Bubble gum was
A past time favorite, smacking lips, sugar kiss
Teeth warming up to ******* tongues, licks
Of whistled no you can’t do that, **** in
Pop! Tripped bubbles, blow onetwothree
Inside each other and then Bam
Bam Bam, the bad man is head over heels
For the girl with pink lips, licking sticky
Bubble gum crumbs off her skin.
And you say we always win; winner-winner
Chicken dinner for two or three or
Just you; a lone loner is alone;
It’ll be okay pink bubbles, one after another,
They’ll keep coming your way.

Her mind wandered far into the universe. The wind took her soul.
Graceful as it seemed, he was gentle today.
So swift she danced upon his tongue. She felt his story go through her.
His words were like a newspaper crushed into the pavement on her driveway.
A storm that kept repeating itself. Never letting his words form a crucial sentence.
The words were mangled and so was she.
He was tortured and so was she. They fought to fight.
And a violin desperately played there music in the silence that grew darker.
His cracked skull was stitched with a piece of her red hair.
Her heart was beating today. And his mind was running away.
The story finally slid in a milkshake mudslide.
Bruised and crushed; his mixed with her’s.
And she wanted a masterpiece to tell her what was wrong with this picture.
A tortured soul swung in outer space with a perfectly perfect soul.
Her eyes pressed closed and held there as she breathed in a rose.
The petals were silky and smooth as it went through her.
Her mind went from free to a quick twinge of pain.
A thorn, and just one at that, had grazed her lips.
The Black Cherry tasted sweet to her. She quickly slipped away.
Addicted and scared. The night was young.
But it was bound to grow older.
She ran just like his mind fled that night.
Control was lost and her heart had quietly stopped.
The scars had comeback.
Ozzing from her eyes were memories that were once burned.

You’re not a smoker,
You may buy packs of cigarettes
And even own a few lighters, but your
Lips do not curl the way smoker’s lips do

You do not **** in the smoke with a death wish
Nor do you enjoy the thick air slowly threading
It’s way through your lungs.

You might find yourself holding one like a smoker
But you do not have ash stained fingernails;
You do not cough like a smoker
You do not inhale nor do you need one more
After you finished your last one.

You’re not a smoker,
You’re fingers do not lack hope
They are not broken or fading away
They are not yellow and they are
Definitely not grey.

They seem to be alive,
Very much alive.

Fluctuating back and forth on the idea of how to relieve
The theme of cynicism throughout your life;
Tough like nails: too stubborn to let go of whatever
They were hammered into; the hits we take
Make us unstable and unmovable from certain aspects.
You chose to Stitch your eyes up
With a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle.
Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel,
Causing your body parts to glow and show
Off the direction of ideas, in out and down,
But never up, for the sake of falling for the
Instinctual trust and hope humans so conveniently thrive for.
Conquered and obtained the conflict from your child
Hood, fluctuating on the idea of morally right
And morally wrong. Cough, cough, cough. Right
Lung punctured by stale smoke, your lips twitch in
The environment. Blood swells in your veins, forget
That women’s ******* are to feed her children.
Wipe the grin off the old man whose sipping warm
Whiskey, tell him his wife is six feet under and partying
With the demons he drove her to acquire.
Like water, you are the universal solvent
Cleaning, clearing, conquering and
Creating a new symbiosis with human beings and
The world they are submerged in; We take it for granted.
Cynicism in brevity, is beautiful for the fact that it claims to be
Open and calm like ocean waves during low tide
Or a baby child’s gaggle and coo.  Fluctuating between calm
And ignorant, more so unintentionally rational to the point
Of tearing your human anatomy apart and dipping the
Soon to be suffocated air in heavy smoke.
I’m afraid
Humans just can’t handle the **** truth of reality.

