The fuzzy hug that never loosens its grasp
Clutching as a barbed wire hugs and puppies cuddle and love,
whiskers and noses nuzzling, the straitjacket loves your mind,
wishes it could just squeeze the nightmares out and streaming as juices from an orange,
but its might only pressurizes, the more you fight the more you hurt,
bruising our precious straitjacket heart, he’s here to help us
take the tasks of fettering hands
just to hug and coil about us
Learn to love them, the society blanket,
the crazy snuggler, the bunny constrictor
Crazy’s not useful and our little straitjacket cures our woes
strangling us within linen cotton folds
simmer our fires
breaking our bronc
hushing our tantrum cry
It’s the mother we Learn to love
Kin that keeps us in heavenly grip
The Straitjacket’s here for all our insanists

I am trapped in a straitjacket
Unable to move
I may as well be in a casket

Trying to remember how I got here
Everything is so unclear
I am blindfolded and everything starts to disappear

Out of control
Out of my mind
Out of a soul

I fight against the sleeves
Thrashing, resisting
Trying so hard to leave

Doctors whispering reassuringly
But the words don't reach me
No matter how kindly

In an asylum you don't pay rent
Because you are a slave against your will
Held there just for thinking something different

Not a single letter
No one wants to talk to the insane
No one even thinks you'll ever get better

Then you lose hope in your own recovery
No one else believes it, why should you?
You forget what it is to even be free.

Alone
Forgotten
Unknown

This straitjacket gets no easier to bear
I pull and pull
But it gets no better to wear

In a city where it's all about control
The students and the teachers are the oppressed today
This entire school is just a straitjacket
Waiting to reach its fingers of conformity up and around our throats,
Waiting to twist all the differences out of us,
Waiting to write a curriculum, a test that can be taken,
One to measure our minds, our thoughts, our hearts

Don't those ******* know
It's not their job to compare us?
And besides, you can't gauge emotion
Or tell me that my heart is below average
You can't say to me that I'm not thinking properly.

*******, there's no "right thought" I can have.
It's not a matter of how much I love or who.
You can't look at me once and say you know my soul.
But you would love that, wouldn't you? You'd love
To label everything, and neatly shelve it away,
In some great and empty vault, where you'll only constrain its potential.
By writing such a test you would be condemning all of us to eternal emptiness.

I'm trapped in a straitjacket
The Asylum's cleaning up off of this racket
I'm losing it, I keep writing on the wall
And then when I come back from the cafeteria I know for **** sure that they're gone
I've been in here so long the padded cell is deflating
It's degrading to have to suffer from the orderlies berating

They say the mind bends and twists like light caught in a prism I'm struggling to find the light trapped within what's written
I'm writing all day abusing pages constantly but I put on the facade of walking confidently

Wildflowers
Of sun soaked orange
And blood soil red
Pale sobbing violet
Dancing gently in cold breeze
Dancing gently in hell fire
They are no doubt alive
Statued in dirt
Reaching toward rain cloud
There is just nowhere else to go
There is nothing else to do
But dance during dog **** showers
But dance during petal wilting
But dance until root rot
Wildflowers
Screaming at the fire
Trembling in moonlight
They are no doubt alive
Forcing themselves to continue
While feeling as insane as
I

So I'm sure you wanna know how I crafted this bizarre flow so I'll sit you down and tutor you let's go
step 1 draw off of everything under the sun treat your words carefully like a loaded gun step 2 now that you know what your words can do put them into verse leave others in the back of a lyrical hearse
step 3 Is the most important to me personally I walked into an asylum to search for a straitjacket if you don't have punch lines you definitely can't dot hack code or slash it
step 4 is getting your foot into the door caught with the drum beat drops leave your audience sweating like a wet mop
well that's all the steps I'll add some more usually involving clever metaphors now then you know the score

**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy.  As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures.  Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being.  Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the *****.  If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself.  **** your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses.  Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge.  **** sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man.  Nevertheless let this not ****-faced you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion.  Touch yourself.  To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches.  Neither be cheeky about ******; ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist.  Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness.  Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity.  But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings.  Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness.  Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself.  You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end.  And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should.  Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** *******.  With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory.  Stand pert.  Die in the attempt to be boozed up.

