It’s easy to see what others see,
Just look into a mirror.
Except when my eyes approach the glass
And a trembling hand moves hair out of a face
That belongs to a me that isn’t there,
When I feel the clench of teeth that aren’t mine
Baring a terrified, threatened smile,
The lungs of someone else threatening collapse
Like a tower of rose coloured glasses,  
A facade so beautifully crafted that upon its creation
It was given the wrong name.

I look into that mirror and only when the eyes,
The bars of the prison my soul desperately claws at,
Meet my mind do I truly see the person who is there,
The man who grew so safe in complacency
That he refused to question what it meant
To be anything other than what
His body told him.

There’s comfort in conformity,
Especially when the character is curated in such a way
Where no one's the wiser.
A costume so extravagant that even the mind gets swept away
By the splendors of dissociation because surely,
Surely this body belongs to this character
That was so painstakingly molded
By the roles and rehearsals presented to it, surely
The discomfort it feels with these mounds of flesh that hide the lungs
Is not because they shouldn’t be there, but because
They are making it so much easier to play the part
Of the one that isn’t me.

Surely I feel guilty and complicit when I speak because I am fooling everyone,
Fooling, Deceiving, Making it so incredibly easy to see
Someone who just isn’t nor has ever been there.
Even Myself, for 22 years.
For 22 years I’ve let myself take on a role rather than actually stop and think
That maybe I am not a girl who likes dolls,
Who likes dancing and dresses and lover’s confessions
And wrestling and writing and eating and lighting
Up the entire room when I laugh, No,
Maybe that was the rough draft of a character that was meant
To be played by a man.
Maybe, just maybe, it was a boy doing these things.
And when that name was crossed out and replaced
While the critics walked out and looked down with disgrace,
The boy in a dress with his chest all in lace
Finally let out the breath he was holding
For 22 years.

The mirror still lies on occasion to others,
But to me, I look and see past this body,
Past the hair and the chest and the shortness of breath
From the noose of conformity around my neck,
And I see the man that god made me.
And while I want so badly to be seen by the masses,
How I want to shatter their rose coloured glasses
So they see the waves of purple and blue that adorn me.
How I want the people who have scorned me
To say I didn’t delve from the scriptwriter’s plan,
It just took them awhile to see I was a man.

I know it will never happen.
That even as the curtain falls, no matter the costume or lack thereof,
They will only see the girl that isn’t there.
And maybe I will take this facade to my grave but as I return
To the one who truly made me,
He will say ‘welcome home, my son.
Your performance as her, it’s finally done.’

I’m not one to have many friends
who stick around the fraying ends
of life that makes a tree trunks’ bends
seem all that more concerning.

I am not one whose grip will tighten
once these people are enlightened
of the childish freak all much too frightened
of someone else’s yearning.

To say goodbye is not a need
when their removal means you’re freed
of negativity you would feed
without any intention.

To say goodbye without it said
is now a ritual I can’t dread
because it’s what my illness led
to without intervention.

So every time they disappear,
the people whom I loved so dear
My brain won’t even shed a tear
because she saw it coming.

Yet now I must swallow to speak
The goodbye that I’d never seek
The goodbye that might make me weak
and stifle the heart’s drumming.

I’ll say these words with heavy heart,
because I knew right from the start
some day our ways would have to part.
“It’s okay if you leave me.”

Everywhere they move has cracked foundation,
these stakes so high but different sizes,
remove one to stop devastation,
burn them all to settle ties;
The bitter clasps of stubborn pride and
Blueprints of fate that have been dyed
Black by the ink in one’s own mind.
The family tree is but a ****.
You cut its blossoms while the seed
Of hatred festers under tears
And rains on it for years and years
Until weeds overtake the garden,
No size shears could ever pardon
Such sheer bitter disregard
For those birthed in the same backyard.

When you were my muse, I could write every lyric with ease.

Words into a river while the river passed by,

Sweeping me under and dragging me through mud.

I’ve burned my skin to rid of you,

charred scars cracking and staining;

Forever remaining are memories of the mask you’ve always worn.

