Honest to

I am driving
with my best friend
to the top of a mountain,
the snow and the road
become a blurred vignette portrait.
I catch myself, teary eyed,
with the warmth of the dashboard under my hands,
as I nod my head to music,
to some hateful man,
screaming about monsters
the monster he has become.
Reoccurring daydreams,
they don't end with me
riding off into the sunset
quite like they used too.
In my daze, I see myself,
begging someone to shoot me.
Anyone to tear me apart,
because I, more than them,
want to know what I'm made up of.
If all this bitterness has housed within the depths of me,
or if it's temporarily house sitting,
until the best of me has been returned

to stay
I beg my true self

("please stay")

I see candid photos of me then,
and I loathe the woman I was.
Happiness radiating from the core of my usefulness,
my desire to live another day,
the cure of my own personal cancer,
still, remains a mystery,
It consumes me,
developing, and spreading within the most mortal parts of me.
Hanging over my head like a dreary cloud,
reigning upon me,
stealing my thunder,
making me sleep,
until I lose track of the moments I know,
from the moments I think.
This trip to the mountain top,
It was proof to me,
that no matter what beauty has been laid at my feet,
or has fallen from the sky,
decorating the ground,
like a cake I'd surely consume,
(& eat my fill)
I will always remain true to my heart,
no matter how miserable and moldy it's become.
I answer to her first,
beating so tribally within the containment of me,
my ribs a cage,
my heart a bird.
Wings beyond clipped-

now, entirely removed.

I allow myself a moment of honesty
a moment to speak,

("I don't trust anyone.")

I heard once
the truth rattles cages of liars, of burdened souls,
and in this moment of honesty,
the mountain fell,
and left me alive.
So I stood,
tears, hardening to my stale cheek.
I don't need anything to capture this,
(no cameras please.)

While I shed the masks of insanity,
I remember first,
who's face I met in this snowy bank,
My own.

It's been a while,
but I'm trying.
buried 10,000 feet below a bed spread of snow,
it's going to be a long journey home.

I just need honesty,
honestly.

Holier than thou

He sings to me at morning dusk,
and it's nothing beautiful,
I would certainly never give him my trust,
But he holds my hair back while I vomit up excuses,
Pierce my skin with my own nails.
He understands that we are all sick,
and I am certainly beyond the exception to the rule.
I know he wants to help me,
watch me sail away to a new place,
and while I'm busy forgetting him,
he's speaking to nothing,
watching the shadows waltz away.
But I know he'll soon forget me,
like all good men in suits do.
He'll want to tame something within me,
that he can't even grasp.
Cut me away,
until he finds the anatomy I lack.
I don't blame him,
really I don't.
I'm a tough game to understand,
but I'll crack him first,
and watch him melt through the cracks
of his expectable approach.
like a caved wolf,
I'll stay hidden,
feasting off of the thousand insecurities
he wanted so badly to project onto me.
But me?
I'm done sir,
being the cracked shell in the sand.
I'm tired of being set back on the ground,
by the hands of some greedy man.
I know you want something bigger,
and I know I could never fill that void.
Just drop me down,
until you find a sand dollar wholer than me,
Holier than thou'
so much holier than me.

Traveling man

I carry burden,
close to my heart,
so close now,
I can feel it beating my heart beats.
smothering the only organ capable of love-
in a sort of malicious way.
I suppose I admire the burden,
for never letting up,
in a way,
its the only thing constantly tearing me down,
and in turn
the world tells me,
I'll be stronger.
But why trust the world?
when it's so incapable of loving,
why believe a thing anyone says.
You should only follow those
closest to the truth,
and the rumors around here, are far from it.
That's part of breeding in a small town,
when you kiss me,
you're kissing California.
And when you kiss California,
Washington is bound to hear.
I guess that's why the people I kiss,
get so homesick.
They call on me, miss me, love me,
need me...
But I know better by now,
I know that nobody misses me,
they miss the feeling of home.
And the burden of housing
several soul suckers
becomes beyond overwhelming,
meanwhile it drags me into a spiral
I am ill equipped to survive.

It's taking one, to know one.

Well, you could distort time,
lay it at your feet,
walk all over it,
and feel the numbers fall apart at your touch.
There is so much control
in one harsh edge,
that you fall in love with the thrill of the kill,
and I know it well,
so well that I can recognize the desire to be free
unleash your hurt to the rest of the world,
I understand,
so be free.

A piece on peace

I have spiderwebs interlacing the thoughts I speak
with the thoughts I keep,
I stayed locked down,
like a basket case, with no place left to weave.
Life hurts, like a knife upon knife showdown,
grazing my shielded temper,
if it gets much worse,
I know I'm bound to blow.
But I've never claimed to be peace and love,
No I've never branded myself.
I understand in the blood of the battle,
I'd be the first to admit that.
I see people, dressed in colors
they don't even know how to represent.
Outlandish designs from "peaceful" times,
you carve the sign upon your wrists,
and highlight it with dark ink-
your ignorance of the word
becomes permanent and apparent.
At least I can know then,
you have no idea where to start,
because all of you liars
are the ones that need to wear it.
But the peaceful ones, the realistic and the wise?
We just speak honestly,
it's in our blood, it's bold and clear-
in moments declared useless,
in moments declared dark.
A worldwide sign,
murdered, and robbed of all meaning.
Yes, the peace signs, they shine like fresh bruises,
on every single one of you,
marching in the wrong line,
hitting that pipe,
burning the pages of a bible in a fresh spun joint.
warning: "Hello, I'm wounded."
you kids are so transparent,
watch it glisten like condensation after the heat of the moment,
when you've punched a kid,
for being
not quite as good as you.
High and mighty,
you're sure to be seen
throwing up the peace sign,
and peace the fuck out.
And still you sit there
and tell me that this was what John Lennon was talking about?
Argue and fight for rights
you only came to understand after "across the universe" came out.
You fake ass hippies,
with your fake ass minds.
Unravel those dreads,
take some pressure off that brain, because
This is a piece on peace,
a revolution for those truly asleep.

Fact

It's scary when you find yourself awake,
face first in a pillow
writing tomorrows poetry
on the insides of your eyelids.
I write poetry,
like you count sheep.
It's even worse when you can't remember falling asleep
not because you're intoxicated,
but because your mind
just can't differentiate
the feeling of awake,
and the feeling of sleep.
And these are the things that keep me from dreaming,
Cursing my hands for their need to flow
Smothering my brain in a fabricy hell.
I was a romantic,
before someone blew my cover,
and told me I was a cynic in disguise.
And maybe I am everything
everything people say I am.
At least I can know,
they are sleeping soundly with their
cruel assumptions.

Their hands grasping the horns of lies real tight.
Liars just want to be liars,
and I am a light set forth in a world
that is simply craving light.

