It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.

It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.

I need to open myself up and throw
away  all  of  this  stuff  inside me
that  tastes  l i k e  leftover  milk
and rotting   t o m a t o e s.   I
stupidly   let    out    all   the
f e a t h e r s  and sunlight
you've   been   sneaking
into  me for the  p a s t
year and I want them
back  I  want  them
back I want them
back  I    w a n t
them   back   I
want   t h e m
back I  want
you   back.

I wish I wasn't so upset by a lack of music in my ears,
I feel so alone when no one's there to dry my tears.
I'm wasting time trying to figure out what I feel,
Instead of realizing all the things I have that are real.
I've skipped all the good and jumped to the bad,
I'm a worst-case-scenario thinker that's always sad.
Questioning intentions and arguing compliments
Instead of worshipping myself and my accomplishments.
Tell me why I should have the right to complain,
Besides the fact that I'm burning alive in pain,
A mental pain that exists due to a chemical imbalance
Kind of ironic that a libra would encounter that challenge.
But nevertheless, here I am wanting to scream,
Asking God why I can't have what I dream.
Not sure why I feel so empty when I'm alone,
but when people are near, I turn hard as stone.
I'm a catch 22, a ******* hypocrite, too.
Being a happy person is hard work when you're naturally blue.
Fighting the same battles, years after years,
An internal struggle to justify all these **** tears.
But when the music is gone, it all comes to the surface,
I am an endless cliche of a girl with no purpose.

I dread 2nd and King to this day.

I was born into a poor family:
dad the drunkard,
mom the **** addict,
brother abusive,
and sister wrist slitter,
in '84.

Mealtime portions measly.
The house's fragmented windows,
chipping paint
and carpet, ash stained beyond cleaning,
forced me to attempt an escape
several times.
Its a wonder we had a house at all!
I was the only one who worked.

From 10:00 until 7:00
in the dead of winter I used to stand
in clothes so thin
I was better off not even wearing them.
In '97 I was too young to work
legally.
But I wasn't too young for the men-
and I admit, some attractive-
who would pull up to
2nd and King.
I just crawled in the backseat,
assumed the position,
and took my beating
for not being born to the right family,
class,
city,
house...
...... corner...
..................men...
...........................­..­....

I can't look at that sign
marking the corner
without thinking of
crotch after crotch
until it was etched in my brain
that the male genitalia
was the epiphany of evil.
I have to turn my head.

I dread 2nd and King to this day.

but the glorious feeling
          of having
                       no sustainable thoughts
                                    is amazing
everything
                                                             flitters
                          around

pay no attention to the
emotions you were feeling
        white fuzz
cloud
                             covers them with a veil
                nothing matters