I twist my words around. I make them a liquid. I turn them into water to make them pure. My words flow. But I had to make them this way.
I had to make them approachable. Easy on the eyes.
If it was up to me I would throw the words on the page. No sense would be made.
No one would read these crushed words though. abandoned words.
I try hard to make these words clear though. To let them fly around your ears.
To sugar coat the words with envious desires. Just to entertain.
Make this poem an easy read for the lazy eyes of the lazy people. But why you may ask?
To be heard.
I try. And I try. And I try.
My words mean more to me than to anyone else. I soon realize how ridiculous it is.
How ridiculous it is to want to be heard so badly my words turn into lies.
My words though are hard to understand. Maybe not written the best way.
Even when I understand it. Does it matter if you don’t understand it?
As long as it is out there. As long as it makes an impact on someone.
As long as my opinion bleeds through and stains your eyes somehow.
Maybe it won’t affect you. But it will affect someone.
My words. They are mine. And all mine.
I cross my tiny fingers. I hold my breathe and wait.
Your reaction. It might just be fate.
And for now. I believe this is a goodbye.
For my opinion is mine.
And for my words they are mine.
All mine.

Thank you.

Avoidance is the key when you smell that tenderness
Once it has been spotted you retrieve it
Or else the waves will take you under
Cold hands will feel your skin with a pure heart
You will be taken and held down till your eyes burn into the back of your skull
A feeling desired by many
A spark will ignite in you stomach that holds nothing but air
Your to sick to eat
A twinge that runs up and down chasing your blood away from your heart
Shaking will feel normal as you walk down the extended nightmare
A hand reached out & will pick your chin up
Then a leg will knock your knees right out from under you
And the only feeling left is falling
A net given to you by the universe will only catch your body
But your emotions will fall
You will be stuck in a never ending black hole filled with thoughts of him
A suffocation of his smell intoxicated your mind
Hung over with delicious thoughts that crazes your mind
A memory so glorious but only one such memory
And a never ending nightmare that has come true.

Flower bloom/ Flower forever blooming
Flower always bloomed/ Flower never blooms
Flower functions like the skin soaking, soapy
Dough skin slipping, like dehydrated petals
Falling from torn green legs, limp to much
****** dusty hands pretending we are
Forever, always bloom(ing)ed
Because that’s what we want, to
Be unknown green grass drying in the sun

I’m sorry to tell you my mind has fallen apart.
As I hide in the cracks of the sidewalks heart.
A piece of bone, fragilely approached the surface.
An old man so strange reached for my brain.
He told me,
That the candle in my mind has flickered into nothing
More than a spark in space.
Technically none of this happened.
Just a waste, you must forget the taste.
Walk away with nothing but a pale hand.
Use your mouth to curse the breaking sun.
And you were told as a kid never to step on the cracks.
It’s a wise choice.
The life down here isn’t so great,
Even if the one you loved took you all the way.
Smart lies hide behind your eyes.
As I wait in the morning frost.
The dew on my cheeks melts into summer showers.
Not mentioning the burning desires, my minds on fire.
Eyes a blazed, my skin so hot.
***** me with a needle and lava will spill out,
You’re mistaken that’s just smoke for the taking.
I’m filled with it and once you see.
I am soon going to be your enemy.
Now don’t leave yet. That means it will end.
I smell nothing but the breath on the back of my neck.
Let the mysterious flower divide her petals.

I’m hurt
But far the less
You don’t give a ****
So lets all throw are hands up in rage
And fight the power of selfishness
And learn to live with it
For I cannot escape your grip
You look me in the eyes
I’m hooked

I wish I was a masterpiece
Created to be destroyed, in your mind at least.
A perfect shade of pink ran around my cheeks.
I felt them fade to grey as you ran away.
With a paint brush in hand you let me fall to the dust.
Unprotected I sat, unfinished and alone.
Half of a heart traced across my chest.
I couldn’t move I was stuck in the grasp of a portrait.
Framed by a scholar.
Pondered by a thinker; I saw myself as…once in a blue moon.
But when the moon did show its face, I felt the coolness of the sun’s rays.
They were being portrayed by the moons white glow.
A poser in a way, there was light.
No heat to warm the bodies stuck against the walls of time.
Twisting a word into a masterpiece is harder than twisting a paintbrush into one
My friend, you have drawn a path in front of me.
Directly to you. And my breath was taken when you stole it,
Right out of my mouth.
You took the black paint and covered my face.
Ashamed of what you might have created.
You wanted me to be perfect.
An image so precious, you just couldn’t create it.
You hated it.
A masterpiece to me, I was.
But to you, a demonstration of destruction.
I was Nothing.

