I've never liked the word Quiet
The word pulsates through my veins
Clawing at my neck
Flashes in my brain
Etched on my forehead
"You're so quiet."

I sit in the room full of people
Yet I am alone.
They're laughter bubbling up and overfilling the room
Like the cauldron they stir
Full of questions like,
"You don't talk much do you?"
And all I can do is shake my head shamefully.

I want to scream out loud
"Can you hear me now?" I cry out.
I am in this empty cave of oblivion
And all I hear are the taunting echoes
"You're so quiet."
"Speak up."
And all I can do is shake my head shamefully.

******* isn’t the same;
My collarbone doesn’t peek up through my skin how it used to when I removed my shirt.
I can’t see my ribcage protrude over my flesh under each breast like it used to.
My hourglass figure has too much sand; it’s spilling over.
The mirror seems to hide its eyes and turn away and the scale screams for me to scram.
The numbers glare up at me as I look down over the overfilling sand to where I wonder what it’d feel like if the ocean washed up over my toes in a skimpy bikini,
My hair blowing in the wind as I let the sun kiss my cheeks.
How it feels to be kissed by the glass watching me strip into the dim bathroom light,
Instead of slapped by the picture I see in the mirror.
When I bend over to finish removing the clothing,
I have to look away from the extra bulge of sand that sits directly above my waist
And haunts me by the rolls that hang on to my fattened skeleton.
I wonder how it feels to be loved by the reflection staring back at me.

I harbor weeks and weeks
of overgrown ****
overfilling the secret linings
of my heart.

If I am to stop and actually think,
why I spill this indelible ink.
Why I allow my heart to be opened,
to fill other minds with a yellowish pink.
I come to conclude that I can't help but try
to poison your minds with love such as mine.
I have too much, I'm trying to share.
To prevent overfilling a venomous care.

I can not sleep because reality's better.
She's still in my mind.
I still can't forget her.
I'd rather not judge for imaginary's nicer.
I know she's quite quirky
but that's why I love her.
I still can not know because guessing is sweeter.
We talk less than I'd like,
I'm just happy to meet her.

Pick the one who's just out of reach.
Pick the one where your chances are mythical.
Pick the one that you know you can't breach.
Pick her just right and your heart will go critical.

Everything stands frozen for an enternity, encapsuled in just a moment of time
Your notice your heart stops beating, the rhythm that has sustained you long before you were aware
Your throat constricts, suddenly unable to draw in the oxygen that feeds your body

Your next breath stagnates inside your lungs, decomposing with each missing heartbeat
Your stomach plummets towards the floor, falling further than the earths crust
Your intestines squirm inside your cavity as they disintegrate into nothingness

As your eyes begin to sting and water, overfilling until they breech the dam
Your heart finally remembers to beat, faster than ever before
And your jaw finally falls, along with the rest of your face to form a silent

"oh"

i want a messy eyed boy to
drag his tongue upon my sun filtered skin
and lay me out in a field of wildflowers with
wide fingers and veined arms
wandering all over my aching body.

i want him to whisper things to me
in a light voice as wavering and deep
as trickling water
and windblown leaves.

i want him to feed me vines and fungi,
psychedelic plants,
and watch me trip into the
winking sky,
a wandering abyss.

i want him to growl all over me,
holding my bare body in his arms,
fitting his skin in every crevice that is possible
in these mundane bodies.

i want sweat sliding off me,
and the feel of bodies in motion. i want
him to
stroke my skin and paint it lavender
with crushed flowers and
put soil in my hair, while i
wiggle my naked feet
in the air.

i want him to swallow me
like i am overfilling liquor
in a crystal bottle,
desperate and excited.
i want him to leave
pink bite marks on the waiting flesh of
my collar bones,
and breathe into me;

i want him to write on my skin
in the fire of the dwelling night,
my soul is enigmatic and
it draws him in
like art.

i crave hands around my waist,
colors on my tongue,
the earth in between my toes,
and somebody to kiss me under
the lightning storms.