Maybe,
just maybe,
it would be safer for me to BE everything they want me to be.
If I am in fact heartless,
falling in love could become difficult,
and it might feel good again.
And it's easy, truly
to put on the masks you all want me to assume.
I am egotistical
switch.
I am cruel.
switch.
I say what you want to say.
switch.
I am your ego coming unglued.
Because in a world where girls get naked
just to prove they can be somebody,
I suppose it's okay for them to blame me.
Somebody has to fall for emotional shortcomings.
Somebody has to be the brain behind the breast.
So feed me,
like a fire,
roaring at your feet,
The elements of my mind,
could run circles around the elements of the world,
So why envy me?
Why not love me?
embrace me, know me, feel me,
anything to prove that I am real-
Maybe this is why I don't sleep.
Because I'm caught up in cowards and whiners,
stealing away beauty from within the air tight seal of the truth.
inhale it,
breathe it in,
and it will get you high,
but when you live for it,
You'll know that an honest soul
is worth more than any of your lives.

Lady Luck

There is a woman made of porcelain, her hair, strung together with gold, braided with copper. She comes to sit, to remove burden from her delicate body, and rest. She crosses her ankles over one another, and casts her inner daily demons away within one prolonged sigh. She has lines in her face, too deep to reverse with any cream, or collagen. She reaches into her bottomless purse, pulls out a cigarette box marked "lights", and lights. With her first inhale, she closes her eyes, and lets the sun warm her housed skin. To the left of her, there are 4 children marching in lines, chewing bubble gum with every one of their tiny teeth. Among the four children, there are three boys and one little girl. The little girl marches daintily, cautiously placing her feet into dirt and mud, worrying that her mother will scold her for scuffing up her new school shoes. She is wearing a pink dress, fresh with morning creases. The three boys are certainly not in love with her, but one of the three boys secretly loves the color pink. He accidentally favors her, he doesn't rush her strange shoe checking routine. Not that he doesn't want to march as fast as the other boys, he's just too transfixed on the moving pink blob in front of him to remember girls have cooties. Out loud, one of the boys, the red haired boy, curses the mud for taking to his feet like quicksand. He quickly decides that the marching game will be a short-lived trade and marches all the way back to the playground. The third boy, a tall, awkward, and strange boy, moves his head side to side with every corresponding footstep he takes. He picks at his head, due to the infestation of lice dwelling within his jungle hair. Sometimes he gets lucky, finds a bug and squeezes its guts out between his pointer finger, and his thumb. There is a slight moment of his satisfaction, then a dull realization of shame. The doll woman, still sitting down, breathing slowly and seriously, notices a ladybug has landed on one of the children. Then, just as slowly as she sat, she stands, walking over to remove the bug from the pink collar of the little girl. The little girl, still dedicated to keeping her shoes clean, doesn't notice the woman at all. In fact, she was completely startled by the womans shadow, and only noticed it because she suddenly felt submerged in darkness. While the woman went to pluck the ladybug from the girls dress, the little girl reached for the womans hand, and pushed it away. The woman was alarmed by the rudeness of such a young child, and rolled her eyes. But children are much more observant than adults when it comes to the little things. The little girl looked up at the woman, shielded her face from the sun now shining down on her blonde curls. The girl frowned at the woman and said "Don't you know that it's good luck for one of these to land on you?" The woman, jaded by her days work, her sore feet, and her headache, chuckled slowly and said "I hardly believe in luck anymore". The little girl, who had started to twirl in circles, stopped dead in her tracks upon hearing such terrible news. She then cupped the ladybug in her tiny hands, looked at it, closely, like the bug was a long lost friend, then set it on the womans shoulder. After the two exchanged glances, the little girl looked down at her feet and asked if the woman would like to play in the mud. The woman, still staring at the ladybug inching up her arm, thought for a second, then agreed. She took a few steps until the girl told her to take off her shoes first. "My mom hates mud in my shoes, doesn't yours?" The woman smiled, and slid her feet out of her heels, felt the ground beneath her, closed her eyes, and thanked the ladybug for reminding her what it was like to be alive. "How lucky." She said, and stepped toe first into the mud.

He loved me, years ago.

I tried to take my life,
in my mothers bed.
I laid in the sage green blanket,
and closed my eyes,
I fell asleep,
picturing her arms wrapped around me.
I slept so soundly,
it was finally over,
all moments silenced,
all regrets
were pasted upside down,
and erased.
until she arrived home.
When she saw me,
lying in her bed,
she crawled next to me,
and stroked my hair.
this I remember,
because it was the stroke
which brought me back to life.
I opened my eyes,
and thought I was staring into my own,
but it was just her,
looking into mine,
until she realized,
something was not right with her baby.
She screamed,
and lifted me from the bed,
I closed my eyes,
because I knew I was safe.
Safe from myself,
safe from him,
and all reasons to become overwhelmed.
I hear clouded sounds,
and see nothing.
Just the feel of cold water striking my face.
Just the pleas to god,
just the phone call to poison control.
the phone call to my brother,
the cries of my uncle,
the rage of my mother.
The feel of her hand bruising my face.
The tilt of my brain as I fell back into nothing.
The flowers that blossomed and consumed my brain
like jade ivy,
weaving its way in and out of my body.
In the arms of my mother,
I rested my hand against her cheek,
I aked for my grandmother,
but she had passed years ago.
My mother asked for me to hold on,
but I had passed years ago.
When I finally arrived
at destination nothingness,
I felt my body clam up,
my brain hault,
and for once it was beautiful to not remember.
it was a sunset in a hallow life.
it reminded me how it felt,
to have a whole heart.
And when I awoke the next morning.
To the eyes of my family,
I cursed their names
for ever letting me return.

There is no sunshine
in a sealed mind.
So maybe,
if I close my eyes real tight,
the light will vanish,
and leave my pale skin be.
I want to be everything you leave behind,
I want this drive you take,
to be the last time you think about me.
Because I can't stand the feeling of burning ears
I don't want to know you're whispering my name somewhere.
Let go of my name,
and let go of my heart,
I simply cannot bare to house you here anymore.
I don't want you touching my dreams,
I don't want you intruding in the peace I will surely find.
I feel helpless,
I feel miserable,
Then I feel nothing at all.
I want to cleanse myself of you,
Peel away my skin,
because at one point, you loved it so.
I want to see you on the street,
and recognize nothing.
I want to hear your name,
and think of some actor,
but never you.
Never you,
never you.
Never.