All he wanted was a wet kiss
Stained red. And all he was,
Was a concrete floor. And all I did
Was slap him once, because
All he wanted was my
Blood on his skin, and all his skin
Was nothing but destruction. And for once,
All I wanted was destruction. And he
Finally kissed me back, and all I remember
Is bleeding and laughing and crying. And he
Didn’t say much. So all I did was lay
On top of his concrete body and wait,
Because I knew they’d come. All they
Wanted was to see him love, and all I
Did was love. And I promise I won’t
Do it again. (do it again) (do it
Again). I promise.

For the people who don’t understand, let me make things clear.
He twisted her arm and made her scream.
Heartbreak was inevitable at this moment. Her mind was numb.
And time had come.
With no warning signs or a place to hide,
She danced along the rim of his teeth, playing hard to get.
Her mind thought once never thought twice.
She smacked him back to the future.
No truth rolled from her tongue.
All lies.
Her long hair pulled out from her roots.
Cut to a short length. Her stomach growled.
And now she envied all that was lost at this moment.
And the moon came out. Nothing to feel but only delight.
He then fought to make himself a mystery.
She fought to solve his so called history.
Rhymes fell out of her mind. There was no rhythm.
A dark liquid oozed from her heart. A particular taste.
Sweet and ****.
No rhyme or reason. Picked at random.
And then she thought this liquid would go swell with some wisdom.
She opened him up like a fortune cookie.
Cracking his sweet shell and finding the truth that sits inside.
Its something she already new. Its something that she had heard before.
But she needed to hear it from him.
She washed it down with a milkshake flavored black cherry.
Smooth and dark. The deep red grows brighter until it flows down His cracked skull.
It drips to the ground and makes a pool around. Red.
She denied the fact that she bashed his mind.
He tried to hide the reason or rhyme.
She fought him and obviously won.
She fought to find out why he had come.
The road is short and it’s coming to an end.
Mysterious as he seemed.
He was easily solved.
The taste lingered and she felt satisfied. Her mind created an addiction.
Abusive behavior the attraction.
Dangerous and weary she fought to remember.
But could never.

With chapped lips and knotted hair,
I sat.
A long dirt road was my bed,
I lay.
In my mind I am running far away,
I rest.
But I do digress, I am no runaway,
I play.
With a bag filled with nothingness,
I walk.
Into the night sky with stars hung high,
I watch.
My eyes wetted by the dew,
I stood.
Like a statue with a fierce attitude,
I pondered.
A thinker they do consider me one,
I disagree.
A philosopher like Socrates,
I envy.
A mind so precious to have,
I listen.
To words that are repeated,
I wonder.
And with these ideas,
I give.

You whisper please,
I can see begging becoming a tradition in the mist of the air.
Your heart hung up on a tree out in the middle of that field.
My finger points to it, a boney looking finger,
You wouldn’t want to hold it.
My hands are old but my skin is new, stretched over the bones, seemed almost deadly to you. I can tell you the moons secrets as it tells me yours too.
Trust in something or someone will take advantage of you.
You must choose wisely, for I don’t give good advice.
Carry me on your shoulders; I can see you as a king.
I want to be royalty, just make me apart of this land.
I will stand tall and find a place far from here,
Where the stars sit bright above my head.
And the grass may become my bed.

Pink strips and white teeth
Underneath your mind, let’s kiss
With our fist, under the tree
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
That’s when we first realized
Our eyes were swimming in the same water, colored
Green and blue full of morbid views
Ten times crazier, you scream
‘They poisoned me’
The bark was brown and your hair stood up as
Lightning colored the sky pink
Eyes stained with black tears
Continuing through this retired rhythm, we
As one,
Give in to what time has whispered to us,
We are done.

