I love it.
But grow trees to adumbrate it’s anima.

To force a mascaraed upon its glow.
Tarp my elation for it.
It’s guttural.
I feel my definition eave when I do it.

Alien cliques called societal norms.
Make such a scintillating activity, abnormal.
I hurt no one through such a cosmetic lust.
Fabric is not a great medium for harm.

I cringe at such struggles.
For gender roles and such.
One shouldn’t care of what other think.
God knows I’m a hypocrite to state that.

I want to share my “taboo” with someone dear.

I need to.

Anyone who struggles with personal enjoyment.
Doing things that are no harm to others, but are considered deviant.
I would love to leave you with a quote.

“I am human, nothing human is alien to me.”

Where whatever clothes you want to.
Love whoever you want to with their consent.

My insomnia is back
Mind is outta whack
This isn't really poetry
But I think you know that
Thoughts of something heavenly
Looking back on past memories

*******, I need to do something with my life
I write poetry
and have written a few stories
Tried programming as well as screenwriting
which I enjoyed immensely, but it costs too much money!
So here I am, back again with a poem
Another form of a story
I like it a lot
and have been writing them for about six months
And I'll write them again and again
Until my heart stops beating
Does this have meaning?
I don't know, it's rhyming
So it must mean something

Anyways, I don't know what to say
I thought I had it today
But in darkness comes the devil
His presence ever so powerful
Telling me I am special
But I struggle, yet he smiles
Saying that I have potential
Which I can't even fathom, not in this world of mine
That I'd like to abandon
Nah, I'm only kidding
It ain't too bad
No idea where it's heading
But I'm glad
Because I hate spoilers
Just as much as my handlers

That's a joke, I ain't controlled
I would go on and on
But I ain't going down that rabbit hole
My time is on a tight schedule, I don't got all-day
Another joke, ain't that funny?

You are wasting time though honestly
Reading this poem filled with much variety
Quite interesting though, wouldn't you say honey?
Yikes, a major yikes
That was pretty cringe, but hey
You're alive! maybe lost a few brain cells
But you already lost 6 billion from reading this poem
Ain't that swell?
You should see no difference though
You're already dumb
And quite frankly, appear to be a major eyesore
You look like something from Mordor
Now that's a joke

I'm sure you look great
A person that all should appreciate
Perhaps someone with heavenly energy
Something I wish to duplicate
But I can't, because I can't escape
Not from these snakes
I have a role I must play, which is fake
So many roles, so many faces
All  of which I can't break

I don't even know the real me, what I want to be
I thought I enjoyed writing
Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy writing poetry
But I don't really have that same feeling
When it comes to writing stories
What I want in life is to be free and happy
No worries, that type of thing
Writing poetry makes me happy
But it isn't stable, it doesn't bring money
What other thing is there besides poetry?
Maybe I'm being naive
Maybe I need to sacrifice some freedom
To have a stable income
But.. that isn't me, oh, I see!
At least I think
Help me, please

Yeah, this was one wild poem
If you can even call it that
It might be random
but that's okay
Insomnia made it whack
But also made me open about my current problem
You know, me not knowing what to be
Will poetry ever save me?
I suppose we will find out
When I wake up
From a deep sleep.

1.
on her arms
carve a delicate
bloodletting

each pinprick
a sandy glint
in her Martian landscape

canals of meaning fill
until finally the storm has left her streaking
like an iron sunrise

on her limbs
the word-tattoos dry
like calligraphy
on tree trunks

2.
she
so mysterious

a
work-of-art
in motion

a
crimson flower
stamped with the light of dawn

1.
Nervous butterflies line my palms with coronal patterns:
silent, colorful eyes that erupt with the crunch and
scald of evolution.

2.
I set a trap of future lullabies and pet names
under your patiently restrained eyes
(which twitch and pause with the muscled power
of romantic possibility).

3.
The wisping curtain of our harmoniously whispered song
flows from the stringed instrument of our meeting eyelashes
and penetrates our concrete-carved defenses
with the sun-kissed beauty of our outstretched,
welcoming palms.

Off to wonderland, a nightmare of a dream
If only you could see

Nothing but a  stain
To those that be
No end in sight, for my misery
so here I lay
Sleeping
To numb the pain
I believed
But I was only deceived

Wonderland, the place
Where you don't make amends
A place where your beliefs
Are canned
The place
Where you'll surly know pain
First hand

It wasn't worth it
But I was desperate
Now I'm ******, forever
In wonderland.