the orchid's leaves are dry and crumbled
like a page who's margins are torched
it's reaching stem has now been humbled
to a brittle twig, it's life scorched

for a time, it was forgotten
refound, but beyond salvation
its roots becoming rotten
doomed to damnation

...

a girl cries on the kitchen floor
clutching the *** to her teary cheek
mind plagued by the sickly gore
she's too distressed to even speak

the tab of paper placed on her tongue
opened her eyes to the life that's lost
her emotions unhinged and free to run
the chemicals revealing the true cost

...

the orchid, wilted, a symbol for love
she's thrown away and betrayed
but too painful to be let go of
and too broken to have stayed

he gifted it to her in their last moment
of a devastating goodbye
she needs to reconcile- the flower is gone
but she isn't ready for it to die

a little girl
staring, distracted
by the scars on my thighs

she points
"what happened"
with concern in her eyes

...

I pause
"a very mean cat"
I mutter with dismay

she looks
she considers it
and she says, "okay"

I wonder
if she had asked more
what would I say

"this cat
is untamed and unreliable
but it's certainly not a stray

this cat
sleeps in my bed at night
and follows me every day

this cat
I try to ignore or dispute
but it's here to stay

this cat
I'm used to the violence
so it's okay"

sometimes the only thing
that keeps me going is the sunrise.
most mornings, I wake up and my
first thought is that I wish I hadn't, and
nothing is going the way I wish it would.
but then I see the sunlight piercing through
holes in the clouds and all of the colors
fading together as if the brush strokes
had just been wiped away, and I
feel as if my lungs are being inflated with oxygen for the first time,
and I feel as if everything is going to turn out okay.

I feel like that when I see you, too.

for any meaning to flow through my fingertips
or for flowery words to pass my lips
it seems I must experience a personal apocalypse
or lose myself in romantic feelings' grips

falling apart, my world crumbles
each breath I take, a catastrophic stumble
my motivation hardly mumbles
my brain maintains a senseless jumble
and the words seep through my pores

falling in love, my world glows
each breath I take, my jubilance grows
my motivation never slows
my brain maintains a continual flow
and the words seep through my pores

so which is it today?
well who's to say?
maybe it all sounds too cliche.
at least I'm writing anyway.

I want you to know
But I don't want to tell
I want you to hear
But I don't want to speak
I want you to see
*But I don't want to show

Like a 4th grade science experiment
Of a tornado in a bottle
She can't control her temperament
And her explosions look so mottled
Her colors splatter on the walls
When she finally explodes
She pours out like Niagara Falls
With soda and mentos

the sky is gray and cloudy
it's cool but not too cold
my world is resting soundly
safely and controlled

my blanket's warm and cozy
don't make me leave my bed
please go and don't be nosy
while I revisit books I've read

this kind of day makes me smile
and makes the world seem sweet
so please just let me be a while
this time is such a treat

Inside her head lived a dark cloud
That dampened all her thoughts
And roared with thunder storms so loud
The lightning like gunshots

The cloud got bigger all the time
With the turmoil that it stored
It got so big, it made her rhyme
But when it rained, it poured

She rained, and rained, and rained, and drowned
She rained until she dried
But no one ever heard a sound
She stuffed it back inside

She sometimes felt she got it out
And could almost see the sun
But just because she had a drought
Didn't mean that she had won

She kept a little residue
To metastasize again
That's why she always feels so blue
Why melancholy is her friend

I explain my metaphors with metaphors
I don't know how else to express
My thoughts that sit in clutter drawers
And leave my mind a mess

If you don't understand my comparison
I'll just say it in a different way
My thoughts still shielded by a garrison
Suppressing things I need to say

an hour ago I was crying
and back then I felt like dying
now I somehow feel like flying
it seems by brain is slowly frying

sometimes I just wonder
if sunflowers feel sad
if they're hiding thunder
beneath their petals' glad

what if their color lies
and though they're bright and yellow
they prefer cloudy skies
and feel a little mellow

maybe that is why they wilt
because no one ever expects
their lack of joy fills them with guilt
and we ignore the effects

you let your eyes look right through me
my body made of translucent plastic
what would it take for you to see
that I am not completely elastic

stretch me long enough and I'll snap
bend me far enough and I will break
shred me and I'll remain in scraps
fragment me and I'll fall into flakes

just as the             caterpillar
is not aware of its miraculous
future, you too will one
day transform into
a lovely             butterfly

sometimes she collects her tears
and uses them as ink
so when it dries, it disappears
hiding what she thinks
with erased evidence of fears
no one even blinks
yet she is not what she appears
and deeper still she sinks

I feel red like a snow sled
the big bow tie with vibrant thread
sweet apples, backyard shed
pain that's left from words unsaid

I feel gold like treasures old
the pages found in stories told
sunflowers, marigolds
shining heavens to behold

I feel green like a back screen
the meadows shown in nature scenes
flower stems, crunchy beans
velvet drapes fit for a queen

I feel blue like morning dew
the sky in which the blue jay flew
sad goodbyes, long boo-hoos
rain to make the earth anew

they are the decorations for baby showers
and the gardens that are filled with flowers
they are the calm aesthetic of quiet hours
and the bricks that build princess towers

they are the clouds that fill the sunrise
and the warmest, mid-day, sunny skies
they are the bittersweet goodbyes
and the scent of grandma's cherry pies

it seems that they are colored in pastel
but their tender act may be a shell
and you may not be able to tell
because they have you under their spell

I don't feel good, but I don't feel bad
I don't feel empty, and I don't feel mad
I feel a little blue, but I'm not sad
I feel a little yellow, but I'm not glad