Windows

She was so...
Unnatural.
I watched her hair break off in clumps,
while she fell to her plastic knees.
She held onto her strands
left handed,
she softly touched it to her face.
I never knew a hurricane could break,
that's what she was,
a hurricane of a woman.
I stood over her,
a building in her eyes,
and buried her with songs.
She screamed at the top of her lungs,
but the sounds were muffled
by the own capabilities of her throat.
I heard the blood break through,
like a dammed up river,
and explode through her eyes.
When we met,
her eyes were pastel blue,
gorgeous with fear,
ripe with any chance of love.
She would press her lips against windows,
to heal the cracks within the skin.
She told me the cold felt good
in contrast to the pain.
I always noticed her teeth
because they were always biting her cheeks
and her cheeks were already so sunken in,
that the pull of her skin
made her look edgy, like a model.
In the morning,
she'd break glass around the house,
and while I'd sweep,
She'd walk across the pile of broken edges
In her bathrobe, holding a cup of coffee,
her blonde hair,
messy, and piled upon the crown of her head.
I could hear the glass piercing her skin,
breaking through the many layers of her.
She'd throw her head back,
and I could hear her breathing,
her smile would sharpen around the edges,
and under her breath she'd say her own name.
She was turned on by her demise.
I recall a moment,
when she wasn't so strange,
but still stranger than me.
She collapsed her legs at the top of a hill,
dressed in white,
with dirt in her fingernails,
with grass pressed firmly into her skin.
Holding onto a daffodil,
Keeping her eyes North,
She spoke quitely,
Yet I couldn't help but feel the ground shake with every word.
I asked her why she would bother praying now.
After all the self loathing,
self mutilation, and hate.
Her organic eyes,
the only thing still remaining pure
on her tired, ruined face.
Locked onto mine,
and for a moment,
I saw God.
And he was just as starved,
just as bitter,
just as pain seeking,
just as angry as her.

Seashells in all I do,
they lay at my feet,
the dramatic swirls,
the patterns thrown onto solid,
they consume my feet,

drown me at first tide.

I suppose I'm terrified to lay down,
where will I go if I sink?
But that's the risk I take
falling asleep by the ocean,
maybe I deserve that watery fate.
Maybe I deserved the crown
Like an oceanic queen,
gone mad.
I'm hoping
in my misery,
the sea will still have me.

time to pretend

I don't notice the winters sting
while I'm sitting on the cliffs of seasons past,
I don't recognize remorse
(not within myself at least)
I am watching this smoke
consume the clarity of todays air.
I shouldn't do this,
and I shouldn't do that.
But here I am, dying a day at a time-
giving a shit less about how fast it comes.
and while everything I used to know
remains teetering on the edge of this rock,
I am inventing new reasons to pretend I'm someone else.
I am convinced I am the peoples tether ball,
making my rounds,
and always returning to their fist.
I know how hard they hit,
and yet I continue to orbit on back.
how lonely is my life, hanging from a string?
At least I am incapable of falling,
(but completely capable of snapping.)
in their eyes,
I am a perfect sport.
But I don't notice much,
as a heat whore,
(Such am I)
it becomes more than easy to ignore red flags.
I simply need the heat to thrive.
I need to be hated,
to continue.
And now,
as I rise to my feet,
it's time to pretend I know nothing I've ever felt,
tie my knots tighter than before,
and swing.

It's raining

I fell asleep
next to my first love
for the first time.
He called me a cab,
because it was raining.
and impatiently waiting, in my pajamas,
I told the driver
It had been years.
My heart regresses to a smaller time,
when I knew nothing
about anything
but everything about him.
My body stayed strong,
While my mind wandered into oblivion.
holding him against my chest,
Because I needed to know
his heart was by mine again.
And even if it was just for a minute,
we were in love again.
When his lips
pressed against mine
a sigh of all sighs passed throughout me.
and I can't quite remember
if I even knew my name at the moment.
And when I think back,
I remember the taste of the rain,
but before I remember the taste of water,
I remember the taste of him.

So it's always been.

I hid my eyes from him,
in fear of him remembering I am not the one.
In fear of eternal loneliness after a glimpse of light.
In moments of weakness,
I held onto his shoulders,
and I felt the freckles on my chest
align, and combust.
Because with him,
everything within me,
is dying to be a part of him.
And I don't blame the feeling.
I blame him,
for being absolute comfort,
for being home of all homes,
for being a beautiful soul.
I remember being 14,
begging for a night with him,
just so I could know how it felt
to sleep soundly,
to know sleep at all.
But I find myself,
a woman now,
consumed with his energy,
and more awake than I've ever been.
When I look into his eyes,
I know I have seen beautiful things,
because I recall them instantly.
The way fog makes my skin feel,
the way sun melts fog,
the way the moon strikes down the sun,
and how beautiful life has always been.
How beautiful it appears
while he's gracing my skin
with the edge of his identity on the tip of his finger.
While he traces lace patterns on my naked back
of the wedding dress I had imagined myself
marrying him in.
as he kisses my stomach,
like I'm his first love.
In all the movement,
and in all the security of his touch,
I lay awake remembering the flowers
the flowers he sent me
when I was a girl.
And I know he sees me as her,
still young, still so young.
And I felt myself grabbing him tighter,
so he could feel me.
my hips
my breasts
my skin.
I am aged,
and I know
I know what I've done.
and I don't want to leave,
ever again.

but here he is,
I know every part by touch,

he is memorized by me,
I have memorized him,
like a verse you recite-
to keep you happy,
to keep you sane
to keep you breathing
to keep you loving
to keep you trying
he is-
remembered entirely,

-beautiful as always.
and it is raining.

Sainthood

Poetry; A saints knife.
Because I could have killed you,
a million years ago,
instead, I write.

goodnight

This is the most miserable world to fall in love in.
I imagine falling in love on the moon would be so much better.
at least on the moon,
no one wants to kill you twice.

but here,
everyone drools over their chance to kill you three times,
(at least.)

Now you've got what you've wanted,
let me sleep in peace.

sticks and stones

Call me names,
You've never once called me my own.
And for some reason,
I love it,
I love that you've never known me.

PROMISE

I wonder if I knew
knew what was to become of my heart
after the layers had been shed,
after the disaster hit,
after my brain melted into a scary stew.
I never want to feel another person waiting on me to sleep,
waiting for me to feel peaceful.
so they can close their own eyes,
and share dreaming space with me.

I never want a man that close to my dreams ever again.

I remember the sunshine,
seen straight through the veins of a maple leaf,
the sugary taste of fall,
the nutmeg high I sailed upon.
It comes and goes every now and then,
and in those moments,
I convince myself
love is all I need.

But then,
truth-
riding upon a deadly tsunami,
like the clap of mortality
ringing throughout my souls kingdom,
sweeping my feet from under my knees,
and landing me straight on my head
truth-
decides to appear,
reminding me;
in the blissful fall,
when I used to love,
where I used to trust,

I made my biggest mistake,

Unguarded, and in love,
I twisted my fingers in his earthy hair.
Promised him my heart,
and floating like a skin cell I could so easily shake,
my words stick to the grass,
my heart buried 10,000 feet below,
kept in a box,
marked "PROMISE".
A promise I made with my eyes closed tightly,
And even still,
no matter how dark my vision became within each blink,
I could see the clouds move,
just by feeling the shifts in the wind.
I didn't need to see,
to know I was telling the truth,
but the devil knows,
he was crossing his fingers the second he promised back.
So, no,
seasonal love,
no,
beautiful man
I don't trust your love,
or his love,
or any love.
I trust the company I keep between my hands and this paper,
my lungs and this air,
and that is all that remains certain.
there is no one,
no matter how bold,
no matter how beloved,
no matter how beautiful.
All I can do is feed off of the hearts that promised themselves to me,
700 hearts buried 10,000 feet below me
marked "PROMISE"
I crossed my fingers
as they closed their eyes so tight,

and all I wanted was to feel again,

700 hearts promised to me,
until I can bargain, haggle and bribe...
Until I find the price of my own.

