I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.

the depth of my soul can only be expressed
           among the midst of burning
                                      hearts &
                                               raining
                                             eyes.
the maze of my thoughts can only be
                                                                spoken
         through              br  o  k e n,
                                         ink-
                                              -d-i-p-p-e-d   hearts.
only when my mind is
                                                 bent &
                                          curled &
                                   swirled &
                                         l o s t
can my words begin to mean something.

only when my head is                  light &             hazy

& my perception compares to that of some
drug-
        -fueled
                 frenzy,
can my words be
                                                  beautiful.

but i am happy,
                                 for the most part.

& so my words fall
                                                  off
                                                                                      the                    pag-

                                                                                                            -es.


& they mean nothing.
just some
simple
empty
ramblings.

of a newly
normal
girl.

it is so, so easy
to write about cold beds
and tear stained cheeks
yet, it is difficult
to write of memories,
                                       of thoughts,
                                                       ­      of happiness
the things that could illuminate city streets
so for now,
i will lay my head to rest
and come morning
i will write about the bright,
the stars that shine despite the night

I want to write.
I want to create.
But I rarely feel like I can.
I want my words to mean something.
I want them to be heard to the volume I expressed them at.
I want them to explode minds.
I want them to carry emotions.
I want what I create to be beautiful in a personal interpretational way.
I want them to educate.
I want less to be more.
I want them to make people feel.
...
Isn't selfish of I to hold back myself because I may not get what I want?
...
Isn't selfish of I to hold back one's voice because I may not get what I want?
...
Isn't unfair to my soul to tell it no because I may not get what I want?
...
Isn't cruel of I to bury my desires because I may not get what I want?
...
Is it not foolish of I to be thinking: I want, I want, I want...
when God has given me: You can, you can, you can.

I have nothing to say.
No words to write;
My brain is blank.
No rhythm to recite.
Why?
Why can’t I talk right now?
I’ve got so much to say.
And yet, I can’t say enough.
The old words have no meaning.
The new words have no value.
Besides...
Words can’t say much;
Actions talk so much more.
And words today have no final say,
Actions stage the show.
But I know you’re too close.
You’re too close.
What can I say to make my heart stay?
I really don’t want to know.