Benign, benevolent ballerina bubbly bathing by beautiful blossoming balsams.

A gander I took and I was a statue, still, allured, and enchanted. my lips basted by beauty, before her I was an apparition, lost in forests of adulation.

A vanishing spirit soon to be a vestige of a vestige. I shall wage wars, arm myself and battle my way to her hands that can melt the glaciers residing in my heart.

remember when you laid me back and told me you needed to kiss every inch of my body, you needed to feel the skin that begged for you under your lips, no matter what words I string together everything about that night sounds like sinful lust when in all reality your lips kissed every bruise, cut, and bad memory away in the most innocent way possible and when you turned me over and ran your fingers down my spine before placing chapped lips of heaven on my shoulders releasing every pounding rhythmic weighing stress that knotted in my bones I knew at that moment I would spend forever in the miserable regret that being eerie to commitment would leave because no matter how much we loved, screamed and craved each other, the time could never be more wrong and I hope that one day my lips can kiss every broken freckle on your skin again.

I promise I wasn't hurt from the fall. The smack of your door frame was my wake up call that I wasn't swimming I was sinking. It was like the pills and alcohol were my go-to when nothing else around me would spin ; in reality they were the weights on my ankles. Sinking, sinking, gone.
I thought I was in your room, I thought I was in your bed. I thought I heard you talking, but that was your sister's worried voice asking what happened over and over. My lip was bleeding, my face was bruised and I kept thinking it was just your kiss and the way your words hit my head.
It wasn't. That night was the death of me.
It was the death of that pill bottle also.
I wonder if you still think I was sobbing from the pain. Mentally, yes. Physically couldn't compare.
I wasn't sad from you. Trust me, your arms were the only stable place I thought I had in this world. Until I found out that you were just the vortex of lies I grew up with.
I wanted to love you.
I did.
You couldn't return that and I know you tried but I know I was just the unstable mess that couldn't wash out of your bed.
I apologize for ruining things for you and myself.
I still think of you.
I promise.

Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought

Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be

But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?

If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners

If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated

If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell

Or murdering Jews
Like ******'s evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine

Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents

If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home

If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward

Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?

Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes

No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers

To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him

We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence

You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much

Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?

Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?

If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass

You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality

What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night

Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge

It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is

Dear Dad,
This is my first letter I've ever written out to you. I guess words run through my head everyday of all the things I wish I could scream at you. I don't know you. You don't know me. The last image I have of you is the time you set me up on the roof and told me about reality, I didn't know what you meant at the time and I still don't. I still dream about the overlook of where I was sitting and how your voice sounded when you talked passionately. Fast and sharp.
I heard your mom died, that's unfortunate. I shrugged when I heard the news because she was never really nice to me, she never talked to much at all for that matter. I remember your crazy sister also. She always had barbies and lollipops. I used to think they for me when I was younger but I know now that they weren't and she was just stuck in a childhood she never received.
It's really hard not having you around, or anyone around for that matter. Anyone who has tried to come in my life has only shown me what the strike of a hand feels and looks like compared to the fatherly image I have always wanted. I just decided to never let a man in because they all **** up. Girls do too I suppose. All relationships are ******. I like being alone anyway.
Mom talks about you sometimes and we constantly listen to your favorite songs. She misses you. I just personally hate you for picking such stupid things over me. Many people ******* do that and I only see your ******* eyes behind them. It's hard looking into the mirror because everyone says I look just like you. Act just like you. Talk just like you. *******. I hate being compared to your ******* being and you have left me with nothing.
I think after I finish writing this I will have a funeral and think of creative ways that you may have died oh-so-young, because when people ask what happened to my dad I can feel more confident about the answer "he's gone".

Sincerely,
The daughter who will never let you back in.

At first I wanted to be the only one you wanted, now I just want to be the only person who doesn't want you.
I used to think about the way you kissed me before we fell asleep, now I just think about the way you left me before I drift off.
I used to laugh at your corny jokes. Now I just laugh at everything I hear about you because the only thing that's funny is the concept of what we were.
All my best friends became yours and now I'm out of the picture all together. I guess I am used to that.
I regret kissing you that night, because then maybe I would still have my friend instead of resentment.

I'm a white, male,
American dreamsicle
who says "****"
way too much
to not be cool.

I read about my father issues
on my mother's face.
I hate things and people
because the news told me to.
Art is ****** and ****** is art;
when Billy killed Sue,
my heart raced.
Do drugs with me
or do none at all;
promise me when we're high
we won't fall.

There are ******* on the street
and the cops are shooting them.
There are ******* kissing
and old, white men are scared.
There are mentally ill people
and they are "seeking attention".
There are women with voices
and old, white men are scared.

I am an American Dreamsicle:
cold, unhealthy, and killing your kids.
You can buy me for 40% off
and I promise to take 60% of your ideals.
I am what my parents don't want me to be
and that is the appeal.
Little do I know, I am every thing you are
and that is my cancer.