Men. Boys. Small obsessions.
I want to be free of them.
Of me?

I get too drunk too quickly. Too excited.
A sloppy kiss in a badly lit kitchen can unlock something deep inside me.

A flicker of waking desire.
Nothing tastes better than a secret.

Nothing better than the soft touch of the lips you are supposed to stay away from.
I trace my fingers over the questions he smeared all over me.

Always cold and restless. How can I stop it?
Do I want it to stop when I’m this young and problematic?
  
Hungry for emotion, I want to get drunk off others' lips.
I want to wander in the drunken haze cloaked in the smoke of gossip.

A word from him. Hell of a digital rollercoaster.

I am easily hooked, always happy to surrender. Does he want me enough to keep me stable for a few weeks?

Do I love him? Do I hate him?
I only need him.

Is this inspiration or pure desperation?
Should I be grateful or furious?
For now, I am both.
  
Is this the burden of inadequacy that comes with being a poet?
Are we the most shallow of all?

What if this tumultuous destruction of my fevered ***** mind proves itself completely pointless?

I am made out of buzzing question marks.
  
My heart is on the verge of exploding.
My stomach is corroded with terror.
I can only handle this much.

I can’t do this anymore.

This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Must have seen you in a field,
the trampled grass your bed,
your eyes fixed on the sky,
and the sky hanging on blooming fire
and leaves of ashes eloping with autumn–tainted summer.
You didn’t stir,
if not for the fence time drove into the paper soil in between us the song of chaos will probably sing it’s ominous song in my ears.
Not an inch, did you move.

Your thoughts might have been that of your mama, on her porch steps for the hundreds of dinner that waited cold for you that year.
Your papa must have passed a ball to a glove without a hand to hold it up.
Your dear Anna must have been trembling as her heart skipped a beat reading letters written open-endedly.
The hills around you stood mortally wounded, weeping for their trees, still you slept in between those pages while your home collected dust on the shelves that so few of us care to visit.

Still your eyes were fixed on the sky. Unmoved by clouds. Unperturbed by dying sunshine. Shards and shrapnel of ideas burrowing deeper. I knew your lips wanted to part and utter wilting words,perhaps the heaviest word to bear—goodbye.

War has always been indifferent to life.

remedies is not only for something we can't pass
remedies is for everything that has broken
or just to re-new something
-
she learns something from her life, everyday
but she never had a chance to write those down

it's not a scam when she said her favorite things to do are reading & writing or writing & reading
reading a poem or her self-diary
writing a poem or a self-diary
she doesn't know if is a gifts
or just a hobby
because everytime she finished wrote all her poems, she re-read it, and she thought all eyes those read her words can write it too (with their own version(s))

in this, not-so, new day(s)
herself will embarks to write all the tales where she's involved in

as long as she living her life
this era is the lowest point in her life
she doesn't know if it actually is, or it's just she made it all low

she can't even say a word to herself
she can't even write what's in her head
she can't even tell anyone when she really needs a person to talk
all are just mixed up in her little head


she doesn't know if it is something like "manifesting" or what
all she knows that she can't figure it out yet
is it something related to science? like human mind?
is it something related to religions? like human relations with The Creator?
but one from many answers for the solutions (based on her own researches) is self-improvement
she is pretty sure that is something wrong inside herself
something to be fixed
something that needs remedy
but her body & mind are not so sure what is that (or what are those)
her body & mind are still figuring out

it's not finished yet
it is still figuring how it needs to be stopped
it is still progressing
'it' is this story, her story, my story
..

when i write about other people
frantically scribbling words on a page
to express love
or hate
or something at all

why can't i write the same way for myself
the intense verses and elaborate wording
all used to express a feeling that no combination of words will
ever explain

perhaps if i stare in the mirror long enough
my body will begin to feel like my own,
my face won't distort to a disfigured mess
i'll learn to love my long golden hair
my eyes that look like the earth from outer space
the soft jawline i've always hated
asymmetry embodied

maybe then i'll realize that even scribbles are beautiful too.

---TW: themes of self harm---


I'm hungry,
******* hungry.
I'm not really in the mood
For the moldy apples in my fridge.
My brain is hungry though,
******' hungry.

A nagging, a pulling, and a tapping.
The urges crawl to and fro in the back of my skull,
Like drunken, confused spiders.
I roll my eyes back
To take a peep at the spiders,
And I stare at them for a while.
Their clumsy crawling is mesmerizing;
I can't look away, even though I want to.

The stomach growls,
The skin quivers,
And the aroma rises.
The blood running in my veins,
Along with the goosebumps on my skin
Are tantalizing.
Why does it smell better than any actual meal?
My thoughts begin to narrow in on my hunger,
On my skin,
And on my hunger,
And on my skin,
And on the box cutter,
And on my hunger,
And on my skin.
Eventually it's all I can think about,
God ******.

I bite and groan;
I bite and wail.
The guilt consumes me,
But the hunger consumes me
With an even sharper bite.

Your evil made me hungry
and I'm coming back for more

I don't even give a ****
That you don't like the poor

You can go ahead and **** someone
If it will start this war

I've been starving for so long
I just can't take it anymore

Your evil made me hungry
And I'm coming back for more
__

Even if I don't catch a break
At least I'll know what it was for

I don't care to have a Cadillac
As long as you don't get to have yours

I'll turn my back on everyone
If they won't quit what's made me sore

Because your evil made me hungry
And I'm coming back for more
_

I'll do whatever you tell me to
I'll be your favorite *****

I'll show you all my anger
And be a bigoted bore

Just as long as you don't forget me
And relish in my gore

Because your evil made me hungry
And I'm coming back for more
_

I don't need no learning of facts
From someone who knows more

There is no one who can take
From me what I've been looking for

Even if you prove me wrong
I'll believe it even more

Because your evil made me hungry
And I'm coming back for more
__

Now the boys in blue have turned
And thrown me to the floor

And you won't even look at me
You don't need me anymore

But that's ok because I broke it all
Those ******* who we tore

From their exalted places
From their more noble lore

It was your evil made me hungry
And I will always come back for more