Tricho-tillo-mania.
It rolls quite nicely off the tongue
Like the type of disease one with
Deep seated fears and complex facades
Would possess
When did this bad habit begin and form?
Has is always been silently lurking within this body?
Ready to pounce on any destructive opportunity
That would arise from my gut

Tricho-tillooooo-maniaaa.
I can overcome it, I know I can
Wait no, an hour went by and oh
Another pile of discarded hair on the floor
Again. And again.
If this luxurious mane of thick, dark hair is so
Admirable and wanted.
Why can I not stop plucking it from the very
Fibers of my skull’s skin?

Tricho-tillo-mania.
Keep it up and there will be naught
A single strand left on top of this girl’s head
My fingertips are aching and raw
Pleading with me to stop this
Nitpicking of these brown straws
Even as I type my nails
Scratch and burrow into my flesh
Pricking and prodding for what?
I wish I knew so I could tell you.

Trichotillomania.
Maybe my innermost desire
Is to rip this bruised skin and broken hair off my body
Until I am nothing more than a hot, ****** mess
Of congealed, dripping, internal organs
And a new case of polished, refined
Poreless, porcelain skin
and ruby- red sensual lips
Could **** me up and out of it
A perfect stranger would emerge
Free from my vice and sin.

they said i built walls
and maybe they're right
i'm scared of the world
and the people it hides
these mountains of brick
stretch up to the clouds
and i'm all alone
but i can't get out
I hear them outside
they try to get through
these walls like a foretress
are holding so true
im alone and afraid
of the people out there
im afraid of myself
im afraid of myself
if lying's a sin
then i am no priest
i tell them i love them
to give them some peace
but i don't really care
if they stay or they go
they're outside my walls
lost in the flow
you came to the wall
like everyone else
another lost soul
outside of my cell
i stared at the ground
without lifting an eye
your hand on my face...
...you were inside

you broke through my cage
like it wasn't there
and all in one instant
i wasn't so scared
you sat down beside me
your story you told
with you beside me
i wasn't so cold
you've lifted me up
so I can stand tall
you showed me true love
here in these four walls.

nowyouregone
thewallshavecrumbled
andiamcrushed

The shards of green glass scatter
About the dusty floor
Ancient messages escape
From the bottle that is no more

Whispers of tales as old as time
Start making their way across
The old man's map, their origins marked
In forests cloaked in moss.

Murmurs fill every crack in the wall
With stories from drunken lips
Of pirates, Kings, mermaids, & ghosts
And giant whales swallowing ships.

Through wallpaper peelings & under floorboards
The messages twist and turn
And as the sun rises, they head for the door
To the bottle they'll never return.

I once read
That in 7.6 billion years
The sun
Having reached its maximum size
Will shine 3,000 times brighter
Than it does now
I have always wondered
How it is possible
To know such a thing
When 100 years
Is beyond a lifetime
How we could possibly
Look so far into the future
When now seems like an eternity
And tomorrow is miles away
How can we embrace the moment
When we are constantly being told to plan ahead
And what's the point
Of waiting 7.6 billion years
When the sun is already
Shining
And the moon
Already loves her?

It made me
Sick.

The kind of sick
That books describe
As green,
Ghostly skinned
With red rust noses.

Sick to my stomach
Like when you wake up
At 2:00 AM
And realize that
Something
Is
Not
Right
Before you sprint
Down the hall
To the bathroom
And ***** pizza bagels into the
Pristine marble sink.

It made me sick like
When it gets so bad that
Blowing your nose hurts
Because the extra soft Kleenex
Have scratched your skin raw
Over
And
Over
Again.

It made me sick
When I realized
That it wasn't you that I loved
But the feeling of being loved.

That I'm cute
Beautiful
Pretty

And I tell them that
It's okay that I'm not
Because I know I'm not
But I don't like being lied to

I know I'm not
Because I can't let tears
Drip down my cheeks
As they shimmer in the dim light
Of the movie credits

I sob until
My face is red and damp and puffy
And I'm clinging to your sleeve
And just crying so uncontrollably
That people sitting next to us
In the dark theater
Might glimpse over to see if maybe
I have a reason to cry so hard.

Does shehave cancer?
Is she missing a leg?
Did her crack-addict mother die when she was an infant?
Why is this bratty straight white blonde girl crying while watching Selma/Dallas Buyer's Club/The Help?

I have to brush my hair
Instantly
When I get out of the pool
In the summer
(Hopping from foot to foot of course
Because the sun has baked the concrete)
Because if I don't
It becomes a half-curly knotted mess.

And if I don't braid it directly after that
Then it dries
In resemblance to a Yield Sign
In a somewhat triangular form

And I'm chubby.
Not fat. It would be better if I were fat.
If I were fat then things would be
Proportionalish
But instead I'm just
A 5'2 and 3/4" girl
With DDs that no one wants
Because "***** don't count when you're chubby"
And baby fat that lounges on my stomach
No matter how many kilometers I row.

My fingers are too small for my hands.
My glasses make my eyes look huge.
My lips are forever chapped.
My cheeks are overly red.
My eyes are too dark to be pretty
And I know it.
I know all of it.

I've lived in my body for longer than you have.
So don't lie to me.
Don't tell me that I'm cute
Beautiful
Or god forbid pretty
Because I really
Really
Hate being lied to.

Wake up. Half dazed. Another day. Once again.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Get Up. Clothes on. Down the stairs, eat the stale toast.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Get in car. Drive off to work. Fight the traffic. Make it on time.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Sit at desk. Hear complaints. Boss, not happy. Big shock.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Unfold the tuna sandwich, take a bite. Hear coworkers mull and gripe.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Fill the forms, do the inventory. Fall asleep at desk. Good God the Boredom.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Get in car. Drive back home. Take off those work clothes. Collapse on the couch.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Surf the web. Read the book. Watch the news.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Put on pajamas. Brush the teeth. Get in bed.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Always repeating….
What am I reaping?
Is this what I have to look forward to in life?
If this is true, dear Lord, take me so.
Your kingdom must be more fulfilling.