I knew a girl named Iris

Iris,
Don't you dare turn your back on us now,
I can see you living from memories,
they decorate the cracks of your brain,
they feed any roaring hunger, any desire to love again.
Your feet, they are bloody, and peeling at the edge,
But you are beautiful, and there are roots sprouting
from the darkness within the depth of the cuts,
I see you are walking with a crooked mouth limp.
You're shark eyed, and fiercely quiet,
But I can see the overwhelming fear,
playing the chords within your brain,
like a bee, flying stinger first across a harp,
You recognize nothing now,
almost like the world is hiding
behind glasses and a false mustache.
You are hardly misguided,
You only want to lay in a field of weeds,
purple wildflowers,
and alarmingly large ants.
They are hungry,
and I know you wouldn't mind,
laying out your mind like a picnic to steal.
You decide to watch the sunset,
but you wish to see it, how a bird would-
only mildly confused, and here you stand,
on the gut of this rock,
tilting your brain,
until you can hear your thoughts rattle.
You smile, close your eyes,
and only you can see the flood of thoughts
crushing the buildings your mind had built,
to dam up, and lock away.
You open your eyes,
Look at me,
and I say-
Iris,
don't you dare turn your back on me now.

Double

I am a home body,
I love the way my house smells at night,
the way the lights frame the mess in my room.
I like the way the books look on my shelves,
like they've never been read,
covered in skin cells, and stained with dark tea.
I took my first steps here,
which is a heavy burden for one building to carry for 19 years,
I have laid face first in the carpets
sobbing,
regretting moments,
which, took place within the squares of these rooms.
The walls know so many of my dirty little secrets,
and I fear that one day,
I will take my first steps into loneliness,
and the second I turn my back, it will be gone.
Here is where I have housed orphans,
and I have stayed awake
long enough to see the sunrise
from the corners of these windows.
And on the street beneath it's withering foundation
I kissed the first boy I ever loved.
and on the same street,
I clumsily told him just how much I loved him.
And if I let go of this house,
I feel like I'm letting go of everything I can still hold onto.
The only solid I've come to know.
I think I would rather it die a terrible death
at the hands of termites and rude ants,
than ever let it die at the hands of a man and his saw.

The release of a dozen balloons

Shamelessly shouting at the horizon,

"I ain't scared!"

But little one,
what have you to fear?
The sun, he passes every night,
shakes his dreary head,
he frees the world of daytime troubles,
of daytime fears.
Gathering under the drops of sun,
like lemon candies in my hand,
I'd see you here writing poetry,
heavy like a safe filled with yesterdays secrets,
but with every dotted "i" and every crossed "t"
I knew you were doing something,
but I didn't want you to love me.

Shamelessly shouting at the ground,

"I aint scared!"

But what have you to fear?
It won't swallow you whole,
at least we know that.
There's so little we don't understand,
and so much we've grown to hate,
and what it is
is consuming us,
beneath it's sealed metal plates.
here we've learned to rot,
and it was here we took our first steps,
as sighing, dancing lovers,
and i knew you were sighing,
and I could feel the spring in your step,
but I didn't mean for you to love me,

And if you chose to fear something,
Silently, or on blast.
let it be love,
because it will take you whole,
oh, she will take you whole.

if you ever feel like-
putting yourself on blast
kissing a lamp
feeling your legs
jumping out of a car
twisting your neck until it breaks
fighting ants
lulling sheep
writing nonsense

then you and I-
are twins.

Angel

The woman I know
bathes in uncertain pools,
and shifts her dirty, sun stitched skin
in swamps of sweat left behind by her traveling entourage.
She has no home,
and I envy her, but only for that.
She smells
like urine, and train track tar,
she is the queen of the night,
because at night, there is no sun
to highlight her unhealthy glow,
and there is no sun, to melt her work,
into tiny puddles,
only causing her to desire another bath
in the rust of her metal.
In the blood of her work.
her permiscuous ego,
shaded with fear and tiring lonesome trips
back and forth to the watering hole,
like a buffalo on speed.
but that is only a sneak peak,
I could never get to know that part.
I only am permitted to see the hercules painted across her chest,
etched with sincere anger,
I can see the intense stabbing her tattoo artist inflicted upon her chest.
He must have loved her,
because the lines grow thick with rage,
and soft with forgiveness in the same second of etched emotion.
I can picture her:
then-
Tanned skin, less remorseful,
soft lips,
less scabbed
but still,
swearing,
but more,
forgiving,
more,
youthful,
She is the reason all cats would purr,
and I know,
before the smell,
before the overwhelming hate of men,
she was why men loved.
I see her in passing-
now,
while she lifts heavy things,
She swears at me,
in an uplifting, preachy sort of way.
Tells me what I NEED.
as if I didn't know.
She grabs my hand,
not out of anger,
but out of respect,
we ran from the same tribe,
and the both of us
though, entirely different,
are still running from something,
making us bold.
but she answers to no one.
and speaks only to me,
and for that,
I envy no one.
but me.

"Th"

Oh sun,
can't you peak?
can't you slam your grace through these clouds
a little harder now?

You're not even trying,

and I am here,
giving it everything I can,
giving you a thousand reasons to shine heavily
upon my pale, roofed skin.
I don't even know how to be awake anymore.
I stumble everywhere
with my feet, connected to wires,
the marionette master has been shifting me-
strangely.
like I've been at sea for years.
I suppose I have been,
lost for months,
in the security of warmth,
overwhelmed with my passion for forgetting earth.
At least I can speak.
At last I can speak,
But the sincerity of years of dammed up pain
ruins any chance to daydream.
"Th".
That's what I say,
tongue carresing my two front teeth,
making love to the pearl within.
It becomes apparent-
I no longer know how to speak or move,
unless it's a dream.

Easily Refused

I am feeling further and further away,
from the isolated vacation, I beyond deserve.
I understand-
Here I am, ribbons, and blue.
Easily rescued,
easily used.
I am a cat,
you skin, and wear.
proud on your body,
when you feel less than,
when you're lacking the social skills,
when you're lacking funds,
I am your reason.

Here I am,
easily refused.
Dining all alone,
in nothing but flesh, and bone.

