Star McCown Mar 31

It is midnight and my mind is not quiet like I begged her to be
The night’s silence, her favorite opportunity to consume me
I pray for sleep, but she refuses and instead tears herself apart
Pinning her sides against each other in a war over my heart

One wants me to be selfish, and demand from you what’s mine,
But the other voice reminds her that I promised to give you time

Star McCown Mar 24

So, I know it's kinda strange
That we just did things
And I know that you're not meant for me forever
But, let's just get some breakfast
Because breakfast doesn't mean that we're together
And skillets aren't sexy anyways

And I know you have a girlfriend,
But that’s ok because so do I
So it's okay don't sweat
Let's just get some breakfast
Because I know by tomorrow we're dead

And I know that we're pretty messed up
Because we had sex last night
And I know that you have a girlfriend
But I still think you're pretty cool
So let's just get some breakfast
I would like to share a waffle with you.

This poem is one of my favorites that I have written; I want to put notes to it and ask my good friend to help me translate it to music.
Star McCown Mar 21

the Lord is coming
come before Him on your knees
and pray to Him,
for he is endowed with great gifts

He will share his flesh with you
and make you one with him,
a most Holy Communion among
two celestial bodies

Star McCown Mar 20

His violent ways have violet ends
He says I look beautiful in purple
And pretty in red

Pretty, pretty

An artist with a free hand
who likes to use warm bodies
as a canvas to convey an emotion
that he pretends to share,
to show the world that he cares
about beauty but only if it is brooding

Star McCown Mar 20

You compliment me and expect me to bloom for you,
But pretty words don’t grow flowers, actions do.

Star McCown Mar 20
She

Even with a gun to my head,
and a blade to my throat,
I’d lie about what I feel for you
I’d rather slit my throat
than hear you affirm my doubts
and secure my insecurities.
To feel alone
feels better than
To feel pain.

Star McCown Mar 20

We live in a house with
a broken mirror on the wall
to the right.

They don’t see the cracks,
And they’re right,
there aren’t any,

But I know the mirror doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.

I see my mother standing next to me with a smile
and it’s funny how the mirror lies
about how torturously tight her grip is on my left arm

I see my mother helping me apply foundation
and it’s funny how the mirror lies
and forgets to consider the fading purple around my eyes

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