i asked her, does it look the same?
she gave me that funny look she gets
whenever i say or do something a little dim
it's a mirror image for a reason she said

in the mirror i see muscles, and strength
hips a little too wide and fleshy
but still muscular,
strength all the way down

but when i reflect on myself,
no mirror necessary
it is never the same

i don't feel as strong as i could
don't look as sharp and sturdy as i could
those fleshy sides, too soft
for a battle-hardened brain
and turbulent thoughts

i need angles, i need straight lines
but there's nothing straight about me
and that's half the problem

and the other half
is that i hate the softness that lingers
but everybody else loves it
and i don't want to be warm and
able to be cuddled

i want hard edges
and nimble, spindly fingers;
when i play my chords
i want my bones to tap the strings

and when sadness sheathes itself within me
i want eyes as dry
as my eczema-bitten hands

I don’t know why I’m crying
All I can feel are the rivers of tears pouring down my face
My teeth chattering from all the shock
That brings my body gasping for air
For I can’t breath
Knowing that I had not received
An invitation to happier dreams

A beacon beckons autumn a month before the climb
like a busy little bee drumming up an appetite.
How many times must the down be dyed
before the lowest of tides gets stuck to the sky?
We descend to the deep when them hills turn steep
and reach for the quill when the fleece won't leap.
He dreamt on the sheets like the waves on a beach
til the brittlest of his fleet ceased to leak.
Rise and shine, concrete feet, you were made to sink.
Took to the zinc like a Great to a tank;
he was bred to think but forced to shrink.
Everyday it's the plank, despite the wake.
It was there on the brink where he found his bake.

Sweetheart, our paradox is this:
surely loving you will be the death of me,
but the life I live without you…
I would rather not exist.

J.c.A

Hiding her guilty habit,
like its something she never had.
As the day just drags,
she takes another long drag.
Inhaling all the good,
exhaling all the bad.
By covering up the hurt,
she's soothing all the sad.
Feeling alone --
the thoughts alone - drive her mad.
forgetting what she is,
wishin for things, she wish she had.
clouds of smoke taint the air,
the smokey scent hangs like a flag.
with every puff she takes --
the closer it brings her to being glad.
forgetting the stress of the moments,
from the long day she just had.
the stress wearing her smile down, like a long gown
that's looking bad
her happy thoughts dissipate
with the smoke no sign of any hope
but its passing like a fad
she puffs, as slowly she smokes
enjoying the moment for the most
its more than just smokes -
it something that dampens the fear
of what is close, next, or near
these cloud skies fill her with hope
long enough for her to not care
when people that should be close,
aren't even near, or even close to being there
all she needs is her pack --
stashed in the back,
to have her back -
until the coast is clear.
and she's back on track.

There's a storm in my teacup,
An ache in my head,
A plethora of words,
That are better unsaid.

There's a monster inside me,
That never stops speaking,
Though I try to control,
The havoc it's seeking.

You think I'm a good person,
But I do not agree,
My friend: you only judge me,
Based on what you can see.