Across the road
A J-K girl,
Skipped and laughed
On her way to school.
She was strapped
To a big back-pack,
Looking like
A pink pack mule.
Behind her strove
Her drover,
Directing her to quarry
All the stones of learning.

By three o'clock
My minature mule,
A little slower
Trudged from school.
The pack was filled
With rules and tools.
She had panned
The ores of knowledge;
She'll assay them
In days to follow.

Each day my mule
Will turn the grindstone,
Crunching numbers,
Sifting fine poems.
She's mining all the hidden gems
To fill her back-pack
Once again.

I'm not your boyfriend
realistically speaking,
I never will be.
You think you know how much you're hurting me but you really don't.
Nights spent without you
I'm curled up in a very neat,
as small as I can manage, ball.
I sob quietly sometimes
others I just lay
absent and vacant of any emotion
I can press my fingertip to and point out.
When I'm with you,
I question everything,
every smile,
every flirtatious bat of your eye,
every letter in the words "I love you" I'm not the person you want.
I'm just your best friend who's a good lay.
How can I believe in a love
that you never give me reason to trust?
How can you be "in love" with me
but still so blindly
and
unapologetically hurt me.
I'm a good friend,
just not good enough to be a boyfriend.
But hey, you're getting what you want. And as much as it hurts,
as much as I know I'm not permanent, as much as my self worth depletes
I will continue to fall prey
to my overwhelming amount of love strictly directed at you.
When the pants end
and were laying in bed silently listening to music
I'm thinking of what I can do to make you love me the way I love you
I'll wonder what you believe what we are.
What you expect of me.
Nothing matters anymore.
I just want you to be happy.

killing time before time kills you
would seem legitimate self-defence
a poets reasoning in the face of a killer

Even the dirt here is sterile
Dry
No matter how much you sin,
This building is tainted with the white-hot holy of
Institution

I don't wash my hair for 7 days

If I hold my breath long enough
I can imagine my plastic bed is a
Brown couch
It smells sour

In this grungy living room sit
12 disciples in a circle
Their ***** fingernails clink
And their hazy breath makes me
Dizzy with delight

Some nights I can't quite float above these
crisp white sheets

I tell my friends I've been writing more and
They believe me
     Why wouldn't they?

Winter is coming

The rain reminds me I am still alive
It laps at my feet

Shallow.

The web trembles
the family assembles
and
dinner is served.

Love hungry
It's written on my skin
Desperate to get rid of every blank slate inside of myself
All these places I feel an absence of something I'm unsure of
Like I'm trying to soak it all up
Trying to absorb every last bit of anything I can
Your touch on my skin
I don't know why I'm beggining to think that was the best place to begin
Again I'm trying to suffocate my soul
I'm trying to let it morph and melt and turn into something else because maybe it's never really even been there
I don't want to feel me
I feel my chest weighing heavy and I wish it was because someone else's was on top of it
But it isn't and all these thoughts keep making my body so much heavier
Stacking itself up on top of my bones
They seem so strong but after all this time they are cracking
I know that no one can take this from me
That all the skin and eyes and hands and words and poison won't undo all the things that I have let saturate me
They won't change them into anything else
Even if you paint over something, what was there before will always show when the paint begins to peel but I never even get to the point of letting it dry and falling in love changes my colors but it's all just stacking up and mixing into itself and all I am is ******* messy beyond a previous point
I should have stopped
All it's done has turned me black and heavy
I've been mixing all these colors because I don't understand what moderation is and I don't know why I won't stop trying to cover everything in a different color to be something other than what I am and what I'm not
I have become a bit of it all but I'm beginning to think that nothing can ever make me whole
Not having someone love me through their entire soul, not even that will make me whole
It's just wasting time waiting for the downpour and it won't even bring me a fresh page but something even harder for me to grasp
My lack of understanding is never ending and I'm still screaming at the sky for not having a silver lining or at least one that I could ever find and it's too **** difficult to just make up my mind
All I can say to myself now is I'm sorry, I tried