she works at 17
watching her mother suffer
watching her sister play
watching the dogs bark

when the kids have had their fun
and the slient day returns
there’s only room for mistake
as she grows older than 17

I remember that age
feeling the paper like sanding paper
and the flies like pigeons inside the house
without money to support the whole family
without a family to support the animals

a dad without a job
a sister without a degree
and maybe her moms dreams were the only thing real

Why must god make me beautiful
in the darkest places of my life.

I can’t imagine peace and beauty in one place.
Only melancholy and a glazed face.

Why is that the puffed face
red eyes, and quivering lips
Get the attention of passerby’s in hope i am that art gallery.

why must god make us like pearls in the night.
Taken for granted, and used to bring something to the picture.

Let me go of this horror and let my mind rest and rot.
if all I can be is a well painted canvas, with a hole on the other side.

let it be ugly then ?
for that too is freedom, and beauty cannot be taken for granted without what I feel.

Time is a construct.
When there is a certain time that comes.

It obstructs our perception.
We want to run away.
We want to find the exit.
And somehow still bring ourselves in one piece.

I'm in a world that is  breaking
my heart.

Looking at pictures i saw
what i thought could’ve been me.
I have this exact feeling over and over.
Strangers and passersby
yet i question the sanctity of it all.
A slight hint of difference in the shape, a
slight improvement on the face.
Maybe the way her hair falls.
It runs so deep now,
but how could i have known
i was next to be destroyed inside
by a man that can’t hide his most ugly side.

The dust mites like to eat.
The moths like to feast.
I tried to feed them
I tried to give them.

Glory, glory, glory
can you make the gory sight go away?

The mice trickled down my spine
and every time the sound of wet
chewing of paper wrappers under
the counter, I cover my ears.
I can't face the sob story.

You, with your mask, so sly,
Return only when I've said goodbye.
When I'm fine, standing tall and true,
You reappear, like a ghost, out of the blue.

I just want to look into the sun
sinking down.
many people want run
striking down.
I just want to wake up to sun
hear the fabulist sing
and maybe know I understand.

I just want to walk around the sun.
I've been thinking about cycling.

I tried again to tie my shoes
I tried to not get them in the mud
and I tried to be the one to tidy the sole
but all over again I notice it's the same pair I've been wearing for so long.