In the crowded street,  
a stumble, a twist,  
my foot over the edge  
of a forgotten crack.  

Eyes blink, faces turn,  
laughter hides behind hands,  
and I, a moment caught  
in slow-motion fall.  

Heart racing like a drum,  
I gather my dignity,  
dust off my knees,  
and smile through the blush—  

a tiny trip in the dance of life,  
reminding me,  
we all wobble sometimes.

in the unrestrained tornado
i heard the scream of a little girl
she screeched and screeched and got louder with every breath she took
i heaved deeply
so deep i felt my ribs crack a bit
but it didn’t impair me
because i was too locked in to her helpless and terrified yet determined screaming
so locked in
that i didn’t take a moment to breathe

     and that’s when the winds died down
     the roaring halted
     stopped
     the shouting of the young girl was all gone
     the uncomfortableness that i felt, dissipated
     into the shadow of the night
     no damage had been done
     everything is all good now
     i didn’t know natural disasters could be
     created inside the mind of a poser

I want you to know something.
It's okay to ask for help.
It's not embarrassing; it's brave
To admit you don't know something
And want to change.
I ask that you don't worry
That people will think less of you
If you do. You're trying to learn.
And that's something you should
Never apologize for

Is there a feeling worse than regret?
Knowing you’ve done something against yourself and only you are to blame?
What’s more poisonous than being able to live and relive the events of the past?
Than being able to see the rippling effects your actions have?
I cannot imagine anything worse
Than to be stuck in my own body
Than to experience myself so intensely
Knowing what I did
Knowing who I hurt.
I cannot imagine anything more frustrating
Than making mistakes and then knowing
How I could have done better and
Realising the limits of my own cognition
And the stupidity of my own ego.

I ask myself why
But the question only drives me mad.
I spit at my own reflection and
Cower into a corner and long for
A few seconds of non-existence.
I am ugly,
Ugly in the soul,
Ugly in the bone,
And no
These mistakes are not normal.
How can I be my own victim and perpetrator so easily?
And then wake up with dread that I’m not necessarily safe for myself?
I am stuck.
I did know better
But I didn’t do any better,
So what the actual f*ck?!

It's like meeting
a less popular school friend
and you just can't
bend your head around it
and every word
the guy speaks
places the two of you
together in the middle
of the action
to the point
that you just frankly say
I can't remember a thing
truth be told
the event was real
you just don't know
this guy from Adam.

Puberty arrives
With it's accompanying drives
Plus the scourge of teenage acne.
Most remedies would fail
Nothing ever worked well
While my face continued to attack me.

Father scoffed "Son I implore
If you scrub your face more
Then your acne will soon disappear."
Scrubbed as hard as I could
But it still did no good
Further proof that my case was severe.

Unsightly, painful and embarrassing...
By adulthood it stopped its harassing.

Hidden under countless sheets,
Behind lock and key,
Like I'm scared they'll see.

I really do love poetry,
The way it feels to write,
To feel.

But I find myself embarrassed,
When in conversation,
A poetic stream slips out, free across the screen.

I don't know why I fear it so,
Or hope that it would go,
But I wish I didn't feel like this.

It's true that it's poetry I miss.

Often things go over my head
Miss subliminal meaning in words said
Am I really stupid because I do not understand
Innuendos the rest of the room can?
I will be the first to admit I'm unaware
There is more inside my skull than empty air
I remember when I was able to rely on my gut
When I wasn't always asking "what?"
Nowadays I am constantly left out
I am never quite sure what you're talking about
In the dark I am kept away
In a room shaded black and grey
Silence locks truth up tight
Concealing it out of my sight
Everybody is in on the most public joke
Except me beause I'm too blind to see through the smoke
I hope you don't think I'm stupid for asking questions
I am intelligent I just don't pay attention
My gullible nature may make me a breeze to trick
But the fact you see me as a target is sick
Sometimes I get the punchline too late
That doesn't make me a less suitable mate
Sorry for every embarrassing thing I have said
I don't know why but things too often go way above my head