Check me out this hospital of woe,
Just use your love as knits to sow,
My wounded heart punctured with hurt,
Clean me with empathy and wash off the dirt,
I'm not to fond with medicine or needles,
But I can shut off fear just to be there near you,

I know angels fly,
But you're too close to me,
And I haven't prayed that much,
For your kindness to pursue,
I heard from the radio,
God was missing an angel,
But ****** I bet my life,
That that angel was you,

your eyes hot like a bullet
mine engulfed by the equinox &
the silences I walked away from
we are two or more
two people who shout at each other letters
that have never touched any alphabet
who throw beautiful ideas to be caught by twilight
the hour is always unknown
as if we watch each other's destiny
what comes next only the oracle of Delphi knows
or the roots of entropy maybe
I keep some thoughts in the straitjacket

we guard bridges, ancient castles in the sky
we guard the world not to turn into a casket without music
who invented this question mark
that we owe each other happiness
I wonder if the trees have unspoken meanings
do they turn overnight into telescopes to quest
the loneliness of stars, as we do

I might turn into a shadow
blinded by darkness
we draw uncanny shapes,
everything a circle can endure
with our mouths full of pebbles

Yeah, so giddy I'll confess...
Light-years past crazy baby.
Constellations of bruises,
a silver sort of stench of starburst blood drops,
sickening rainbow... purple, green, yellow... of healing.
Anyone else would be too.
But its a gift really.
What hasn't killed me's
made me stronger, right?
Strong and brave enough
to grasp the icy tail of a
rushing shooting star
and hold on, sharp and cold and clean,
ever tighter while mountains and oceans fade.
The lunatic soul locked inside the body
constricts with each breath and beat.
Until it surrenders with unbearable brightness.
Supernova in a straitjacket.

Tie it up on me.
Tie it up tight.
Let me be trapped in the
still of the night.

Keep me imprisoned,
Keep me subdued,
Anything else
Would just ruin the mood.

Silence my crying,
Silence my voice.
Lead me to feel
I had no other choice.

Break me with violence,
Break me with fear.
Leave me to wonder
how I ever got here.

Laugh as you hurt me,
Laugh at the shadows.
Hear the beat of my heart
as it quakes and it rattles.

Cover me in anguish,
Cover me in scorn,
Rip at my clothes 'til
they're tattered and torn.

Mock my entrapment.
Mock my cold face.
Treat me like garbage,
that's cheap to replace.

Leave me in darkness,
Leave my pain to release.
And perhaps in the madness
I'll finally find peace.

Surface street alchemy , ghost line the morning boulevards , effigies that teem with memory fly past .. Some bound for Heaven , some Hell . Some wrapped in the chains of Purgatory's grasp seemingly forever .
My morning dark canopy cries with fluid familiarity ..Tears pool and maneuver ancient lakes of liquid fear , Jesus questions my right , The Fallen Angel seduces my left .
Sharks swim such impoundments forever , such is the game of pity wherein lies the feeding frenzy . The spoil for blood .. The wincing welcome to my dreams horror , a begging son removed from the honor roll of father and mother .. Shoot me freely , shoot me well , remove me from the static island from where I dwell ..

She played Juliet but refused to drink the poison dry.
Indulging her Irish-Boston cream pie.
Save the date for Dubai.
Wheels up in ten for the red-eye.
Dress code: Evening gown, straitjacket and tie.

Welcome to her house of many bones
Step into one of life's great unknowns
With broken dreams and shattered heart
In this carnival of freaks she is apart
For the price of a ticket you can see
All the horror, and agony there could ever be

All we ask is to put down your stones
On the left is a kingless throne
No love was ever ment to stay
I don't know why, it's just that way
On your right is the dreams that's died
Where want and reality did collide

In the next room you will find
All the demons that are in her mind
Young man, please step back
These demons will, and do attack
On her arm's you'll see the scars
Made with their talon like sharpened claws

Please don't dottle, let's hurry along
This sad little journey we don't want to prolong
Up next you'll find
Human monsters of every kind
They all wear a clever disguise
You won't even see them unless your wise

Of the shadow men take no heed
Off the sorrow they just feed
The closets doors all are open wide
Not one skeleton does she hide
Please don't be scared, please don't shout
The are free to dance about

Last but not lest I want to show
What happens when the anguish grows
Tormented by years of unbridled strife
In the coffin lies her pitiful life
It's not her body, for she is the walking dead
Heart in taters, screams echoing in her head
Eyes opened wide with years of dread

The light and happiness are always there mocking
You'll find her over there in the corner rocking
Yes she had to be restrained
In the straitjacket she will remain
It's for your safety, not hers
For the pain she endures
Is not for weak amateurs

Exit on the right
Single file, please don't fight
Enjoy the rest of the attractions
We guarantee a hundred percent satisfaction
Unless in this carnival of woeful souls you are captured
Then your only hope will be the rapture

This afternoon, I smell like a hungry gardener
a green thumb with a wart attached:
both perfumes of a rose are discernible. The soil, the falsetto sweet
reaching up onto your nostril fur as monkey bars
until it can scatter seeds, some wild and collected by fruit.

