I’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “im sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because i couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the Josie, pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
im tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of travelling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtlty of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled
into his monthly issue of mens rights magazine
she tore down the even minuscule belief he could have had that he had the right to comment on her body
in three seconds his pride, and entitlement
shifted into shame
and embarrassment
and i envy these women
because the only time i can take back my power
is when i am standing in front of a room
speaking rhymes and metaphors preaching independence and strength
to a group of people who now think i am a hero
i am not a hero
i put my shoes on one foot at a time
and i still manage to forget a couple days of birth control here and there
and i cant stand up for myself
in the moments after an attack i retreat into my latte and pray today will not be the day the male dominated society takes my power away
because i am small
and though i am growing every day
i still can only pray
that one way or another
i will be able to be as strong a woman as my sisters
my mother
and take back my power
and speak not with the beauty of a flower
but with the sharpness of a bumblebees sting
and one more thing
your compliments
are not complimentary

I have anger issues like my dad. He’s in jail for drinking and driving. Reminds me of Bukowski, except not as smooth. I bet the liquor goes down smooth. Or the women Bukowski ******, I bet they went down pretty **** smooth. Either way I’m like both of them. A writer, drunk, lost soul, *** addict, emotionally unstable. It’s okay because I’m going places.
I tried the corner stores and the bars. They won’t sell to minors or they want to sell minors. **** men, I tell ya. So I always end up back at Jolly’s, the ice cream parlor. The owner has a lesbian granddaughter that I met at the beach last summer. She isn’t a good sight, tries to look like a boy, and still wears a bikini top. **** women, I tell ya. I usually order a rootbeer float. It’s a decent place because he gives you a legitamate amount of icecream. I suppose I’m a regular now, because I come in the winter. It’s not very fun, but it gets me out of the house. My dad called me Christmas Eve when I was orderin my icecream. The calls are 2 dollars for 20 minutes. My grandma pays for it. He said they were taking him to the hospital because of a error in his liver. He didn’t tell me details and I started to worry. Maybe it was cancer. He is a ******* drunk, or was. He’s been working on it for my sister and I. That call was 15 minutes and 5 seconds. He said goodbye and I told hm we had 5 more minutes. Then in the most weak voice I’d ever heard the man I believed to be the strongest he said, “ They’re taking me away now .” I told him I loved him, didnt finish my icecream, and pondered on that last sentence. Making it more deep than it was, but what can I say? I always finish my icecream.
I searched for liquor and went to all the stores to attempt to buy a pack. It didn’t work, A very kind-hearted lady gave me 2 of her smokes though. Back at home, I watered down mums stash and got a light buzz. If my father knew the things I do and have done. I’m so mature, worrying about him. It’s great because no one worries about you when you play the role. I’m a ******* actress. Then he called and I tried not to act happy or sad or anything because I wasn’t any of those. Yet my body does what it wants because it has been acting fake for all those rich men I go to dinner with. Stupid *****, those men. I roofie them. By the time we arrive at their dwelling they are out. I take the credit card numbers down, take all the *****, cigarettes, smash all electronics, drug em enough for 5 days and memory loss. Anyways, father told me it was nothing and that he was fine. I smiled and he smiled. I could feel it through the phone. We have an odd bond. So I started talking about my anger and road rage. I told him that he still owes me a knife and pepperspray. He agreed. I went on to propose he buy me a gun, so I could ‘pop a cap in a muthafukas tire’ when they drive like an idiot. He told me I was crazy like himself. We said we’d help eachother with our feelings.
“I love you baby girl”
“Love you too dad”
“Dont hurt no one”
“Okay”
Soon after I realized what he said and how it’d apply to us. I was in a car after all. I felt like I was going to cry. Then I started giggling. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. It was okay because I was going places in life. Following my dreams.
My father was okay and I could sneak into a crowded bar, so life was good. I ended up at home thinking about **** humans. It was angering. My partner was avoiding me. He called it ‘trying to not develop feelings’. I called it ‘******* dude, you better **** me’. He’s such an idiot. He calls me dumb, despises of my writing, and places his hand on the back of my head when I’m ******* him off. He’s a mental **** that thinks he’s the next Jimi Hendrix. He’s not going places though, he couldn’t follow his dreams if he wanted to. He makes me feel though. Rage. Nirvana. Jealousy. Oh how he brought another girl in once. Then had the nerve to hang her picture up. I suppose it wasn’t that bad, for I saw I was prettier physically. That’s when I got even more ******. What if he was in love with her? Not just her body, like he is with mine. So I wrote some poetry and wrote a letter to my non-existent friend. Basically wrote a diary entry. All this for a big **** in my ******? Wonder where I’m going. They broke up. Thank the lord satan! Maybe I’m going to hell.

The stars still shone last night, and tasted pretty like my last sonnet;
And I still loved thee; and imagined thee 'fore I retreated to bed.
Ah, but thou know not-thou wert envied by t'at squeaking trivial moon;
It seduced and befriended thee; but took away thy sickly love too soon.
Ah, t'at moon which was burnt by jealousy, and still perhaps is,
Took away thy love-which, if only willing to grow; couldst be dearer than his.
But too thy love, which hath-since the very outset, been mostly repulsive and arduous;
And loving thee was but altogether too customary, and at gullible times, odious.
Ah, but how I was too innocent-far too innocent, was I!
Why didst I stupidly keepeth loving thee-whose soul was but too sore, and intense-with lies?
And at t'is very moment, every purse of stale dejection leapt away from me;
Within t'eir private grounds of madness; but evaporating accusations.
Ah, so t'at thou desired me not-and thus art deserving not of me;
But why didst I resist not still-thy awkwardness, and glittering sensations?
Oh, I feeleth uncivil now-for I should hath been too mad not at the moon;
For taking away thy petty threads, and curdling winds, out of me-too soon.
And for robbing my gusts, and winds, and pale storms of bewitching-yet baffling, affection;
But in fact thrusting me no more, into the realms of death; and t'eir vain alteration.
Ah, thee, so how I couldst once have awaited thee, I never knoweth;
For perhaps I shall be consumed, and consequently greeteth immediate death; within the fatal blushes of tomorrow.
But still-nothing of me shall ever objecteth to t'is tale of blue horror, and chooseth to remain;
And I shall distracteth thee not; and bindeth my path into t'at one of thy feet-all over again.
Once more, I shall be dimmed by my mirthlessness and catastrophes and sorrow;
Yet thankfully I canst becometh glad, for all my due virtues, and philanthropic woes.

