Jimmy Beans were strewn in the fields like fire crackers
out from the waxy hulls
sprouted miniscule Bizarrities
(which is a word because it was their names).
The Bizarrities were kind, they enjoyed playing pan flutes
and had a nifty knack of flipping silver coins so that they consistantly landed on heads.
They cried when picked in the Spring-a-ling,
but after a day or two adjusted to life outside the vines
and took up anthropology, or archaeology.
A few opened their own dental practice and picked the little green teeth of fellow Bizarrities.
One day, to-day,
a Honey Tree was swimming along when it came to a Bizarritie.
"Hello kind Bizarritie, won't you play a song for me?"
The green Bizarritie laughed in false glee and said
"My dear sweet Honey Tree, thou art positiv-ity
the reason why I left the ground
and moved to Bizarritie-town."
The Honey Tree, baffled and distraught, contemplated the feelings he thought.
It was on that day, bright and dreary, that the Honey Tree grew ever weary
of the merchants on streets and artists and skeets
and the reasons why
not all assumptions die.

This one time I had friends,
It was cool, I guess.
I thought I found a soul mate
But she was a mess.
She over thought everything
She was always misunderstood.
I broke through her walls
And did everything I could.

This one time I had friends
You could say that it was neat.
I hung out with this artist girl
She was the coolest thing you'd meet.
She had all this potential
But her folks were really ****.
I tried my best to help
But I guess it was a miss.

This one time I had friends
It was almost kinda great.
This other girl I knew
Had to have been by fate.
Eyes as green as emeralds
She was always so much fun.
They say green stands for envy
I guess so, 'cause I was done.

This one time I had friends
I suppose it felt pretty good.
I tried to be the best
And show up when no one would.
She had poor self esteem
It started in her childhood.
We'd been friends for almost 16 years
That's probably longer than it should.

This one time I had friends
It was ******* awesome.
Then there was this tiny girl
And I should have used some caution.
She was the coolest girl I knew
I was addicted to her energy.
We were really close for a few short weeks
And then she up and left me...

This one time I had friends
And I guess it was okay.
I miss when they were 'round
I wish someone would stay.
I guess I'm not the type of person
Who was ment to have companions.
But I think I'd feel a whole lot better
If I weren't consistantly abandoned.

Mm to devour... to conquer... to take... to encase... to engage...
  All I want from him and need from him is clear...
  I want to love him and take in his love
I want to devour him and take in his bodies secrets
I want to conquer his desire and shape it to mine
I want to encase myself in his feel and take it all in
I want to indulge in his type of language that only speaks to me
   I want him...
I want him connecting with me..
I want him loving and devouring me..consistantly

50%  of marriage is made out of silence.
Sometimes it's too quiet to notice, though.
And we become so used to it
That any sign of my spouses voice almost offends me.
And I love you too much to let you know what I'm thinking.
You ask me countless times,
Like clockwork, "What are you thinking?"
And just as consistantly I answer without giving you a hint.
"I was thinking that I love you."
Begging you to continue the silence.
I forget the reason why it became so **** quiet...
All I know is that it's better this way.
And when we're infront of our friends and family
We silently agree to act as if we were still best friends...
As if we knew every secret and more.
Then we return home and close the door
And turn each other on mute.
Like phatoms chained to a ball of non commital noise.
Sometimes I think my ,"I do" was the last honest thing I said to you.

When you experience intrusive suicidal thoughts 75% of the time,
You really forget what it feels like to not feel suicidal.
Having those thoughts there consistantly becomes apart of you.
Waking up in the morning and not thinking about ending your life is a breath of fresh air.
Like a weight is lifted off my shoulders.
But there are some days when not feeling suicidal feels strange.
Like a part of me is missing.
And I find myself wondering why I haven't had any intrusive thoughts in days.
Not that anyone actually wants to have suicidal thoughts.
You see,
I always talk about getting better.
How I want to get better.
But what is ¨better¨?
I didn´t hurt myself today.
I took a shower.
I went into society and talked to people.
Is that being better?
Has my mental illness completely disappeared?
No.
My brain chemicals are still imbalanced.
Today I was just able to function more than I did yesterday.
And maybe tomorrow I will function even more than I did today.
Every day I am growing,  and learning,  and coping.
But I will not ever be better.
I will simply be a different person than I was the day before.

