She wanted to remain pure,
unstained,
unpoked.
She had toyed with getting a tattoo
but realised it wasn’t
individual anymore.
But she was in need of validation.
Was she past her peak? She’s still cool right?

The needle stuck into her skin like the scent of an old lover. It left a fizzy sensation behind.
The ink spread.
She kept poking,
stabbing,
stick n poking.

What emerged was a star.

Startled,
strained by Tar,
scarred,
her sparkle faded.

mom i am trying to tell you something
i didn't **** your daughter
i cant **** a person who never existed

if only you knew how hard it is to know
that i will never be free
if only you knew how it feels to need to
claw my skin off

i am tired of waking up
knowing who i am
while everyone uses the wrong name
the wrong pronouns
because no, it is not just a pronoun
it is validation and i know I shouldn't
need that **** but
i do

I’m starving
Starved for security
Starved for salvation
Starved for serenity
The loneliness is tearing me to bits and pieces
I choose to scatter towards
Those who feign interest in the bits of me I dare to share
Florence says we all have a hunger
I must agree, for tears spring to my eyes at the words of her song
I’m starving for validation
Validate me!

5 4 3 2 1
It’s late at night, it has begun
I search for the saddest songs in my library
As sadness and loneliness create a cocktail
That slowly creeps into my bloodstream
Pumps into my heart
Spreads back into my body, mind and soul
Then the tears at the corners of my eyes spill onto my cheeks
And I drift into a dreamless sleep

i think it's safe to say that there are things we wish we’d known
facts on life or happiness, obtained before we’d grown

a lot of us can say relating to our moms and dads
that we weren’t taught to love ourselves or cope with being sad

and maybe those two things are linked to how we feel constrained
by social norms and expectations, taught to be the same

girls are told to cover up the things that make us weird
beat your face or trim your waist to look good in the mirror

course don't get it twisted,
we’re not to look good for ourselves

our looks are all to get a man,
gain love from someone else

to top it off, what do we do when things just go awry?
after all, teenage dating is really quite the lie
see, that vital lesson is one i guess will not be taught
leaving girls with broken hearts and feeling so distraught

and i can’t say i've managed to avoid this deadly trap
opening my heart despite feeling like utter crap

searching every nook and cranny on this giant earth
cause i've been taught a boys opinion is what proves my worth

What happens when your desire to play withers?
New antics and evils into you slither
A network of growing narcissists
Where worth is determined through a pose
That turns comrades into cannibalists
Feigned friendships that keep you on your toes
Where character is captured in clothes and not what’s enclosed
With a language of muck that does not elevate others but encourages lows
What happens when children have no chance at innocence?
They don’t have different directions to choose in a sense
I don’t want the masses to move like miserable television
I want my people to be able to make heartfelt decisions
Decisions that shake the earth instead of denizens that can only shake their ***
We lose our humanity behind pieces of glass
When we should be losing our sanity in fields of grass
And what happens if the WiFi expires?
Can our ways be rewired?
Inducing ideas that inspire?
Or will the world finally retire?
As we watch it burn down in fire.

What does it mean to be
Emotionally unavailable?
My manic thoughts keep me starving for
An imagined happy

“Are you single?” They asked
Well, my heart is as open as an old wound
That reopens & bleeds & scars for
Vicarious validation
Yet closed in the sense that it shuts down
Every time it starts to feel something
Almost habitually,
As if in self defense
I guess you could say my heart was a
Twisted & distanced kind of available...

But no
I’m not available in my mind
Because it knows better than my
Feeling *****
The human container that’s headstrong
To it’s gullible nature
My thinking ***** knows that
Vicarious happy is not real happy
Which labels my forehead like a neon sign
Emotionally Unavailable

I crave a validation that looks like your love
But it won’t fix me
Or provide the happiness I
Desperately need for myself

Driving up slowly...
Park across the street.
Nobody should know where we meet.
Walking up slowly...
Wishing I was drunk.
At least that would explain my funk.

Now I’m peering,
Peeling off my skin.
There’s no healing;
It’s a game you can’t win.

Now I’m driving up slowly...
And making myself go home.
The things I do,
To let myself roam.
Now I’m driving up slowly...
Two hours before I’m home.
All this effort...
And nothing to show

Writing silently...
The words aren’t coming
Like I planned.
I pray someday that someone understands...
Because I don’t.

Driving alone,
Driving alone.
Home is not so lonely...
When I’m driving up slowly.
So, I’m coming home.
Yes, I’m coming home.

Thick air
Heavy panting
Quiet cursing
Hot breath
Soft sheets

Gentle proximity
Tight muscles
Awkward posturing
Sweet sweat
Satin lips

Lonely company
Hollow host
Instant gratification
Human validation
Sentient toy