I shall be wholly pale, and unspeaking all over me-just like someone dead;
And out of my mouth wouldst emergeth just tears-and perhaps little useless, dusty starlings;
I shall hath no more pools or fits or even filths of healthy blood, nor breath;
I shall remembereth not, the enormous fondness, and overpowering passions; for our future little darlings.
For my love used to be chilly, but warm-like t'ose intuitive layers behind the sky;
But thou insisted on keeping silent and uncharmed-a frightfulness of sight; I never knew why.
Now t'at I hath returned everything-and every single terseness to my heart;
I shall no more wanteth thee to pierce me, and breaketh my gathered pride, and toil, apart.
For I am no more of a loving soul, and my whole fate is bottomless and tragic;
I canst only be a lover for thee, whenst I am endorsed; whenst I feeleth poetic.
I shall drowneth myself deep into the very whinings of my misery;
I shall curseth but then lift myself again-into the airs of my own poetry.
For the airs of whom might only be the sources of love I hath,
For t'is real world of thine, containeth nothing for me but wrath;
Ah, and those skies still screameth towards me, for angering whose ****** foliage;
Whenst t'ose lilies and grapes of my soul are but mercifully asleep on my part.
I wanteth to be mad; but not any careless want now I feeleth-of cherishing such rage;
For I believeth not in ferocity; but forgiveness alone-which rudely shineth on me, but easeth my painful heart.
I hath ceased to believe in my own hand; now furnished with discomfort;
But still I hath to fade away, and thus cut t'is supposedly long story short.
I hath been burned by thee, and flown wistfully into thy Hell;
But so wisheth me all goodness; and that I shall surviveth well.
And just now-at t'is very moment of gloom; I entreateth t'at thou returneth to her, and fasteneth yon adored golden ring;
For it bringst thee gladness, which is to me still sadly too dear, everything.

Ah! Look! Look still-at t'ose streaks of blueness-which are still within my poetry on thee;
But I shall removeth them, and blesseth them with deadness; so that thou shalt once more be young, and free.
For what doth thee want from me-aside from unguarded liberty, and unintimate-yet wondrous, freedom?
For thou might as well never thinketh of me during thy escape;
And forever considereth me but an insipid flying parachute-to thy wide stardom;
Which deserveth not one single stare; as thou journeyeth upon whose dutiful circular shape.
And a maidservant; a wretched ale *****-within thy inglorious kingdom;
Which serveth but soft butter and cakes, to her-thy beloved, as she peacefully completeth her poem.
The poem she shall forceth to buy from me-with a few stones of emerald;
To which I shall sternly refuseth-and on which my hands receiveth t'ose climactic bruises.
For she, in her reproof-shall hit me thereof, a t'ousand times; and a harlot me, she shall calleth;
And storm away within t'at frock of endless purpleness; and a staggering laugh on her cheeks.
And I-I shall be thy anonymous poet, whose phrases thou at times acquireth, at nighttime-but never read;
A bedroom bard, in whose poetry thou shalt not findeth pleasures, and to which thou shalt never sit.
A jolly wish thou shalt never, in thy lifetime, cometh anyhow-to comprehend-nor appreciate;
But should I still continueth my futility; for poetry is my only diligent haven, and mate.
In which I shall never be bound to doubteth, much less hesitateth;
For in poetry t'ere only is brilliance; and embrace in its workings of fate.
And sadly, a servant as I am-on her vanity should I needst to forever wait, and flourish;
To whom my importance, either dire profoundness-is no more t'an a tasty evening dish.
And my presence by thee is perhaps something she cannot relish;
I know not how thou couldst fall for a dame-so disregarded and coquettish!
To whom all the world is but hers; and everything else is thus virtual;
So t'at hypocrisy is accepted, as how glory is thus defined as refusal.
But sometimes I cometh to regret thy befallen line of glory, and untoward destiny;
I shall, like ever, upon which remembrance, desireth to save thee, and bringst thee safely, to eternity.
But even t'is thought of thee shall maketh me twitch with burning disgust;
For I hath gradually lost my affection for thee; either any passion t'at canst tumultously last.
And shall I never giveth myself up to any further fatigue-nor let thy future charms drag me away;
For I hath spent my abundant time on thy poetry-and all t'ose useless nights and days;
As thou shalt regard me not-for my whole cautiousness, nor dear perseverance-and patience;
Thou shalt, like ever, stay exuberant, but thinketh me a profound distress-a wild and furious, impediment.
Thou hath denied me but my most exciting-and courteous nights;
And upon which-I shall announce not; any sighs of willingness-to maketh thee again right;
nor to helpeth thee see, and obediently capture, thy very own eager light.