Memories of the mask that was too torn

to decipher the plastic from the plaster from the person.



Even now words ring through ears, wring my tears out

when I think of what you were and aren’t.

One in the same, everything and nothing

And every where in between.



You mined my mind when you were ‘mine’

And gold turned coal after you stole

Every fabric of truth until I’d only lie

on a blanket of warm velvety lies.



I do not make sense of my own words

yet I know that because they are yours

the dam is ****** to never keep the river completely out.

Hey there buddy
Sure has been a while, hasn’t it
A couple different years but same old ****
Clogging each toilet like life depended on it

You have forgotten, and that’s perfectly fine
Go about your day and sip your wine
Is it better to forget you chopped down my vine?

Well, I’d say *******
But that’s what you want. You want me to hate you
I’d say **** me
But whenever you did you always faked it too

Why did I ever let you slip into my sheets,
Stain each paper close to me.
Because buddy, you said you wouldn’t leave me.
Because buddy, your friend was all I wanted to be.

Hey there buddy.
You’re shaking your head in total dismay
But I had to do that every single day
When I would say hello to the wind when I wanted the river.

Sure I must sound like I’m a total nut case
But who made me like that in the first place
Is it better to forget this tortured face?

Well, I’d say forget you
But that’s what you want. You want me to hate you
I’d say forget me
But you already have, I’m nothing to you.

Why did I ever let you slip into my sheets,
Stain each paper close to me.
Because buddy, you said the closest thing to you was me.
Because buddy, your friend was all I wanted to be.

Hey there, buddy.
Wishing you the best in your new life
It’s not really new just ‘cause you turned the knife
My blood’s still spattered on the other side.

Once upon a fantasy there was a time of you and me,
a friendship that could mend a broken wing
But I no longer breathe your air and you no longer seem to care,
as if our friendship never meant a thing. And

I don’t need dreams to show you’re not worth it,
don’t need a mind to tell me right from wrong,
but tell my heart that you just aren’t perfect,
we’ll never get along.

If being a stranger after all this time is
what you call a friend,
then you’re the best friend that I ever had.

Once upon a friendship dear I never saw something so clear;
in my life you got rid of all the mess
We both got lives went on our way and though I thought your friend I’d stay
I realize my efforts were all worthless. And

I don’t need tears to show how much I miss you,
don’t dare remind me what a fool I’ve been,
just tell me that the boy who gave me new life
is buried deep within

If being a stranger after all this time is
what you call a friend,
then you’re the best friend that I ever had.

I know I’m wasting my voice,
I know I’ve lost my mind
But do I have a choice
How could I quit and then rejoice
when our friendship was one of a kind?

You saved my life,
You saved my mind,
One of a kind.. But

I don’t need dreams to show you’re not worth it,
don’t need a mind to tell me right from wrong,
but tell my heart that you just aren’t perfect,
we’ll never get along, and I,

I don’t need tears to show how much I miss you,
don’t ******* tell me what a fool I’ve been,
just promise me that the boy who gave me life
is buried deep within


If being a stranger after all this time is
what you call a friend,
then you’re the best friend that I ever had.

You were the best friend that I ever had.

I was needed by one person.
They used me to clean up their mess,
to protect others from seeing.
I absorbed their blood, their mood swings,
everything about them that others hated
but I loved.

They tossed me, without a second thought,
on the street for others to laugh at.
Without knowing whose blood stained me,
they saw someone used up to the point
of being nothing but a disgrace to the public eye.

After everything I did for you,
you simply used me and left me to be judged
like a ****** on the sidewalk.

I held my breath the first time I moved.
I cried while my cat screamed,
feeding off of my tension and the yelling
of the woman behind the wheel.

Like an automated sprinkler, my eyes
only watered when she was around.
As soon as I was alone, as soon as I was out,
The tears subsided.

Yet one can only hold so much in,
one can only endure so much before
the glass starts to crack and wires fray,
before the frayed wires spark the fire sprinklers
And the alarms blare.

I got in the truck with a smile on my face.
My head swayed to the songs that normally
made me cringe, the cat had no negativity
to feed off of.

