So many thoughts feelings expressions emotions
locked behind deadpan eyes and a voice that's toneless.
A mountain of a person consolidated to this form.
A body unimpressive.
A face unexpressive.
The chaos upstairs requires all of my attention.

Conversing takes a back-seat which is why I seem distant.
Too many things to say only leaves me in silence.
I don't know how or where to begin.
If only I could let you inside to weather the storm
maybe you could make sense of this nonsense and bring me to port.

Welcome to my escape from reality…
A mirror to my soul,
My never-never land,
Understand?

A dream to write the words that whole world sing
or preach rather
in the hopes that maybe it’ll mean something when I’m gone…
my worst fear is wondering if this even matter when I’m gone
because the world’s being pulled by the influence of technology
and I’m hoping we don’t lose the basics in the process.

Excuse me miss,
May I tempt you with a verse?

and the contents of this book belong to,
the one and only…

James Desire

A clean slate on the date of January 26th
and I can’t believe it ended up like this
I mean how rap has become the nominator
and R&B; seems to have lost it’s appeal
what happened to the smooth seduction of the voice
From an introduction,
to the core of one’s soul
every note and rhythm makes us crave more…
and what happened to the women who believe in love
and the making of which could be so passionate,
You see all that’s needed is the right mood.
Don’t mean to intrude, but check out tracks 8 & 9 of Usher’s Confessions
That’s superstar and its interlude
and with a flow like woah
I make nonsense bring clarity
sincerely reaching into the inner depths of your mind
or even for some, their soul, just to let them know
We share something in common.
See what I’ve done is make a possibility for a connection
I long to bring a bit of understanding…
Between the few souls that float along with us on this rock called Earth.

Truly Yours,
James Desire

I had a very ****** up day so if you value your life stay away I'm not afraid to slay whether it be on page or to your face I'm enraged at the fuckery I had to endure today if I had my way I'dve laid in bed all day but I guess that's not how things work in this age I'm grateful for this ink to abuse because without this therapeutic fuel I wouldn't have a muse but then again I draw on life the good and the strife

wait a minute... cut that **** off

(beat to hit em up drops)

First off **** yo **** on this grim *** day when it rains I feel pain enough fuel to slay
you claim to be a gangsta but you ain't done ****
so sit the **** down ***** and **** my ****
Cyber Tough guys go ask your admins how I'll have ya cut yo little *** up, seen you in pieces, now go eat your release Little trolls don't **** around with me I'll reach thru and smack you through the screen, like I'm legit mean.
I'll let you ******* know it's on for life
don't let your account cause your death tonight


haha... little troll ******* murdered on page and killed... **** with me get yo blood spilled you know

see type emojis you little ***** brony
keep talking **** Imma ******* up.
keep insulting me but you just can't finish now you're gonna feel the wrath of a menace ******* I hit em up.

Creativity (Midnight Freewrite)

Once upon a time, my mind was blank.
Could I finally be sane
from the feelings ingrained in my so often flooded mind?
This ocean pushes the small grains of sand as though keeping
them all at one place,
the inability to crawl back to where they once were.
Accompanied by many,
yet purified throughout the constant washing due
to clashing of waves.
The stubborn rocks give in,
once enormous,
they've become wearisome from being pummeled over and over by the ruthless ripples,
eating away mercilessly like piranhas.
The rocks begin to deteriorate like my wretched nightmares,
as if it was inevitable for them to reciprocate this way.

I think to myself

Could I for once create something beautiful without the taint
of distortion my pessimistic perspective brings upon my cursed
brain?
Or is the lust after such a wicked dream be looked down
upon by my insides which take control of me?

Perhaps one should blame his imaginations
for considering such a change.
Imaginations which were once banished.
Ones leading to joy and happiness,
when one was once optimistic to the sun and the trees,
the butterflies in his stomach that
cause him to day dream.
The butterflies which took him away from the struggles, and constant agony.
The one that drove him away from the thoughts
of his uncles,
and made him believe they would be there as he woke.

The kind of imagination that
One must pinch himself to see if he's awake.

But why do I feel?

                                                                I once had the power to dream,
                                                 To think such miracles were real.
                             I dared to think there was such a thing.

                                                     My creativity got the best of me.

Well, what now, hey?
     I threw the dog overboard yesterday.
     The day before, the day?
Where will you go, hey?

I heard the orchestra-man play
The same way,
     Sanctum, requiem, asylum
All Latin in his French dog-eared play.

     Hear the monkey, playing accordion play
To the whirling whirly-whirly-ghig
     Tre dramatique, no? Today
I understand you're just as "tramatig."