And when thy idiocy shall bringst thee the most secure-yet most amatory of disgrace, turn to me not;
I hath refused any of thine, and wisheth to, perfunctorily-kisseth thee away from my lot,
I shall writeth no more on thy eloquence-for thou hath not any,
As nothing hath thou shown; nothing but falsehood-hath thou performed, to me.
Thou hath given none of those which is to me but virulent-and vital;
Thou art not eternal like I hath expected-nor thy bitter soul is immortal.
Thou art mortal-and when in thy deft last seconds returneth death;
Thou, in remorse, shalt forever be spurned by thy own deceit, and dizzily-spinning breath,
And after which, there shall indeed be no more seconds of thine-ah, truly no more;
Thou shalt be all gone and ended, just like hath thou once ended mine-one moment before.
All t'at was once unfair shall turneth just, and accordingly, fair;
For God Himself is fair-and only to the honest offereth His chairs;
But the limbs of Heaven shall not be pictured, nor endowed in thee;
To thee shall be opened the gate of fires, as how thou hath impetuously incarnated in me.
No matter how beautiful they might be-still thy bliss shall flawlessly be gone,
Thou shalt be tortured and left to thy own disclosure, and mock discourses-all alone.
For no mortality shall be ensured foreverness-much less undead togetherness;
As how such a tale of thy dull, and perhaps-incomprehensible worldliness.
By t'at time thou shalt hath grown mature, but sadly 'tis all too late;
For thou hath mocked, and chastised away brutally-all the truthful, dearest workings of fate.
And neither shalt thou be able to enjoy-the merriments of even yon most distant poetry;
For unable shalt thou be-to devour any more astonishment; at least those of glory.
And thus the clear songs of my soul shall not be any of thy desired company;
Thy shall liveth and surviveth thy very own abuse; for I shall wisheth not to be with thee;
For as thou said, to life thou, by her being, art the frequented life itself;
Thus thou needst no more soul; nor being bound to another physical self;
And t'is shall be the enjoyment thou hath so indolently, yet factually pursued-in Hell;
I hope thou shalt be safe and free from hunger-and t'at she, after all, shall attendeth to thee well.

And who said t'at joys are forbidden, and adamantly perilous?
For t'ose which are perilous are still the one lamented over earth;
For in t'ose divine delights nothing shall be too stressful, nor by any means-studious;
For virtues are pure, and the walls of our future delights are brighter t'an yon grey hearth;
And be my soul happy, for I hath not been blind; nor hath I misunderstood;
I hath always been useful-by my writing, and my sickened womanhood;
Though I hath never possessed-and perhaps shall never own, any truthful promise, nor marriage bliss;
Still I longeth selfishly to hear stories-of eternal dainty happiness, for the dainty secret peace.
Ah, thee, for after thee-there shall perhaps no being to be written on-in yon garden;
A thought t'at filleth me not with peace, but shaketh my whole entity with a new burden.
Oh, my thee, who hath left me so heartlessly, but the one whom I hath never regarded as my enemy-
The one I hath loved so politely, tenderly, and all the way charmingly.
Ah! Ah! Ah! But why, my love, why didst thou turn t'is pretty love so ugly?
I demandeth not any kind purity, nor any insincere pious beauty,
But couldst thou heareth not t'is heart-which had longed for the one of thine-so subserviently and purely?
For I am certainly the one most passionately-and indeed devotedly-loving thee,
For I am adorable only so long as thou sleepeth, and breatheth, beside me,
For I am admired only by the west winds of thy laugh, and the east winds of thy poetry!
Ah, but why-why hath thou stormed away so mercilessly like t'is;
And leaving me alone to the misery of this world, and my indefinite past tears?
Ah, thee, as how prohibited by the laws of my secret heaven,
Thus I shall painteth thee no more in my poesies, nor any related pattern;
There, in t'is holy dusk's name, shall be spoiled only by the waves of God's upcoming winters,
In the shapes of rain, and its grotesque, ye' tenacious-and horrifying eternal thunders.
And thus t'ese lovesick pains shall be blurred into nothingness-and existeth no more,
But so shall thy image-shall withereth away, and reeketh of death, like never before.
For I shall never be good enough to afford thee any vintage love-not even tragedy,
For in thy minds I am but a piece of disfigured silver; with a heart of unmerited, and immature glory;
Ah, pitiful, pitiful me! For my whole life hath been black and dark with loneliness' solitary ritual,
And so shall it always be-until I catch death about; so grey and white behind t'ose unknown halls.
And shall perhaps no-one, but the earth itself-mourneth over my fading of breath,
They shall cheereth more-upon knowing t'at I am resting eternally now, in the hands of death.
And no more comical beat shall be detected, likewise, within my poet's wise chest;
For everything hath gone to t'eir own abode, to t'eir unbending rest.
But I indeed shall be great-and like an angel, be given a provisionary wing;
By t'is poetry on thee-the last words of mouth I speaketh; the final sonata I singeth.

Thus thou art wicked, wicked, wicked-and shall forever be wicked;
Thou art human, but at heart inhuman-and blessed indeed, with no charming mortal aura;
Thou wert once enriched indeed-by my blood, but thy soul itself is demented;
And halved by its own wronged purity, thou thus art like a villainous persona;
Thou art still charmed but made unseeing, and chiefly-invisible;
Unfortunately thou loathe scrutiny, and any sort of mad poetry;
Knowing not that poetry is forever harmless, and on the whole-irresistible;
And its tiny soul is on its own forgiving, estimable, and irredeemable.
Ah, thee, whose soul hath but such a great appeal;
But inanely strained by thy greed-which is like a harm, but to thee an infallible, faithful devil.
Thou art forever a son of night, yet a corpse of morn;
For darkness thriveth and conquereth thy soul-and not reality;
Just like her heart which is tainted with tantrum, and scorn;
Unsweet in her glory, and thy being-but strangely too strong to resist-to thee.
Ah, and so t'at from my human realms thou dwelleth immorally too far;
As art thou unjust-for t'is imagination of thine hath left nothing, but a wealth of scars;
I used to recklessly idoliseth thee, and findeth in thy impure soul-the purest idyll;
But still thou listened not; and rejected to understandeth not, what I wouldst inside, feel.
After all, though t'ese disclaimers, and against prayers-hath I designated for thee;
On my virtues-shall I still loyally supplicate; t'at thou be forgiven, and be permitted-to yon veritable, eternity.