Three hours went by quicker than the fourty five minutes
I first took. My muscles ached from carrying boxes,
but the stress evaporated with every step.
I was home and happy.

The wishes I made upon those shooting stars,
the wishes with tear stained eyes and a blood stained heart,
were answered and accommodated all along.
I just had to come **back home.

I went to the beach to get away.
My tears followed, though stunted
by the windchill.

I gazed out at the fleeting waves,
and wanted to walk behind them
until we were one.

The stars warned me to sit,
to watch safely from the shore.
I sadly obliged.

A few burst of light captured
my weary eyes in the sky.
Shooting stars.

I closed my eyes with a wish,
over and over again until my tears
matched the stars.

I only want one thing in this life.
If I cannot have it, the stars will acknowledge
my detour through death.

Not Particularly living up to his name,
Fear stands with open arms,
Welcoming me with a smile.

He is Handsome.
Standing tall with no suspicious qualities;
Beautiful eyes carry no emotion,
Crimson orbs, fiery yet tranquil.

He is Kind.
Like the boyfriend you've always wanted,
He will embrace you with warmth,
Completely faithful in your name.

He is perfect.
And yet, he is what flaws mankind.
Stalking your mind, making you wish
you could walk away from his embrace.

He is persistent.
Making you hesitate with decisions,
Closing your mouth before you can speak,
Making your eyes surge with eerie anticipation.

He is aggressive.
Knocking you over with ominous thoughts,
Choking you, restraining your voice.
Shackling you, turning you powerless.

He isn't real.
Conjured up by outside voices,
By your own nature, and though you know that,
he is more real than any person.

He is Fear.
And he will consume you.

Your music died so suddenly.
The sweet keys lingering, healing my ears
have sang their last goodbyes, the bleeding
it's own crescendo until I am swept away
by the silence.

Your art was once delicacy.
Filling my eyes with sweet blending colors,
then tainting sight as you brushed your last
stroke, a wave of black upon a now perpetual
colorless sea.

A poets play forever gone.
A story filling a heart's glass full
now ******* every last drop of life out of my system,
A rose once so sweet now my downfall as your voice, your face, your love
Forever dies.

I promised you no pain I'd cause,
Yet tears looked so attractive
on your face.

I swore your love was all I need.
You trusted me with your heart,
your mistake.

Your dresses tattered like your soul,
Being battered by surprise
in my eyes.

How sweet that you once loved me, child.
But betrayal, my true name,
Is sweeter.

No one could hear that sound.
The eerie sound of nothing, of no one
for all was a sea of laughter, with waves of glee.
Golden smiles like the sun shining down with no
sign of tears rolling in or screams from above;
That was painted in our minds.

Your eyes saw this and much more.
Hearing the same waves crashing and birds singing,
The same smell of pure hearts like salt in the air
lingering, distorting the truth that was all too known.
You could read the pages of each bird's fate clearly
without their eyes glances to aid.

Your face was just a ghost in gold.
A fake smile shining, shielding the fact that
These birds would soon drown, the water burning
them in their glee and revealing their true hatred.
Your fate was a matching pair, you could hear the sound
of nothing, fate's voice.

You enjoy the lies amongst the people
that all will be well once this party dies, fades
and laugh you remaining minutes away.
Your eyes, your topaz stones shine despite the fact
that you know what the calls of birds represent.
The Silence Before The Storm.

Bitter.
Like a poisoning scent of wine,
The tickle of heat leaving my skin
as you kiss me with those ripe citrus lips
and pin me against the icy tomb.
This chapel, made of smooth stones
carved by your lies trapping me,
next to you, my true nightmare.
Snaking up my neck, down my back
teeth melting into my perfect skin
My interior paint now like a river
just like these threatening tears.

Lost.
Like a rose plucked from it's soil
you stripped me of everything,
caressing the petals and thorns,
your twisted smile stabbing me
while to you thorns do nothing.
I try to escape to the gardens
only to be dragged back by your
skin burning mine like fire to a field.
The wine lingers as your laugh
paralyzes me, as you poison me.