Mother asks why my knees are shaded.
I have been on them, I say, breathing life into green berries.

Free them from that cage, their wire straitjacket
and breed breed breed:
this afternoon, everything I touch will stay alive, including me.

TLDR

Posted up on a bar stool, I noticed the instant he walked in.
Blue eyes beckoning. I was listening. Hard.

Liquidly courageous, delightfully obscure and entertaining,
I bewitched him in conversation.
Filled his empty pint with my pitcher of Yuengling.
Stealing and donning his sweaty hat.
He had just finished art school.
I was studying journalism.

He kept finding reasons to touch me.
Blocking me from human traffic.
Keeping me close and safe physically.
At one point, some drunken, oblivious, d-bag tried to holler.
He moved between, cockblocking.
Unwavering in eye contact and speech with me.
I can’t remember what we talked about, only how it felt.

He got my number, and we stayed until the bar closed.
And as all the carbon contents poured into the back alley,
he grabbed my hand.
I remember the sweat and energy on his slender fingers.
He was pushing past palpable trepidation.
And in the midst of a hundred swarming,
he yanked my hand toward him and kissed me.
People started cheering.
It was perfect.

Except, I freaked.
Froze. Stopped breathing.
Pulled away as far as his hand would allow.
He reeled me back in for another try.
When I brushed his lips, the panic devoured.
So I pulled away harder, breaking free from his fingers.
Fleeing, scurrying through a sea of drunken bodies.
I shimmied like a silver lure dangling in his face.
Then shot him the-****-down. Twice.
Instinctively.

He never called me. But pocket-dialed me the next day.
Left an unintended voicemail. Heard him bemoaning, *I felt SO stupid…
Called him back a few minutes later. Didn’t leave a message.
I could have called again. I didn’t. Ever.

I thought about him every day for months,
inspiring one of my better poems of that era:
A Roller Coaster Ride Ending in Derailment.
Years later, I friended him on MySpace, sent a generic message.
He didn’t recognize me. And I never said anything.
Like a ******* coward.

How is it possible to excitedly charge in a cardinal direction,
only to smack abruptly into:
I-gotta-get-the-****-outta-here-NOWWWW?!

I’ve had a little time, say 14 years,
to reflect on what made me me run,
and I think it was this:
as soon as he was facing me,
with unadulterated adoration,
all I could feel was terrified and ugly.
It was so good. Far too good for me.

I was afraid. Afraid he would eventually see.
That I was hideous. He wouldn’t want the real me.
I didn’t think I could live up to the look in his eyes.
When he saw I was only a spunky, confident model on the cover,
and an insecure shitshow amidst contents inside, he would leave.
A fragile little girl so afraid she is unlovable, unworthy, ugly.
When he saw how uncomfortable I could be in my own skin,
he would let go.
I didn’t like me, so why the **** should he?
I ran from connection that night, after tilling it for hours.
Hauling *** with windows down,
I slammed the brakes and careened. End scene.
He reeked of bliss and impending heartbreak.
So I abandoned him before he could leave.

I’m frightened of anyone who truly stirs me.
It makes me feel big, scary feelings. They straitjacket hug me.
Skewing all my outward signals. I come off standoffish.
Pushing away the very thing I want and need.
I’m not good at expressing intense feelings in real time.
Except in ink. And bed.

I get locked up inside. Feels like I’m gonna die.
A fight-or-flight ignition by erroneous head triggers.
I project my unlovable feelings onto others,
in the face of blatant evidence to the contrary.

I’ve done LTRs, just not with the required equipment.
I know the gears are sabotaged out the gate,
but I go for it anyway. It’s safe (or so it seems). And empty.
I crave intimacy, but I’m terrified of showing up entirely.
In front of someone with eyes that can see.
I quickly sense who is capable of meeting me,
and thoroughly **** it up for myself,
by not feeling free. Not authentic. Not open. Hiding.
Editing. Hot fish, cold fish. Rotating masks. Blockades. Running.
Constantly scanning the environment for signs of rejection,
that I’m not enough, indeed. To validate my own self-worthlessness.
I wanna be right.
I’ve only done long terms where I can remain alone, bored and/or dead.
No real intimacy. No full disclosure. No BAMF duo status.
No seeing to the back of each other’s skulls.
No blasting through the cosmos.

