"You're so

Nice," they say,

And all I can

Do is smile.

Forged

In the embers of

An imploding star

And poured

Into diamond casts.

It was polished and

Hammered

By the suffocating darkness.

​

No-

My smile is a

Battle scar, one

Drawn from vast

Oceans of

Tears. And fire searing

Flesh which

Clotted blood.

It

Is the result

Of the gods'

Wrath and

Glimmering ichor.

It is the story, of

My wounds.

The walls –– they listen,
I know it must be true.
If not, then what’s the point
Of all this talking that I do?
I’m not going crazy here,
Trust me, I’m alright.
The walls, they hear my stories,
They understand my plight.
They listen, these walls,
When no one is around.
They keep me sane, these walls do,
They keep me safe and sound.
I don’t know what I’d do
If these walls ever would go tumbling,
Then who would ever listen
To my incessant mumbling?
The walls, they keep me company
They never leave me feeling blue,
So long as I have these four walls,
I know I don’t need you.


a.m.

They say diamonds are forever
And so am I
Crushed beneath piles of dreams
Someday someone came scooped
Me from beneath the rubble
Dusted me free of all dirt
With His own blood
Washed me and made me
As white as snow
I glitter in His light
Though sinful I am
He made me His own forever...

There is a disconnect between my body and my mind.
At least, that's what I tell people.
Because I find it easier to admit
that I am broken
than to open myself to their ridicule
as I try to explain asexuality
one more time.

It's hard, to describe an absence
of something you've never felt
to those for whom it defines their existence.
I don't understand their resistence,
logic dictates that just because one thing is true,
that doesn't eliminate the validity
of it's reflection.
It has become this society's obession
to portray us only as a lie, a
sickness you are lucky not to be infected with.

Though I am still struggling to find my voice
and understand my own mind,
I am sure of one thing:
I am not BrOkEn.
And if you are like me, please,
don't let your pride be stolen,
because neither are you...

i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional naked, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon