I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

And it's okay
if you flinch
every time he moves
his hands too fast

because in another time,
you were just
defending yourself,
and that is all right.

And it's okay
if you still skip class
every once
in awhile

because in another time,
that was the only time
you could catch a break,
and that is all right.

And it's okay
If you stay up all night-
making friends with
your bedroom walls

because in another time,
sleeping meant dreaming,
and all you really wanted
was reality,
and that is all right.

It will all be okay
in the end.

Left, right
Give everyone a fright
Up, down
Never see your wedding gown
Left, right
Blame it on a bite
Up, down
Same as a drown
Left, right
Could be obvious or slight
Up, down
Became the talk of the town
Left, right
Are those sleeves too tight?
Up, down
Irrefutable proof of your final breakdown

I paint the roses with my sorrow
Those may see and not feel
Once, twice, thrice goes my brush as I paint the roses
You may see my plastered grin and be fooled
But only my roses know the truth
This poem may seem meaningless
Or the reader may see past
Perhaps my roses are not alone
As the petals fall
My roses are not the only things breaking
Joined at the hip
My roses weep, so frail
I now know
Why roses are red

I sit and await the highborn kinsman,
As I look below, I see only sorrow,
To purge myself from mourning cries,
To self obstruct I do abide,
The destruction of my skin shows my way to the end,
Dark shadows cast their way behind me,
Sadness seeps into my soul as I prepare my own sepulchre,
The demons among us sense my presence
Preparing the horrendous journey brought by the Angel of Death,
The demons,
the demons a motley they hide within us
Blood is shed
Battle scars last forever
But they still wont leave me alone,
The demons are at a war,
And the war is inside my head
They're calling me
Beckoning
I'm wanted on the battlefield
Prepare for bloodshed,
I am on the battle field,
It is strange,
There are many people here,
But I am the only one fighting,
Then the demons attack,
I feel their blades slashing me,
Everywhere,
But I keep going,
All I can think about is when these demons are gone,
Then I realize,
I can end it all,
But I keep going,
Slashing,
Bleeding.

It's like drowning,
but you can see everybody else breathing around you.

My favorite flower is a rose
When I look at you, I tingle from my toes to my nose.
My love for you is eternal,
Sometimes I write about you in my journal.
Your eyes draw me in
Our chances is a battle I cannot win.
My favorite flower is a rose.
This poem is coming to a close..
When I see you, I can't help but stare.
I like a lot about you; your personality, or clothes, even your hair.
My favorite flower is a rose...