With my unbrushed hair and mismatched shoes,
I’m not exactly tolerable.

With my sideways thoughts and panic attacks
I’m not what you might call
tolerable.

I’ll laugh              
And smile
And cry at you

Admire,
Insult,
And defend you.

Some days I'll be the death of you.

And I'll always ask for you to take it, all,
         or leave me.

The only choice is to love me, all,
         or leave me.

Everything will be better, I know.

Everything will be better, I know.

Everything will be better, I know.

I create my own reality.

I'm sitting here writing poems because I'd rather

           be Someplace else
        with Someone else
      doing Something

much less productive.

Sometimes I have so much to say that the words come tumbling out of me
Rushing fast as a freight train when you’re standing on the tracks;
Broken as the sound of rain on a rooftop;
Harsh and gentle as a baby’s cry.

Sometimes I have so much to say that the words come tumbling out of me
In loud screeches and cries that forget rules and regulation
Like they’re tired of being quantified and confined.

Sometimes I have so much to say that the words come tumbling out of me
And I don’t stop to think that these are the words that will get me in trouble
Cost me my small place among the unrelenting and reserved;
Lock me up in unforgiving judgment.

Sometimes I have so much to say that it’s easier not to say anything at all.

This is just to say
That I busted your mirror
Heading out this morning.

I'll pick up groceries
On my way back
From the ER.

The only problem with poetry is the
Poetry.

No more rhyming or
Metaphors or
Similes.

No more Poetry.

Just
Thinking and
Breathing and
Living and
Words.

I am guilty of this

Of not speaking up when I need to be heard.

Being afraid
                Of looks
                                Of tones
                                                Of hands
I don’t want to be hurt

                                                                                But the silence already does