Irresponsible and alive

You are an irresponsible man,
You shed your skin like a thin coat.
Indecisive,
when you find a beautiful fur,
you cuddle with it,
close enough to feel the fibers embedding their sharp ends
deep within the root of your screaming pore.
You are the wolf from which the sheep flee,
well disguised, and easily tainted.
you are a sheep, from which you, yourself flees.
You grow so tired of feeling the same,
You hate being seemingly seamless,
so you rip the threads of a foundation you've hardly laid,
Standing, naked, between the mirror and yourself,
you speak to yourself, like a long lost lover-
You stand still,
touching your veins to the cold glass.
For a brief moment, you recognize yourself,
naked, and casually grey.
You are an irresponsible man,
how could you become
someone else?
when all you were meant to be,
was you.

Bean

Bean,

I miss you.

Come back to our pod,

and be my bean again.

now.

Thank you.

Nothing unique, just special.

Riots,

yeah yeah, sure.

You'd like to start a million riots.

But I know you won't.

You fight your battles in hammocks,

sipping away at impurities,

choking on factual liquid.

You can hardly stomach your reflection

so what makes you different from any other

princess begging for approval

from the man within the mirror?

You love to be original,

extra crispy with flare and the right purse.

But you walk alone,

don't you notice?

And your hair,

so volumized, filled with air,

and it's ironic.

but you'll never understand why.

When you speak to me,

you address me as everyone else.

yes, you have called me "everybody else"

While I sat at the edge of my desk

holding both middle fingers to your "free thinking."

sit down,

you've been caged.

But you love to start riots,

all pretty in yellow,

shoes to match.

You love to be anything.

If the colors match.

Must I

You must see me,

like a million colorful balloons,

Like the ones I was holding on my tiptoes,

as I measured the direction of the wind

with a wet finger straight in the air.

You laughed when I told you,

I planned on flying away with those colorful balloons.

You told me,

I was too heavy,

full of organs and spite.

I recognize your need to destroy,

and you must embrace the child within yourself.

So here's this needle,

I swear it will rain color

I won't flinch once.

If it means you being free,

after years of confinement,

Then, by all means,

destroy this.

But before we do,

hold this balloon,

see its color?

see the way the sun shines through it?

Like a crystal sound wave,

beating your brain with a million beautiful ideas,

a million butterflies erupt within your brain.

If you're still not convinced,

close your eyes on this ledge,

spread your arms,

embrace the air,

and the rock in the arch of your foot.

Now, tell me that being free,

does not sound like complete bliss.

I am an ugly organ,

plink away at my face,

and after a while

I'll sound how you want.

It never made sense to mozart

when the piano began to play itself,

and it won't make a shred of sense to you either.

I am small,

not in size,

just in the scheme of things,

I won't matter in a month,

I WILL be the bird you see once,

smile at,

and forget all at once.

I am a violin,

long necked,

wide hipped,

and easily abused.

You can hold me

to your chest,

and play me like a guitar.

I am a seashell,

awkward, spikey, sharp as hell.

And if you hold me to your ear,

I'll bring peace to your aching bones.

I am an ugly organ,

anything you'd like.

Never goodbye

I love you,

you have to know this.

I can see you in every mirror

an overglaze of myself,

reflected straight through,

and there standing completely still is you.

I think this is why I can still say I have some self worth.

Because, though,

you've never asked to be inside of me,

you certainly are.

Happy reflections of a beautiful budding romance,

like a novel set on fire,

like a novel watered with trust,

like a sheep shaved down to bare skin,

standing there, naked,

"Bah'ing" at passer byes.

Shivering in the wind,

yes, we can still feel.

You've held me, delicately,

like a dripping candle,

you rotate my waxy skin,

and breathe into me to keep me aflame.

I love you,

you have to know this,

before I run,

(never from you)

but from what I've known to be mine.

A streak of terrible luck,

morning headaches,

and worried brows.

I can see the man my mother once called father,

dying now.

I can see the woman I call mother

wilting now,

ever faster,

even faster than you've seen a fresh cut daffodil

fold and retreat to doom.

She was beautiful,

pale, and blonde.

She wore scarfs in her hair,

lace on her wrists,

and bore her feet into the ever-certain ground.

she was free,

free like the pictures I've seen this moment captured in.

free before she had my brother,

free before she cradled my large body,

free before I even-still lye in her bed and cry.

She would lay in the Mexico sun,

drinking from coconuts,

gazing into the eyes of the man on the moon,

and my god, she was beautiful.

I run now,

Because I recognize that the eyes I see in myself now,

are laced with the terror,

pain, and grief.

That she never knew until

men had run through the streets of her soul,

selling her value,

selling her skin,

for one cheap touch.

And though her nest is slowly starting to rot and decay,

She prunes herself,

plucks her own feathers,

unready to budge

out of her breast,

and fills my room

with love.

I run now,

because

I see the lust for the sunshine,

the ocean breeze against her beautiful skin.

I run now,

to let her live.

But I could have loved you,

I should,

but I run.

Lovely pyramids

You'll never get what you deserve,

no.

You can tell me,

in dark, misty tones

that you've always felt my pain.

But you've never known.

You never could.

And though parts of me,

red with fury,

shaking with scorn,

want you to feel the hot needle

of losing love,

I know I could never

ever be responsible for damning you

Be the one to cast you into a firey circle,

one of the seven circles,

I've come to know too well.

Of course,

she is lovely,

glowing in summers drip.

But fall will bring uncertainties to surface,

blemishes will appear,

and I cannot wait to hear you

when winter is here.

Lift

An unspeakable pain consumes me every now and then.

I close my lips, like a calm hush.

And some nights I embrace it,

like a sore lover.

I can hear my dreams out loud,

and with my eyes closed,

I can see a pretty picture,

I can paint a pretty damning picture of myself,

and where I'd like to be.

Don't speak, because I know, now,

you're scared of me,

scared of all this monster in me,

but there's nothing wrong-

I swear,

I can go on living like this for miles on,

and the only time I'll ever appear restless,

are the moments I should be most at ease.

I can open my mind to you,

open it, and cake it with the dust that seems to make you whole.

You frown at me,

And I'm sorry I bring you down,

I'm sorry I'll never be the same,

and I'm sorry,

trust me, I'm so sorry that I've made it.

I appreciate all the chances I've been given,

all the times I've turned my back on death.

There must be something about me,

that turns the world on,

enough to keep me here,

enough to assume I belong.

In the winter,

That's when I get it,

chilled, and always in my bones.

it grows cold,

I grow weary of shivering, even by the fire.

I keep telling myself,

you've made it, you've made it.

As you feed me hot soup,

hot teas from places you've never been.

I'll wait til the lights are out,

Until I can hear you lightly snore.

and sleeplessly I'll crawl

to the hallow shackles in midnight corners,

and hum tunes that showcase once,

are applauded by the wind,

and are soon forgotten.

In the ends and outs of night,

I will never sleep soundly,

I know what it is to sin,

and I know what it is to repent.

But forgetting sounds so much better.

And at night, your thoughts are forgotten,

lost in mid air, lost in travel.

