I
flustered
numbed
under-slept
perennially tired

like a distracted bird
that can't differentiate
between the birdseed
and the snare

Yet
HOPE alone
gets me going
that's my medicine
that's my vice

Yet I’m in it
My heart is full
Yet I’m empty
My mind is in motion
Yet I stand still
My body is strong
Yet I am weak
What fuels a raging fire?
What makes the sea calm?
Who aches for redemption?
Who is buried below the ashes?
Fall into the abyss and find nothing

We sit here waiting, telling you to write
So we can read something that makes us feel inside
But when the author is in pain
We feel the most
Because pain is the easiest thing to feel
We can all relate
We sit amazed as we are cut by the author's blade

I've wrote enough poems to entertain a country
I've let people with a knife made of words left twisted in their chest
Some of them guak and wonder how they found entertainment
My words are harsh
They are blunt
But my blade made of words
Is enough to entertain all of us

I’m tired.

Why am I doing all the work?
Because I care?
Because I’m a woman?
Because I’m stupidly in love with you?

You’re crazy.

And I’m tired, tired of it, and
Tired of you.

Get up and help me.
Get up and put some effort into me.
Get up and kiss me for once.

You’re right.
We aren’t learning anything here,
But how selfless devotion is a waste of time.
You were right,
I’m not the girl for you.
(I never will be).

And
You’re definitely not the man I thought you’d be.

You taste like hypocrite.
You taste like dark stupid masculinity.
And, baby, it doesn’t taste sweet.

Let’s just hope you taste as sweet as you feel.

At the Top
On the Edge
Filled with Anticipation
and Excitement

But
the rug was pulled out
from under its feet

Tock
down
the stairs
the marble goes

Tock
down
each step
the marble bounces
Up
and down

Tock
down
from the Edge
it started from
the marble drops

Tock
Tock
Tock

and no more
the marble no longer falls
for it is
at the bottom

where it no longer falls
but
it moves

the marble rolls
steadily
from side to side

until

it

stops

and sits there

quietly

silent

I want to feel disappointed
I want to feel like I have failed
But the feeling I feel most often
Is feeling impervious to things that should bother me most

I know what I should feel
unease, disheartened, and anxious
But all I feel is placid, empty, and slightly annoyed

So I sit on my bed at 2 am and wait for something to fill me
Fear, determination, or irritation
so I can fill out the papers next to me
even with the knowledge of its utter importance
I still couldn't give a ****