I want to hear your Frenchmen play
Play ***** pipes play play
      In his dog-eared French *****-man
Play

But I cannot, cannot say
     Tears of joy, in hydrant spray
The Hyades triumphant rainbow stay
     Cough your little fears away;

Hear the Star Spangled Francis Key play
Frenchmen play, play,
Little piggies counted play
Black white keys with little piggle-plumps play

Atone-al, A-tonal---atonal tonal sounds as if to say
"Getting married here to stay"
       All alone and all today
      Settle down if for a day
And who will hear the trumpet play
When *****-man Frenchman say
"Where? Home of the free" and stay

Keep your hands away
Never want to        let you say
               "Hear me, hear ye, all you weary, weary dreamers
         But never left your confidence like Russell-rustle leaf-blown willow-white

You fill them up with seventy two pay
      Make a kite, to(k)night, allRight
      Thank god for the fleas in the right
Hairless creatures for to sway

I threw the dog overboard yesterday
The day before, the day
And if you'd wanted it to stay
You should've say, you should've say

But never let my hand betray
The vein, the line, the artery
Of arterial shells bombastically
Loquacious to a fault, this day

They say "You want another day"
They say "You never wanted say"
They say "You wasted every day"
They say "They say, they say, they say"

                   But e'er forget, ne'er forget
                   I'll despise you abandon heaven for earth to get
       And leave your money, your millions behind
       For mansions with my Lord to find

But in the ceiling never was a god to pray

My teacher told me,
"Write something.
It's required."
So, I did.

And it hurts,
to put it down
on paper,
to share it with the world.

But I was inspired.
He inspired me.
It's a mess of all the things in my head,
but it all comes back to him.

it hurts
when you see someone this attractive.
he has messy brown hair
with golden streaks

and eyes
like a oceanic abyss.
he smiles as if
i'm the funniest thing in the world.

and his laugh
is the music
my ears have unknowingly longed to hear
all my life.

he's a musician,
an actor.
his voice is like the rocks on the shores
that sirens lured sailors into.

it's the rough,
raspy,
most beautiful kind
of angelic.

he's beautiful,
and
i think
i love him.

~Ashton Grayson Everly

I can't deal with you if you're so limp that I can feel the burn it makes when I look at you. I say it over and over and over and over, "You're allowed to start things," and "You can have an opinion."

If you'd like to be a loose feather, submissive to every sway of god's breath, keep being so ******* easy to walk on.

There was a time when I ached to know your thoughts so I could love you. I laugh at how ridiculous that would be. I can't love someone who can't fight.

Sanctified by scorpions,
the secret touch of midnight water
sneaking black upon the shore.
Deep-sea chests full of hearts,
some broken, some missing.

The most indefinable *****, pushed
out of my head and out of my body.
shattering the surface of glassy mirrors,
mirages of masochistic light bending at will.
Take me, still I always surrender.
Spit out a little more solid than before,
more than just flesh drifted onto sands.
The mystery of subtle transformation
beneath your hands.

The whole thing smells like chlorine, which is extremely unsettling because chlorine always tastes green and a lot like hereditary paranoia. These pants were only two washes  removed from brand new, and now there's a slit in the knee, a slit as precise as the shape my eyes make when I'm suspicious of wanderlusting newcomers who moonlight in my former prison cell.  And I'm unsure if I should call it like I'd like it to be and say the **** things were defective or if I should investigate further as to where I placed my legs while hacking bits of plastic.

I'm TIRED of hacking at bits of plastic. I daresay if things start looking up, I could get there. I'm desperate, while this pumpkin-leaf hole grows in my chest, I'm realizing I'll never get to Lancaster at this rate. Sure, sure, I'm obsessed. I also have a blonde tail hanging from a tack on my shelf and a lot of cards tacked to my wall. They either resemble a quilt, a window or a complete mess.

I'm relying on plastic cups and the Internet to continuously foster this false sense of belonging. And I don't want to shatter it, but I'm terrified by the threat of a midterm and I feel trapped by my own sky. I mean, have you SEEN the prices for quaint bed and breakfasts? But the sad truth is, I would be haunted by insurmountable guilt at leaving her behind. The cash flow isn't flowing, either. I'm thinking I'll have to forget about it and sit at my shiny laptop on an empty desk, staring at the cottage cheese ceiling and wondering if God is looking back.

