Forcing these thoughts like clay through a spout.

Flagrant doubt as to the success of your recent suffering.

It isn't like it used to be. Nothing is like it used to be.

Lost inspiration in happiness - dragging out words like animal carcass.

No immortal flow - no ingenious drawl - blathering rants disguised in colorful diction.

Dissatisfaction in all nonfiction - creativity only thriving on dysfunction.

Functionality is ruining your beauty.

You were better when you were useless.

I would that if you increased
The spoken statements on your mind,
Would be you used this tone with me,
I'd "lop off your head," for better words
Suit me fine, defended by a suit of armor, one
For my own well-minded ears hearing safety,
An armor I deserve for being your king,
Your master, you are my throne even,
I sit on you when I'm sad, and spit on you
When I'm mad. This is it, there's nothing
More to say, you wash your mouth out now,
My "honest perfection" grows day by day.

the sounds of silent screams from broken minds fills my lungs with useless disappointment.

Imagine that randomly through out the day, your legs quit working. No matter how well you explain the science of it all, nobody really understands. "Why don't you just.. idk, stand up?"

Imagine that randomly through out the day, your nervous system shuts down. No matter what you say, explaining time and time again the science of it all, nobody really understands. "So you're telling me that you can't feel? That's stupid. Just start feeling. You're fine"

Imagine that randomly through out the day, you feel like killing yourself. No matter how many times you try to get help, nobody really understands. "Nobody just feels like killing themselves. You have a good life, you're happy. Just cheer up a bit."

If my disability was physical instead of mental, everyone one care alot more.

When you see a painting hanging on a wall,
You don't really question it,
You see the painting as it is and its placement on the wall, not much else.

Some people are more interested than others and so they want to buy the painting.

They see its origin, the frame, its design, how much effort was put into it, the story behind its art.

After a while, some people get bored of it,
They give it away because they don't want it anymore.

And while some people took the time to look at my art,
You spent all of your money on paintings that weren't me.

I stand before my classroom
on the first day--
it is Research Methods
a course that I am forced to take
but I am assured it is for the best
even on the first day
I am told that you can use
this course for everything.

But I don't know who
they are trying to convince,
is it me that the course has meaning
or themselves that they are worth something,
because if it's the 2nd
then the professor probably shouldn't
call on me to answer the question.

In my mind the redundancy
is a wax wrapper
to a lollipop that
I don't understand why I need it
as it was already wrapped in paper
and now I struggle
to find purpose for
a flimsy piece of plastic-wax
that I can hardly even see.

Rotating my head around
as if a person waiting in a traffic accident
and wondering if I can see the body
from where I am sitting--
luckily this is a class room
and every body here is
part of collision that they
never intended on having.  

The drought of thought
that I see spilling across the class room
and the formality of facing forward
while actually daydreaming
is sadly part of this necessary course--
where pencil stained desk
are the only things worth
drawing my attention.  

It's our special day
this is only the first meeting
and instead of being here 3 hours
we get to leave here in 1--
now everyone realizes
this traffic will last longer
than originally told
so maybe it's better
to get outside and walk.

incompetent.
the music in front of me blurred slightly
and my fingers curled above the piano keys.
the room filled with sounds like a rainbow after the rain.
i became that rain in the room,
and wondered what kind of light
should shine through my clouds,
if any.