Pull from your face your gross disguise
And lay it gently to one side.
Just for a second I'd love to see your face.

I want to tend to your insides
And leave your psyche through your eyes.
But I can't get in.

This city feels like spinning wheels
carving deeper into the earth
with each revolution.
I'm up to my knees,
now.
I inhale the dust
until my lungs are gravel
and my teeth and tongue
have no memories
except dirt
and the ache
of chewing your name.
I used to like
to hear the wind
and the rain
delivering my morse code messages,
spelling everything out.
I used to trust
the things the storms would say.
When did I develop a fear of gray?

a demon has taken refuge in my heart
he doesn't tell me his name
so I call him Parasite
he lies to me & says
he's all I need to survive
he's a black hole
a never-ending void
no matter what goes in
whether it be anti-depressants
or just a kind hello at the local grocery store
he can never be filled
I fill it & fill it & fill it
but in the end it's only temporary
he takes everything in  
& throws it away
as if it never meant anything
as if the average human doesn't need happiness to remain healthy
as if good times are a poisonous gas
he rids of them all
& says I don't need it

& then he begins to tear at my existence
a.c.

Many get confused
And often misused
Over what truly is Depression
They sit in their beds
Sad in their heads
And believe it's real with submission
Depression isn't a sad moment
Determined by a mediocre component
That leaves you with a few tears
Depression is a cloud
Of suffocation and loud
Thoughts that ******* you with fears
But don't be discouraged
Cause others are burdened
With the same curse that you can't shake
And I promise my dear
When finished it'll mere
Be a moment that you caused the world to quake
Cause combined with your strength
And determined length
Of time you've focused on you
You'll come out unbeatable
And your fears defeat-able
And to you you'll always stay true

I'm not a poet
I'm a self proclaimed genius with a pen
with thoughts running through my head
like gazelles in the plains of Africa
and I'm just waiting for a lion
to come swallow them up
and finally give me a good
idea
a good idea that rests on your
mouth like a Listerine patch
and comes out in a cool minty breath
a good idea that is so
easily shared amongst the masses
and is of the ability to make them
cry
laugh
smile
think
but how can I make them think
when I can't even think of a good
idea
besides, who is this 'them'
that I'm trying to please?
and how can I please 'them'?
with a notebook full of
scribbled out sentences
and torn out pages
both results of my rage
and yes, I write a lot about writers block
because writers block is so evident to me
and I see a whole lot of words
like butterflies in a field
and I'm without a net to catch them
and I just stand there staring
wishing I could piece them all together
but, if I write about writers block often
then is writers block something to write about
therefore I don't have writers block?
I don't know
I'm not a poet
I'm just a teenagers with writers block
just trying to catch butterflies

-Slang

cheers to the teenage years
cheers to the years with the crazy thoughts
cheers to the years where you feel as if you're not worth it
cheers to the people who keep us going
cheers to the ones who never quit
cheers to falling under the pressure
cheers to the kids with a broken family
cheers to the kids who act grown up
cheers to the kids who choose not to be themselves because they fear of the judgement
& keep themselves smiling to please the faces that haunt them
cheers to all these confusing years

that seem to never end.
a.c. & s.n

I give him a few ***** of crumbled up bread
And watch him dive off of the telephone wires

Hes a vetran

Has he learned to forget about public opinion?
Or does he even care.

                     I dont know who he harmed.

Seems movies have tarnished the crows motive.

Hes a menace?            I guess hes born to be the way he is.  A menace.

                               Though, I dont know the truth about crows

           I just like seing him fly  by once in a while,  ill always prepare

                                          a meal   

                                                        and watch his hungry soul get something good.
                                                         After all he is someone I cant decline a visit from.

I am the broken pocket watch you never fixed
I am the wrapping paper everyone eventually throws away
I am the paper you lecture your feelings on
I am the platte but I only seem to have red paint
I am the page in your favorite book that you skipped over because I wasn't important enough
I am the unread poem you never bothered to check out
I am the map you forgot to bring and left behind
I am the girl with peacock eyes who never seems to cry
I am the child with no fears except herself and you
I am the daughter you called sweetie and you're the one I called daddy

I am the one you said you'd never hurt.
a.c.

she has such the brightest smile
she's always smiling
her joyous expression takes the attention away
from those tired eyes
those sorrowful sea colored irises
as if the ocean circled & surrounded her pupils
showering them with the hue of cerulean
on the inside she's lost
she feels nothing but emptiness & pain
on the inside she's a living corpse
there's a difference of being alive & living
this girl,
she's living without a will
a.c.