A drug like lust,
Pinning me at the wrist,
Scratches on my thighs.

Love me.

Tossing me into the water,
Watching me drown in
Desire?
Passion.

Bruises on my heart and body,
Curiosity is ecstasy,
Painfully hard to dictate.

Simplistic and forbidden.

Strange how things are twisted,
Made better or happier
Like a girl who thought her life
Was crumbling. Her
Mind a whirlpool of lies
Inside of a hurricane of torment and insanity.
Her sleepless nights are simply
Airplanes that cannot fly.
But they are beautiful.
Bright yellow birds with broken wings and
Arrows through their eyes
Fly from sight.

I can relate. The urge and incessant need to run,
The cage stands around me, pillars of a ballroom
with no space to dance. The invisible song echoing.
My mind is a place of blazing meteors
And barren deserts,
Only occupied by an occasional mirage
That screams, “I’ve found something!”
The sound burns my throat, the voice of someone else in my body.
And suddenly I was weightless,
Barely a cloud
Near the ground, obstructing the
Paths that my eyes wander down.
Demonstrated by demons
And the flames flavoured
Like chocolate and ghost peppers.
Burning blisters on the insides of
My teeth, spreading through my bones
As a parasite would slither
Down my throat.
The trees and water signifying my survival
grows. A paradise in the eyes of a starved kitten
Lacking its milk from a mother flattened on the side of the road.
But the possibility disappears
As I walk, run, fall, cuss, crawl closer to my destination,
Forever doomed to walk among the shadows and blackness
Of the sky. Colourblind. I wander and trip over cracks in the
Sidewalk as my mother's back cracks in half like a twig,
It’s not my fault! I am still lost!
Or maybe I have been found. A picture, solid and graphic
I am here. This wasteland could be my home, my fragmented reality.
The tunnels deep in the blackened sand are the
Corridors of a haunted house, ghosts
Of long lost stories whispering sweet nothings
In my disjointed ear. I do not want to listen.
“Welcome home.”

Our analysis of the human race
Will forever burn itself into our minds.
The controversy.
The world itself and its ****** up society
Like a cold, smooth granite countertop with
Grey/ green mold and sharp stench from
Spilled milk. The rustles of a silent wind
Knock, KNock, KNOCKing on the windows at night,
The fear.

Is it something about religion, the fear?
My God is right while yours is wrong,
None of us steal, but a few of yours murdered, so
You all must be killers.
Do you cast spells, have you cursed me?
Ive had this stabbing pain in my side, do you do voodoo?
What if I knock, knock, knock on your door and
Shove it in your face because I am right and you are wrong,
Is this controversial enough for you?

Is it something about teeenagers, the fear?
Their whininess?
"They know nothing of the real world,
The hardships.."
*******.
"They're looking for attention, they are manipulative thieves,
Taking money from their parents,
Why can't they get a job?"
Because its *******!
There are no jobs,
School is based on answers, not trying,
Whining? Because we accept that the world will
Carve out our stomachs with spoons
And blame us for the red graffiti on the side of the train?
What about the adults and even some of our own that tell us to
Hole up and die because of the music we like
Because of our mental disorders,
“They cut for attention. Why dont you
Carve a little deeper and paint a pretty picture?
Feel the sting like being *******, motionless, next to a hornets nest.”
Is it controversial enough for you?

Could it be something about ***, the fear?
The clubs, the ****** and prostitutes,
The millions of dollars going toward their single parenthood every year?
The reality shows depicting teen pregnancy
Yet shunning *******?
It’s exhilarating, but it is a sin,
It is an instinct, but I am going to hell?
A boy tells his friend he got laid and he is the
Most popular kid in school, He receives a metaphorical blue ribbon.
His fifteen minutes of fame.
A girl tells her closest friend that she lost her
Virginity and she is known as the school ***** for the
Rest of the year, and maybe even onward.
Age thirteen after the first *** ed class,
"Momma, how does ******* work?
Do lesbians use ******?
Why is lesbian **** okay, but the other kinds are disgusting?"
Is that controversial enough for you?

Is it something about politics, the fear?
The money we do not have funding ****** in a war,
We have no place in.
Stronger guns with less of a kick.
The continuous binding of church and state,
Despite the promise from two and a half hundred years ago
That it would not happen,
Why can we not marry the people we love
Or cure ourselves of deadly disease without spending
What we do not have?
Is it controversial enough for you?

My emotions dry and crumble as leaves do.
The smell of pumpkin and cardamom
Reminds me of the day I cut myself
Deeper than I ever had before.

You hear it
Outside your room,
Almost like a whisper.
You lean closer
Knowing no one else is home.

All night
Things have been
Out of place:
Moved, scattered, tampered
Destroyed.
You keep looking
Over your shoulder.
Is someone there?
You ask yourself.
But only darkness
Awaits your gaze
Until now...

A figure, almost golden
Yet, you know you are alone
Only the stranger outside your room.
Again, you lean closer,
The breathing now a faint whisper:
"Reactivated"
The voice says
As you turn on your flashlight.
Shia surprise
He lunges towards you.
Slamming the door,
You are now safe
From Shia Labeouf

Abuse beats me.
No, its not really a person. I haven't
Seen the shape of a fist purpled on my cheek in a while.
But Abuse beats me.
Its as if my mind is a dead horse,
It has been mentioned and disregarded and degraded.
When I exclaim again why I am going insane,
I am pushed and tripped,
Crammed into a locker my shoulders cant fit in.

My cheeks cant hold up my lips.  
They have lost their drive unless you string them up like puppets.
That's all a smile is. Hiding from hardships from behind my teeth
Like lies that desperately want to be told.
But no matter how many truths I tell,
They are dismissed as excuses.
What if I did see the beauty in things and
Know what it was like to inflict pain inside myself?
What if I did fight against the one monster we all fear, but
Revived it when I thought I had given up again?

"I feel the beat of my own words as they tumble
A stutter, a jump in the waves of thought that crash
Down, encircling my head, shooting an emotional gun
A bang in bed, so hard it breaks. The love causes a concussion."  

I am thinking too much,
I can't just let thoughts fall from my lips,
I wish I could speak out about emotion;
The path they've led me down,
And have people think they're beautiful and heartfelt,
But I don't have that capability because lately my
Mind has been overcrowded and empty,
I contradict myself like a wasp that has no sting.
What's the point?
I am a poet that can't write or rhyme,
I am a performer with no character,
An artist without a clear muse and so
I scribble on a page hoping to find
Someone who will respect my patheticness.
I listen to music, wishing that I could sound like
The people who know what to do the next day,
Because I have no clue.
Thinking that far ahead leaves holes in my vision
Because something is missing,
But I cant see far enough to find it!

My entire life has been a magnifying glass,
Trying to find my way, the right way, and society's way,
But I can only follow one path and that one
May not even be paved yet.
And as a girl who hated wearing shoes as a child
And who looks to her childish heart for guidance,
That may be a problem.