My head pounds and I wonder if
My brain is overfilling with thoughts
of you;
So many that it has reached
capacity.
If you do one more cute thing,
My mind may just explode.

It was a very thorough grinding and a overly slow unwinding
The passiveness intensifying to the perfect medium
and beyond this equilibrium it was still churning
this void that is fire extinguished
an emptiness that is passion relinquished
The table was empy, full and cleared of all substances
the cup was overfilling, spilling but content
The tendrils retracted to the cavernous maw from which I succombed
the throat I threw myself down
and clung to the uvula with my toes out of lingering basic reactions
a stimulus that I cared to respond to
My lymph nodes were a sore blackness, penetrating all the wiles of wills
it was the spiders again...
let's talk about evolution for a bit
why do we do things?
survival?
the basic desire to be and propagate oneself
some psychologists would suggest that it's all based on ***.
that's why there are so many ****** and manwhores as well
they trick their bodies into believing they are succesfull.
why do we wish to be succesful?
to attract a mate? yes'm
some of us can move past this sole purpose, but it's still an underlying cause yo


The bossman keeps me a-slaving away..working my time for his pay
The teacherman keeps me a-studying all day, working my mind for future wage
The bassman is me a-slapping a way, mumbling a mating call

So, the plumage is quite bright..genuine too
but not as full and phosphorescent as ******* mcassbutt's store bought version
but, there are no real peahens.  only chickens
so, who'm I trying to impress here? Mr. Director Man, what is my motivation in this scene?
"If you need someone to tell you that for you, then you should probably **** yourself"

this is why I don't give advice much..

I've been told very often, that one should look to themselves for their happiness..
but these people who say this get laid frequently.
not that that is my unit of happiness measurement here.. but try it before you buy it
I'm not going to waste my time.. mating for the sake of having a mate
it's fake. it's vacuous. it's vapid. it's false. it's unreal. it feels wrong and you know it

but...someone to bounce ideas off of. a special someone
put me in my place when im full of **** and it's pouring out my mouth
to recognize that point of light, so many have talked about with me..but ran away from
understanding the cosmic joke..it's not evil or crazy.. it just is and it's wonderful


the lymphatic darkness spreading.
why the lymph nodes?  cuz it's fun to say
lymph lymph lymph
get it? WHEEEE!!
it was once a false light,  some kind of poisonous neon spiraling around my core
but it was torn away..body evacuations of necessity alone
then it was an astral negative, ******* and ******* hard i tell ya whut nyow
it finally found something in all that darkness...the cosmic infinitesimal
the smallest decimal
like a rasinette, with doom insteada chocolate
and dang it was good mood food
i would follow a trail of those fuheva eva
I finished devouring this morsel of anything at all
and found the lighting almost acceptable
readable, but with permanent eye damage after a while

It’s amusing to think how we use words everyday
Though it’s the unseen that says the most, the unsaid
That screams the loudest
The mouths of today focus on feeding upon reciting Facebook feeds,
The latest most liked tweet,
The filters for your selfies – the perfect painted veil for a background of a thousand shattered china plates,
Which you become the moment the day is done, the stitching of your smile
Sighing with relief, unraveling as only your diary fills with the truth from shaking wounded hands that once again tried to stop a plate from chipping,
Only your bedroom wall goes through its weekly routine of watching every tear fall.
And you see that same wall everywhere, blocking you from people,
Lowering the volumes of your pleads, you don’t want them to see you’re in need – you can’t.
The mask that blinds them has no opening for a mouth
You’ve become a clown, jokes automatic, juggling your struggling in one hand, the other
Straining around your new best friends’ claws: misery, isolation,
Emptiness overfilling, desperation for an exit sign over spilling
But silence is a killer, why let it continue killing?

