Men have a big hands
And even when they don't,
They are told they should.
To build houses for their wives,
So they can close the linen drawer on their petite feminine palms and use their big eyes to watch from the kitchen window.
Look, but don't touch.
A rule that applies to women,
But not so often to men.

I have little bones and an over sized heart
there is no cast for cracked ribs
and everything I've been keeping inside me is spilling through my fractures
I am laying on the hard wood floor
bleeding out into a mountain of clothes that no longer smell like his cologne
my problem is that I know exactly what he smells like
he said he hates himself for being selfish
he said he hates himself for his guilt
and I know he hates me for loving him
but there is nothing I wouldn't give,
no god I wouldn't pray to,
no quest I wouldn't endure in order to fix his brain
That is why I left

I feel no shame
In dancing ****
So all can see
The way you carved in poetry
To my brittle bones
As my skins too
Thin
Your metaphors
They leaked right in

r.m

Born again
I have been born a hundred times but like the inches between my thighs it is never quite enough
I was born this morning I woke up mourning my flawed skin but when I use cover up it is not jut the blemishes I'm hiding.
Born again into highschool and by the second hour it is your sweet sixteen,
And you're  jealous fifty girls bodies you've seen.
Born again and by the end of the day, you've graduated from seven minuets in heaven
by now you're more comfortable with showing photos of your naked body than your naked face.  
Born into the whispers of *** deprived teenage males who's idea of a good tale is talking about the circumference of a women's chest
and if she's a size zero,
Well I have zero tolerance for unrealistic standards.
Speaking of unrealistic since when was it real for a women only to feel worthy to a man when's she's altered her body.
I grew up in a society with make up adds on tv full of women who have inches between their knees and my peers beg please,
Please,
Please can I look like that as if photoshop could be found In our makeup bags.
Born again into a mans world where some women are still underpaid due to the gender they did not choose to be.
Where third world girls cannot go to school because they obviously cannot handle the task of picking up a tool as difficult as a pencil?
They die again.
We die again
and again without the enlightenment of knowing that we were born with
hairy legs,
crooked teeth,
oily skin
and braless.
We were born worthy and real,
we die to feel acceptance and love and somewhere in between we give up loving ourselves
and we accept that as were born to believe that that's the only way to live.
Many believe that suffrage ended yet we still suffer,
but it's our choice to endure the pain.
Be born again but this time be born in the rain unafraid of your make up running down your face.
Wash it off.
Be born again.

Im screaming so silently,
My soul is combusting
and I can see my pale skin coat
slowly perishing in the reflection of other people's irises.
And I've built a personal hospital,
Brick by brick of everything that has made me
Shake.
I sit on my hands to avoid my critics.
I can't remain still so I take cover
drowning in older men's neutral sheets
As if it would make it pure,
But I'm in love with heartache,
For I wouldn't feel anything otherwise.
I'm incapable of being content.
See options in my town are so,
so,
Small
And I have entire world inside of me.
I'm global ******* and
They're buying their
Parents houses.
But I parent my parents therefore becoming my own
Home.
My father has no say as he's never said anything,
At all.
My mother is an adolescent who has become a world class actor.
And she's running too.
Except my siblings and I are her small town,
And one day I'll release her,
So she won't have to say anything either,
and I won't have to act anymore.
I'm escaping myself, my roof has collapsed.
I'm terminal on my own will.

The hike taught me that not all mountains you climb will be emotional ones,
some will just be mountains.
And others,
they will  scrape your fragile knee caps to your melancholy bones as if they've forgotten how to serve you,
you will hug the earth and ask for forgiveness.
You will beg for them back but in the grand scheme of existence the trees continue to stand during your inner storm

Life goes on.

The truth is you can climb to the peak a 100 times and the view won't change, after awhile it will be equal to the ground.
As you near the heavens,
eventually not all rock faces with resemble his.
That's when it's okay to let go,
I'm falling down the hill but the mountain continues to stand still.
I don't create a land slide

My daydream lover has become a nightmare I'm unable to wake up from.
I gave him a 100 sleepless nights only to receive 101 wakeless morning.
I'm unstable in my body where he's unstable in his mind,
"Talk to me" he whispered,
"tell me your immaculate details"-so I can carve each thing you dread into your headboard,
I know he meant.
He drove so fast, tinted reality,
I thought I'd finally won the race against time. It seemed to be dark for hours because I never had to lift my head off the pillow, it grew with lip stick stains and the sweet perfume of my confessions.
He swore he'd make life so ******* comfortable,
He swore me he loved me but I wasn't in his cards,
he told me his parents would adore that I am passive, they're aggressive
but no matter how many times I tried paint myself the queen of hearts the suits were already delt,
and Gambling isn't my forte.
Broken hearted casino, deprived intimacy addictions.
An emptiness so moving he's hung me on the wall for all too see.
I'm black frame ******* vulnerable.
I'm art and he's honourable.
Throwing up affection,
Lustful infections.

I was a ***** slushie flannel senior the first time I saw him,
an undid a button of morning regrets.
He was a nicotine stained midnight kiss I don't really remember,
A salt water perception of perfection labeled in a sly smile and small print,
he left bruises of lust on my wind pipes and I left my ear ring in the back seat of his Mazda.
He became my taxi driver,
my room full of people,
my absent fathers approval.
I took on my role of his unable to vote baby with librarian eyes.
And then one night he suggested an experiment to see if no other girl loves like the way my eyes beg him to stay.
He smiled down at me as if I should feel like I was in his gratitude,
he told me I should thank him for paper shredding me so I could learn to tape myself back together piece by piece,
so I could decipher my ripped description and learn to write again.
"Let me give you the most detailed inspiration, let me break you", he whispered, "so we can be equal".
Darling Slam the door on our hazy summer nights and remember me in disgust,
"Trust me", he said you need someone to look after you and only the smartest man can put a puzzle like your eyes together and only an artist will like the picture of your battle scares when you pick up the white flag.
I was naive that he thrived off a fight.
He claimed that the most intoxicating evening with me would be to be with me whether I liked it or not,
problem is I loved it.
He said he'd find ecstasy when I needed him less so he could crave me more,
and after way to many blue moon beer funnels mixed with the salt water of his absence he got what he wanted.
He took me to the doctor he used to claim to be yet I never once told him it was the frequency of his presents of not being present at all that made me bleed so deeply.
God I'm bandaging his self inflicted wounds for my own scabs wish list,
and now My fingers shake on how much I need his hands on my waist,
or how I'd do anything for those bruises out of love.
See all that's been on my mind is our ice cream melting pushed against the car first sober kiss and how he said he'd wanted to snap for me until I was oozing tears of joy cause all that he lectured about was learning to use a pen for myself again.
I prayed for inspiration,
I prayed for him to be my metaphorical daydream.
See this boy smiled religiously,
obviously aware that I didn't know a thing about happily ever after, he wanted to listen. Gripping my bible white sheets with his palms whispering,
Tell me when, where and I'll be there.
I believed him.
So for you my bipolar baby It's here, it's now and were finally equal.