Why the incessant heart ache
that comes with its persisting beat
the reiteration of menacing thoughts
-Inability to sit still in your seat.
a clenching jaw & those rapid eyes
implies the existence of a disturbed soul,
trapped between heavy walls of meat
at the pit of the minds' profound hole.
Are you in distress & unrest
in a state of mournful agitation
inflicted into lifes entangled turbulence
with no forewarning or invitation          
unwelcome thoughts linger to & fro        
pacing through the hallway of your head
from the livid past to a murky future    
Your senses awoke in - infrared.

But.

I know you are, but.

But what? Is this so
inconceivable?
So inconvenient?

We don't control these things,
not forever.
Perhaps when we're young
and scared,

So when we finally settle in,
into our own skins,
everyone has
something to say.

"But this isn't who
you used to be;
this isn't who I know-"

Well, I'm more myself
than ever before,
and I refuse to fall
into your perfect view.

I feel safe
just out of focus,
and there is where I'll stay.

A poem is not a place
to belong
It’s hard and rough
treacherous and long
words are wounded
bled and blended
the rhymes are lies
stiff short and ended
lines are cut
and dissected
meanings fray
if not mended
a poem is no place
too small
to find your space
without a wall
or ground to pace
no not at all
no support or hold
for a poor poet
not to fall

there is a point of no return;
unthinkingly dismissed
a line crossed;
bringing
instant regret
each
    and
           every
                   decision
up until that moment;
questioned
lamented
rued

i have just crossed
that threshold

the hangnail was bitten
and pulled
until flesh was torn
and blood ran
now there is nothing
but discomfort

knowing full well
what i was doing;
there is no excuse for such idiocy

When you first meet me
You may think
She must be loved by so many
And have a lot of close friends
Or you might think
She's a loser
She won’t get anywhere
No one probably loves her

You are correct if you thought the last one
I’m sick of everyone saying how awesome I am
Then why don’t I have anyone?
Don’t lie and sugar coat it
I’m sick of people lying
And hiding the truth
Why am I never good enough?
I would of cut my wrists
If I didn’t care about the ones around me…
Sometimes I regret not doing it

I'm the milk in ice cream
all they see is ice cream
and not the milk it took to make...

Tap. Tap.
Distant sound from above
Kept silent within a fragile soul
Tap. Tap.
Drowned out through fear and love
A wind beyond a persons control

Tap. Tap.
The baying of the storm
Branches frolicking on every gust
Tap. Tap.
Long shadows start to form
Fickle weather displays it’s disgust

Tap. Tap.
When will it cease?
How does the window not shatter every time?
Tap. Tap
Darkness within, fearing a release
As the peace is shattered in my mind

Tap. Tap.
Glass explodes within its rage
The storm whistles through empty eyes
Tap. Tap.
Anger escapes its fiery cage
Smashing all that it touches with its cries

Tap. Tap.
The storm is let loose
The fire, the fury, the furore
Tap. Tap
Through insatiable abuse
Frustration angrily reaches its glory

Tap. Tap.
There’s nowhere to turn.
No escape from the pain it spreads
Tap. Tap.
As the world starts to burn
All placations are torn to shreds

Tap. Tap.
The clouds roll past and the winds subside
As tranquility restores the mind
Tap. Tap.
Regrets form like tears and fall like pride
Promising no more, promising nothing. No next time.

Tap. Tap.

"**** stupid raccoons!"
An angry man, ****** at everything in the moment
fiercely kicked his dumped-over trash can into the street, as he stared enraged at the mess of thrown out crap that laid open
for all to see.
A neighbor seeing his crazy fit of rage jested,
"You know, trash cans have feelings too."

To which the angry man replied,
"Yeah!  And they should feel like garbage!"

Reaching out,
what was out of reach
the mountain of air
built by the ignorant, I
-

                            a waterfall
forms an empty sea

-
shouts of anguish
                         , whispers

                     to

               m e

-
a faucet
with nothing to;
bleed

-
n(a)ive girl
weeping from the sounds
of mockery