Consider the conscience crowded with a clutter of crazies
Though tongues only dotted with declarations of sanity.
The way we communicate has become a prison cell with too many corners and no windows,
The sounds of our own cracked, empty voices bouncing back at us
The limit of 140 soulless, expressionless characters has shut us up and in,
The embodied pill of forgetfulness on how to pick the lock
And open up to get help, to admit a smile’s fake.
But has the rain of melancholy and judgment rooted our feet to its wet earth?
We, the raindrops, laughing, “get over it” with each pitter as we’re soaked
“She’s so emo” – that’s easy to say,
It’s not like we’re humans with these things I guess are called feelings.
It’s comments like these that stop us –
To understand the truth we have to seek for it, not hide it, shove it away because it’s too frightening to bare, to finally confront the hidden scars people wear
Sadness has become a much too common name, and yet no one can place its face – it’s that one post no one likes to share.
And I see a continuing suffocating aisle of different bedroom walls and want to break down each one.
Ignoring isn’t the solution, smiling is an illusion, so don’t mistake silence for pleasure when someone has become a victim of our weather.
We have to learn how to open up again, free what’s inside to unleash our true spoken minds
Hold a hand instead of a phone for a change, to make a change
And maybe you’ll also make a real sunny smile overcome the rain.

A cool cloudburst from up high will cleanse this *****
metropolis ..Overfilling the gutters and storm sewers , the viaducts
and retaining ponds , filthy black tar streets , sidewalks crying for
upkeep ..
Rid this unkempt town of dreaded pollen and factory dust ,
stagnant pools of non-potable creek water , scrub the tarmac
at the city airport ..
Wash the 'Big rigs' , the trailers , the railheads , buses and the commuter locations . Shine her tall skyscrapers , her radio towers and her subway stations ..
Polish the walkways , the store fronts and the precious , park greenery ..
Refill the birdbaths , the fishing ponds and the vibrant lakeland scenery ..

Promises made
when jeans feel tight.
Overfilling and underemptying
until I wear out.

If my heart was a cup,
Your love would be the deep blue sea.
You fill me up like wild rivers overflowing.
With springs of Living Water flowing within me.
Flowing within me.
Flowing within me.
Until I am completely lost in Your love.
Overfilling my cup.
Your love like the deep blue sea.
Completely overtaking me.

Depression is rehab, making me recover from the happiness I once had,
It's consuming me and slowly shutting down every cell in my brain,
This darkness is diligent to take away all my life expectations,
My glass soul is being poured and filled, infected and consumed, by everything I hate,
It's overfilling with dull complexions, making my life wretched,
Until it shatters, I carry on gently through life, fearing at any moment, i'll break,
How can the sun be shining then without notice the rain pours subordinately over the top, bringing it's thunders and storms to block out every sound, to make everything motionless and numb.

Some days passion for my life is overfilling my bloodstream and spilling out of my mouth. Other days it licks at the valves and tendons in my heart, begging it to find the rhythm of the purpose it beats for. Most days I can pull myself out of bed. Most days when I'm done brushing my teeth & fixing my eyeliner I can paint a smile across my lips. Even if the stain of red comes from the blood that dropped like silky dew from my wrist as if to replace the tears my eyes can no longer cry. Some night I sleep as if I have never experienced pain or heartbreak. While other nights the thoughts that raced through my brain for hours would give you nightmares for nights to come. Most nights I can tell myself today was a good day. Most nights I can tidy up my house even if in reality I just want to smash it all before running away & honestly that scares me. But no matter what day/night I am having I have never and will never give up hope that I can be a better person. That I can be a better mom. That I have the ability to change myself. Sure. I can't always scream it from the hilltops and some days its just a whisper but I will be okay.

Cup overfilling
passion spilling
head spinning
body winning

Time passes so slow
basking in loves afterglow
contemplating getting up
but hoping for another sup

I've never liked the word Quiet
The word pulsates through my veins
Clawing at my neck
Flashes in my brain
Etched on my forehead
"You're so quiet."

I sit in the room full of people
Yet I am alone.
They're laughter bubbling up and overfilling the room
Like the cauldron they stir
Full of questions like,
"You don't talk much do you?"
And all I can do is shake my head shamefully.

