my head is full of junk and stress and anger
i am aching and my lungs are trying to grip onto any air they can find
beaten and bruised and confused
broken and misused and abused
i am in a worn down infirmary from the 20th century
bleak and mostly dead
young and unread
i am tearing my bed sheets and wishing i could flee
or recycle my carcass in a dumpster
by the penitentiary
  
  i.     am.      ill.      and.   poisoned.   and.  weak

can i just get a little rest or some sleep?
i amShredded  
and this hospital is forbidding
but i am about to go in
overdose from morphine
and become a distant memory
with tear streaks painted like silhouettes all over my detached face
i am frozen in the zone of the capable
drenched and shameful and incapable
can i punch a hole in the wall
or disappear on a private jet
never to be seen again?
in taiwan, bangladesh
china, the southwest
i will forever pray for escapism
and relocation of my barely pumping heart
please, let me retreat from the dock of the discreet
where i will forever become a inaudible nuisance
tortured between chains and bars and reins
anything is better than this pit i have been put in
spit on and inflamed and blamed
dragged and tortured and renamed
struck by the stick
i once hoped of holding in the first place
goodbye, i will decompose into the ground with the mushrooms
and i won’t need to be around anymore to make mediocre jokes
and laugh like the warden is correct in his words
please, i surrender
and i concur
later, i will no longer be a bore to the samurai with swords
i will be trudging through the mountain terrain
praying you will say my name
and i will be excused from the insane asylum because i will finally be deemed
“not insane”
by the nurse wearing slacks
and i will take my unschooled tracks
down the road
where i won’t bleed and toss and turn
i will belong and get along and be reborn
from the ***** of a once valuable opinion
i won’t die and cry and become shy
i will scream and be mean and fly
cause i will fit in somewhere where i knew i would belong all along
far from the president and the residents and my mom
and the fake acquaintances and desperate conveyances and the dark
reaching a pitch where i am silent but as noisy as an alarm
showing off all my parts
without being too nervous to crack a smile
or too anxious and in denial
even though tomorrow may be torture to the soul of the soldier
she will make it out alive
just bruised not misused and abused
just bruised

u know i write for no one
not a single eye judges or plants bias into my
poetry or what i wish it could be
or how i want it to be perceived
i write for no one
not for my mother or the old lady at the grocery store
i write because if i don’t, i will bleed from the inside out
or throw up my guts and love that burning from the acids in my stomach
i write for no one
so nothing can phase me
i want criticism, i just don’t think i want to admit the genuine me
i will be fatigued by the corse fingernails digging beneath my skin
using me as a fix
i write for no one
because i write for me
without the pressure of a crowd or a community
it is me, the one singular being
i taste the residue of the tinted pages
and blow up like a puffer fish
while every rabbit of my emotional baggage
gets eaten by a snow fox
it’s at my fingertips
and i feel enough
i write for no one as i write to u
and that’s why it’s the most compelling thing to do