the burning in my lungs,
the drilling in my heart,
the pain in my legs,
wobbling to and fro ,
bruises pinning my arms,
crackles snapping my spine,
my face scared with agony,
my nose dribbles with blood,
my eyes breathing with rage,
trying to focus but not grabbing grip,
my hair falling out and the remains tangled,knotted,
teeth gritted with dreaded terror,
skin blotched with dirt and exhaustion,
slowly being torn,
all life invisible from any type of view or sound,
the only way through feel and thought,
thoughts of  madness,
hell to think of,
there was no way of stopping myself,
no way of killing the strain in by body,
feeling ache and horror
tears flooding down my face,
beings staring angrily,
not knowing how to feel...........

When
        All
My memories
        Of you
Are gone,
        That
Is when
        I
        Will
        Move on.

I do not want to dance with you if you
are watching all the other people dance.
And though I’m not a dancer, no – it’s true;
don’t think about the tightness of his pants.

I know you want to kiss me, close your eyes
so you can feel the lips, the hips, not see:
this body’s moves and dips are not some guy’s,
but long for you, and all belong to me.

Watch me as you dance, step on my toes
just so I know your dancing thoughts are mine.
The ballerina in your head that shows
you spin with me – I think it needs a wind.

You’re not a wind up toy but love a spin,
take me for one, I’ve won; I want to win.

Everyday she got yelled at,
Though she never knew why,
But nothing ever changed,
And she started to cry.
The shouting got worse,
She'd hold back tears; she'd try,
But everyday got harder,
And she started to cry.
Thee bruises she had,
Made others wonder why,
She kept to herself,
And she started to cry.
All the screaming and yelling,
She was lonely and shy,
With no one to call out to,
She started to cry.
Everyday got worse,
She wanted to die,
She hated going home,
And she started to cry.
Broken bones, scratches, bruises, and scars,
Everyone saw them, but no one asked why,
She had been so strong but was now so weak,
And once in heaven, she no longer cried.

I hide behind these words,
Sometimes not so pretty metaphors
No one seems to hear me when I speak
So these are my words to keep.
Someday, someone will understand
Why there was always a pen in my hand.
Welcome to my life

(April 16, 2011)