im at the bottom looking up
theres no promise of clear skys but god has my back
im gonna try
try harder than i ever have before
i have strong relationships and even stronger friends
im done waiting for my family to get stronger
its me its i who need to be strong to live the life i was meant to live
to breathe to let everything shine and not give a care
i need to heal.

The other night I was walking down the street
In a sweatshirt and blue jeans
And to the left of the street I heard
“Hey baby, get in the car with me”
And I knew this couldn’t be a nice gesture
And I should be afraid
I should rely on the pepper spray in my purse
Over the compassion in a man’s heart
Because after all I’m just an itty pretty bitty
In this big ol’ city
And I need help
I need a white knight to protect me from dragons
That used to be men but forgot the meaning of the word no
And twisted it so
It meant try harder
Look at how short her skirt is
And I thought since when did the length
Of my skirt become the measure
Of a man’s self-control
When did the visibility of my thighs
Warrant unwanted invites
I don’t remember sending out mini-skirts
To request people come to my birthday party
The length of my dress does not mean yes
And the cut of my shirt is not a man’s control test
And when I say no that isn’t just a request
Why do I have to be afraid to be a woman?
Why can’t men be taught not to ****
So I won’t have to be taught ways to avoid it
Don’t walk alone
Don’t talk to strangers
Don’t walk at night
Don’t leave home without pepper spray
Don’t walk in that neighborhood
Why can’t being a woman mean don’t
Be afraid you never have to wish
You were born with padlocks instead of knees.

My muse for writing is hatred
I hate this and I hate that
I hate you.
My right hand seems perpetually pressed
Against paper
And the pressure from my left
Comes from a clenched fist
My fingers wrapped around
Some crumpled scribble of a thought
Most times my body feels like the vertical pole
Balancing opposing weight systems
Constantly pushing for power only to lose it
Again every single time.
And I hate that I rhyme
Because I am too off set to stand straight
On my own two feet
I am meek and I must teeter between
Who I am and what I write
When what I am in a ball of hate
Writing about how I wish it was love
And how nice cool metal would feel on my left hand
Compared to the hot blood
That seeps under my finger nails
From constantly clenching back cascades
Of callous conscious thoughts of hate.
That I hate I wished was love.

all the envelopes in all the worlds
will never be enough to carry my love letters
letters with headers that would be better read
dear  lover number 1,2, or 3
but the dears are really never suffixed by numbers
because the names that correspond to them
mean more than all of their sum
and fill up too many pages than I can count to
and some pages the number I can’t read at all
because I bare down too hard with my pen
and the ink seeps down onto the next letter I have to write
making page 76 look like page 48
and the periods at the end of sentences
look like misplaced and blurry hearts
it doesn’t help that I write in red
and that I only love a certain shade
it doesn’t help that I am broke
and I can’t afford ink
but rubber band are always on sale
and I can wrap them tight around my throbbing veins
to pump out the most velvet red hue
at the lowest price
but when my blood starts to bottom out I stop writing
and I start kissing the next boy who makes
my heart beat out more and more words
to write with.
Another number to start off a letter with.
Dear number 5, I’m sorry about your head but you shouldn’t
Have under judged my right hook
Dear number 7, don’t worry my body’s finally absorbed those bruises
Dear number 1, I wish you could have seen me naked I wish
It was still possible for you to see me naked.
To cut off all my rubber bands
And to burn all my stationary
Because you need to be greedy
And you need to use all the envelopes in all of the worlds
To write letters for me.