I don't find limiting myself with a title,
There are no boxes left for me to fit in,
Or burst out of....
I find it's excitingly horrifying to be,
This lost.
There's a similar difference between identity and persona,
I am what I am, am I?
What am I?
Do you think the men I have only half loved,
But stroked their meek egos of,
And the woman I have cowered at,
As they screamed my name,
Know what I am,
Is not who I am?
There is a solace to be found in being wanted;
Are you the one they fall to on a late night,
When they are alone and drunk?
What about when their beds are cold?
When they cannot see you because, they are blinded,
By their quest to find themselves more, and you,
And you,
My dear,
Oh my sweet you,
Who is no one in this world,
Are a literally stepping stone in under their feet,
As you wish to be a moon in their stars.
What they don't tell you,
About surviving trauma when your brain is developing,
Is that your world turns to opposites,
Chaos is home
Drugs are home
Hate is home
Fear, is home;
Here secreted beneath my pallid skin,
I try to find them all a home,
Knowing I'll never find mine.
If self care and therapy was literal exercise,
I could bench press all of you, and more,
And save you all;
My motivation to not be broken is stronger than my will to die,
And they'll never know that,
As they try to break me,
Over and over, and over,
And over again.
Everyone's broken.
No sorry, everyone has cracked edges,
Worn
Rusty
Mishandled a few times
Repainted
Cracked
Not broken, slightly damaged.
We, the ones filled with gilded light, and songbirds,
We know the ******* difference between depression,
And eternal internal sadness,
From not understanding love, to
Loving EVERYONE
From seeking solace in the extreme,
To running away from arms that seek to confine.
Where for art ******* thou?

We are not here for your pleasure.
But we are.
How could we be, but anything else?

I tired.
Sorry...
I tried.
Men.
Women.
Whisky.
*******.
Driving too fast.
Telling them.
Saving them.
Being everything.
Hating.
Fighting.
Drowning.
Breathing.
Exalting.
Cryi­ng.
Pain.
Pleasure.
Writing

This isn't a shopping list.
It's. Not a bucket list.
It's what we do to survive,
When you're born without love.

My country is in chaos.

seats of power are exchanged,
unelected come-down
and steep fog of uncertainty.
The poor are painting their signs;
others lock their doors.
Tear gas spills in streets
far from Suburbia-
on the shoulder of Europe.

I struggle for sleep.
Not for tragedy,
but missed calls
and lack of shelter.
For you and your darkened corner,
bleak winters-
the last time I saw you in the sun.

Petroleum fills
the lung of the sea.
Swarms gather in luscious greed,
footfalls over concrete:
the peace sign,
white poppies,
paper cranes.
Stubborn **** in the rock,
the busker with fingerless gloves;
the nightclub spilling over
into violence.

I strain my eyes,
not in tears
but in chemicals
and lack of vitality.
For you and your
elusive path through life,
your over-complicated strides.
Simple, temporary medicine

that is the comfort
and never the cure.

The stars blot out
one-by-one.
Each neon skylight
fractures the night
in pink clouds:
flowers die over the railings
where they could not
save his life.

I contain my breath,
not in calm
but poisoned blood
and lack of air:
I can barely breathe
without you here.

My country is in chaos.
Earth spins in a slow disease.
Still, all I can think of is you.
Whether you are thinking of me.

When did it get so hard
Just to talk, not to run
Well I’ve been here before
I know all the signs
The dead ends

Just know that I’m still here
Patiently waiting for a sign
Just to hear we still share
The same Earth, the same stars

Ever since we’ve been apart
There’s no light on
But I’m always up

There’s no one here
To pick me up
To calm me down

And the Earth
It don’t spin
No it just throws me
All around


I’ve grown jaded, I know
Nothing’s changed
It never will

So I’ll play the middleman
For a few weeks more
Then I’m gone-
If not before

Don’t let the *******
Get their foot through the door
Say yes once, at the wrong time
And you’ve said yes ten thousand times
Soon they’ll be taking the hours
From your life

It will happen slowly
Creeping up on you
Like glacial tides
Like choosing a Pope
Like *** cancer
Until one day you are consumed
And struggling only pulls the mud
Further up your throat

They get you with all the necessities
Food, water, beer, clothes, and cigarettes
It takes POWER to say no
Not a lot of people have power
At least, they say no to the wrong things
They’ll say no to a mid-week ******
And yes to the slow death of 8-5

You see the injustice in their eyes
You see they are looking for an escape
You know, though, that they wont
The ******* move in

They claim they already own the place
That they never moved in at all
They’ll start rearranging
The furniture of your life
Orientating everything in their image

Don’t let them in
Don’t even open the door
They’ll take everything-
But it’s yours to keep

To keep so long as you
Love their cruelty
And allow them the last thread
Of consciousness
That leaves your body before sleep

It’s yours so long as you
Turn up on time
And stay late
Punch the clock
And throttle all human smell

It’s all yours
If you give yourself to them
They will use up your patience
And then start on your confidence

Until they have you
Decorating your iron bars
With raised, clenched fists
Declaring loyalty to those
Who would drop you without hesitation

Soon, they’ll **** that spark
That Blue Moon spark
The one you feel when the sky
Mimics colours of happy memories
The one you feel when
You wake with movement in your bones
The one you feel when
A balloon swells in your chest
Or when ecstasy fills your spine
How the wind at the back of a motorbike
Blows the cobwebs from your mind

They’ll take it all away

They’ll take it all
Compensate you with a paltry sum
For all of your hours
For all torn relationships
You have no time for

They’ll turn the vice
A little tighter each day
Until you turn crazy-
If you’re lucky

If not
You’ll be there
Spent on purified sugar
And a lack of motion
To your days
You’ll be there
A hollowed shell
Of violent potential
Lost

Lost in timesheets and long weekends
You’ll take pictures
Of days spent in the sun
So that in your luxury
Your geriatric, loose-skinned luxury
You can look back
On your small life and say
“Hey, I did everything expected of me”

And that will work
For no one

Don’t let the *******
Get their foot through the door
You have no POWER to resist
You won’t be you anymore

I’ve been seeping constellations for you-
For you to see the colors within me
But i can see the milky way on my bathroom sink
And I’m bleeding all over the broken bottles you left last saturday
And on the empty pill bottles I was prescribed to forget you

When you kissed me last you told me I tasted like a stranger
Even though I’ve showed you every galaxy I hide inside me
All my stars and the spaces in between them
You used to tell me you could see the sky in my eyes
But last time I heard you haven’t checked the weather in months

The stars are sleeping in my veins now,
I started saving them from my bedroom floor
But i can still feel you on my fingertips
I still think of you every time I look at the sky

I’ve been kissing strangers to forget the taste of your lips
But i feel you in the back of my throat every time I smile
I feel you in my voice when someone asks me about my plans for the future
Because my entire life I was told one day I will find my better half
And you always told me you were mine
But who are you to tell me I need someone else to feel whole?

$8.75 popcorn butter stains my fingertips sweet,
and there's salt on my lips and in my hair.

A restless hand finds yours in darkness
rudely interrupted by blue light and washes of pinks.

And I find my heart tearing itself underneath your easy smiles.