Dear god,

Please give me a best friend like no other,
A loyal, selfless, beautiful creature,

So that I won't be alone anymore.
Give me man's best friend.

Dear God, it's been awhile
Since we had a real talk
You want me on this Earth
To raise my girls,to keep them safe
To teach them right
To always fight for justice
Yet I feel I should do more
But I'm lost, please tell me more
Dear God, sometimes I pain
Yet I really don't want to complain
I found it hard to keep track
Of all my wishes, they just stack
As there's no time to go fulfill them
I feel you keep me in one place
Perhaps you just forgot my face
Yet I know you didn't
You just test my patience
Dear God, I'll try
I'll try to see what's there for me
I guess I have to figure it out
Yet sometimes it's so blurry
Dear God, I am grateful
My little family is delightful
Please keep them safe
Forget I mentioned myself
In the end, I'll see through the day.
Dear God, thank you for the words
I can stretch them, rearrange them
They are a wonderful world.

dear god
*******

when i was four you didnt protect me
from the monster under my bed
in my bed i mean
because i remember my uncle touching me everywhere like i remember the freckles on my left hand and the scar on my finger

when i was ten you didnt remind me
that i was loved and needed and necessary
to the world around me

when i was twelve i started cutting
because i wanted to be like the girls in the stories i read
at night only because my parents would get mad
if they saw me tracing lines on my writs at the asscrack of dawn

when i was fifteen i was ******* my best friend
behind my boyfriends back
because i was so angry with my self
and i needed a reason

now at sixteen i think
you exist
solely for the purpose
of laughing
at me

Dear Lord,
Can you hear me?
I've been praying so long that someone would be,
I've been praying so long that someone will see,
the truth behind these eyes
and the
sadness in this smile.
I'm searching for my other half,
my one and only,
my soulmate.
Where is she, God, can you help me?
I've placed so much in the hands of fate.

See there's a hole in my heart
that never fully healed.
My whole life, I've been waiting
for something that's real.
I need someone to show me
what I haven't felt in years;
Please, give me someone
who will break down these walls
& help me let go of these fears.

And Dear God,
Can you see me?
I'm over here
on bended knee,
I'm not too proud to beg,
but see;

I miss the butterflies,
I miss the forehead kisses.
I miss the feel of her against me,
and the 11:11 wishes.
I could have the whole world, but
it's the little things I'm always missing.

Dear God...

Dear God,
I am not perfect
Nor will I ever be
I thank you for understanding that
And standing by me

I thank you for setting me free
From all the burdens and the pain
For forgiving me for my sins
Ones I probably commit again and again

I thank you for guiding me
And keeping me safe
For always having that umbrella over me
For being my escape

Dear God,
I know I'm not perfect
Nor will I ever be
Yet despite the fact
You will always love and cherish me

"i want my baby back

Numbers of the lights still don't add up. The dream station on the orange bridge's sands, is so totally too far away to fly to. My life according to the animadversion of my dreams. The harangue and opprobrious odium whilst wandering about aimlessly in the square, on the blackened honey trail where I was cast around like some pebble lapidated by the wind. I barely stand, a hyaloid column soaked in fear and ambiguphobia; one girl's face is blurred by this maddening diplopia. While the haze drapes me in its suits of cinereous gray, I crawl sadly up the rise while I am bruised from the battering. My fuscous body heaps itself, exhausted and pandiculating, all I can make out in the advesperating and cloudy night, in all of its dourly silences- the gold hair fixed against the banner of light in the darkening sky and her beautiful blue eyes.

You're sitting across a table, in the next room- and it's the month of July.
                                                                                 And as the beads of sweat chip off your forehead
                                                                                                              like a shank of butcher's meat,
                                                                                                                        your dorcel fin peaks                                                                                                         through the sand where my toes peak                                                                       through. The picnic table where I write letters; post cards.
                                                                                                   I take photos, make reservations, and
                                                                                       even after I'm canceled on for walking around
                                                              downtown in my bright neon-pink underwear, I still roll to the
              left side of the bed sit up and drop the cigarette I fell asleep on. You're just sitting, first entry:                                                                                                                                                 Stardom.

                                                                                                I don't have room for you in the corners.

                                                                                                The corners of this room, padded walls,
                                                                                           shifty vaseline sway- the white cotton stick
                                               of a sucker pointing out of your mouth, its red numero forty dye shines
                                                                                                                in the specks of light flicking
                                                                                                  out of the horizon like a carousel ride
                                                                                                                              around and around.

                                                                                        I'm getting a bit dizzy, and even less honest.

                                                                                                                 If you want to see me spring,
                                   like the silly string on my birthday, yellow silly-putty; molding the monster face,
                                                                                                     I observe you through a kaleidoscope                                                                                                                   of dexedrine and morphine.
                                                                                              Your catastrophe with Xanax, passed out
                                                            in alien-green *******, at that party in the abandoned firehouse
                                                                            on News St., how you could lay trust on me after that

                                                                                                (a daydream with sawing you called me)

                                                                                             sixteen-year-old mishap of an afternoon.
                                                                                            &