terrified I am,
and how frail my frame must be.
It's not eye contact,
but I contact.
For they see inside of me.

So if I don't look at you,
don't be offended,
I just don't want you to get
lost.

If only people saw my poetry
They would know how much of a genius I am
If only people saw my dangerous blue eyes, they would see how mysterious
I am
If only people saw my heart
They would know how kind I am
If only people saw my thoughts
They would know how smart I am
If only people saw me
They would know that
I am
Alive

I hope for a day
When I won't be judged