I don't need a hand to hold
Could you do it all alone if you had to?
Living in this misery
By myself just I and me
If I could open up my heart
I don't know that there's any part of me that even wants to

Living in a foreign language
You can't reach me here
Nobody can

You can't see me
Can you blame me?
Am I real?
This body's so faulty
Thoughts worse
Head hurts
Sparse words
Throat burns
Sharp things
False door
Locked away is something more than a broken wh*re
I think?

A drowning person is not troubled by the falling rain
Embracing pain I've ignored far too long
Chasing dragons, suspended in denial.

I am delusional with love.
Bruised, eluding these illusions.
Cling to what feels safe.
Cold, calculated; Jaded smile.
I'm hiding behind it all my nasty habits and the tragedies of my past.
A mystery, or just a loser encased in egotistical gluttony?
Can you find me?

Smashed skull mentality.
Altered states of mind/ sober all the time
Slick, sickly cycling. Dreaming of love and of dying
Slimy sucky lust
No trust but I'm trying
Sticky fingers; Blue, brown, green eyes
Why do I appreciate, have mercy for every soul but my own?
This might be a house but it isn't a home.
Sweaty naked bodies, distasteful escape.
Wasteful mind
Bring me your time.
Minefield life just trying to survive most days.
Brain waves moody haze with your hand in mine I am thriving.
Pillow soft lips a kiss away from drowning in a strangers' eyes.

Endless longing set the days on fire.
Time warp, essential sensuality
Warm breeze running through my mind
Black poison blood, sweat, c*m, and confusion populate my veins.
A race toward brokenheartedness or objectivity
Lift the curse of eternal shame.
Forgotten toxicity embalmed in simplicity and transparency
Complacency, erasing a disgusting history
Bury me in the laurels you rest on.

I'm not really a poet, but I'll write a poem anyway.
Reading a good poem is like c*mming, but for your soul
I don't know whether to be insulted or to thank you for calling me a succubus.
Humans make my brain hurt. Yes, that includes me.
I don't know what I want but I'm pretty sure I'll get it.
I think I'd be a better writer if I didn't think so much.
Can't tell if I'm "need to eat" hungry or if it's the black hole in my chest beckoning to be fed.
Some days live wire lust for life
Others, the walking dead.
(Un)Inspired Pyro
You don't have to rhyme to be a poem.
How sweet it is!

There are forbidden things bursting forth from beneath my tongue like blooming flowers from the ground.
Urging me to the arms of strangers.
No, there will never be another special one, no like-minded soul to trust and confide in. My past rusts within me.

I am a human vault with no combination. Feeling nostalgic again for relationships I ruined.
On purpose in distrust I'm alone with all this lust again.
Sometimes self-awareness feels like a sham.
Will I ever know who I am?

Knowing me is more an eternal sigh and shake of the head than a pleasure.
I wish I was alright but I just might have to become okay with being all wrong forever.
Band-aids don't work on hearts.

Good things aren't the only things that fall apart. Nobody starts out exactly where they need to be.
The journey is the best part, though it isn't always pretty.
"I'd rather be a lonely forest than a busy street."
We all can be ugly, we all can be beautiful.
Most importantly, we all can be whoever we want to be.

I want to stop obsessing over the wound and pay attention to the healing.
Accept the past, begin forgiving.
Trek the bumpy road ahead to self-love and recovery.

Hard to talk about things when you have nobody to talk to.
Hard to have a good day when there's nowhere to go and nothing to do.
Hard to feel love when you end up hurting or pushing away everyone who's ever cared about you.
Being trapped inside this compassionless life has been eating my soul.
I'm complacent and lazy and I feel so alone.
It's cold it's cold it's cold.
But I guess I can feel a little less alone knowing my bones have something in common with the weather.
Writing letters to everyone who's bed I've ever slept in saying thank you for the tenderness.
*** is just a vacation from the emptiness.
Having fun seems mythical from where I stand today.
It's an art being this much of a burden, no matter where I am, I'm in somebody's way/
Happiness is an art and I'm all out of paints

Not black
Distract
Ignore, destroy
Face the facts
Living last
Flailing, failing fast
Turn, burn, yearn
Emptiness so vast
Empty, half full glass
Race to complacency
Staples in my stomach
Staring at ceilings
Simplicity in feeling
What demands to be felt
Doing our best with the hands we’ve been dealt

Wild-eyed, sitting frozen
Feeling trapped in the life I’ve chosen
Revolting, molting, shedding dead skin
Shaking these bones, can never relax
I’ll never win.
Chagrin, baring my sins like the crooked smiles cloaking my lies.
I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine :)
Feel like I’m sinking, thinking of dirt, worms,
The grave I keep digging
Flinching at memories I wish meant nothing
Clinging to love I’m eternally lacking, somehow missing
Piiissing myself at the thought
Blissing out like a star in the sky
Lost in my own world, omitting the why’s
and who’s that got me here
Somehow I survived my 23rd year
Unwanted writer girl, suffocated by fear
Dreaming of drowning in beer
Lost in this loneliness
Regretting everything I’ve ever held dear.

Of course you don’t understand.
You don’t have to.
This doesn’t affect you.
Burdens inside me, rarely seen or heard.
Often alone.
Writing suicide manifestos every other night
Feeling bright when I forget the weight that I carry.
Destruction behind me wherever I go.
The weight of my family’s misfortune in tow.
Blame myself, hate myself.
Never really had the ability to show what is real for me.
Difficult to please, ducking and dodging reality.
Everything to nothing.
Memories I can’t bury. No hand to hold
Maybe my purpose is just this.
Can’t change the past, only learn from it
And let it grow old.

Welcome to my headspace
Please leave your expectations at the door
Disordered psyche, impulsivity and indecision have branded me a wh*re
I want to be much then more
Humming,sighing, everything’s a bore. Screaming, crying, slumped on the floor.
Everything’s too much. Life and love are not enough.
The fist that’s beating the hope out of me is my own neurotic instability.
Insecurity, emotionally and financially draining me.
Return me to the sea where I have always belonged.
No longer defined by my wrongs,
Or the wrongs that have been done unto me.
Rather entangled with an indescribable longing
To be strong, independent, comfortable.
For the ability to know that where I am is where I belong.
Lost in breathing moments.
I exist I exist I exist

There are days when my emotions
are a small gear being turned
in my brain by a small man
with quick ideas and a sole
purpose to manufacture
he goes away when
rage comes to stay,
the only true connection to
my nervous system
the most familiar face
I finally spoke to it out loud
I never learned love
without pain or sacrifice

I picture the small man
going on vacations
these days I feel
and feel and feel
I am convinced this is the
true nature of how
my brains favorite number is 2
always loving both extremes
boys who are mean and
girls that just do not need me
as much
as men need me
to be sweet and fill their shoes
all shoulder and still
nothing to cry on