Hello sojourner
You, walking down the freeway
Did you **** a man last night
before riddance took him on his own time
Did you come out of the womb and become a holy judge

I can tell by the look in your eye
You dream of building a house on hard shells and salt mud
Down the shore on the ramparts
to drink from the debris and float in the cyclone
You don't cut your flesh
But you feel, every time the tide hits the rocks

Goodbye sojourner,
Are you done with the mountain?
Did you watch a bird of prey as it glides,
and envy the freefall more than the flight?

If I told you I rooted out time  
Held it by the horns, knocked it out
A lifetime landlocked, would you go gentle?
On a pinnace, through the gulf.
You would go a sailor,
moored into the chasms below

You are what you eat
And you write what you read.

I have never read the greats
Except an occasional poem for class,
And I feel like a heretic for saying that.

I’ve never willingly
Read Shakespeare or E.E. Cummings
But instead:

I read the words of online poets
Consuming their ink—
Or should I say pixels?
I graze their crimson lining as they
Turn themselves inside out to
Let the whole internet see.

I rise with the wave that they weave with their words
And then when it crashes, when it crashes down
I go under as if drowning was velvety soft and I
Let it wash me onto the shore.

You are what you eat and
You write what you read.

Rarely do I read stilted lines and perfect form
So I write like a mess and a surge and a storm.

In my monochrome life
You're the colourful rainbow
after rain in sunlight

In my silent life
You're the musician
That breaks the silent with melodies

In my blank paper
You're the poet
That filled the emptiness with rhymes

-In the centre of my heart

These words I speak, I speak them true,

Nothing matters to me but you!

when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)

I did it
I finally did it
And I don't regret it!
I killed him
with my own hands
Let him bleed out on the floor
Gutted by the blade of the knife I held in my hands.
I can still hear his screams
His terror
His agony
as the sharp metal pierced his flesh.
I laughed at her agony
Enjoyed his screams,
Rejoiced in the fear I caused him,
the same one he caused me for years
Trapped me in his world of terror
giving me no respite.
A smug smile took shape on my face
as I thought back and observed my masterpiece.
The helpless body of a man
who didn't deserve forgiveness
who didn't deserve to live.
So yes, I did, gentlemen
And as I said
I do not regret it.

I have nothing more to add, your honor.


"Confession of ****** --------- ------- -----------. The case is considered closed."