I kept wondering if I would outgrow
The feelings of eyes on me.

I have yet to believe that they
Aren’t all staring.
I have yet to forget the taste
Of waxy nothingness on my tongue,
The guilt of sleepless nights,  
The odd feeling of waking and
Not believing the world around me.

Each tree has grown mouths,
All are laughing.

I walk my dog and I feel the heat
Slither around my spine.
The cars driving by are all looking.
Why do I feel like someone is following me?
I check over my shoulder.

I am submerged in warm ocean.
I can breathe, but for how long?

i want to kiss you
at every red light
both figuratively and literally

i want to kiss you
when life gets hard
and when **** happens

i want to kiss you
in the 30 seconds we have
at each intersection

i want to kiss you
always.

I am a perpetually uncertain individual.

Or the opposite.

I don't have anything to do with this

          imperfect receptacle,
light of pre-dawn-breaker-
bringer of boredom.

                    There are systemic means of
                    hurting oneself, the constant

ripping and stitching of that cherry-
          covered cloth

                    it's like drowning in
                    maple syrup, sticky and

sweet. I've been told that dropping
drink was the hardest thing I've

                    never done.

          I found these things,
these iron pores dripping
iron sweat, remarkably

                    easy to ignore.

in her whisper i hear fire
in her screams i hear storms

this poem
has a title
so that all who read it
know
that this poem has a meaning

because without something to reference
a name
or a title
things are left behind

just like me
in all the years
i tried to remain
untitled

rather

anonymous

untitled people
like me
are given no
second glances
no
first chances
no
social advances

nothing

left behind
like a poem
without
a name

My life seems to be frozen in time.
Waiting for the sun, but it no longer shines.
Nothing ever changes. It all stays the same.
Searching for the happiness that I want to gain.
Everyone else is moving ahead.
But all I can do is lay here in bed.
People, their lives, their friends, and their luck.
I'm going nowhere. I seem to be stuck. Some tend to think that my life is quite good.
I don't agree, but maybe I should. Plebeian types have to live on the streets. While I sleep at home, tucked away in my sheets.
I shouldn't complain but it's become very hard, To enjoy life's small moments.
I'm internally scarred.
My life isn't bad. It's just somewhat tougher,
than the people I know, that's  because I do suffer.
It was never my purpose to bask in my pity.
I just needed to express my deep pain subsequently.

Tell me what it means to be real.
                                                           ­     Take it -
                                                                ­                        The Truth -
                  it is yours.
So long as you remember.
So, remember.
             Remember The Somebody before this body.
                                                           ­                           Remember your                                      womb -
tomb
heart.
    Remember that she rests there still
                                                           ­        - she always will.