when i
look back
at all the roles
i’ve played
throughout my life,
at all the characters
i’ve had to create,
all the versions
and variations
of myself
i have
pretended to be…
it’s crazy to think
how i really don’t
know me

i think i never
really wanted to
because i am too afraid
of being unloved
and unwanted

i use all these masks
to hide the pain
and cover up the tears
that have been pulling my strings
for most of my years
stopping me from
taking risks
because of
all my fears

i’m torn in two
trying to get to you
and wondering
if you’re
just going
to grow bored
of me, too
once the music stops
and the bells
fall off my shoes
will you like me when i’m me?
or do you want me to be you?

these are the questions
that rotate around
my brain
walking around
my mind
with thousands of tiny
hands and feet
tickling and causing vibrations
sending me down
into countless spirals
that never end well

i have been sick
for as long
as i can remember
and i don’t
know
that i’ll ever
be fully
in my right mind
there are
always little monsters
in my head
chasing me around
and there’s nowhere
i can hide
i am always exhausted
no matter how much
i rest
and i guess
being crazy
is just what
i do best

i’ve been slipping
and sliding
down a dangerous
path
into a soupy,
sloppy pit
of dismissive
behaviors
and letting
part of myself
disappear

it’s so hard to explain
how this is so wrong
and so right
at the same time

it goes against
all i’ve ever thought
i needed
but these dreams
won’t leave
my mind
i’m trapped between
my heart
and
my
time

what happens
between
one eye
and the other
in my lil’
squishy
brain
is impossible
to explain

it all just
comes down
to one
simple
little
itty
bitty
thing

this stupid
little
flutter
in my heart
with
your name
etched into it

i can’t sleep
but
i don’t care

sometimes
poetry
is more
important

we’re just
two pieces
of ****
waiting for
our turn
to get flushed
down the toilet

two unhinged
weirdos
communicating
through poetry
and thoughts
that aren’t quite
complete

and maybe there
are still pieces
missing
and this picture
can’t be
fully seen
for a while

but ******
*******
or not,
****!
you make
me smile

and when i look
up at the moon
and he’s smiling
too
and it’s happening
while i’m
thinking of you

the fork in the road
makes me hungry
and i’m trying to figure
out what
i need
to satisfy this rumble
in my tummy
i can’t have
my cake
and eat it too
but i
don’t care much
for cake anyway
i’m more of a pie
kinda gal

Wednesdays are cool with a subdued energy
Just me sitting in silent disparity
In between white walls with a claustrophobic  persistence
No one and nothing understands this existence...

Internal monologue,
to self, a note:
prose and poetry
I wrote
to what I loathe,
every word I chose
a potent seed of
grief I sowed.

Sturdy oak's
branches, limbs,
and stoic bones
turning into woes of
a weeping willow's roots
overgrown and exposed.

Grain of timber groans,
bends and bows
in billowing wind blown;
a coat of leaves
in ribbons, clothes,
cloaking grove and
hanging rope below;
around my neck,
coiled and closed,
asphyxiating, chokes.

Ungasping,
thrashing throes,
no breath can flow,
slowly losing hope;
devoted to
an unspoken oath,
towing this
floating ghost and
shadow of an ego
dangling alone
on threadbare throne,
only home
I've ever known.

So what, to this world,
do i still owe
and why can't I
just
let
go?

It's hard to write a poem
when you've got Benzo-Brain.
But I mustn't worry;
the amphetamine shall kick
my brain in soon.

Shhh.

Stop crying.

Shhhhh!

Better cover that mouth of yours. Or else they’ll hear.

Shush!

The power’s come back on, the darkness can’t  protect you anymore.

Enough!

That’s a good girl. Now, let’s see a smile.

I am nothing but a silent darkness,
Unheard and unseen, I wish to never return
Even when I leave, there's nothing to feel
Even then, I leave with no joy or glee;

I've been existing in Sheol alone,
The place of unjudged and abandoned,
Even God doesn't shine his light here,
I have been praying into the void;

No matter how or why I move,
I'm always where I was,
I am both Sisyphus and Hades,
The condemned and the executioner;

One fine day, the weight will do it's duty,
The human form is delightfully mortal,
The comedy finally completed,
Sheol will be empty and judged.

As dawn's fog yawns
exhausted jaws call upon
tomorrows and beyond.

Pondering somnolent solitude's
honest and solemn qualms,
the calm before
ancient eons old atomic bomb;
clouds becoming bells of bronze,
air a balmy sauna,
strands of photon blonde
don tree awnings
and lush bladed lawns
strong enough to rouse flora,
fauna frolicking along,
faults and all their wrongs;
summer sunrise,
curtains, drapes are drawn,
phenomenon a drama
of God's pawns,
audience applause
the crawling pulse
of this cosmic throng.

But chronology's period
more like a comma, pause,
as falling autumns quick bygone,
then a wave of frigid wand
and winter's frostbitten trauma haunts;
maudlin waters frozen wanton,
fossilized to icy ponds,
ossified swans mourn silenced songs
their unspoken sonnets
for want of
warm renaissance.