I kind of want to talk, but I cannot explain
My confused emotions and what's inside my brain
What I don't understand acts as a chain
That holds me down and brings me pain

I don't want to be touched, but I want to cuddle
I don't want sunshine, but I don't want puddles
My mind seems incomprehensibly muddled
And my mixed-up thoughts leave me befuddled

there are seven billion puzzles
on this third rotating planet
each one has their troubles
in this world that we inhabit

these seven billion mysteries
hold secrets left unshared
they all have their histories
but their futures make them scared

and these seven billion riddles
leave you speechless, without answers
with pieces missing from their middles
we're unconscious of their cancer

if life is for the living
as I've heard it said
I hope that life's forgiving
because I often feel so dead

my lungs inflate and deflate
my heart beats in my chest
but locked inside a prison gate
and so deprived of rest

the birds sing their happy tune
but my ears have shut out sound
at night I look out to the moon
when in darkness I am bound

there is no large bolder set on me
just pebbles piled up to sky
from underneath I can't get free
I've no control, my hope's a lie

sometimes I feel everything suffocating
sometimes I feel empty and deserted
I can't decide which and it's frustrating
so I keep my faltering attention diverted

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way
so please tell me, if life is for the living
why do we put ourselves through this every day
if we know being alive is more than just existing?

anxiety stampers on my stomach
worry hampers with my heart
in my throat there lies a hummock
slowly tearing me apart

as it sits there, suffocating
obstructing my wounded airways
my mental health begins degrading
and leaves me in a foggy haze

my mind is always filled up with clutter
like butterfly wings, my thoughts flutter
back and forth they go from this to that and back
overthinking leads to constant anxiety attacks
every minute, sound, every little noise
distracts me, breaks down my temporary poise
no detail ever escapes my acute notice
making it nearly impossible to focus
I cannot simply think of just one thing
for there are far too many connecting strings
that tie me to brand new topics that start rolling
as I keep the old thoughts still ongoing
sometimes I almost enjoy it
other times it makes me have a fit
but oh well, it's just me and my brain
until I'm kicked out by a migraine

so what? my head's a little bit scattered
but is that really always what matters?

everyday his melancholy metastasizes
as he grow exponentially emotional
and their words continue to tantalize
until his feelings are unproportional
they are split up and segregated
happy to the right, sad to the left
and though they were once integrated
all that he feels now is depressed

a gray fog cloaked the small town
and in its mist, the people drowned
though none of them would ever frown
but they were broken and worn down

as they watched the colors fade
the town was sheltered in its shade
melancholy is where they stayed
until they were buried by the *****

as life grew dismal, they turned their faces
and continued to run their daily races
so none acknowledged the changing places
as they were bound by conformity's braces

ninety hours and I still can't sleep
can't close my eyes, no not a wink
melatonin still does not seep
into my brain. I'm on the edge, the brink
of plummeting fully into this wretched insanity.
I am no longer inside of my body, though
it does not make sense. what is this calamity?
this beast that eats my sleep continues to grow
day after excruciating day.
attempting to live, I fill my veins with caffeine.
all my nights I hope and pray
for some powerful force to pry away this screen
that keeps me away from my dreams
where at least my pain isn't real
and at least people aren't deaf to my screams
when everything is what I deeply feel
including my heart dragging its feet along, loosely tied to my lungs
and my head. all I hear is thump-thump
the throbbing as I fall down the rungs
of a ladder I'll never be able to climb
and no one I know understands how
I spend hours under the moon, calculating the time
to see how much I might get "if I fall asleep right now"
but I never can because my mind is boisterously loud
and though I plead with it to just calm down
it's volume remains as that of a needy crowd
so in the sleepless noise, I continue to drown...

what's this liquid falling from the sky
with its pitter-patter, pitter-patter?
to the drought of summer, it says "goodbye"
with its splitter-splatter, splitter-splatter!
look and watch as the world grows vibrant
as it pitter-patters, pitter-patters!
oh, thank you, dear clouds, for being our hydrant
as it splitter-splatters, splitter-splatters!
watch as the parched lives are finally quenched
by its pitter-patter, pitter-patter!
the once dry earth at last is drenched
by its splitter-splatter, splitter-splatter!

the flock of ominous black birds,
in a plethora of numbers beyond words,
lands in swarms on swampy, dark mud
as the dead yellow grass is washed away by the flood.
the sky is heavy, low, and gray,
with a gravitational force of depression and dismay.
our vision clouded, we no longer can gaze
upon the warmth of the sun's sweet rays.

"there are never enough hours in the day"
a thought that consumes many with dismay
so many joys continue to decay
as we watch our lives waste away
one through twelve is where we stay
slowly vigor turns to grey

envelop me with your yellowed pages
as I read of stories throughout the ages
let me melt into your printed letters
and wash them away like stormy weather
let me sink into your wondrous words
until my wounds are mended and cured

oh please, dear novel,  be so kind
and let me escape my wretched mind
my weary eyes have not the strength
to focus for your extended length
the voice that reads inside my head
has grown so brittle and nearly dead

so allow me, I beg of you, only to be
a part of your tale, and I'll be free

sometimes
when my mind is
light years away, I feel as though at any moment
my physical body could be launched into space
so that I might be
whole again

the sea shell spirals with complexity
ridges, holes, and scars
proclaim its years of inner ebony
it represents what we all are
once very much alive on the inside
but after having traveled so far
our first instinct is to hide
and now collected in glass jars
we are no longer full of sea and sand
weighed down and covered in tar
we've been stranded on the land