I pretend to be a doctor on my free time
Delivering free pizza to house wives

Playing games on my calculator
vs.
Arguing with the math teacher

Receiving a letter, spreading butter, taking my birth control.
I draw an animal poorly, and a corn dog.
Bottle rockets and fire crackers.
Steroids and M80’s.
I love life,
But not really,

‘Cause I have 18 kids.

Aching,
pain seeping,
seeking,
sinking
into my soul.

Forcing me
into a nightmare
of all my mistakes.
Forcing me
to remember.
Taking away my will
to let go
and create
a better me
free
of confusion
and hurt.

I’m tired of bloodshot eyes
and tear stained cheeks.
I want to tear it down
and scribble out the past.
I want to burn it down
and start all over again.

To escape these ruins
and create some sort of paradise.
Without the whiny,
needy, hurtful people
that get in my way.

Throw away
the things I’ve done,
the words I’ve said,
and the emotions I’ve made,
the expressions I got,
the people who hated me,
pitied me,
loved me;
throw them all away.

They don’t matter anymore.

and now that its flying away, we see its wings, and all the beauty we missed before.
magic bulbs flash new ideas, abandonment, isolation, you sit in the corner, had no sleep for days, you're afraid to shut your eyes, afraid to lose it, but now you've forgotten your original thought, perplexed with that beauty, caught in their eyes. fix your gaze on something much too bright, now wait, and it will pass, the world stopped spinning as soon as you began. give up, give out, sit down, relax.

Intimidation consuming me into thoughts of you
wanting the intimacy
searching for your face in my mind
in the crowds of people who don’t matter
I’m tired of these cold nights with scratchy sheets
there’s mold on the wall and a toxic gas seeping through my pores
infecting my heart and mind
I don’t want to forget your face
just scratch the thought of calling you
creating different scenarios of what could have been
I cant stop wishing you were here
that I never met you
There’s a note on the door
it doesn’t say much
keep out 
go away
don’t know
just walk away
****** knuckles in my face
I know its mine from the taste
I close my eyes and plug my ears
try to block it out with my tears
the ground is cold
my body aches
wincing as my bone breaks
screaming
searching
seeing
sighing
superstitions become reality as my face smashes through the mirror
just another seven years of bad luck I don’t need.

Everything’s become so tasteless as I realize
My whole life’s been wasted
I want to fold upon myself
Put my pieces on a shelf.
All my worries spill and scatter,
Just in time for my heart to shatter.
I feel on my finger tips what my eyes will never taste
The throbbing in my head moves to the traces of our last embrace.
I know that some day  I will die,
But until then my life is a helpless sigh.

I wonder what you taste like,
I can't help it.
It doesn't matter how many times our lips touch,
it's not the same.
In the morning when you make me coffee,
I wonder what it's like to be beneath your skin.
While you drink your cup,
and smile,
I secretly want to drink you,
but I smile back instead.

I've been reading your poetry lately,
wondering if it's about me.
I've been crying lately,
because I'm in love.
I've tied myself down with wishes,
all of them are about you.
I've done a lot of things,
all of them were for you.

When I wake up next to you,
it's better than any cigarette.
I try not to stare,
afraid you'll wake up.
So instead I stare at the ceiling,
the one I've memorized.
I hope the addiction isn't obvious,
although, that would make things easier.

It's hard to tell someone else's lover these kind of things,
it's inappropriate.

No matter how much I love you.

I've been kissing a man with yellow teeth,
the neighbors frown when they see his car in the driveway.
They called the police on us, saying it was a crime.

I woke up in a metal room with fluorescent lights,
screaming, "What's my crime? where's that love of mine?"
They answered with screaming lights in my face,

"We hear you've been eating cold toast!"

Walking down the stairs with a Jello stuffed bra.
My sister told me it was a good fashion choice,
all the men smiled, and so did the women.

I went to the coffee shop, and ordered juice.
The waitress looked at me, then sat down.
Complained about how her fingers bled,
how she never applied for the job,
and about her weak knees.

She cried enough to relieve my thirst.