I want to scream out loud
"Can you hear me now?" I cry out.
I am in this empty cave of oblivion
And all I hear are the taunting echoes
"You're so quiet."
"Speak up."
And all I can do is shake my head shamefully.

In the black of night
I walk alone
except for the glorious memories
of you,
of us,
being poured into my mind through a pitcher
and overfilling,
and droplets of memory sliding down my cheek,
and arm,
down to my hand,
which I hold beside me
and curve my fingers inwards
as if it were holding yours;
I can feel your little fingers
in between mine
and I smile
but I dare not look to my side
for fear of my dream
being discovered as untrue.

At times poetry, I need something more than the courage
to endure what life presents itself to me, a series of events, for I want to be my own
    person, than being apart of something larger
    the only thing I can do good
     Is writing something in poetics.    
The wonder is filled with everything I don’t know. Initiated now as a outlaw.
Poetry, kiss me, breathe inside with cello melodies, haunting fashions, not of trends. I’m content to say good-bye.  Parting memories. Until the end of time.
Maybe it’s the individual in me.
We all wish for the pain to go away, but I cannot under it, all the time.
In those lonely times and facing death, the tears, the sadness, the regrets, wanting redemption and complete forgiveness, wanting to start from scratch. It’s all the same thing shared in humanity. We’re all going to die.
Rare is the one that wants forgiveness for the everyone involved with life.
I’m a kisser of romance. I’m a ******. It's easy to fall in love. As for that. I’ve been behind closed doors with most that I meet. The heart wasn’t built for heartbreak and the secrets of others.                      The civil servant, the priest, the maid of honour, the best man, whoever, they should up forced, press upon, harsh and hard thoughts and the spouse should always second guess. Until all that lust is cleanse out.                       Oh how little love there is in today's marriage. I’m laughing as a ******. Strapped with poetry and I romantic lean back, hanging with original romantics. Giving love only to purest romantics. They’ve got no love for you.
                                           Life itself, a blessing and a burden.
                                           It’s the same for everyone you know.
                                           For I felt the most holy feeling any
                                           Human could feel for another. And it allowed me to hold faith that everyone has a soulmate, someone that is just made for them. Wondering this earth’s surface.
The world is overfilling itself with people and life.
Grandeur in poems that are written and left for everyone to find.
Everyone is capable of sinning.
Knowing the Devil.
Trust me, not everyone wants you to be an individual, unless it’s like them.
A talent show, no. make waffles, with my hands, poems are my wetspot, don’t miss the chance to walk away into the world, there’s better things, but it’s a matter of how you think, don’t forget, yourself has to go with your better. If there’s a revolution going on, join in, even if it’s evil, there is revenge, but there’s something satisfying about seeing your teachers upset and especially seeing for the first time, they’re not as cracked up to be higher and holy. Life has a veil. I *** hard, like Lisa Simpson, I’ve meet Princess Di and it’s the first thing I said. And prayed harder for Princess Kelly, but I said it in neither English or French.
(knowledge variable)

Some say that
Eyes are the widows to the soul.

If that is true, then mine
Are a never-ending pit.
They are a place overfilling with desperation,
Where hope was chased away long ago.
They are haunted by the creatures of the night,
Preying on those hanging by a thread.
They are a sanctuary for the evil,
Who have no hope of redemption.

But I say
Take a closer look,
Squint your eyes if you need to
Just take some time
To look harder.

Because I see something else.
I see power vibrating through the shadows,
Echoing through the darkness.
I taste ambition seeping through the desperation.
I feel the courage to take a stand and
Tower over fear,
Staring into the depths of its soul.

You see,
I see
A fighter.

*** is not love.

People do not love you when they take you for their own pleasure. They will leave you empty and cold, things are cold once they are gone.  That feeling is not love. People who love you do not make you feel like that. People who love you will make you as warm as the most pleasant spring day.  The resounding sound of trumpets will blare from your heart and then shake your entire being. It will rattle your bones through and through, shaking the fiber of your being and overfilling your soul with joy.  People who love you will make you feel like this on a daily basis.