With open eyes, friends couldn't see
Beyond their tainted lungs and
                                    Blistered feet.
Their status shown upon the streets
No dreams to free ourselves of need.

A thicket afront an institution
Though it's meant to hide, I've grown.
My only fear and retribution
                                     To abandon ship
                                     To free my grip
And embrace anew, the new unknown.

Mediocrity is blending
Most of my words are garbage.
Consistantly being tested,
A mind silent, but never resting.

    But a note.
    But a pen.
    But a mark.
The story begins where it would arc.
Lost before the plot could thicken
The seams seem to tear the pages apart.

Kept to myself, ill hold my own
Fore my words are sharp,
                             And thoughts intruding.
Drifting further into the unknown
My only fear and retribution.

Been writing stories for my friends sharing my experiences. I'm not one who catches feelings right away. I like to watch comedies I've made all my hurtful moments into a comedy.
I've been good writing consistantly getting my ideas out when I could post them.
I use to be an angry writer attacking others I saw them in front of me and wrote things I wish I could say.
Writing has helped me grow and cope see things from a different angle.
I dare to inspire encourage others to be more and not settle for less. I'm trying to move up and grow being a trail blazer making my own path is hard but its what I want for myself.

If I were to love as the universe loves
My god I'd be heartless.
I'd be so vast, so full, so empty, so everything all at once
Yet, I'd contain no fondess for the human beings that roam my innards.

Being consistantly admired but never admiring is something the universe is troubled with
Not me

I write this after reading your letter to me 3 times & smelling it quite a bit more. Sadly I am sure it will disappoint you, For I am no poet. I consistantly Fumble with words (and my hand writing is horrid).
Whilst I am clearly wretched at these things there are a few I am okay at feelings of course, I can barely find the words to describe them but I am certainly capable of expressing them, And Moments I live off of moments. The moment in which i loved you or realized I did (or at least choose to recognize it) Was on that hike, with the rain and

the streams of sun gazing upon your face. But if I am being totally honest with myself, I loved you before that moment, that was simply the moment of acceptance of my fate. But truly I already loved you, already knew it, but knew I could not. I hadn't any choice though. It just was. I love you in a way that even metaphor cannot handle I love you more that the moon loves the tide, and I, like the moon want nothing more than to anchor you to me and pull you closer. I want all of your faults & stress

your anger, your stories, your secret, you past, your present, your future to sink into mine and become one entity, I want to hold you long enough that our souls meld together and never separate in this life or the next. I hate me & I dont like the thought of "you" I just want Us. Ive never been truly happy, and then there was an us, and life made more sense. Days had a purpose. Things are better, and there are all of these moment that continue to build that

and it is perfect

I remember everything,
Stupid jokes, laughing,
Deep conversations and knowing smiles,
I remember,
And you, you who were my best friend, as I was yours, have all but forgotten,
And I'm sorry, I won't expect you to remember me, or think of me again, because you've found something better, something to show you our friendship was insignificant I guess,
But it still hurts, I never thought my own brother, who had earned that title from me with more than blood,
Wouldn't think to save one thought of then,
But what can I expect?
There won't ever be someone to remember little details about me so intimately,
I haven't even had someone to be interested consistantly in spending time with me,
It's not even that I'm always ignored,
I go unthought of,
And I think that's even worse

Tonight I looked at how much I had fallen behind in school over the past weeks. That's the way to make me have a panic attack. Right there. I realized that I'll have to make up all of this work, and yet still get a much worse grade than if I had done it in the first place. I don't know weather or not to be glad when I've taken to much time and cannot make it up at all. This is great in that I will not even have the option to do the work, but horrible in that I know I waited so long that I missed the points completely. This is one of my greatest bring-downs. I look back at all the time I wasted because I'm an idiot, and think I ****** things up because I'm and idiot. Then, upon the attempt to make the work up, I am paralyzed because of my weeks of calling myself an idiot. I stare at the screen and tell myself at least organizing the work to be done was good, and brave. I do little more than this when these things happen. I cry and panic and think the only way to get out of this mess is suicide. This seems like an over reaction, but it's how my brain works. Telling myself I ****** up too bad, and there is no getting out of my mistakes. Not that I might deserve to die because of being an idiot, but that it is the only way to relieve myself of what I have done. I go through this consistantly, at least once every semester. I don't believe that I deserve to do this. I could work to not fall behind, yes. But I don't think that would be possible at this point in my life. Between work and my poor back and trying to figure out this ******* mind of mine. I need not have this thing that reminds me in percentages how ****** of a job I'm doing. I need not put myself though this again. I can't handle it, I'm not made to do this all at once. Some can't, I can't.