Destroyed.
Although to eyes I look like me,
hearts and minds see otherwise
as they see the lifeless doll of what
was once a music box forever singing,
dancing around until you forced me shut..
And the bitter taste of fruits and drink,
the sting of your everything on mine
Is to blame.

Our love was a harpsichord;
sweetest songs upon
sinful symphonics,
danced upon by skilled hands
and hungry hearts.

Our love was a harpsichord,
bringing contentment and
melting bitter doubt,
the coldest goodbyes,
until the final hit.

Our love was a harpsichord.
No matter how I may try,
the keys turn to stone
and the notes bitter.
Extinct, it had become.

Our love was a harpsichord,
sorrowful beauty until
one conductor, giving up,
submerged our songs
into a sea of loneliness.

Our love was a harpsichord.
Now it is but ruins.

A butterfly caged if it is caught,
A lovely mind clouded, distraught,
Yearning for eyes to break their gaze;
To leave the cage and fly away

The frail beauty upon it's wings,
when caged feels only a bee's stings.
Perpetual stabbing until the day
To leave the cage and fly away.

Although now safe from stormy weather,
when clouds of sorrow come together
and shed the tears of those now slain,
The butterfly still writhes in pain

The sun is what's yearned for the most,
Yet in these shackles all is lost.
Never to leave this nasty train,
The butterfly still writhes in pain.

The train riding an unknown path,
Yet too soon to it's aftermath,
The conductor lusting over things
like pleasure took from withered wings.

Obsessed over it's pain filled cries,
the conductor hurts the butterfly.
He's now feeling like he's a king
from pleasure took from withered wings.

Freedom will never board the train,
and rid the butterfly of her pain.
Only her death will bring her day
To leave the cage and fly away.

With him she braved the world.

Yet never before was she without

the slightest doubt

this love would be unfurled.



Betwixt his fingers curled,

a rose withered from draught.

Love's water's drained out

thus into the fire it was hurled.



The thinnest chain binding the two,

she struggles to shatter it not.

No matter the pain gone through

from he who is untrue,

Her heart to be forever caught

by the coldest shade of blue.

Even the most solitary person
Is struck by the sting of loneliness.

Upon a tear stained cloud,
Lone waits, mallet in hand
Until one is without another.

Swiftly he strikes,
A crescendo of thunder
Upon the speed of light.

Emotion cracks through,
Creating a broken man.

Heart, have you forgotten how the sun smiles,
birds whisper songs of spring love,
while you are with someone whose eyes are just
as bright, if not brighter, than the starburst's grin?

Heart, have you not finally released the snake's coil,
the immature villain whose heart was pure before you
corrupted it, before he corrupted you with promises
of lust and believing you were his and that was it?

Heart, are you at all reluctant of the forgotten memories
of a firework shared only summers ago, a firework lasting three months
in which the only thing you can remember with ease is
the name of this spark, and not a thing more or him or the once 'we'?

Heart,what means all of this? Have you disconnected with the mind,
leaving the good memories behind, the bad lingering like smoke,
and the present but a faint gleam when you are not alone in the dark?
Have you been consumed my too much love, or too many lies?

Standing on a cliff, just above a jetty.
the wind ignites her hair into a wild dance.
a storm is brewing, and yet, she is calm.
Eyes closed, arms free, dress shirt flowing
to the left. It's time.
Without a second thought she jumps,
a downward spiral head first.
"Goodbye.." she whispers.
"See ya in Hell babe." her other half.
Nova.

She left him a note. A simple question.
Why am I such a mental patient?
She never expected him to answer.
He never did before.
And so she dives, heart
compressing from the pressure of the air.

A hand.
A hand touches her own.
"What happened."
She is turned so her feet face
downward, eyes meeting his.
Suspended in time, she vents.
Her other half tries to take over.
But with every word from his mouth,
she is knocked down, with every word
peace starts to envelope the child.

Funny,
How although she is older than the man,
she is inferior. A little girl, almost broken,
depending on him as her angel, her blanket
to catch her fall and make the fear go away.
She loves him. More than she should.
She depends on him. More than she should.
Without him she would die.
He carries her back up to the cliff,
then down to the shore.
He leaves without a word after.