Cobalt. Gunmetal. Pastel. Powder. Forget-me-not.
Out of all the blues,
She has the eye color with no name
The eye color that is slowly driving me insane.
Who gave her the right?
To have something so beautiful

I see blue everywhere;
In paintings, photographs—even the air
There are no crayons that can capture it
Not even color codes on computers can match her eyes

Her eyes are the space between the rippling depths of the ocean and the shards of reflected sky
They are the eyes that squint a bit as she smirks because she thinks she's sly

No matter how much I glance to the left during lunch
The color escapes my mind and simply becomes a concept
In my thoughts frustration likes to roam
If it weren't for the non-existent green, her eyes would look like sea foam
But here is no green—
Only hundred year old glaciers, rivers, and stormy skies

I don't even know what blue is anymore
As angering as they are, her eyes are still something I adore
I'm tempted to just ask her what color they are,
But that would mean that I don't pay attention
To do so would be like mistaking a stranger for your dad
Everyone will become apprehensive and think that I have gone mad

Her placid gaze tends to bore through my shell
I feel vulnerable— like she can see my dilapidated soul
But I know that she means no harm;
She is amiable and full of charm

Who knew blue could mean so much
And still be convoluted?
Blue washes the shore with the push and pull of the tides
Blue has managed to stain my thoughts and dye my insides

Pitter patter pitter patter.
The rain hits the Earth's surface.
I lay on my bedside,
waiting for the storm to pass.
I watch three racing water droplets,
collecting more as they go.

Drip drop drip drop.
The droplets create a city of mud and worms are crawling outside of the Earth's surface.

Splish splash splish splash.
Kids are stomping in the rain,
angering their mothers.
They ***** their school shoes,
leaving a mess on the hardwood floors.

From the age of seven, I decided it was easier
to throw myself against a wall
than to cause any harm to the stuffed animal under my arm.

I attribute feelings to everything that can be touched
or confirmed by science –
on May 23rd, the wind wanted a companion,
by July, it lived with a birdhouse, in a happy yellow –

and so I fear hurting a chair,
suffocating my hairbrush through tangles, angering some
blankets left unused at the end of our bed.

I do not fear hurt, I fear causing it. I smack my head with a
fist when mother says
that sometimes punching pillows can help ease pain
because I need to stay on their good side.

As the immense dew of Florida
Brings forth
The big-finned palm
And green vine angering for life,

As the immense dew of Florida
Brings forth hymn and hymn
From the beholder,
Beholding all these green sides
And gold sides of green sides,

And blessed mornings,
Meet for the eye of the young alligator,
And lightning colors
So, in me, comes flinging
Forms, flames, and the flakes of flames.

Creeping administration slithers along,
The fascist past comes back...
The winged-devil fiddling his song,
For the corporations are his attack!

And even though they know it is wrong,
The greedy-ones will never turn back.
Risking all with the angering throng,
Congress tightens the noose with their acts!

That dark orchestra revolution in the night,
A sweet attar-tune their honey.
And no one best stand up to their might,
When they're all lechering for money!

Dear Friend whom I love,

Yes I said love,
but don't worry
I am not talking about dates
or chocolate hearts or kisses

I'm just talking about being a person you trust,
who actually listens
and who you actually listen to
the one relentlessly praying,
who nudges
and even slaps you around sometimes,
that points you in the right direction
and in doing so,
I'm reminded of the right direction as well

So listen to me now:

stop

stop
lying to,
cheating,
short changing,
manipulating,
exhausting,
angering,
upsetting,
breaking .....

yourself

I know those are strange things to hear, because
you are "just fine" ...
But you gotta know:
you deserve more than what you accept
believe me, I've done the same thing for the past three years
not exactly the way you have, but it doesn't matter
I know you think I'm naive but
the root of the problem is the same
we are accepting the love we think we deserve

and i know that is a movie line
but for a long time
I believed it wasn't scripted for me to have love
so I accepted none, gave none
and I know you felt that as well,
then we both started consuming what we could find at the bottom of the barrel
because trying to open up to the right thing
seems like it would hurt so much more

but you don't have to sit at the bottom
you can have better

and better is being okay with who you are;
not seeking comfort or validation
from any part of this world
(I hope You know what I mean)
and I realize that abandonment requires giving up things,
but sometimes thats what we need
I am still trying to give up some of my closet secrets
But it is SOOO worth it!
and it is possible, if you want it
and I know you feel you want what you have now
But I know that you want more!

If nothing else, stop for my sake.
Yes, I'll be selfish. I don't care.
I haven't even known you for a year but…
Watching your heart break
through the window where I have to watch your life
as you hold onto brokenness
is breaking me ...

              (Maybe cause it reminds me of myself)

I wish I could say it doesn't nearly bring me to tears,
but I am not that calloused.
Life has served me a hard play, like you
but His Love restored my softness;
has kept me sane.
Kept me from taking my life when I felt useless and worthless
because He told me I was worth something,
even in a dark psychiatric ward.
And I am still learning how in Him I am worth something
He reminds me when people, like you,
reach out to me…

I know you hear it every Sunday,
but the love you want is not that far.
It is not a secret, or shallow touch,
it is not security, attention, momentary bliss of distractions…
its nothing but sacrifice of The Loving Friend.
Recognize you are loved by the One who knows you and understands,
Far better than a girl with years of experience in psychological analyzing
and running on broken parts

I love you friend, and I would love for you to hear me.

Anger anger plot der Erde
Furrowing crease and knotted vain
von kingdom versus Kingclan comes
Manacle laughing yoke on us
Mocking a Himmel Wutand fuss
Angering Zion mount der sits
Angering clarion das Gesetz
Father begot as forgotten
Son asks me there for a kingdom
Casting iron tinted shadow
On a Klei nation listing fear
Enter a Son past prayering
Enter a wry Serpent on wrath
Breathing away perish belief
Blessing ember after babble

Competing,
sabotaging, manipulating,
controlling, demeaning, angering,
underestimating, avenging,
hurting
stops when you
learn to respect
that person.