A piece of wood hung in the sky.
From the ground you can tell it was soon to die.
For life is precious and some may disagree.
Lets just fight for you and me.
I say my friend you look curious.
A plaid shirt and bare feet.
Something so curious.
A guitar hung on your back.
A sack filled with holes letting lose change run away.
Your eyes tell me your tired.
The dirt clung to your face as you bathed your weak bones.
A ring of memories faded around your soaking skin.
Why wouldn’t you ever let me in?
I sat and burned the dreams that contained you.
And all that was there was a kid with nothing left.
A kid hiding in his own body, afraid of what he had become.
Scared to death of the land in front of him.

A whale’s eye

A man

A thunderstorm

A Sea
A monster called philosophy,
Conquered by an intellectual.
He was brought to his knees,
Begging for salvation; whatever that word means.

A wooden ship awoken by the waves

A sea breeze interrupted a fine day

A broken heart leaves the eyes closed, but leaves a soul ripped open

Bandadges soaked with blood
A brain rested outside of the skull
Untouched but alive.
Trust broken.

A bearded man who talks so wise
Whisked up a broth full of lies
I was told by the man with the great big beard,
‘Eat up your soup, I dare you too my dear’
And so I did.
With golden desires
And a dream that expired;
I canned it,
I labeled it,
I shipped it over the ocean too.
My lies soon devoured
And absorbed into their skin;
Please, let the mind bending begin.

Twisted words create a path full of dried rose petals.
you decided to leave them behind.
a trail hollow and cold.
a glass vase shattered beneath my bleeding feet.
Two silver spoons fed me an obsession.
I took them and ran.
I felt the vase cling to my skin.
nothing out of the normal.
a crooked seagull lead the way with a broken wing to save the day.
a knife was given as the prey.
able to eat out my heart i recreated the scene of violence you initiated my dear.
it smelled like you my dear.
a perfect world fit in your eyes my dear.
and at this moment i just lay.
a piece of glass rested upon your finger.
you saw me through it. Contoroted.
my mind felt the pulse of blood flow through my body.
and i saw your guts resting on my bed.
you spilled them last night.
they smell of rotting meat that have made some mistakes.
a mind that could destroy a city.
and soon the wind will tell us which direction to take, for now it only whispers insanity.
thank you for nothing my dear.

Headaches with earthquakes create milkshakes in the brain
Oozing out delicious thoughts
While freezing up the **** I once built around this town
Fondly known as Stephanie’s Brain
And people still come and visit; for the taste of what I’ve got
And sometimes these earthquakes don’t exactly hit the spot
Creating a well knowing that not everyone is the same
For the hope that one of these earthquakes will create the right amount of shake
Making it somewhat sane
And when it happens it will mix up my already jumbled thoughts
And produce what was once known as my brain
But now in return for my delicious thoughts,
Is nothing but a mixed up milkshake
That will once again freeze up the dams that blockade you from entering
And well we all know we once fought reality, like we do now
But ironically it is all the same
Our causes linked, like ice on a safety rail
Causing confusion and caution,
Which would normally be avoided with the mention of a “safety” rail
But now seems to cause even more danger then without one
And I feel light headed as you drink
The delicious nectar that has been produced for you
And all you can think is,
Man it tastes like chocolate…
I try to be different but ironically it just makes me the same as everyone else.

I whisper to myself, the password, the key to the enemy
I feel the dirt tripping across my toes and the wind brushing up against my nose
And the air is tense as I walk alone
Into the dark that seems to be growing old
I feel your warmth though
A heart beat exists at this time
Simultaneously creating a rhythm that we could fall asleep to
And the rocks dug into my ankles splitting the bone
But I sat
And waited as the street light corrected the night
And waited for that car that we hold our breath for to come down and find us
For we have no secrets
But we still run away when they come and seek us
And that night I saw five shooting stars above my head
I didn’t make a wish
For it was to dangerous
The edge of the world was underneath my toes
I was a barefoot and my feet felt rough
I stood alone; almost considered myself tough.