I freeze and evade in the face of what I crave.
Shunning delicious plates I’ve just ordered and ravenously drooled over.
I have more examples, but this is the most concise and blatant...

Except, this one time:

I told my gut to shut the **** up,
while I cosigned utter inner *******.
Denied the eyes of my own soul,
as it floated into my periphery.
It took all of my focus just to breathe.

He didn’t turn around,
just looked over his shoulder.
At me. Up, then down.
And drifted away.
Electrocuting my cosmic antennae.
Leaving me reeling. Still tingling.

I almost called your name,
but doubt surrounded fear mountain.
Plus, I thought I was jus straight trippin, err, trollin.
Going crazy. Weaving my own alteration atop reality.
Pretty pro @ that yuh know...

We push and pull and run and chase,
because it feels safer pursuing what’s out of reach.
Until it turns around.
Or looks over its shoulder...

With eyes that can see.

I'm a prisoner of my own mind
My self doubt is my cell
And fear my straitjacket
But one that tightens the more I struggle

Struggle I do
until the fear grips me in it's icy fingers
and my cell crashes around
I can't breathe
Then I continue to breathe

But the icy feeling is there
the feeling of construction still heard
As reminder that
I'm a prisoner of my own mind

i.* There are glass shards where her heart used to be. This beaten thing, this broken thing, this fragile thing; it beats while black blood pulses through the little cracks of glass. This heart, what keeps her alive will also be her cause of death and she knows it. It has loved and lost, lost itself in the quells of heartache. It is not whole but it's still there, beating on.

ii. When she places this heart in your hands, I beg, do not grimace at this hollow, broken thing. It's not pretty, I know, but it is hers and when she gives it to you, do not run. This heart is heavy, this heart is weak but if you've made it this far -- made a home in her chest -- I beg, please stay.

iii. She's moody and sometimes much too quiet but this is not to be taken as disinterest. It's in silence where she feels the most at home. And if your home lies near her glass heart, you are home where she is. The quiet, dark rooms in her mind are where her thoughts of you lay safe. All of the things that she'd never say, but she thinks of them often. They are secrets to you, but they mean everything to her.

iv. Sometimes she'll look at you and she won't stop. A lingering stare with glowing eyes and a slight curl at the corners of her lips. She'll look at you like you hung the moon and stars, like you created the constellations with your bare hands. This is how she drinks you in, and when you decide to leave, this is how she will remember you.

v. She won't remember all of the arguments you've had, nor the spiteful names you've called her. She won't remember the time you nearly threw her against the wall in a drunken rage. Accidents happen. *"It'll never happen again," you said. "I'm so sorry," you said.

vi. She will remember you smiling. She will remember you laughing so hard that you couldn't breathe, she will remember you looking down at her with a twinkle in your eye when you first told her you loved her. These are the memories that she stores, the ones that play on repeat in her broken glass heart; images projected on the walls of her chest and with every beat comes a ripping tide of black blood.

vii. She may call you at 3am, just a little drunk and very lonely. She'll tell you that she needs you and that she's so sorry for being the way that she is. She's so sorry for making you want to leave. She's pleading and there are tears in her eyes when she opens her front door but she hurls herself at you, arms tight around your neck, but you don't move.

viii. This is desperation, this is how she tries to win you back. This is when it's almost unbearable to watch her. The beautiful girl you knew replaced by a lovesick drunk. But you're here and you know her, you know better than to leave her like this. So you stay and you watch her, ensure that she doesn't do anything stupid.

ix. You sleep in the same bed and her legs are tangled with yours. Her head lays on your chest and for a moment, it's almost like nothing's changed. But these walls reek of love scorned. These bed sheets are a straitjacket. The girl that was once your home is a noose.

x. You wake up as the sun begins to slip through the blinds of her window. She's still clinging to you, and it's almost like old times but you get up before the noose gets any tighter. You try not to wake her, try to leave undetected but her sleepy voice stops you. Her eyes are still closed and her arms are reaching for a man who isn't there.

"Stay, don't go. I'll eat you up, I love you so..."

But you're already out the door.