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." - 1 John 4:18

a maladjusted little minstrel, rage focused in the pinnacle
least invincible principle of my environment, so biblical
i'm ti-red of the rituals habitual to assimilating individuals
like our voices and choices and self-importance, all cyclical

does your infallible tongue feel hungry and porous
like your horrid torpid fond memory abhorrence
the grossly ****** and unnatural discordance
the inorganic and unfactual that came before us
the dissident power of your bodies' diction in a chorus

swear i'm fine, it's just your eyes, inflected with disinfected distance
a forest of imbellished distrust, derealized with disinterest
making me feel like my lungs are full of fumigated insects
and that's fine, i swear, trust me,
i don't need to convince you of this
i don't want to climb into your mouth and wrestle the truth out
i want to go home smelling of wine and pass out on the couch
and your actions are latent, this is stupidly freudian
stop treating me like a ******* patient,
you're supposed to be my friend

coughing up horrible insincerities meant to be favoring
stop and listen to yourself giving your secrets away, wavering
like a white bible page ripped from the spine of glue on your mouth,
you gave in, balancing on the edge of a risky display
disobeying social conventions and being made prey again today

you’ve got dictionaries of fiction fidgeting with the infectious insecurity ignition
stop and listen
and a thesaurus that can’t arm you with the proper vowel consonant friction
to out-enamor their derision when you pout as you fit the description
never feeling completely comfortable in someone else's kitchen
i wish you would scream and shout but you just keep playing cards now
wish you’d unlock but it stops between your lips slow scowl
swallowing your tongue, the key, he cut out when you kissed
not hateful but afraid
afraid to let it out, ‘kid’
afraid the words would fit too much like a slit smile on a spit
afraid they would just flow like this

an unspoken conviction for viscious fulfillments
and dereliction of indiscriminate sauve depictions of riches
of addictions to princesses and affinity for infinitely angering insistence
of what she represses
expected on the table in an instant

the constriction of the snake in her belly
makes ******* and planning things
seem insanely oppressive
she was getting too old for things to be like this
but they all like it that way
this is why she hates yelling and kissing
always the same old
merry go round

you say poet as if it means perfect
when i know enough people with the bruises to show it
to realize it really means nervous
and i have nothing to show see
except the mosquitoes who ****** my blood
and would be delighted to tell you
what ugly things they know about me

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." - 1 John 4:18

a maladjusted little minstrel, rage focused in the pinnacle
least invincible principle of my environment, so biblical
i'm re-tired of rituals habitual to introducing individuals
like our voices and choices and self-importance, all cyclical
i wonder

does your infallible tongue feel hungry and porous
like your short lived torpid fond memory abhorrence
the inorganic and unfactual that actually came before us
dissident power of your ****** diction in a chorus

coughing on insincerities meant to be favoring,
listen to yourself giving your secrets away, wavering
like a white bible page ripped from the spine of glue on your mouth,
a risky display of leaking doubt, you gave out,
disobeying social conventions and being made prey
******* sick of everything being so **** blasee
you keep forgetting we all rust when it pours this way

you’ve got infectious dictionaries of fiction
fidgeting with the insecurity ignition
telling you what you're missing when you don't stop and listen
and these thesauruses can’t arm you with the proper vowel consonant friction
to out-enamor their derision when you pout as you fit the description,
constricted by eviction, waiting for the jurisdiction
never completely comfortable in someone else's kitchen
something's always a little bit different
they take your bewilderment for ignorance

and hey i wish you would scream and shout
but instead you just keep playing cards now
wish you’d unlock but it stops between your lips slow scowl
swallowing your tongue, the key, he cut out when you kissed
you left it in a public bathroom, it fell into boston's abyss
it's not hateful but afraid, to let it out, ‘kid’
afraid the words would fit like a slit smile on a spit
afraid that they would flow, just ******* like this

an unspoken conviction for viscious fulfillments
and dereliction of indiscriminate sauve depictions of riches
of addictions to ******* philanthropist princesses,
and affinities for infinitely angering insistence
what she represses expected on the table in an instant

you say poet as if it means perfect
when i know enough people with the bruises to show it
to realize it really means nervous
and i have nothing to show you see,
except the mosquiteos who ****** my blood
and would be delighted to tell you
what lovely ugly things they know about me

"You are so innocent"
"You are so cute when you are angry"
"Oh, shh, you could never hurt anyone"
"You are too nice to do anything bad"
"Awh, look at you trying to be tough"
"Violence and you aren't even remotely related"
"You? Jealous?? But you're life is perfect!!! What more could you ask for???"


oh honey...
You haven't seen anything yet
I hide a side of me, no one is wants to see
Make me jealous, one more time, I dare ya
Hurt my friends, one more time,I dare ya
Break my family, like you've tried, I dare ya
Just if you do, watch your back
Sweet Revenge will be waiting around the corner

Just
You
*Wait

I never did fall in Love with the train so much after I moved into this house just three long months ago. I have spent many short nights near it, allowing its strong and heavy heart beat to pound heavily throughout my dreams, along with its striking whistles and screams, disrupting, even awakening me at some moments. I use to envy the train, and dance near it within the darkest moments of the night. It used to read me stories in the sheer warmth and brightness of a day next to my dear oceans and stones. Its powerful vibrations would sweep through me; a calm disruption yet shattering danger; as if I would be so high that I would forget to move out of the way! Or strong arms wrapped around, as if to protect me from my own danger.  This was my train.

And when I would first come to visit this house, it was the train that brought my heart pleasure. I would run up to its rusty frame, and speak of old technology and street art and sing along with all those noises that would penetrate the air!

“It is my culture! It was my home!” I would say.

All its great horns and moving. It rumbles on through, with no warning or consequence, shifting our city and angering young men in cars.

(And I think some men need to be angry.)

And Today I fell back in Love. My cigarette on porch step, she came through like an old friend. Although today my train looked sad. She was not moving so quickly, and struggled to cross. But I know why she slowed. Exposing bare metal and paints, we all needed this reminder, so we watched her strut slowly. Have I forgotten of good art?  This old grandmother of oil. Rattling my City; sweeping, grinding through.  Economists and Street Kids alike!  We all know of this train. Now lets watch it apart:

The old man near the tree does not have a home, though we watched it together. If he could, he would smile and kiss me on the cheek, though we both know I could never accept such kindness. You see, this neighborhood is the sort where kind neighbors come door-to-door asking for spare cigarettes rather than sugar, and where beer and ******* could be considered a better party.  So I shook her hand once, and exchanged good smiles and smokes, spoke shortly on the porch of our hobos and trains, and agreed in mutuality that we Loved our strange home.  

“This is such a great neighborhood with such character and jazz!”

Its roaming ground people, empty pockets and buildings, seeming so ******* ugly thus enchanting us all! That building like a tree lit up by the night, it was my great shining beacon directing me to light.