But they go somewhere,

and that somewhere is where I dwell.

I have laid in the beds,

I have shouted from buildings,

and I have cradled life in my bare hands.

But I have also soared above myself,

I have seen the way rain hit my shell.

I could tell you chilling stories

about becoming me again,

the rough landing,

the screams I heard, but never understood.

So rest now,

I'm here,

I'm so sorry,

not for you,

but for the most selfish me, you'll ever meet.

Because nothing has ever satisfied me as much as dying has.

But nothing will ever satisfy me as much as dying has.

A million little pieces.

Meeting someone you love

the second you hear them say your name

is a million to one:

Picture me,

standing alone,

quietly fantasizing about soft moments,

Holding onto my own hand,

because in the winter,

I just can never seem to get warm.

Maybe I was never thinking about him

all those nights in Ohio,

I'd drift to sleep,

clutching the seams of my skin,

praying that I'd come undone.

Praying that in the morning,

I would have forgotten the life I knew,

and needed desperately to forget.

Maybe I never even loved him.

Maybe all the times I'd write him,

my pleas were falling upon deaf ears.

Maybe I didn't care if it was him holding me,

maybe in the scariest times,

I never wanted him at all.

Maybe I just wanted to be warm.

Maybe the animal in me,

never wanted to be a million to one.

Joy

You don't need me anymore.

The fire within every song I slur

tells me so.

I don't need you anymore,

and the joy I feel

when I burn everything you've ever given me

is

indescribable.

the way he loves me already,

trumps any middle time love we ever made.

and he and I, still have yet to touch.

My right hand,

is the man,

he could never be.

let this be free

There is no pace to love,

it is harsh, it is cold, its the wind,

whipping my naked back,

I can still feel the red wounds

filtering out the pain,

to leave me with minor satisfaction.

Leaving me, worried that I may end up craving more.

He didn't believe in God,

and I think that's what kept our love so intimate.

He never compared me to the grace of a higher anything.

We'd stay cradled in my room,

never questioning why we were put here,

always knowing that

we just were.

He never sighed during dull moments,

he only searched for a way out.

I never blamed him for leaving me,

I always knew he would.

Like the mornings he'd leave for work,

trying not to wake me,

he'd break the binds our legs had created

entangled in one.

I'd feel his skin lightly graze over my own,

due to lack of sheets,

due to lack of blankets,

I would shiver at the presumption

that maybe he wasn't planning on leaving at all,

maybe he was going to stay and keep me warm.

Maybe, we'd forget our civic duties,

our moral obligations,

and just live.

But in swift movements,

stealthy, and holy,

he'd spring to his feet,

kiss my eyelids,

and although I protested,

he would always leave.

I should have known then,

nothing gold, ever stays.

I should have known, I was the ripple

I was the ripple that would destroy the calm lull in his springs.

And he hurts me,

so much that I can hardly breathe,

So much that I forgot what it means

to be whole.

He hurt me,

called to me,

and destroyed my name

until I could no longer feel the joys,

of standing naked in a hallway.

Let this be free,

rid of me,

let love,

be rid of me.

Spun

Tell me everything you want to forget about.

I'll make it a habit

to forget about your old habits.

And in the end,

we'll come full circle,

and remain square with one another.

She was a staircase,

leading you into the wrong hallway,

causing you to weep

into the lonely oriental rug.

You fell in love with the spider in her,

We all noticed in the morning,

when your hands were silky wet with her home.

We remained silent,

hands tucked in our blankets,

while you recalled

the way her eight legs

embalmed you,

pulling your heart through your belly button,

and your brain, through your nose.

And in your organs travels,

they noticed one thing,

they liked it best

where they first belonged.

Poor you,

a minor flea

in the circus of bumble bees,

and sugary pine blossoms,

you get lost in the pride of a spider-

in the pride and prejudice of being in love.

I felt for you,

the night you slept on my doorstep,

crying on the knees

you had denied

crying on your knees,

which you so previously ignored.

I searched you, in your sleep.

Looking for some trace of where she'd gone,

and as much as you had promised me

she had gone.

I found a web in your pocket,

and a hole in your heart.

I chuckled as I scraped the web from my own hand,

and woke you,

just to remind you,

you don't need eight legs to stand.

Skeleton Plea

How dare you smile at me,

I am punished by the craters

all in line,

like hungry, white ants.

They eat away at my eyes.

Like a picnic of bread-

I am devoured within seconds.

You touched my hand,

and released it all the way,

shivers struck my core.

I never did breathe that night, did I?

can you remember the way

the curve of my lips

embark and claimed the center of yours?

Like seagulls,

in love at sea,

we'd glide.

I never did breathe when I was with you.

Dear readers,

I've never taken a second to explain any of this blog to anyone. I know there are 6 of you following me, and while 6 seems like a small number, I know there are at least 20 more than read this religiously. I want to take this time now to thank all of you for reading any of this. What you've been reading is an insight to the person I truly am. Too often have I been characterized by my bubbly sense of humor, which is usually confused for stupidity. I come here to release and reach for the ugliest parts of me, to have six seconds of honesty, sometimes even hours of honesty. It's like a mirror that isolates every flaw, you get to pin point parts about yourself that you never would have noticed any other time.

Let me take a second here to say-

I am not stupid.

I take great pride in being an intelligent woman, and although I fuck up every once in a while...

I fuck up correctly.

And isn't that a wonderful thing to know about me? Don't you love knowing that you're not wasting your time reading stupid rants about terrible moments, connected between run-ons and rude sass.

This post will NOT be about me floating my own boat or any of that shit. This is simply me taking the time to explain myself, and what you've been reading the past year of your life.

I will be the first person to say, I am not a perfect writer, but I am absolutely above average when it comes to describing ugly things.

I am a fan of making ugly moments seem sexy,

seem-

beautiful, heart-wrenching, illuminating, relatable.

because I am literally, everyone.

I am your dead beat father,

I am the boy that broke your heart,

I am the girl that stole your favorite sweater.

I am absolutely every war you've ever fought, whether it be global or internal.

Only difference is, I am honest about it.

I am honest about why I broke your heart,

Why I don't pay the bills,

why I pick fights for no reason.

This is why you read this.

I'd be lying if I said I was at all normal, but that's the beauty of it all.

Am I right?

The last few years of my life has been jam packed full of disgusting moments, moments when the people I loved the most took everything from me, and left me feeling... well, Like shit.

But the point of all this, this blog, is to remind myself that no matter how mean spirited, hateful, spiteful, beautiful, rude, sexual, or happy my poetry can be, in the end it always turns out to be a positive thing to look back on.

I can sit down and say "Look how far I've come."

I have cried, laughed and grinded allllll uppp on this laptop several times just to get to where I am.

(yes, grinded all up on...)

The point is,

what you are reading, is 100% real,

it's honest as I'll ever be.

and I guess what I'm trying to say is, the fact that even a handful of people still like me after reading any of these poems has really been a beautiful thing.