I don’t care about the set of patients with high blood pressure
Or finding the number of people who did not have exactly two of the indications listed: patients with high blood pressure, patients with high cholesterol, or patients who smoke cigarettes.
I couldn’t careless that three circles make up this (venn)-diagram
And that you must start in the center,
Nothing good will come from me knowing that 46 people have high cholesterol when I don’t even know how to fix them. They’re all made up anyway.
I won’t obtain anything from sitting in a cold classroom, listening to a student hack up his lungs because he’s over 50 and still threading smoke through his lungs; he probably has all three problems.
All I do is poke and **** at time that moves so slowly
And exchange ideas with my fingers, ignoring calculator instructions and written kindergarten numbers
Hoping the day stays young and my eyes stay open

Harsh numbers and whirled winds,
A cry for silence
Brings November grins;
We shut our mouths with zippered lips,
That grips our organs, tongues and minds
With a slice of pumpkin,
And a cherry stem.
You leave me with a childish grin.

It’s all about texture, cracks on the dried up leather
where you curl up and and bury yourself, it’s all about the way your skin moves around your bones
how far you can touch your toes
like details crashing, instant passing
we glance and look over those cracks, scars, stains, lines, scratches, anything that makes us human, anything that pulls the paint farther across the canvas than smears it up and down with angry finger prints
we are reaching out with red or pale marks, purple dust that turns into mountains
you work with the colors you are given but you build texture
you create movement
you discover what makes you, you

Her nails stained with the perfect color of red. Dangerous is what they said.
Her lips quickly caught on to the trend. They turned to the lipstick for advice.
Her perfect blue eyes darkened by the black eyeliner that quickly took her under its wing.
The mascara danced upon her thick brown eyelashes turning them into what they said.
Her once dark freckles numbed with the pale foundation she was convinced she needed.
Her pale cheeks corrected with a bright pink toned blush that clung to her face.
The mirror sat in front of her. Taunting her eyes with an image she loved..
Her hair spray held it together making it stick to her head.
“Perfect” is what she said as she put down her brush.
For once she has found the image of perfection.
Ironically it was not her.
She wore a mask. And that’s a fact.
Her natural beauty abandoned for what she thought was perfection.

They tell us curiosity kills the cat; the people
Who own the world’s clichés.
It is a product of nature, exclaims the sun;
Come out at night and see what they’ve done.
Who has produced a day without any light,
And put a contradicting planet up in the poorly lit
Sorry excuse for a sky.
‘Once in a blue moon it disappears’
Though the cat continued to climb the fences of Rome.
It stayed so long
That it could see the destruction of Carpe Diem.
The fall of the Roman Empire set the golden eyes away,
Leading to the suns moans and groans,
Of rising each and every day.
As it complains to the moon,
It reflects off its worries toward the ball of earth below.
Now the cat can be seen,
And curiosity is not willing to
Pretend to be blind.

The moon had a belly ache and
He told gravity to slow down
He told time to slow down
He told the universe to slow down.
But they didn’t listen to him,
Because the moon is
So quiet,
So quiet,
So quiet,
They didn’t hear him
Whisper his worries
And the Earth wouldn’t even
Vouch for him
When he mentioned it at the next
Office meeting.

My mind can be compared to a rubix cube. It has a patteren yet only a few can solve it. Out of those few comes one person, who doesn’t even have to touch it.
Their eyes and mind work simotanesouly.
Forgetting that I am only human.
They devour my defense system. All the colored squares around me.
They solved me.
You see the pattern. You don’t even have to touch me.
Your eyes do all the work.
Its almost as if you read me like a book.
But for now you are just a myth in my square mind.
My colors haunt the mindless but make you oh so envious.
And all I can do is wait. Wait for those eyes.
That can read me like a book.
And when I find you.
I will be yours.
And you will be mine.

The ones with words like love, lust, or
Broken, dust, forgotten, and worst of all,
The ones with I’m sorry or
I miss you. That’s ******
Poetry. To read those words or
Feel those emotions and continue
To repeat them on thin lines of fabricated meanings
Because you have no way of escaping
Or are too much of a coward to admit them;
Writing for emotional advantages or
Disadvantages, to persuade others
Or yourself. That’s ****** poetry,
The clichés and hand holdings, dripping with
Redpinkblack ink, and I’s dotted with hearts.
Just to pretend that for a second in time
They made you feel
Poetry. But it’s not true. You
Did not feel those words, those words
That have hammered the ideals of
love.
Society has us falling for ******
Poetry. Beware of the useless
“jargon” created by ones “love”
For you. It’s all the same.
Now dear,
All I’mtrying to say is I want
You, but not your ****** poetry.

