This dull pencil has filled me with lead and weighed down my soul

This canvas is blank
Save for the bruised marks of an angry quill

I shake as hard as I can
But the pen has fallen to the might of frustration

I am but a broken type writer

I draw my poetry
From the depths of my despair
As many other poets do

Sadly I can’t draw them
From my highest of highs
Like other brilliant artists

To all poets
Thank you for sharing
Whether it be a shard of light
Or a wisp of darkness
It all takes power
To turn pain and happiness
Into art

A lesson hard learned
Is not too soon forgotten
Do you think of me?

bathed myself in bleach
and scrubbed my skin with rubbing alcohol
when i light myself on fire
i feel somewhat better
and i have swept the kitchen floor a lot
almost obsessively
but when i walk around i still feel dirt on the bottom of my feet
i am surprised i still have the ability to feel anything
i tried drinking gasoline and licking flames

i am a freak
a coward
so things didn't work out
still,
i am used to disappointment
and,
i am used to hating myself

Everyones chillin’
Groovy tunes rollin’
Lowriders cruisin’
Then your loud *** comes along
Takin’ up space
Yours and mine
Wreckin’ smooth
Pushin’ your own groove
"Donk in charge"
No votes necessary
Everythin’ sighs
Bubble on the mic
Doin’ your business
All over the room
Box store cut-*** mule
Nothin’ but unwoke noise
Blow Bull Horn


© 2019 MJL

Oh
My toe
Is filled
With woe
Because one
Sad solo
Sock and shoe
Overflows
With wet ice
And freezing snow
But I won't show
Or let anyone know
The cold I feel
Numbing me slow
I know
It will grow
But onwards
I go
So
I guess
My warmth
I owe
To this foe
I realized
Long ago
I can't or won't
Overcome
Overthrow
Or say no
To chilly air  
That through me flows
Without fail
Stealing my glow
Although
I suppose
I'm used to it though
This evil villian
That stays down low
Underneath
My feet
Below

She gets high
to forget
feeling low.
In that instance the hair on her legs and her blood pressure spike, saluting the broken record chips rhythmically spinning above her dimmed wits.
Up, down,
with nothing to break down.
Deeply depressed,
she's high but low.

Life got me high,
Life got me low.
But when I dream, I fly.

And wheter I'm flying high or low,
I'll still be flying.
Because in my dreams,
I am in control.

So I never tend to miss a night, and so a dream.

Cause I don't want to lose control.