This morning, let go
of everything you
didn't do right,
the negative
things people have said
and *focus on all you are becoming.

Fighting for a reason to get out of bed
To get out of my head
And to touch the ground
I'm swallowing myself whole
If i dont get up now
There is no turning back
The world has giving me lots of reasons to smile and be seen
But none of thoes reasons are the ones that I need

We all start the same,
a ***** and a egg.
Then we are born.
Some are shaped and molded
made to perfection
never to be folded.
But some are like me,
we shape ourselves.
We hate those people,
who get put on shelves.
But deep down inside,
I wish I was molded.
Not folded and turned
I wish I was a trophy
to show on the shelves.

When you opened my mind
Alongside my knees
I thought I was a book of kinds
Some volume you would read
Perhaps even thoroughly
Unhurriedly
Or intimately
But ultimately
It came to seem
That referencing is all you need
Searching for a flair or look
A certain way of speaking
Honestly, in my book
It's merely vain traits you're seeking
A written list for your esteem
Or footnotes for or your story
Because surely
You know how sorely
Paper cuts
Come from paper *****
Tight and gory

I could be some relief
To Fantasy in chief
Commanding ships spur
And all who sail in her
I could twist and dismiss and insist
I could enlist opposition to resist what now exists
But I could not try
And inspire any real reaped desire
Only brusque verse or something wrier
I could not slink and hint and smoulder
I now think what I would evince is far colder
No feminine wiles
Just the end of the smiles
And the bell  of reality's child
Sounding loud to astound a man
Resiled from the myth of desires plans
Would a reflection of your own ***** affections
Of lip curled, showing familiar perfection
Of a tone deep, making lone directions
Be to Fantasy's fan planned infection?
Or does the candle light these perceived shames,
Setting the secret world of 'wanting' aflame?

Knowing that I can
Knowing what I am
Am I nothing more
than a wolf with a lamb?
...playing so precise
delaying to entice
my ****** appetite
Visions of incisions
to betray my true intentions
nothing means more
than for you to be delicious.
Straining in protest
I love it when you fight!
Knowing I'll ingest you...
but first, that painfully sweet bite.
Rakes down my back
inseminating your nails
the flames forcing me deeper
together in our hell.

even the
arm of a
stranger
would be
could be
better than
the *** of
sheets that
isn't warm
not alive
just a sock
that slipped
out of the hamper
that isn't a hand
strewn over
mine, or
the pants carelessly
swung off the
side of
the bed
instead of
a hot foot
twined around
my ankle keeping
me anchored
to something
carnal
or real
to keep me
from floating
away.