I create faith every time you understand what I mean,

and you create faith every time you understand what I say.

Not a faith in anything religious,

but a faith in mankind, and the closed roads we've paved when it comes to expression via words.

Keep reading,

It keeps me sane.

-Olivia

Incense

There is a part of this ceiling

charred by the hope

that maybe,

(just maybe)

something can erase the smell

of self medicating, and the self loathing.

of me.

She's a-

Maniac,

Maniac

on the floor.

forever more,

forever more.

I hear the crow saying,

forever more.

Anyway

I'm nervous,

I'm nervous because you smile at me,

I'm frantic,

Frantic,

because you take the time

to search my eyes.

For files and pages

of hurt, and swollen ego

worn away memories.

Things that are so fragile

they wither away at my touch.

I wonder if you see me

trying to hide those things quickly

so you can remain smitten

by the things on the outside

which I can control.

I need to know now

that you aren't here

just to place me on your belt,

I need to know now,

while my head rests like a breathing tetris piece

beneath your beautiful chin.

If at the edge of my cliffs

You'll understand my love for flight.

I need to know if

while I'm resting on the bridge of your bones

you'll let me hum with your energy,

dwell in a cloud above your heart,

and after all that,

I need to know if you'll still focus your hands on mine.

I need to know if in February

you'll see me, and fall in love all over again in the orange light.

if you'll haunt me like a beautiful dream,

or if you'll haunt me like nightmares.

if at the end of the day

you'll rest me in your lap

and promise me,

I never needed to be

anyway-

just here.

Entralloholics

Breaking silence

in the midnight of a corner

in the wood of my wall

in the plug

of the socket

which rests in my wooden walls

I hold onto wordy moments.

The vibration of my phone

laying on my thigh,

I take a sip of whatever this drink is,

open up a virtual envelope,

and lose track of whatever it is

I'm doing.

You know you're an enthralloholic

when someone saying nothing

has you on the edge of your seat.

when saying what you mean

is just what you do.

and even if it was accidental,

it was the most beautiful accident you could have asked for

it was honesty.

at least when he's a million miles away,

at least when we're 2 states away,

we can talk about the weather,

And know we're not being plain.

At least when I miss you,

I miss your thoughts.

I miss knowing that somewhere,

you're there.

Look up,

the same moons I'm thanking,

are the same moons you're thanking.

and isn't it beautiful?

because I am enthralled,

tell me more.

tell me more.

tell me everything.

Enthralloholics-;

Becoming smitten with the feeling

of the fascination of another being.

stairs

Stairways

that's where it always was,

when I'd be assured that you loved me.

You've always loved me.

Mom would cradle me to her chest.

(and yes, she wasn't perfect)

but I resented her for hushing me,

calming me, lulling me to sleep

I wanted her to hate you,

so I could know,

it was okay to hate you like I did.

instead-

in a generic melody, she'd sing to me.

her lips, wet with my tears.

she'd sing that you loved me,

you've always loved me.

You'd say:

Wasn't it obvious

with my barbie doll trickery?

my disneyland love?

my occasional stories, and charming wit?

Doesn't your mother love you enough?

Doesn't she bare the strength of Samson,

with the heart of a mule?

Doesn't she feed you?

Hush baby,

it's mommas fault.

your serpentine tongue

always did salivate at the chance

of ruining the only things

I've ever loved.

Like the time you ruined my dolls,

my beautiful, beautiful dolls.

Like the time you ruined my mother.

my beautiful, beautiful mother.

It's her fault we can't be close,

and it's my fault for being born

and if I don't love jesus more,

and if I don't smile more.

And if I can't call you first

then what's the point?

"My darling child"

you'd hum,

you're so angry

you're so weak

you're so tired

you're so old.

You're just like you're mother.

At the staircase on the third step

the step with the creak

that would squeel at night

when I'd steal cokes from the fridge.

I'll curl up on my mothers lap

(the lap you hate)

listening to her defend my name

my 6 year old name

my 12 year old name

my 15 year old name

my 18 year old name.

I'd listen to you -

like the time you broke my beautiful dolls

like the time you broke my beautiful mother.

and she'd scream

she'd cry.

and she'd hang up.

"he loves you baby, just not today."

suddenly the sound of your voice.

was the first taste of the carmel carbonation

the drink that is too painful to swallow.

the drink that makes you sneeze.

"You're just like your mother."

Didn't you tell me

just yesterday

that you hated her?

And I'm just like my mother.

so beautiful

so funny

so free.

And I'm just like my mother.

spiteful.

angry.

hurt.

Look into these eyes of mine,

these eyes of my mother.

shout at me,

guilt me,

I only ask

that you look into these eyes,

they are the eyes of my mother.

burn burn

Every kiss,

is a burn.

embers connecting veins

and I am on fire.

Reno

It's not just the place,

this Reno mindset is really something cold.

I can't order a drink,

without being fucked by diamond eyes

begging for a glimpse

of my future

ending in the intersection of

all you can eat

"Me"

Look at you, Looking at me

My name isn't a grunt to be followed by strange whistles

hissing with lust, powered by fleshy thrusts.

I am not the fruit of a loom,

I am the bastard of a midnight sheet sprawl.

If you have to be conceived in love, to love-

then I am a bee hive exploding with vinegar.

This honey of mine was tainted long ago.

And it drips down the hands of those

"eager" enough to be swayed by the minute long

sugary taste of my bottom lip.

Don't you think I grow weary of keeping hearts in jars?

unlabeled,

simply because they all beat the same.

Sure, he was wounded,

Just a baby fallen from a healthy nest.

Of course I jaded him,

it was the taste of my organic sin

that melted him into a puddle

and reduced him to a simmer,

flipped him once,

and burnt his side.

but he loves me so much,

He'd take off his own sweater

and lay it at my feet

so I wouldn't soak my shoe

in his egg yoke existence.

And sure, I'm a terrible person.

I never fell,

I was stolen from my healthy home.

and hand fed mens hearts

until I grew wild-eyed,

God help you now,

Looking at me,

I am hungry for revenge.

Pieces

The devil has laced my heart with something foul.

I can feel it consuming the reddest parts,

turning whole parts grey.

I lay on a mirror,

hoping to see a reflection of a soul I once knew.

Someone like me.

But there lies a problem

like a pebble buried under boa constricting sand.

No part of me, is ready to give this up.

No part of me can sit still long enough

to hear a heartbeat,

to melt with someone

to lay next to anyone.

I am restless, without a doubt.

Obnoxiously numb, and fearfully forgetful

of all the times

you were laying with me,

but your heart was resting some place else.

My resignation, with love,

Heaven:

I can find spaces

clear spaces,

shadows in the corners of my mind.

I close my eyes, and see them

lace clear.

There are curtains and buildings

and miles and miles of cactus,

this is where I find you.