HIS
EVERTYHING
RIGHT

Wanting you has left my soul suffocating...
Never realizing the length I would go to please you.. guilty by submission..becoming submissive inspite of me not belonging to you..pleasing you always came first..but for you its H.E.R...you say you prefer natural hair...I grew locs in spite of my free spirit that leads me to do a big chop annually...because to me that's me removing all the bad reminders...but for you I made that scarfice..inspite of you wanting H.E.R .....blemished skin...scars of heartache and pain...proclaiming you prefer naturally flawed..over  this mac bottle that makes me feel completely irresistible because unlike other things it hides scars of what made me who I am...but for you I allow this bottle to go untampered with..unlike my heart always being tampered with...but H.E.R...is constantly on your mind.. never taking a moment to realize me putting you first...your only thoughts is of ....H.E.R..how to please and cater to H.E.R every desire...and need... "she has potential to make you happy"...when it's me that constantly strive to make you happy...consistantly taking you in deep until my muscles become weak...I can't compete...because even though I get on my knees and **** you deep...I'm still not H.E.R...and just because I made you ***** in one of your many random places...in fear of pro life with M.E because its H.E.R you desire..I've allowed my soul to weep...because by next week I'll be back in your sheets... giving you all of me...like a piece of prime meat..enough of me to fill what makes you weakkk..never understanding you want me mentally but her psychically...but she doesn't want you psychically...so you imagine H.e.r while doing M.e?  I'm done with never being enough... but always too much for you...let her learn or care to know that you like a person that listens..you're a closed book..that pays attention to vivid detail..you do from the heart with happiness as a form of payment...liking your women of somewhat of a variety but not too much of a variety because if you lived in a world of H.E.R.'s you would be completely satisfied because her outer is what sets your soul on fire...allowing yourself to linger on what little she's gives because she's da bomb in everyway..bomb enough for you to hurt the feelings of someone that would've given you the world..but because my **** ain't "perky" and I'm not a size 8 my validation..means nothing....being super thick is more superficial..I'm self reliant..thick in all the right places..constantly loving you in all the wrong places....I'm not H.E.R I am M.E....My Everything on repeat...repent at my feet because my heart has always been on repeat...you have made me weak...we haven't spoken in weeks...
Nikki.the.goddess

Beaten, battered, and bruised.
I often wonder what's my life to do.
When I'm down on my luck.
This frown, it really *****.
A mountain is in front of me.

Laces pulled tight.
I'm motivated to give all my mite.
I'll conquer this mountain
Again and again and again.
It's appearance consistantly consistent.

In a life so inconsistent.
One must be more insistent.
Putting one foot in front of the other.
Never dwelling on their druthers.  
While other may count me out.

We're done, aren't we?
I've been feeling it now for a while
Too scared to let go of the one person that has been consistantly in my life that
I've been selfish
I'm sorry
But we're done aren't we?
You stopped talking to me
Say you'd rather be alone
Stopped telling me where you were going
So we're done, right?
I think I did my grieving that week you were crying and overwhelmed and I gave you some time to think about us.
I told you I'd give you some space but I'm pretty sure this is more than I bargained for
So we're done, huh?
I cant be the only one here not feeling anything
I know that you feel just as trapped as I do
And I'm tired of being emotionally used.
So we're done, aren't we?

words. poetry. art.
I used to believe that poetry needed to have a steady even flow
That it needed to tumble out and down like water in a stream
moving and moving and moving
constantly
consistantly
but
I realized
that words
  and
art
can be
    chunky
        blocky
there can be pauses
...
and spaces

and things can be repeated without needing to be