My rock.
My Land.
Earth.  

My rattling, tattered home, where I so nestle with Mine, my music, your screens.  Our Moon and your Sun.  And it blows…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Without Peace We All Know Where We're Headed......


Give peace a chance, will those of nobility declare
Intelligence of spirit, who could ever compare
Valiantly fighting the evil in the world, unwilling to fail
Earnestly helping those needy, without ever becoming frail

Peacefully sacrificing time and energy without ever reconsidering
Endangering themselves to constantly make a difference
Antagonizing the establishment for an instance
Coming home with battle scars to wear and none to share
Emphasizing they are not heroes, only that "they care"

Angering all others, for showing they disagree

Considering the options with nowhere to hide
Hiroshima and its aftermaths, would never subside
Attempting to disrupt, what those warmongers insist
No necessity to justify, the results do persist
Coming full circle does our world continue to exist
Ending in oblivion, if we don't learn how to desist

You could find someone better, trust me I'm someone who hides their feelings beneath their sweaters I'm a distanced person who spaces out even in the moments that are most important. My anxiety keeps me from saying the things that I want to blurt out so badly but cannot because of the words that others will slap down on me. Trust me I'm not someone to stand beside. Toxicity engulfs me often I'm barely pushing through this sticky path that was created out of hate my anxiety is always entertained do you not understand the pain that these people have caused me to feel!?
Insane.
I always thought I was, because my thoughts often turned from happy to horrific once something bad had been said, well what did you expect?! For me to be perfectly happy afterwords and forgive you as if you had never meant the words that twisted and slurred around in my mind, ******* it's about time you learned your place bullying is not something that can be accepted so easily so stop doing it for ***** sake I cannot begin to describe the way I hated myself for so long! I'm damaged even now from back then and it's been so long! I know you don't give not one single ****. It's depressing really, how empty I had and have felt because of you..
Let me try to define this kind of pain for you since I know you'd never be able to handle the things that went through my mind after what you had caused me to feel. You see I have always been trapped inside of a shell, even when I was very young I was shy but you made it a point to deny it's all in my mind you said to me a billion times but did you know that I was dreaming of dying, drowning, suffocating, nearly injuring myself as the tears would fall down. I was a suicidal case thanks to the things people had forced me to endure you thought it was funny but would you still if you knew how violent I had become towards myself?!
Just try to imagine now, you have a child and will probably have more what will you say to them when they come rushing in through the door, their angering tears slapping down against the floorboards as if they were raindrops will you let them know you were not a victim!? I bet you will lie and tell them something to confide in I hope for their sake you do because if I knew that my parents caused others to feel such ways well ******* I bet I'd have went insane knowing I was living in the same house as a perpetrator. *How could you do that, mother!?

God set angels in this earth realm for refuge.
The Lord is in them, so be careful how you treat them.
Did you not know, they know more than the smartest humans?
Have you heard, their power is unlimited?
Angering them is like angering God.
They know your conversations, and God knows your messing with his angel.
So intellectual, you begin marvelling about their well-being.
God will not tolerate you treacherously talking about them.
Your not only provoking them, your angering God.

I love my cat.
I love my daughter.
I loved my father.
I hate my mother & my brother.
There is no other.
Love & hate...you don't need to wonder.
******* prevails angering the thunder.

Past to Present

Emotional train wreck, delusional, a spasm, dumb b*tch, & basket case.
I have been called all those things.
By guys who never gave me a wedding ring. People at my work when they see me they start to sing. I say "hi" to everyone.
I am fast, friendly, & fun.
So harmony Follows and tracks me.

Lies escape your lips
Consistently
It's unnerving
Nerve-wracking
Angering
Hurtful
And for the longest time
I let myself believe them
Little did I know
This was all a ploy
But you got what you wanted
Are you happy now?
I've always been there
But have you?
I feel slighted
The short end of the stick
Maybe you care
I don't either way

I stand in the place where I stood before
Thinking of the time that is long gone
I remember how I laughed and cried here
Dreaming for this time to reach the dawn again

I look at the place of my former house
Seeing how fast time went by
I am grabbing myself a handful of dirt
Letting my emotions take over me

This house has been ruined by time
Angering me to take an immediate action
Only dust has left from the place of my lifetime
I throw the dust there to fill the abstraction

I'm tired of chasing,
Unwillingly hating
Everything and anything
That makes my mind all hazy
Maybe
If I understood things just a little
Better
Then maybe I'd be squeaky clean
From now till
Forever

But I love to hate, and hate born from society
That unfair mother-f_cker that destroyed the best of me
My own little sister
Whenever she needs comfort
Turns away from me and toward
Her supposed loving mother
Who harmed me with wicked lies
That made me die inside
And I cried
Determined into her past I pried
And I found something
I should've let go
But it's hard to release a part of your heart
When it's bound to you,
Y'know?

But I tried
It's a struggle to push through everyday
Memories and pictures that within my own mind
Sway
Amplified
By the natural instinct, desire to hide
To hide away someplace,
Give up and
Just
Die

But I gotta stay strong
Fight my urge to wrong
I at least owe that to a "happy family"
Those who wronged me
I see this with clarity
But it's the part of me that takes pride
In donating to charity
My split and splitting divisions
Mindset, shows
Insanity

But not the monster I hold
In the darkness he grows
Old
And even though I hold him
So close
He grows bold
And I try to make him obey
Doesn't do what he's told
This vicious beast of fangs and claws he
Loves to roar!

But control is necessary
Others better be wary
Of angering
The demon that can be
Me
So please, just leave me alone
Because I'm an archive that holds everything you ever
Did wrong
To *me!

There is but one point where everything stands still,
And we can only create it, not find it in the natural world.

I find this fascinating


In a world of industrialization,
Timely schedules,
And 7 billion people,
Nothing ever stops.
Though I try to sit as still as silence,
I **** my breathing momentarily,
I resist the need to blink,
This does nothing.
My heart still beats,
My veins still pump,
And the hormones triggered by my brain will still be released.

The rocks will still shake at the molecular level.
Underneath the ice, the lake is still moving.
And the air, though no wind may be felt, persists higher up still.