*** is a factor in love but certainly not the entire thing. Do not allow yourself to think that someone truly loves you  when they only learned to love you because they became used to loving your body.
I warn you now but you will forget my words.

You will be caught in the gusts of young love. You will be fooled and then seduced by a coy young devil. This devil, heed him please, will invoke all the feelings that you thought you had long lost.  They will rekindle the fire of your heart. This devil will not use the wholesome wood that is the lumber of love to kindle this fire. This devil will use a poison that creates the worst of fires in your heart. THIS FIRE WILL BURN YOU TO ASHES. WARNING MY DEAR YOU ARE NOT A PHOENIX. YOU WILL NOT SURVIVE THESE BURNS. YOU WILL ONLY BE A SHELL OF FORMER YOURSELF.

Please do not forget what I tell you.  I am not telling you this because I had a premonition. I am speaking from my own experiences.  I am a burn victim. My shell is decrepit rotting shell. It can foster little emotion and even less empathy. I do not wish this fate upon anyone else.  I simply want the best for anyone, because no one should feel how I do currently.

You will be used in the same way I was, because you are ignorant to pain. You do not listen, because you are ignorant to what is right in front of your eyes. My words you see them right now, in fact they are in your head as soon as you read them, yet when I tell you to remember them you will not.  

You can be the thing that someone wants quite easily. It is very easy to feel wanted also. Many people will want you. They will say they want you because of this quality and because that quality, and when they say this you will easily feel accepted because you feel wanted.
But you are not what they need and they are not what you need.
Your heads will ****.  They will grow tired of you and realize that you are actually not needed only wanted.

This will destroy you. Some of these people will up and leave. But some of them will live the lie. They will make you think that they need you and you need them. These are the worst kind. It will not be noticed for a long time. It may take years to manifest its true form. But when it shows its self it will be horrid. It will have a putrid smell that makes tears swell from your eyes. It will show itself in the underlying face that is beneath the mask they have developed to fool you.  You will not be able to handle this. You will be torn into indistinguishable pieces. No one will ever be able to put you back together. Please remember my words so you will not be a victim.

I do not wish what I have felt on my worst enemy.
I do not wish this pain on those who have caused it for me.
I wish it only on myself, I was a fool. So naive, so innocent. I was easily broke.

come home to me, darling.

i left breadcrumbs for you along the river, along the trail, but the forest decided to keep you a while longer. all to itself. how selfish.

you’ve always been so sweet.

so irresistible.

honey drips from your lips and coats your face like a candied apple. it’s not halloween yet but the children yearn for a taste of preserved innocence.

you’ve never been a sweet tooth, you say. perhaps you’ve grown sick of yourself. your sugar tongue melts away into bitter lies and sour endings.

the caramel from your tears form rivers in the crevices of your wrinkles. quick, the pool in your collarbones is overfilling, drowning yourself in what you’ve once hated.

now, you’re just the same:
deadly sweet like the rest of them.

This feeling that seemed dead,
it rose and it rose, overfilling the rim,
over pouring through veins and hearts,
over powering minds and leaving the darkness.
Headed towards all that is light.
Oh won't you see? I want to be free.
Free as a bird, no fear of fashion.
Living like decisions are already made.
A path, a purpose, a future.
Soon, I will be old and tired,
pouring over these pages, thinking
Oh why couldn't you see?
Some one will love you, so just be.

i got my picture back today

and even though i just sat quietly
in a corner of my room
with the blinds shut
and the door locked,
even though i stared at the ceiling,
breathing in and out, in and out,
and came to terms with it,
even though i convinced myself i'd be okay,

somehow my skin looks ready to be checked out,
my eyes are two overfilling ponds,
somehow my voice chokes and croaks,
somehow my fingers have stained the carpet

and there's this girl in my head
and she's screaming
and i would give anything to make her stop
stop digging at her cells
stop burrowing into her DNA
stop exhuming her genes

i will always stay this way,
i wish i could tell her.
i will always stay this way,
and it's pointless to think otherwise.