whispers of sea
where the cold storm
gathers in the grey
sky, and the waves
pound the shore
running back
pushing down
arching like
fiery cats,
the ache of the storm
a tearful cloud
the song of
a poem.

I write word after word after word
Backspace backspace backspace

Not good enough.

Needs to be

Better.

Isn't that how it always is,
Though?

Wanting to be better
And better
And better than that.

Nothing is good enough,
Right?

You rewrite and rewrite
And change your clothes
And change your clothes again.

You make a cup of tea,
But there's too much honey,
So you drink it and make it again,
This time there's not enough.
I swear the only reason I stay hydrated
Is because I keep remaking these cups of tea.

And I go and change my clothes,
And I rewrite and rephrase that sentence
And then that scene
And then this stanza,
And then I change my clothes again
All in hopes
To be better
Than before.

When will I be good enough
For myself?
Enough that I am even
Good enough for you?

Too casual, change into something cute.
Too cute, change into something ****.
Ugh, why bother?

The fear of never being good enough
Eating away at my brain,
And my brain screams and cries
Striving at perfection
That I'll never
Achieve.

When a song touches the place,
that makes me warm.
I play it again and again.
But this much I've learned-
Don't play it too much.
Less it lose its grandeur.
Like when others complain,
that the cold that once kissed their face
now brings pain.
I will not see it this way.
No let me be washed by the beauty
of life.
And let it not be my everything.

people walk past me,
not noticing the subtle hellos
no one knows the small,
fragile girl that sits alone at lunch
no one nears the girl who curls up
in the corner, avoiding the crowd

She paces around the room
The fresh marks on her skin
Are crimson in the light
The needles of Time ***** her
Leaving bruises on her skin
She stares up at the ceiling
The whiskey glass half empty
The 'medicine' wasn't helping
She's broken,messed up,an outcast
But what you don't know
Is that annie is short for anxiety.

I'm drawn to you,
Like a wasp to a nest,
as words of love trickle
From your velvet lips like honey.