Yet there is a joy that comes from watching everything around you,
As you freeze time,
And they continue on.
The river speeds on faster than was noticed before.
The people move quicker along the sidewalk.
The cars accelerate until the stop sign approaches, yet even then their engines still growl with a readiness to pounce.

But I sit here and wonder why more do not stop like me.
Is it cowardice that keeps them in constant motion?
I think it more to be blamed on an unwillingness to care.
Ignorance - there's a reason it's bliss.

Maybe if they did stop, they would start caring more about the river that runs underneath them perpetually.
Creating sanctuaries for infinite numbers of species.
Loving each one equally.
Harmonizing with the trees and flowers.
Caring for the muck and dirt with no where else to go, nothing else to be.

And perhaps caring is scary,
But peoples' lack of care, I find angering.

I enrage over how more people don't care,
And how if we all stopped just one moment each day,
Things would be much different.

I know it's taking my life away.
I know it's a facade.
I know it's ruining me.
But it's also a whole part of my brain that's different.
And I can't just switch it off.
I can't just make a change.
I can't have good day after good day. There's so many ups and downs. And that's why when people say "well just eat." It's so angering because,
I. Am. Not. In. Control.
I don't want to throw up I ******* hate it. Everytime I do it I literally go "no no no. But I have to."
And when I see ice cream or bread I reach for it and it's like something grabs my hand out of thin air and breaks my wrist.
And it's a physical pain and I want to cry all the time because I hate living like this.
But I'm scared living without it, too.
It's such a comfort and that's what's most scary about it.
And I can never foresee a future for myself. I get panicked because I can't even figure out what I want right now. All I can think about is this disease.

Eve awoke to Jake knelled at her bedside, kissing her with a disparate force. Rough with his hand on her ******* and delicate with his pressing lips on hers. However, Eve was not fascinated by his actions. In fact she was quite offended. She had never gave Jake the idea it was okay to touch her, let alone kiss her awake or sleeping. But here he was groping her ******* and forcing the on going kiss. As quickly as her eyes opened her hands were at rejecting Jake. Eve slapped him while yelling,
"What makes you think you have my permission to kiss me while i'm sleeping, if you don't have it when i'm awake."
Jake smiled and shook his head, then traded glances with Eve and the floor. A faint giggle escaped his lips as he moistened them with tip of his tongue. He looked straight into Eve's eyes then said,
" I didn't need your permission."
Taken back by his statement she glared with hatred at him. He continued speaking,
"Eve you know i love you. You know i want you, but if you don't accept me now i will never beg you again."
She studied him carefully. His smoldering black curls resting on his cheeks. His smile faded then disappeared, straight and serious. His brown eyes glazed with tears, still searching and begging for a sign of acceptance. She felt such pity for him, he was incapable of understanding she did not want him. Sure he was attractive muscular and fit, but he was also arrogant and crude. Something she just did not take to. Eve swallowed her fear of angering him. With a firm even tone she gave her answer,
"No, i don't want you, i will not accept you now or ever."
His eyes changed instantly filling with rage. He punched the bed then grabbed her wrist pulling her close, tightening his grip.
"I can take care of you and your son better than anyone. You both will never want for anything, just say yes", he insisted.
"Let go of me Jake, i don't want you", she replied through clenched teeth.
He held his grip watching her then releasing her with new found disgust for her. He rose to his feet and turned towards the door. Taking each step slowly as if he was still clinging to hope that she'd change her mind and call out for him. Eve nursed her wrists where his grip had been. She watched the finally hint of his shadow disappear out the bedroom door.
"Well that was creepy", she said to herself.
Just then her son who had laid sleeping beside her in the middle of the bed let out a wail. He sat up rubbing his eyes and cried. Eve sighed,
"Oh great so much for sleeping."
Eve left the warm inviting bed. She scooped her son into her arms placing him off to the side so he could wrap his legs around her. Sam whimpered at her. In her mothering voice she told him,
"Hush Sam i'm going to get you a bottle just as fast as i can move."
Turning out the door of the bedroom and into the living-room she spotted Matt sitting in the recliner with his eyes fixated on the television.
"Where's your sister at?", she asked Matt.
He mumbled under his breath. Unable to make out his response she said,
"What?"
His head slightly Turned towards her but his eyes did not.
"How should i know, maybe she's with your boyfriend.", he snapped at her still refusing to properly look at her.
"Whats your problem Matt?", she questioned him.
"You should know.", he said rolling his eyes.
Eve tried to calm her hungry distraught son as she replayed the uncomfortable conversation with Jake in her mind. There it was, gone unnoticed at the time. But now it was so clear, Matt had been sleeping in the bed with her and Sam. She recalled the shift in the mattress when Matt had left it. His shadow sliding past her as she slapped Jake. How much did he see? Had he watched as Jake kissed her?
"Why Didn't Matt stop Jake from kissing me?", she thought.
Displeased by the memory and her thoughts she rolled her eyes and rudely said,
"Whatever Matt."
Had he defended her or stayed he would have known Jake's advancements towards her were unwelcome. She left the living-room entering the kitchen to fetch her sons bottle already prepared in the frig.
Eve headed towards the bedroom with her now content son. As she passed the living-room she noticed Matt's glare and reaction to hers. She stuck her tongue out at him. Matt inhaled deeply before returning his attention to the television. Eve climbed into bed with her son hoping he'd fall back asleep. After 45 minutes it was clear that was not going to happen.

If there was any point in wishing, these are the things I would wish for
on an insensible star;
That you are still here.
Still angering me with your black and white view of the world.
Still mentioning my curtains in glowing terms.
Still finding fault in others but never acknowledging your own.
Still talking nonsense, (remember the the time you asked how much the stimulated mink cost?)
Still blowing your own trumpet.
Still prejudiced
Still believing in the Conservatives.
Still bed tempered.
Still beautiful.
Still on my side.
Still fierce and uncompromising.
Still strong.
Still kneeling at your chair, a mirror propped up on it's back,
my back to yours, feeling your deft movements as you fixed your hair, me
still feeling safe in your presence,
still loving me.
Then I would be a better daughter,
this time.

