Moment,
A suicide letter I write in 8th grade.
I heat metal chains
with my straightener.
Press.
Watch as sink holes
begin to expand in my hand.

Maybe,
A list of considerations.
Starting to see the crimson crust,
the weeping sores,
furrowed skin,
the combust of myself as beautiful.

Mimic,
I think I am copying my mother.
She sinks into her sheets,
a mess soaking into a towel.
Us only speaking when she finds
something to yell about.

Maniac,
The day I forgot to wear long sleeves.
My mother takes my straightener,
metal chains, scissors, “You’re crazy”
Pens curler, pencils, I’m Crazy.

Maternal,
I try to find a mother in a therapist.
Scar cream fills the sink holes.
The left over sores only remind
me of the depressed image of ill bed sheets.

Moral,
Learning that misshaping myself
would never fix the sick in her voice.
Watching as my hand
Extinguished the charcoaled
Sores with new skin.

Memory,
Looking at my left hand
and the scars that have
become only small ashes
of a fire.
Only a moment.

©DelaneyMiller

Pinning my dignity against the wall
Like you deserve it?
I owe you nothing for the love you so carelessly misplaced.
Misshaping fractured components
Piece by piece in Hope's to create perfection reaching only finite limitations within this fragmented masterpiece or your so called love.
I break free and Grant you equal access.
For this masterpiece never had my signature

What say you of me?
Am I just a liar without
Metaphoric excuses?

He wears a lie upon the chest,
Key in the light opening the
Dark truth,
Stipulations of knowing.

And I am what I am,
Not what I was.
Though we should never forget
From whenst we came,
We were there once but never
Again the same.
The curse of time is
Not time but the fulfillment
Of it.

Flesh of words,
Truth of waters,
Around the rocks;
Eroding.

So it comes to this,
Im alive too.
Yes, but Im Ded,
I apologise Hellopoetry
For my misleading ways,
Lies, and attention seeking
Behaviour.

He is revealed,
Words flowed hopeful,
Hopeless ;
Shaping,
Misshaping,
An architectural verbiage:
Yes, A Poet,
And I am Ded inside.


Poet's reality,
Worse than the lie,
The words became a world.

Math is just
Infinitude
Of numbers
And equations
No one wants
And no one needs
Until the alien invasions
Leave its stringy theories
Tangled
In another quantum zone
As they incessantly perplex
And vex
My x equals unknown
And though I add,
Subtract,
And multiply,
Divide
I just can not abide
By geometric principles
Misshaping my
Befuddled mind
Despite the fact  
They tie together
Everything
We make believe
Is probable
To e mc
And make us see
All calculations
Possible