debating the pros/cons of the assets
of the divided warrior/fair maiden
between wondering about the benefits of solitary enlightenment
and
the chaos ensured by leftover fantasies
she stands proudly, holding imaginary boxer belts over her unkempt, overused head
solely wishing for "true love" to become inspiration instead

three girls and a cig walking
beneath expectations, between enemy sheets
under all oppression
above the feeling of feeling free
walking towards dry humps and lumps
of flammable ****
three girls and a cig
three girls with a negative me
the moon screamed as we screamed back at it
the difference between feeling fine and feeling free, native from where we stood
and screamed
the slave, the agony, the animal in me
shouted at the stars and sighed all at once, all us three
we were there & there we breathed
and she's oh-so-thankful for this
even though words could not leave her throat, like the screams she had trouble with before
she said thanks a million times in her heart, in her arms, in her overworked mind-hole
directing all her energy to protect all other signs of companionship in human form
yet still unable to voice her words.

on a positive note,
women's thundering feet could cover and swallow me whole
and we'd be grateful for being trampled
by such an empowering force
I'd die happily *******
if I was only capable of knowing
that my passing would ensure the lives of all my amazing sisters-in-soul (god bless women)
the resilience is striking, our boots will stomp you out,
get ready because we're coming,
men, you better jump boat now.

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.

i hope you're all having a good day, i am very sorry im not active. i really have no idea why im like this ****

i try **** too hard
to be astract, weird and free
but in the end im just lonely old me