Say what I say and mean what I mean this stream of consciousness thing is quite a release and I know it's not a diary but it's fun to let others spy on me even if only one or two or three will ever see what I'm writing it's still exciting to be open and share because I was closed off from people for the majority of my life and it had to do with self-esteem but now that I don't care what others may think this whole experience is quite liberating so let me become even more  openly free and dare to share something that has been bothering me and that is the fact that so many asshats have mocked and teased and called me gay or alluded to it by what they say and it's been happening my whole life and even in this rehab stay the homophobia is in play and yes I'm effeminate in so many ways but here's the real secret, oh my gosh, I'm not gay! but part of me wants to just pretend that I am to make it uncomfortable but it wouldn't be fair of me because I'm comfortable in my sexuality and that would be retaliatory and just as inflammatory but beyond all of that I really don't get it why people are so upset about how others do hit it can't we just live and let live why do we label each other by whatever preference that we discover to help us feel closer to love because isn't that what human beings are wired  to do so come on I implore you all who are stuck in your hatred to tell a coworker about who you thought of the last time you masturbated and then I'll ask you again if it's any of your business

In infinite succession you will find Jesus Christ
In our world without proof and erased history, he existed.
he did, and he is there. He was man and God in one.
He was the messiah who came. It's just how you choose to believe in Him.
Or maybe not, maybe it is anathema if you believe in some other thing.
See, these things are what they are. God has found you.

think, what his name means. perfect circle. the epitome of human existence. like, a gauge boson of love, or am i going too far?

it's all good.
that is, if you choose to believe it is.

i hope you aren't looking for answers in these words,
cause, oh... dear lord. you'll be looking for
an eternity, child!

Most kids are excited to turn 21 to drink and go to the bar. Not me, I can do that now. I’m excited to be old enough to foster a child. That’s gonna be truly amazing I think. I really can’t stand this house. I’ve always been trapped in it. The doors are unlocked, but still I’m trapped. I feel as if I can’t escape. It’s always one thing after another. My mom just blocked my phone 11-6 again. What the hell is that gonna do? I’m gonna be 18 in a month. They think I’m gonna wake up one day and forgive them and think that they were always right. But it’s never gonna happen. I was raised to be both racist and homophobic, and to their disappointment, I will never be either. Someday I may regret my gauges, who knows? But right now I love them. I think the only things I will truly ever regret are the things that caused me heartache. Not just stupid physical observations. And yeah I’m immature. “You can’t be young forever, but you can be immature forever”. My parents will never understand me. All they will ever see in me is what they dislike. My hair color. My dark clothing. My multiple ear piercings. My “immaturity”. My bad grades, my foul language. But the truth is, none of these things are really flaws in myself. They’re all part of what makes me, me. I’m beautiful and there’s no one else like me. And to be honest I don’t really care if I can’t text after 11. I don’t care if I can’t look at **** on my computer (not that I would if I could) because it’s blocked. It’s all about the power. They say they can’t stand the Obama family because they make stupid laws about things we should be able to decide for ourselves. But do they even realize that’s what they do to me? Life for real, on school nights I’m rarely up past 10 anyways. It’s pathetic really, how much control they crave to reign over me. I can’t be controlled. I’ve always been a free spirit. I don’t go with the crowd and I don’t care what people think of me. I can take care of myself. No one knows what’s best for me but me. They think the things I do are dangerous, but they’re not. And so what if they were? It’s not like I wanna live a fragile life anyways. I wanna get crazy and wild. Act dumb every once in a while. I wanna be free, I wanna feel alive! I wanna make up silly things and tell pointless lies to giggle about later. I wanna laugh, and I wanna break the rules. I will never conform. I will never be what anyone wants me to be. And I love it. I have one life and I don’t wanna live it how anybody else did. I wanna be remembered. I wanna leave my crazy mark on the world. This life is my only chance to be stupid and silly. And I’m not gonna give that up because my parents (or anyone for that matter) want me to always make the right decisions. I have so much to offer the world and if they can’t look beyond what they don’t like, then so what? That doesn’t make me a disappointment. It doesn’t make me any less beautiful. Their opinions don’t define me. So what if they toss me out~ that doesn’t make me disposable. It just makes them sad and pathetic for not realizing that I truly am a princess. I’m a pop princess. I’m a punk princess. I’m a rock princess. I am the princess of Christ. Shame on them for being embarrassed of me. We’re all made in Christ’s image, and the fact that they’re embarrassed of me, well I think that makes them embarrassed of Christ himself…(jokes, well kinda). So what if they don’t want me around certain family members because they don’t want them to see what a failure I am. But that makes them the failure, not me. I’m the most beautiful person ill ever meet on the inside and out because that’s what I choose to be. Beauty doesn’t just strike people at random, you choose it.