This cookie holds the truth about what everyone believes in
the culture that has been served to us on a silver platter
they mae it rich with chocolate chips
controlling the peoples opinions
our society is a baked cookie
it has us people wrapped around its finger
the thing is
some have figured this out
and well,
it has a secret...

A rose swallowed down to the bone
One thorn to slit the thrown
Choked on by a contorted king
Crushed in the abdomen of his anatomy
We now have discovered his reining soul
The stem soon grew from his eyes
His skin takes all control, most of it lies
Picked by her
The Queen, her majesty
He leaves his ground
And follows hers
Hands were pale and cold
All was under her control.

This is by far the best moment I can recall, besides the ones when I’m with you.
I hope this will become a favorite past time,
When my child looks at me
Asking how I felt when I was 19,
I’d say pretty **** well;
For I sit on my bed after my alarm sound, class would be calling in 45 minutes.
I spend most of my mornings alone, thumbing through past words exchanged or written poems still hungry to be edited.
I blanket my legs
And wear his sweat shirt
With a coffee mug sitting on my left thigh, my four fingers curled around the handle. I can still feel the heat of it all.
This is by fair my favorite moment when I’m not around him, because I have just woken from a dream and my eyes are still heavy with sleep but the caffeine seems to be digging its way through my blood stream.
The air conditioning sounds remind me of a hotel and if I close my eyes I can smell the ocean.
But the coffee, I’ll taste through my English class
As I adore my professors ways,
Thinking it feels pretty **** good
To be nineteen.

a sotry of two strangers.

and for all that can
we turn our lips
up to the sky
wink at the sun
and smile at a small tune
as we listen to the sound of the story it tells

we bob our heads in return for a small whisper of music
a shy smile
turns into a shy kiss
we forget the wind
that once gripped our lips


but it is just simply lost in the sound of life
forever held in the memories of that whistle as we meet together
that sweet music we trust will always be there
so we forget for a moment
as our breath intertwines as we linger

this moment so sweet
that small tune turned into an orchestra
for only a moment of two lips holding hands
and then the strangers meet

their eyes held by each others stare
together they share that solid moment
with a small tune held in the universe
strung up by two lips
mixed together by two minds

this haunting melody will play
it will stay on repeat in their minds
unable to forget the beat
no regrets for there backs to carry though
carefree is how they work

it’s so sweet how one can forget so easily
they were labeled as strangers
but they knew each other
their tune held the connection
and forever they will never meet again

a sad story plays out at the end
they will hear it
everyday of the rest of their life
unwilling to let go
but it doesn’t bother them

They know their was an impact
That small tune floats
It floats away into the desperate sky
Greeting the concrete stars with laughter
Waiting for the moment to be captured

And we wait
Alone or together
As we watch these two people
Separate but together
Connected by this small tune
That lingers in the sky

And the world will forever sing
It will whistle the small tune
Heard of; by everyone
The story though; yet to be heard
But it needs to be told
And people need to listen

You’re indifferent to time and space;
You look at the stars and know that God doesn’t exist
But you don’t argue with organized religion,
You don’t even bash it.

Your lips are pale but your face is red,
You’re always calm and coughing, always
Waiting for coffee or tea.

You feel the weight of your bones, and sometimes
It terrifies you, I can tell
Because you kiss me harder when reality is drifting
Away from you. But when you feel like 1,000
Pounds you gently press your lips
To my forehead. You tip toe across the earth
Scared your foot print will be too permanent
For the wrong reason.

And I often find you digging through
Words, puzzled, and asking why
The universe is shaped like a cheerio,
You leave me with possible facts like
Ghosts are just sounds humans shouldn’t be able to hear
And then I wonder why you are afraid of the dark