I have begun to paint our portrait
like a woman in love would do;
with your hands on my waist
and my arms around your neck,
nose nestled into your chest.
But as the final touches occur,
(I save your glasses for last, for
the light’s reflections on the lenses were what
caught my eye at first glance.)
I turn to you to get them right and

You
slip
through my grasping fingers,
slick & slippery you.
I beg and I try to hold onto
your glowing face
your shining hair
your haunting voice,
but when I open my paint-smothered hands,
you’re no longer there.
Like the lost back of an earring,
I retrace my steps,
wondering where I could have possibly misplaced you
                          (done wrong),
and stumble upon the truth:
as the paint dries upon my hands, I realize
I have forgotten my name.

And as I wash my hands
(of you?)
in the bitterest of waters, I ponder
how terrible it is to be forgettable.

I leave the brushes on the easel,
the paint pots out to dry and crack,
and the canvas is left
without your best feature.

There are secrets I tell to the demons in my heart
Secrets that had torn me of peace long before they contaminated the air.
My mind screams to shed these weights, the crown of thorns sitting on my brain.
But my lying tongue holds these flames for beings who care not for fire.
Every whisper in the dark echoes these trifles
Every breath exhaled sings of my malice
To my hate, I beg it to leave. Attract other things to replace it.
But my limits are human. Though I strive for wings, only arms remain.
Bare backed and lashed with my own whips.
So I’ll spit on the ground; masochistic to the core.
Dear demons, do not betray my goodness to these angels.
Let them think me, as you, demonic. And therefore, forgettable.

I know we meet
people for a reason
and every time I didn't
think it was the case,
hindsight proved me wrong
ten times out of ten.

But us? I can't seem to accept
you were a stepping stone,
a lesson, a memory etched
in my spirit only meant to
redirect me to another place.

I just don't want what comes next
without you here to share it with me.

Tell me why I can't seem to
come to terms with us being
not only impermanent
but seemingly forgettable.

I cannot bring myself to let go

If my poem arouses you then I know
I am doing something good
I am the poet,
the narrator of this poem
I write what I feel,
I say what I like
Somehow, I captivate my audience
Who I am, and who you think I am
or what you think of me.
Have no bearings  
on this poet's work

Therefore, I am who I am,
without the smearing
I am from this Century
where I am free from *******,
my words spread in a nanosecond,
across the internet,
however, my lip are sealed
my poetic spirit guides me:
until it’s time to orchestra
an forgettable vogon list of  poems
with my unique vernacular

I can take you the mountain top and
Make you believe it’s easy to climb
I can make you reach for the star,
Knowing that it’s unreachable by far

Life has a way of making you fall on your behind
The language I use, it far too complicated
Because I celebrates life with poetry
As well as I loathes it

So what’s your question?
I probably knows the answer

Decent—
I hate that word.
My mother wants me to be decent
when all I really want to be,
what I actually am,
is loud,
color,
all mouth,
leather skirts,
and hoop earrings,
(an ode to the roundness of the sun)
nails in deep, dark red,
banging doors,
and laughing in all the wrong places.
She wants decent,
she means 'quiet'.
She means 'not anyone'.
She means 'forgettable'.
She means 'the kind you take home to momma'.
But, see—
I'm a Warhol pop art,
Kahlo brows,
that mouth in the Munch in a constant 'o',
the kind to put herself in an oven
and call it a day,
shirts cropped to their full potential,
belly button to the light,
black line drawn like a cat's,
maybe a little cherry on the lips
(the kind to kiss boys sweeter, dear).

But, okay, I love you—
and I will put on the heirloom pieces.
Just for tonight.

one day you will loose me
to things you can't and won't
be able to understand

you'll lose me to the ocean
the moon
the constellations
to the boy next door.

and you'll tell your self
to never forget me
but incase you never noticed
I'm a rather forgettable person

Soft, easy to walk on
Pleasant, comfortable
Familial, forgettable
That's carpet.

Hateful, vengeful
Frustrated, ill-intentioned
Always mentioned, enfuriating
That's toxic.

Please love me.
Will you listen to me?
How are you doing?
That's carpet.

Please love me.
I'm empty.
I need you.
That's toxic.

I love you,
I'll do anything for you!
Please command me.
That's carpet.

I deal with your idiocies
I deal with your standards
I conform to fit inside your image.
That's toxic.

Can you hug me in front of
All of these people?
So that they know I'm worth something?
That's carpet.

After you listen to me,
I'll say I'm useless.
I'll say it's not your fault.
That's toxic.

I don't want to ***,
I don't want to talk,
I want you to trust me and tell me everything.
That's carpet.

All I want is ***,
All I need is some warm body.
Give me the fuel I've run out of.
That's toxic.

I'll give you everything
And do whatever you want
For whatever feigned love you can muster.
That's carpet.

I'm ready to conform.
Give me drugs and let me tighten up
While you let loose and accidentally love me.
That's toxic.

I'll text you back immediately.
And patiently await your response.
Rejoice in this moment you did for me.
That's carpet.

Give me advice.
So I can shoot you down.
So I can let you down.
So I can let you drown.
In my toxic civil war
Where I knew no solution would come
From my internal struggle.
But you took a side
And felt the wrath of one of my forces.
I can't help you.
Leave me alone.
That's toxic.

I walk around
By myself late at night.
I text you and say I need you.
Don't worry about where I am.
I needed to be alone,
But now I don't.
I just escaped misery and wanted to
Find you.
Find me,
Or I'll run away.
Block me,
So I can fester.
That's carpet.

Let me give you a million compliments.
Easily.
While you find one for me
And slip a shark a steak
Even though he'll always be hungry.
Sharks barely ever **** humans,
But they're so scary.
It's the hunger, it's the image.
It's not the behavior.
It's not.
The image is hunger.
Always give me more.
That's toxic.

I serve.
I help.
I pleasure, assist, provide
I care, then I care more.
Then I go home and rub off
The disappointment and fear of alone.
Then I care more.
And I wait for the love I give
To come to me.
And I think it will.
That's carpet.

Leave me alone.
Be honest.
That's what I need.
Let your honesty drown you
Because I'm honest too.
And I'll open up the floodgates,
Without remorse.
Sorry if you drown.
I overthink, bottle up, and overshare.
That's toxic.

Please love me.
Please act with me,
Act out the fantasies I have planned.
And re-enact the ones I did.
I'm toxic.
I'm carpet.
That's me.

Gods, let me write a forgettable poem
Let it be sweet and wonderful
Lightly stroking the hearts of all who read
Let them forget my name and all the words
It will be sweet and wonderful
It will change something in the world
Subtle little shift toward paradise
Forgotten and saved
And let the poem bubble up everywhere
Whenever it is needed
Able to uplift and heal souls
And then the reader will remember
When she read it last
What she was like back then
And be confronted with how she’s grown
Let it be read and forgotten
Let it be read and its writer forgotten
Maybe it will be one of my last
Or one of my best
~~~~~
Like a flowering tree
Life has its many seasons
We have been told this many times
The best things in life are free
You don’t need reasons
To feel a certain way sometimes
How hot things get, they cool off
How cold winter is, how much life spring brings
You’ll be okay because you don’t have a choice
Excuse me as I cough
I think it helps me when I sing
But no one likes this poet’s singing voice