I know alcohol is the downfall. I know he doesn't love me. And I'm unhealthy and relationships are toxic but oh god, I'm lonely, and I'm tired of having no one to hold.

Yes, my father is a bad man but when I look in the mirror all i see is his face
And I have spent too too long hating him.

My heart has been broken by people who never even asked for my middle name, and every day I face the world alone my lungs blacken. It is hard for me to smile.

Every kiss I have ever been given has been tainted. I have never been kissed with love.

I do not want to let you down, but it is in my nature. And I can't get it out.

My lipstick is too bright? But I want the men to think about the things my lips could do if only we were alone. I'm sorry.

I never intended for you to waste so many nights holding me whilst i was bleeding.

I starve myself because I want to be beautiful.

When you come home from 12 hour shifts and your eyes are tired and your legs waver, I go to my room and cry because I want to make life better.
But i am ill.

The written word
Should help us heal
All it does is hurt
By stating what we feel

Its confusing, reading scribbles
Knowing the authors heart
Realizing it means nothing
Typing your soul apart

The ink splashed on paper
Not really meaning a thing
Just random rants
About absolutely nothing

Expressing your heart
Exposing your pain
To the cruelness of people
With nothing to gain

But hurting your soul
And bruising your mind
Someone who expresses truth
Is way too hard to find

In this blank world
Where feelings are condemned
Tears are weakness
It's just better to pretend

Yesterday I played football
Nine young men and one old fool
I gave it my best, my all
Good job there's no offside rule.

My task just the goal to guard
For the ball I duck and dive
This Astroturf is quite hard
Till full time let me survive

Forget the goal, guard my beer
Sipping between shots on goal
Finally the kids appear
This short game, it took its toll

A poem—
is just one more
scrap of paper
that has sailed off the table
in a bottle
with a cry for help.

I've been staring at this blank page for months
Knowing I should be able to write
The beautiful things that happened to us
The twists and wonders
Alive and palpable possibilities
Which now seem dead to me
Because we were never in love
But oh god we could have been

I crave a certain high,
the one I get
from the butterflies
that dance in
my stomach
whenever I see you.  
My parents warned me
about drugs on the street,
but never about the ones
with a heartbeat.

she dances on the soles of her exhausted feet
moving her arms with grace and femininity
she kept her balance as the beads of sweat ran down her forehead
with great posture she bowed and no one clapped, so she remained graceful and left the stage

It's like cooking something for the first time,
burning your hand and never wanting to cook again.
Even though you know what you would cook deserves to be on the menu of some five star restaurant. One that lovers go to, to sip fine wine and stare off at the sunset as they learn how to fall in love all over again. You still can't bring yourself to do it. You can't turn on the stove because every time you do that same fiery sensation rushes through your veins, reminding you what it's like to burn. You shutter, trying to think what life would be like if you never turned the stove on in first place.