who do i be
when the world
doesn't want me

My life,
a pain...
a sore.
My face,
none dares to behold,
at least...
not for long!

the flowing chiffon billows in the wind
the remains of her torn-up dress have fallen off
revealing the scabbing,
   the oozing,
      the ****** mess that's confusing.
relinquish the souls of the ******, Wise One.
the woman nods and smiles: "dutifully so".
she reveals the martyr's expression of unkempt love.
    in her inner core, once and for all,
        is her furthermost and final foe.

pounding in my head
tired once, twice, third time tried again
dreading the nervousness of june august september and may
**** the gnomes by dumping our feelings in the ashtray

i started dismembering, not-remembering my dreams
when i started writing for runaway, chase-parfait, throw-away teens.
seems as if my whole life is the cycle
of giving and giving and never achieving,
or neverending begging and effortless forgiving.