When I say hero you
look for Superman
Flying through Metropolis or
Batman slinking through Gotham’s shadows.
And when I say heroine
You can think only of needles
Poking through skin like the shell of a beetle.
When I say hero
Everyone looks skyward for capes and spandex
Or a symbol lighting up the clouds.
But Clark Bruce and Peter
can’t save you from yourself.
These suit-clad saviors are fantasies.
Fairytales put before us so we can have something
to believe in when the ordinary people fail us.

I have seen people around me, people I love,
crumble like weakened plaster.
And I have met people who were already lying
in a pile of dust and debris at my feet.
I’ve seen them **** asbestos into their lungs
and draw tic tac toe on their arms in crimson
I have seen someone become their own villain!
But I have seen these people get up again,
Pick up the pieces of their glass hearts,
And glue them back together for the sake of their sanity.
I have seen villains become heroes.

These heroes, MY heroes are the ones with the scars on their wrists
but no tags on their toes, the ones that heave into the porcelain bowl
but still try to eat each day.
These are my heroes.

My heroes are the parents raising kids and battling demons old and new,
the abuse victims who got out, or are stuck but still fighting.
These…these are my heroes.

Broken survivors, living despite everything that keeps them from wanting to,
Despite all their scars and battle wounds they are alive and they are trying.
The ones who are not saving others but saving themselves.
These are heroes.

Some people look down on the wounded, the broken, and the insecure
like they were the cause of their own problems and refused the simple solutions of “**** it up”
and “get over it” because they were too lazy to get better.

Don’t you dare tell me that they don’t want to fix this,
That they don’t wake up each morning and wish
With every fiber of their being that they could look into a mirror
And finally, finally, love what they see.
Don’t tell me that these people aren’t strong
Because they go to bed each night with eyes red and raw from crying
And they wake up with bags under their eyes but they.
Keep.
Going.

**** your superheroes.

Every day's got you down,
and like an anchor on a sailboat,
you're drowning.

Choking on the salty sea
You struggle for breath
As the churning waves crush you

No matter how bad it is,
You somehow get through it,
Missing bits and pieces of your heart.

With the dark clouds pouring on your head
Like a storm on your dreamscape
You still manage to shine in my eyes

The shine dulls and brightens
Day by Day, Night by Night,
But it's always there.

A soft glow that gives me hope
Because after everything
It's still there, holding on

Grasping at the edge
Pulling yourself up
Praying to be what you once were

Golden

When you see her
walking down the street,
swaying those wide luscious hips,
you just know.

This girl
with her long cherry curls
and her icy blue eyes,
she’s the beauty and the beast all in one
sinfully delicious package.

This girl makes your heart
crash into your ribcage like a wrecking ball,
stopping you in your tracks
and stealing your breath away
like the succubus she knows she is.

This girl with full pink lips,
skin smooth as white marble,
and a stare that could paralyze and excite
all at the same time.

This girl promises beauty
but baby you’re gonna get
a lot more than you bargained for
if you try to cross this demoness.

This girl is your gorgeous nightmare,
horror wrapped up in a **** package
with a shiny red bow and stiletto heels.

With those curves in your hands,
thinking is out of the question.
There’s only passion, blind lust,
because if you let her go then
you seriously ****** up.

She’s everything you could ever want,
Begging and demanding
As she writhes underneath you and on top of you.
You never stood a chance.

This girl is a living breathing Greek goddess,
all *** and power and unimaginable beauty.
I cannot being to truly describe her,
Because as much as I hate to admit it,

She doesn’t exist.

She is mine,
my creation, my Eve.
Existing only in my fiction,
She is still very real to me.
She lives inside of me,
Breathing and speaking and loving and hating
And I just want to hold her close and keep her with me forever.

Part One:

I hear music in my head
but I can't learn the notes.
I can read novels in my heart
but I can't arrange the verbs.

There's poetry carved into my skin
but blood doesn't work as ink.
It's all here in my head
but it won't come out with my crooked soul.

Part Two:

Failure to communicate.
A hunger I cannot sate.
While a poet bangs away at my brain,
My clumsy fingers inscribe only a fraction of the pain.

Hands cold with confusion.
Numb to the heart's passionate intrusion.
Searching blindly for the spark of life
To finally rid me of this desperate strife.

I cannot watch people cry,
I cannot watch them suffer as I know I have suffered,
Begging the world to have mercy on my sanity.
With their tears falling like the
The torrential downpour that nobody wants
Onto the table their head lies upon.
I cannot ignore these salty drops
That stain faces red and puffy
Because I know that rubbing your eyes only makes it worse.
I cannot help but go over, awkward but sincere,
And ask quietly, “Are you alright?”
While hoping that I’m not coming off as nosy and bizarre.

If my comforts are not rejected
I may end the conversation with your tears on my shirt
And your head in the crook of my neck.
My fingers gliding against your hair,
My arms rocking you gently
As a child is rocked by their mother.
I suppose that’s what I am then,
The mother hen worrying for her chicks
As they struggle to survive in a cruel existence.
Most of the time I don’t mind,
I even enjoy comforting my chicks
Because this gives me purpose.

Sometimes, not often,
I have to stop and wonder,
Who will be my mother?