wanna be her cutman?

you’ll trace every wound, grease
all her vulnerabilities
and the taste of forged metal
will flavour your dreams

she’ll dance with you watching,
a storm over canvas
and she’ll swing for those *******
like a silk-wrapped machine  

wanna be her cutman?

you’ll watch as each cut’s inflicted
then wait your turn to touch
to your hand she’ll ever-be Vaseline slick
or sticky with blood

she’ll hide vibrant colours behind
gunmetal hues but beneath careful fingers
her scars will tell truths- and
they’ll burn fire tattoos into your heart

wanna be her cutman?
you sure?

(you’ll wish dead every guy
has her over ropes or on canvas, but  
she’ll be eyeing those guys while
you’re fixing her up)

gloves-off, she
leans on her back foot
moves fast and hides tired eyes
behind a battle-blue arm  

from a punch-bloodied mouth
she spills and spits words out on canvas
makes way for cool air- tries to
pacify lungs before they explode, calm
a heart that longs to rebel

she needs to feel loved, but can
be understood only by tracing braille-like-trauma
on her Vaseline skin-
and if she’s not out for the count
she doesn't keep still

Everything around me
Keeps me coming back to you.
I'm a lost puppy
Wandering in the woods
And I'm a hopeless case
When you're not around.
And I can't tell if this is admirable
Or sick but I'm only happy by your side.
The anxiety boils in my veins
And taints my mind
When you're so far away.
I fear for your safety daily
Because of past violences
And pill poppers
And self destroyers;
You're the only sane person I know in this world.
My guardian angel,
My one and only
Savior and protector.

I pretend to be a hardass by cutting my hair short
And smoking a cigarette a second
But it's only becaue Bruce Willis was safe
Climbing vents is Die Hard
So long as he had a gun in one hand
And an import smoke
Twisted in the knuckle of the other.
I am a lost transmission
And all of these words
Are just different combinations of twenty six letters
That could never encompass all you mean to me.

I am not a hardass,
I'm a pop princess
Longing for a God
But I am too intelligent to believe in one.

When did it become the norm for teens
To turn into Holden Caulfields
And when did I realize at first
That I see things other don't
And often suffer because of it?
It's like when I walked out of that theatre tonight
I was reminded what real life was
And promptly found myself again at the hand of anxiety.

I am not a monster
But this is a rant
Because I can't go a day
Without wondering why I'm still here.
With me
It is no depressive item,
I am only wanderlost.
How do people live past 25
When the world I live in is demented
And scary
And I am so, so
Small.

I breathe.
I am released.
But the air I fill my lungs with is heavy like lead
And I can only picture myself
Sinking to the bottom of the lake
Because my boots are too heavy
And I have decided to dive in headfirst.

I am a fool.
I am a disgusting imagined facet
And I am lost.
I am not thinking rationally tonight
And for that I thank only God Himself
Because I know He's ******* me up for a reason
But that reason might as well be for naught.

For I am no saint,
But a sinner.
Yes, I give little girls faith in themselves
By explaining to them that just because
They are ten years old
That does not mean they are not kick *** people
Because MegaMan was ten
When he was trying to ignore
****** puns from Cutman
And the same idiosyncrasies
And the same existentialist suicidal ideals
I try to ignore today.

I told my father today
That I wish I would have tried ditching school
Because then I would have felt as though I had
Even the smallest bit of control over my fate.
But I am so, so
Small.

I know the school
And everyone in it
Would not have noticed me go.

I know the world
And everyone in it
Would not notice me if I were to go.

I feel like I owe this to you,
even though I don't know your last name.
I don't know how you smile
when he tells you that you're beautiful,
and I don't know how you feel inside
when you're both laying in bed at night
after he takes what he doesn't deserve.
I don't know how you'll react
when you're finally honest with yourself
and realize that he is a prizefighter
and being with him is like a boxing match,
that you won't win without a struggle.
And every time the bell sounds
you'll be less and less equip to defend yourself
the longer you allow him
to keep ******* at
your sense of self.

So let me be your cutman,
wiping the sweat from your brow
and strongly suggesting you forfeit;
because eventually
his charisma and charm
will seem like a distant memory
and you'll forget
why you started this fight at all.
I guess I'm just trying to say
get out with your integrity intact,
while you still can,
and I hope
you never have to feel
the way I felt.