violent thrash of a sword
to the fortress
that i call home.
there is always some
silver coin
or biology
that takes from me.
i have no one, but…
individuality and religion.
each destined to be stolen from me
yet i will not surrender
like the blue girl
that lurks by the docks
resembling the runny river water.
i will not lose the lens
that formed me.
the end of the tunnel
is bleak and empty.
there is nothing to hold your flaky body
if you don’t have the lens.
what do you see in your reflection
if not an extension of what you dislike the most?
the inner workings of you
are strikingly wholesome
but the lights within you
are soon to be stomped out.
when you change yourself for the unforgiving blank void of life,
what is there left but a shell of fool’s happiness?
the point in feeling whole is
lost. my hands tremble, a stormy body
on the edge of today. and what is it worth
if not living for the truth? what is it worth
if my existence goes completely unacknowledged?
who will be themselves?

I feel like the chips
left at the bottom of the bag.
Too much to throw out
but too little to be
the first choice
next time you get hungry.

Waiting there in the pantry
until you get
a strong enough craving
to finish them off.

The longer you leave them
the more stale they get.
You reach down only to find
a shell of what they used to be.

Why do we distort beauty?
Beauty can be power, but it can also be a burden
I never understood, but now I do

When we are not bestowed with it,
We cage it by any and all means possible
We mock those who lack it and hate those who have it

Green monsters rise in us
We blur the pure with cold blacks and angry reds
We blame them while we try to be them
I suppose jealousy is a fickle thing

In the stories of old, they say one is blessed with beauty
To gain the admirable attention of others,
How it must feel to be dotted on

But then comes the curse
Of having too much attention
Of getting the wrong attention
Of being objectified and not respected
Of being catcalled in the streets and attempting to ignore crass comments and rude remarks.

Like the attention
Don't like the attention
To be called beautiful is such a nice thing
Until it's not.

the problem
with buying clothes
these days
is not knowing
if anything
will fit
properly
or even
suit you
until it arrives

instead
rather than
just return items
that i decide
i don't want
i hunt for
a loose thread
and pick at it;
first
with finger and nail
when that is not enough
next comes
a gnashing of teeth
and
if needs be
i am not above
brandishing scissor
or knife
to split the seam
gaping
wide
before complaining
that the item
is faulty

i am never proud
of myself
when i do it
there would be
no difficulty
in returning it
as unwanted
but
this way
i don't end up
paying postage
twice

I never knew I had my walls down until you made me put it back up again

Wrapped up in unrequited love,
I’m sorry that I was never good enough.

cant breath
its happening again
the ocean goes hightide
my body refuses to move
I sink into oblivion
my tears become
one with the ocean cries

cant breath
the stars take me into the night
lost in the darkness
frozen in space
my tears refuse to leave my eyes
they freeze in the night

unwanted memories rush in

this feeling is suffocating

So what of those who aren't sought
Or the ones afflicted with eternal solitude
Where do our hearts go or rather hide
We are the refugees of this so called euphoria
An enigma so potent known as love

We are those not wanted by it
The unchosen and not desired
It chases us away like we're rats
Forcing us to scurry for cover
When all we want is to be fed

We've been shut out of it's presence
Like we are unworthy vagabonds
Sleeping on an empty cold floor
Crying ourselves into slumber
Only to be orphaned again tomorrow