What is this thing people
search so endlessly for.
love is only temporary.
A stepping stone in the
essence of life.

Grow together and then
grow apart. 
Different stages introduce
different actors
all hoping for best performance.

I failed yesterday.
But that doesn’t matter, ‘cause I fail everyday.
When I ***** up a presentation.
It brings about a new sensation.
One of hatred and self-doubt.

My brain’s suffering a drought.
A lack of motivation.
Little information. Too many interpretations.
How can I function when I can’t think straight?
Too many variables. The consequences too great.

That’s why I do nothing.
Instead of presenting, I’m running.
Far, far away from everyone.
To a place where there’s no one. Anyone.
But me and my mind.

I’ve let people down.
My family, my friends. Their faces have frowns.
I’m such a *****-up. I want to disappear.
I’m just tired of all these stupid fears.
I turn around. Try to go back. But I hit a wall.
Instead of improving, I fall.
Back into old habits.
It’s like playing a game. Playing gambits.

I stand up there. On stage.
My heart is pounding. An internal rage.
Thoughts are swirling inside my head.
All I want now is to go to bed.
No, no! I won’t accept defeat.
I’ve come too far just to fall and taste concrete.
So, even if it’s terrible, even if nobody hears me.
I’m going to try, and that’s what it’s gonna be.
‘Cause I think in the end, trying something will be my savior.
Instead of simply relapsing into failure.

Every day is a performance
I perform the dance of pretending
That I don’t care about you above all
I’d die for a kiss
But I wouldn’t lie for a kiss
I would never lie to you
But I still have to perform
I still have to act
I still have to play a role
In this out of tune musical
I still have to be the sob story
But all I want
Is to be the love story
I wish I could write the plot
I wish I could change it
To a dance number
Where we dance to music
Only we can hear
Now that’s a performance

//

The definition of thot [that ** over there], via Urban Dictionary

A woman who pretends to be the type of valuable female commodity who rightfully earns male commitment—until the man discovers that she’s just a cheap imitation of a “good girl” who is good for nothing, and definitely not for relationships or respect.

If women are products, then thots are cheap goods. More than that, they’re knockoffs: low-quality merchandise that attempts to masquerade as luxury items.

They generally dress in cheap clothing, try to act like they're better than they really are, or think they're not ****** but high class when they're nothing close to classy. They demand respect, money, gifts, dates but do nothing to deserve any of it because they have no self-respect, no manners, low self esteem, little education and on top of all that they are thots because they have no self worth.

//

he called me a thot.
the same blood-boy nightmare who bragged about his ******* and double cup. too cheap to buy actavis generics, so he drank himself into a stupor on walgreens brand dye-free cough syrup. he acted black, said words white boys shouldn't have near their mouths. his friends were ableist at the best, and misogynist at worst.

he called other girls thots too.
but i was different. stick-and-poke told trans king who told american spirit who told blood-boy what i confided in a friend. a story that ends and begins with my tears, tears from gagging, tears from telling my mother about the worst three minutes of my life and how my knees and heart hurt afterwards.

i embodied thot.
left my family for friends, joked about the pain until it hurt even more. i found myself crying in bathroom stalls, looking down at my body in the bathtub as i learned to breathe water. the girls said i was thick, i didn't know if they meant it in a good way. the boys said worse. i wore camouflage pants, comme de garçons tops, air force ones. i jumped on trends like a wild cat stalking prey. but i could never catch anything worthwhile with my soft, clawed paws.

he smiled like he was better than me.
after blood-boy stunned summers and winters alike, burned spring and fall, and for what? to call me a thot? i knew what i was to him. but he didn’t define me anymore.

he called me a thot.
and this time i fought back with my eyes, didn’t just sit there and feel words welling up inside.
because even thots are queens.
because i used to be deciduous, but now i’m evergreen.


//

Storm clouds sound their gongs aloud,
call the whole world's attention to the ensemble
of tall,dark,handsome actors lined up for a
performance spectacular
Lightening gives cryptic signals at times,
of the change of scene,rain lashes with a sweet vengeance,
till the clouds relent,and go light and white.
The cloud theater had it's ritualistic culmination,
the expectation of imminent plenty soars,
rushing streams fill gushing rivers that get
swelled,roar delighted all the way to ocean

My stomach retracted,
shrank into a black hole,
******* in any courage
that had been stubborn enough
to hang around.

The mic stared at me,
back lit and back dropped
with the steady throb
of anticipation waiting in judgement.
I gripped it
as the lifeline and shield
that it had become -
as I let loose the words
half remembered from an eon ago.

And after a blur of feeble utterance
I fell into the envelope of applause,
part filling the void within and lifting my heart,
until it reached my mouth,
ready for my next poem.

My stomach hesitated,
but held its ground.
...