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punk rock hippy Apr 2016
There's an earthquake going on inside me, my chest is the fault line, My stomach is a shoe lace factory, and  a tornado decided today was a great day to do tornado things.

Ya know? It really ***** when your lungs turn to vacuums and not the good kind, the kind of **** when you can hear sand knock around trying to find a way down. There's a sandstorm in your lungs and all you need is an inhaler, but breathing is easy so you don't need an inhaler.

My mom taught me how to handle this. She handles this.
She taught me cold weather can freeze this over.
But when this fails it can turn into tar and we know that tar is hotter than ****.

Are you aware that it doesn't work out when your stomach becomes a shoelace factory and a tornado happens to do tornado things?
My mom handles this. I asist.
Her guts turn to strings and don't do very gutsy things.
Her pancreas called in sick.
That was 3 years ago.
Her cheeks aren't very cheeky.
Her bones show through her skin.

Every now and then I feel the ground start to rumble and I wait for us to fall in.
She's my inhaler.
punk rock hippy Dec 2015
I'm going to sick the sickest parts of my mind after you.
Mental illness in a mutt is rabbies.  
Having the same ending,
recovery or death.
To me, there's no difference.  

Ever been hit by a truck?
Okay that's great.

You're currently being attacked by a mutt with a mental illness.
Rabid dogs and getting hit by trucks aren't that different to me.

I know, because I made him.

He grew teeth when I gave up.
He got his bark from scraped knees.
Every hair on that animal's body has a story.

Are you currently being attacked by a dog?
Okay, great.

Now I want you to figure out what's really attacking you,
Give that dog a name.
Totally posting this again. Yep.
punk rock hippy Nov 2015
Just cuz my boss is a jack ***,
Or cuz my mom's words are slurring,

I might say I don't love you anymore.

Or I might shower in water that's a degree above committing adultery with the sun, and a degree below my blood steadily starting to boil.
I can feel everything that's ever touched me leave me.

Lemme tell ya how I can turn a come love me into a don't you ******* touch me.

If my clothes touch me wrong
It's ruined.
If the nothing I smell is wrong.
It's ruined.

I'm a touchy shower setting in a different language on opposite day, im nights sweats, an ice cube stuck on the tip of your tongue.

All or nothing.
Give it your all or you'll be Nadda.

I honestly can't tell you if I'm getting better or if I'm just running faster.
I just know that this water is turning my skin into leather.
punk rock hippy Jul 2015
It's been a year since I've yelled at paper.
Moving on from a tree that weeps and false hope in the sidewalk, I've been promoted to cigarette smoke and dust on the walls.

Asthma has come back from vacation and is here to stay.
Being woken up from lack of breath isn't my favorite "good morning".

My bloodstream tells no tale of my addictions.
I don't count how long I've been sober,
if you give it a number it'll bring it back to life, and who wants to beat a dead horse over and over.
Besides, it feels good to **** clean.

Life is livable.

Anyways, how have ya been?
It's good to be back
punk rock hippy Jan 2015
My right wrist and left knee have come down with a cold and my viens have water damage.
My tongue tripped over my teeth leaving a ripped taste bud.
I can never get comfortable because I am  positive that Im going off the edge
and everything else is always just so dammed positive.
Just feed me medicine, and ill see you in the morning.
This is an oldie.
Don't know what to write about anymore
punk rock hippy Nov 2014
I'm getting desperate cuz I'm getting distant.
The royal coachmen is the trailer park I used to live in.
Pinecones, stray cats and the candy man.
In the kitchen I dug a hole for a mouse to live in.  
For God's sake momma, could you puke a little quieter, don't let dad know you're sick cuz this house isn't a home when you're gone.
Cold mornings ****** doo blankets and hospital beds.
Dad tells me mom is sick again.
The hospital is no place to live in.
God ****** dad step up, make this a place to live in.

At 5 years old, my momma asks her momma to move in.

I'm getting distant cuz I'm getting desperate.
A little town named Charleston.

When you walk up the side walk and you see the willow, just know it's weeping because it's heard everything.  

Just to let you know there's a piece of glass in the side walk, not diamond.
I know that cuz I bent too many butter knives trying to make a fortune.

Yellow walls, barn cats and god.

It took me 12 years to find somewhere to believe in.
Home challenge

I forced myself to write this
I hate writers block
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