Just when you notice that no one else will dance in the palm of your hand,
that no one else will bundle up the stars and make a planetarium of your days,
that no one else will stand a thousand daggers piercing their chest,
that no one else will carry the weight of your tears as they carry theirs,
that no one else will miss a ride around the clock with their friends or family for you,
that no one will take time to spill their heart on a blank sheet of canvas for your birthday,
in that still moment,
you will regret not picking out a second to sing me good night... that was all I asked.
And even then,
even if I catch you trying to make me feel fire inside me and try to catch a pinch of my attention,
I promise you can never light up angering jealousy in my chest,
you will never obligate me to crave another girl's pair of eyes.
I was gold you had and never deserved,
you drilled me as if I were infinite- and I was,
but not for you,
just for me.
You thought I was an ocean,
that I would always depend on you,
mysterious moon,
but that's not how it is:
I am the wind running through your hair.
You used to be such a big thing for me,
but I realized I am bigger.
You used to be my significant other,
my other half,
but I realized I am significant on my own,
that I am not a fraction,
that I am a whole.
You used to be the light of my days,
but I am no longer afraid of the dark.

i think it's kind of absurd how i need to include
an abundance of metaphors
and a countless number of similes
included in any of my writings
for people to think it's good
and for me to feel okay with what i created
i have to clean and polish
every stanza
every line
every thought
for me to even consider it to be presentable
but not anymore
if i feel something that's angering me
or tearing up my insides to shreds
or even something that's filling up my body with warmth
i'm just gonna write
because i can
because i want to
because i feel it.
my grandma used to always tell me that finding the unrefined beauty in yourself is important
and cherishing it was even more so.
maybe i need to do the same with my writings

the more im reminded
the more i go mad
the more im poked at
the more annoyed i get
the more im shown
the more i feel bad
the more im told
the more i want to leave
you keep reminding
you keep angering me
you keep wanting to poke
you keep reminding
reminding
reminding
you get satisfaction
for yourself
unaware of what your doing
to me
stop reminding
poking
telling
stop

If there was any point in wishing, these are the things I would wish for
on an insensible star;
That you are still here.
Still angering me with your black and white view of the world.
Still mentioning my curtains in glowing terms.
Still finding fault in others but never acknowledging your own.
Still talking nonsense, (remember the the time you asked how much the stimulated mink cost?)
Still blowing your own trumpet.
Still prejudiced
Still believing in the Conservatives.
Still bed tempered.
Still beautiful.
Still on my side.
Still fierce and uncompromising.
Still strong.
Still kneeling at your chair, a mirror propped up on it's back,
my back to yours, feeling your deft movements as you fixed your hair, me
still feeling safe in your presence,
still loving me.
Then I would be a better daughter,
this time.

When you say "I love you"
Please say it to me
and not while looking somewhere or at someone else.
I don't have the guts to tell you and so
I live with my own consequences.
Have I ever told you that my body is no longer as important to me as before?
That getting sick and feeling pain is a way for me to know I live?
Have I ever told you how horrible I feel day after day?
That each hour passing by decreases people's love for me and I don't want that especially if your love for me as well decreases.
That each time I do not fulfill your request you'll love me less and less.
Angering you does nothing to help and so I am not to speak lest I disappear for long from this earth.

Pitiful power hungry people
are strange with an odd plethora of features
it's like even though we know what lies in the box
we insist on angering Pandora, and she isn't one to be mocked

Nowadays next to no one is really worth a **** family and friends can stab you in the back quicker than an admitted enemy can shoot you from the front we placed to much priority on trying to stunt and floss off our material possessions,
maybe if we focused on the inside more than out this may never have been written.

Petite Teenager getting pregnant thinking that a baby equals love, or that kid who tried his best to stand the constant harassment just stamped his ticket to heaven with a loaded gun,
People are strange, we delight in another's misery yet abhor someone's success.
like the book said, were both cursed and blessed

Cracks in a window
Can they be just like mine?
No it can't be
So fragile
Everywhere
But still there
It can't pick which is worse
It must all feel worse
It's getting out of hand
It can't understand
Just let me shatter it now
But how?
I don't have anything to use
Maybe my hand
I can punch it
In a blinding rage
Sadness
An ugly sadness
So painful
A pain that I can understand
But I fear someone's gonna notice
They might just get upset
"Why'd you you have to shatter it!?"
I hear them cry in an angering sad
So I just sit and stare at the cracks once again
I can't disappoint
So I sit and stare for a long time again
Maybe they are like me
It can't be
It just can't

I’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “I’m sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because i couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the rosie,
pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
im tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of travelling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtlty of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled
into his monthly issue of mens rights magazine
she tore down the even minuscule belief he could have had that he had the right to comment on her body
in three seconds his pride, and entitlement
shifted into shame
and embarrassment
and i envy these women
because the only time i can take back my power
is when i am standing in front of a room
speaking rhymes and metaphors preaching independence and strength
to a group of people who now think i am a hero
i am not a hero
i put my shoes on one foot at a time
and i still manage to forget a couple days of birth control here and there
and i cant stand up for myself
in the moments after an attack i retreat into my latte and pray today will not be the day the male dominated society takes my power away
because i am small
and though i am growing every day
i still can only pray
that one way or another
i will be able to be as strong a woman as my sisters
my mother
and take back my power
and speak not with the beauty of a flower
but with the sharpness of a bumblebees sting
and one more thing
your compliments
are not complimentary

Today I pondered the thought of "what is poetry," I became frustrated when i didn't know and couldn't answer it.  I looked it up but I still wasn't satisfied.  Here is what I think poetry is.

Poetry is personal,
It is a song without a melody,
It is the inner feelings that can only be expressed through writing,
It's peaceful,
It's angering,
It's frustrating,
It's satisfying,
It's a memory,
It's a dream,
It's a wish,
Poetry is a release,
A way of relaxing,
Sometimes it's easy
Sometimes it's hard.
Sometimes the words come flowing faster than you can write,
the next time you sit searching for the right words to say.