I write, but why write? Well,
because it's my rite; and
to spare you my tears,
I'll make sure to be clear:
It's not rite as in 'right'
as opposed to a wrong,

like a discordant note
that's misplaced in a song
or a 'right' so bestowed in
divinity's throng, handed down
by a deity mighty and strong, but

a rite, like a ritual, rather habitual.
This you will gather, and
this you'll process, and
with deepening fervor,
we'll further progress: It's

addiction to diction,
to poems, to fiction
where syllables,
fill up whole pages.
The friction, of
pen against paper, just
gives me the vapors. The

clacking of keys, makes
me weak at the knees.
Some may call it disease and
express their disgust, but
my lust for these words
I just cannot appease.

So with all of my might, and
from morning to night,
I equip with my tools, and
I write and I write.

you were my sunshine
i was your sunflower

i mean, you were my lifeline
and i filled you with power

and now that you've left me you shine just as bright
but don't you know that flowers die without light?

$8.75 popcorn butter stains my fingertips sweet,
and there's salt on my lips and in my hair.

A restless hand finds yours in darkness
rudely interrupted by blue light and washes of pinks.

And I find my heart tearing itself underneath your easy smiles.

Other girls are not my competition
I stand with them
Not against them.

"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.

when i see you my heart
fills with happiness
and i wish
you could use me
as your mirror

Life is a game of Chutes and Ladders
At every step you roll the dice
What you think really doesn't matter
Each day you'll either climb or slide

With every move you take your chances
You will either rise or plunge
Don't ask me, I have no answers
You'll never know until you're done

Where every step along the way
Is a case of do or die
It makes no difference in how you play
With every day a roll of dice

In this game of Chutes and Ladders
That some out there fondly call life
Where your next move at any given moment
You will either climb or slide