Does he realize she is dying?
Does he realize her love for him,
him actually speaking to her,
is one of the only things keeping
her alive?

Does she realize she can't
depend on him to be her life support
any more?

Hello my love, it's been a while.
Hoping all is alright on this evening,
even though I cannot exactly ask.
Sad to say, I've been thinking of you;
Wondering how you fare as an adult,
in college, driving, free. Without myself
as a friend to comfort you if you are troubled,
Yet I'm positive you have no worries just yet.

I apologize for breaking that promise I made,
though unspoken, about leaving you alone
to live your life. It pains me when I feel
the urges to say 'Ey', or like a post of yours,
and I pity myself when I do just that.
You don't need me, I know this, love.
I'm sure we don't need each other.
I made a huge step by not sending
you a letter this summer, however.

It still warms my heart to know
you are alright. I smile when I see posts
about your adventures as an adult,
I share your happiness and exhaustion.

I listened to songs of you, so to say,
as they tackled me with nostalgia
of stories we'd tell, of the days when
it wasn't a crime to talk to you.
When it was all innocent, naive,
when we didn't have worries
of the later years.

I wish I could speak to you as if
we were still that innocent, love.
Yet with so much history you could write
a text book about us, so much learned
from these past years, we've grown silent
and time together fleeting. It's for the best,
my sweet. You and I know this well.

I share a bed with a man I love.
It's funny how, years ago,
we both dreamed of waking up in
each others arms with a smile and kiss.
My dear, I don't want us to be lovers.
Can we forget that desire ever existed?
Can we go back to casual conversations,
laughing, loving each other like siblings?

Can we go back to our innocence,
before the history, before the silence,
and meet once again?

Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words cut even deeper.
For someone as fragile as I,
The Spoken is The Reaper.

So if her last words do the deed
and **** me even faster,
I may be able to hear my death,
a beautiful disaster.

I can’t recommend the mender,
his mind finally took the toll.
Nobody could crack the mystery
behind the mender’s cracked soul.

If you cannot heal the healer
then just tell your life to heel,
for speeding kills you quicker
than the waiting ever will.

My muses are no longer amusing,

the pen no longer spills red ink.

The clouds in my mind do not condense,

thus rain cannot stain the paper.

A blank slate, though cliche

is the only thing I see.

Perhaps to mean rebirth,

yet the newborn does not go blind.

The faces are stamped on each letter,

even if it is not from nor adressed to them.

Ink can be smudged, yet the one who smears it

can still read the fine print.

The worst kind of pain

is not what you experience head-on,

but what scrapes at you, indirect

hits aimed for someone else.

An arrow may hit a bullseye

after barely missing a tree.

The arrow is sadness.

It hits one person, then those connected

feel the sting. Its target,

was it the tree or the bullseye?

The tree, barely hit,

was the target. The bullseye

the main sufferer, for it can’t take

seeing friends weak.

It absorbs its own shock,

pain inflicted upon herself,

the universe srtiking down on her.

It cracks under suffering from

the people who mean the most,

who mean more to her than

her own self.

Chop her down, carve her out,

paint a single dot on her heart,

and hang her up on another tree.

She feels nothing until she’*****

By the pain meant for the tree

Behind her.

You drown in shallow breath

when the tides turn.

When the heroine becomes ******,

when what you thought was right

writes over everything with red ink

and you cannot escape.

You hide behind the blinds

but you are the blindsided,

Run away from your pain

and trip over the pacifier.

You’ve worked so hard

for nothing to work out,

you try to fix things that

are fixed in place.

Fate is fatality,

and is something

you cannot counter.

Like having casual tea with a casualty,
you’re boring me to death.
Can you stop wasting air talking
of your last breath?

While heartlessly seeming,
while your heart’s still beating
you should put your pulse to use
For each song cannot function without a beating heart
And a beautiful one we’d lose

Do you want to have your sheet music
buried under sheets,
never to be seen nor heard nor felt
or even worth caring?

Let beauty flow through sorrowed songs,
with every breath you take
don’t bore us all to tears with such a
fatal mistake.. If life you take..