You are my sailor,
Sailing sea to sea
To eventually see me.
Creating waves in my lungs
Till I am gasping for air
You save me,
Time and time again
From the rough and shallow waters I face
With you, life is an endless blue ocean
And you are my sailor.
Together, conquering the waters
With a smile on our face

You are a stone.
I want to strike you with my stick
You know
Like Moses did in the desert
That worked out great for him
Not hard or anything
Just so the water finally gushes forth
And I am nourished
And you are human
And I can stop talking to a ******* stone
That doesn’t even answer back
Like real stones do
But I have to be careful
I don’t want you to burst
Though it would be strange if you did
You are a stone, after all
Maybe I’ll just sit next to you instead
Maybe that’ll work
Or poke a little
That should do the trick
Or ****
Or embrace
Or hold

Why isn’t this working
This isn’t
I can’t
Why aren’t you
Can’t you just
hey
How about thi—
Listen to me!

SMACK

Oh!
The water!
I did it!
You broke open!
Now I’ll be nourished!
Now you’ll finally be real!
I was afraid you’d burst!
Or I’d crumble
But I did it!
Now we can get out of this ******* desert
Together!

wait

The water
It’s trickling
There’s barely any at all
And you’re still a stone
And I’m still dying of thirst
And talking to a rock.
I’ll die before you trickle out enough water for me to drink
And live to tell about it
You know that, right?

I hate stones.
They‘re so unreliable.

It was the turn of the century
And I was in a penitentiary,
Wondering what is but a ****,
An art fabricated by an ****.

It is all rudimentary ,
Or as Sherlock would say elementary,
I thought myself pretty smart,
Lying on a grand palliasse.

I blame you for making me write all these sonnets
I tried to make the best of it, but five?
How in the ******* world am I supposed to write five?
Doesn’t each sonnet take the course of a week?
And it definitely seems that we don’t have five weeks
To write five pristine perfect sonnets
I’d rather read fifty poems than write five of these stupid things
I’d like the meet the man who decided these poems
Had to be fourteen lines, stylized rhymes
I’d say, go to hell with you and this torturous format
Instead of making me write these many poems
All in the same style, all droaning on in my mind
Like an endless treadmill of poem-writing
I say I’ll do better on the next assignment, but truthfully
I’m improvising

YOUR A **** UP

Disappointed.
Failure.
Hatred.
Unlovable.
Stupid.
Immature.
D­isgraceful.
**** UP.

There isn't any way around it. You are such a **** UP.
You ruined everything. Nothing is savable.
Where did you go so wrong?
How did you get caught?
******* it you stupid girl. Wake Up.
YOUR NOTHING.

There’s never any pausing with you.
You’re always asking me to do more things for you.

what am i supposed to say
when it feels like i should say nothing?
should i just stay quiet and miserable,
or say things that could bring on a horrible battle...
i think i’d rather crawl back into my bed.

I cry while I remember the look you gave when I got it wrong
Again
Now you've ripped my comfort way from me
The one who didn't look down on me
The one who got me to understand

You're surprised at the effect?
No you are not
You knew
but
You didn't care

So be it
Guess I'll cry every time I don't understand
Everyday

Isolation