I've spent days dwelling here,

barefoot, and silent.

Watching my subconscious devour our love.

In the smallest building, I walk slowly-

touch the velvet on the walls,

and happily lose my mind.

Because here, I don't need it.

Here, I can feel.

I throw my head back,

I am an owl, looking for you

in every crease of this dream.

Searching for my weak mouse,

I can see you now,

scratching at the sides of this maze.

But I know,

I shouldn't look.

You are a peep show,

burlesque, frowned upon, fragile skin.

Here I am alone with you,

keep looking.

keep looking.

Here you are, a perfect archetype.

Here I am, dressed in white.

Doesn't it remind you of the summer

I first became your dove?

Doesn't it remind you of the nights

we refused to be alone?

Falling- Catching myself,

believing in the dream-you.

more than I have believed

in my own true-born existence.

I reach for an unimportant gold-something.

And here I am,

all dressed in white

Doesn't that mean anything?

Here I have something gold,

don't you love gold?

Can't you speak?

Hell:

You flee from here,

sensing comfort beyond;

sedation, meditation, the bond of a bottle.

what you've come to know

more than these hands,

that gave you all of that,

if not more, in one touch.

You look straight through me,

fish eyed and scared.

Here I am, standing naked

doesn't that mean anything?

I came here to give you everything,

can't you just take something?

Can't you just say my name?

So I can hear the cement walls you build up around it.

So I can hear what unimportant people call me

when they want the satisfaction

of knowing I can never ignore myself.

They have offered me gold too you know.

And diamonds, and a place to sleep.

But all that is pyrite.

And here I am offering truth.

keep looking,

keep looking.

Earth:

my body is moved

and I can hear every seam of this dream

unstitch itself.

Please, before it's too late...

I am standing here, all in white.

Glowing in melting comfort.

Tell me,

doesn't it mean anything?

beautiful, buried and burning.

You can't light memories on fire.

just the paper drenched in the sweat

that caused you to wear your heart

where you never intended it to be.

I didn't judge the aim of your throw

as the anchor weighed me down

and you played pitiful strings

while I sunk to the sharks kingdom.

Instead, I gave off a remarkable glow

I made the night, turn to pastel day.

I saw your pupils shrink and simmer,

like a cooked sponge.

You reached for me with branches,

and lengths and lengths of charm.

oh how the iris of your eyes reflected immediate regret.

I saw the painting of you and I

blink and fade away.

and now you stare at the sunset

longing to bring me home.

cursing the evening sky

for bringing you dusk and damnable love.

Belief-ing.

I want to believe I'm believable.

I want the wind to take the last drag off of this cigarette.

So I don't have to spend my nights

believing I'm addicted to this.

I don't want to believe I've come undone.

I spend nights staring at my ceilings,

waiting for them to cave in,

I can never stop smiling

the nights I feel the plaster hitting my skin.

Here I go,

blaming the walls that keep me confined.

While I hold the axe.

and hesitate to resist becoming another speck.

I know now,

I don't believe in anything.

not even myself.

dust

I can float through walls.

and plant my graces

in between the words that have stuck in the wooden paneling.

I like it best here,

alone.

I like being dust.

shipment: marked unshippable

There's a heavy scent of misleading charm in the air.

it chokes the passer-byers.

they fan their faces and glare at the source.

I never knew

they were glaring at me.

I guess I'm not vain enough to think

anyone would take the time to hate me.

Then again,

I'm vain enough to assume

they wouldn't.

I am an addictive riot.

taking place in the library

filled with wit, and silent punches.

They must know-

I want to take great pride in destroying beautiful things.

and when I'm at the peak of my destruction

I grow a concieous.

and it tells me,

I'm no good.

and while it whispers unspoken truths

I am the girl

you want to rescue.

but I just want to sink.

They flutter to me like misguided misfits.

and I am just sick enough to be worshipped.

I can see you all.

you can stop shaking your heads.

you can stop telling me

why you're qualified to fuck me.

because that's all this small talk is,

right?

I wake up to your voices

I wake up to your laughter.

Explain to me who I was last night.

Because I swear on everything,

I have no clue where I've been.

I heard them knocking on that door last night.

I heard him calling my name-

while he was.

while he was tilting his head

to match the lean of my own.

but I can hear them all clawing at the door.

"But wait, we're 24 hour soulmates."

They call my name,

and soon enough,

it's the soundtrack of the night.

I never knew

the symphonic synching

of two voices

screaming my name

could be the choral death of my ego.

I lay in rusty sheets,

and shake the dust off my lust.

and all I wanted to do

was be queen for the night.

be the talk of the town

for all the wrong reasons again.

"you're perfect."

I know.

"You're enchanting."

I know.

"You're captivating."

I know.

trust me.

I didn't want to find out this way.

I didn't want you to either.

but remember when you walked in on me

shouting at the mirror?

that was me,

that was me.

"You're out of control."

I know.

"You're losing it."

I know.

"You're a liar."

I know.

Undress me with one zip.

Define my life by that one look that said it all.

forgetting to zip up my pants,

simply because I thought this was the kind of love

that was best experienced naked.

The wild fire that burned down my childhood home

is burning down the wooden doors my heart stands behind.

it beats alone.

I held my hand out to you, wooden stranger.

and you splintered my soft childish skin.

I remain dumbfounded by the pain of losing something,

the pain of losing you...

it beats me when I'm alone.

I keep calling to you,

but you have forgotten your own name.

the skin you cling too, clings to you, because it is afraid.

you will never be alone.

dynamic

between the y shaped tree and me,

there are four neighbors arguing.

they are ugly for shouting,

and I think that maybe

they are all just yelling.

not to be heard,

but to yell.

Don't argue

Send me to bed without supper,

I am long gone from hunger.

I am without a tongue, without a taste, and without a truth.

Everything about me is made up,

just ask that group of people,

they'll tell you all about

who I was in highschool

What I believe in,

and whether it's cool or not.

They'll run circles around me,

no matter where I go.

So maybe it's best, you just stare from a distance,

because the rest of me,

that's all made up.

Shake my hand

Allow me to introduce myself.

I am the one howling at the moon.

NOT Edwards moon, you jackass.

My moon.

I don't howl because I'm lonely,

I could care less about that.

I howl because I need to be heard,

I have things to say,

and too often

you alphas are blinded by my silky coat.

I'd like to stay hidden

because I hate to be seen.

I give in sometimes, yes.

I walk with sex in my step, yes.

But allow me to introduce myself-

It's all for me.

Allow me to be the first person to be real with you

"Suck my dick, make like a banana and shit."

You don't like that baby?

Try this-

I'm the illest perfection you'll ever meet.

You will love me, I promise.

But I promise you,

I'll never love you back.

I know just what to say.

I act accordingly.

I'm untouchable,

which is why you'll want me.

which is while you'll love me.

which is why you won't have me.

So allow me to excuse myself.

you can shake my other hand

and kiss my ass.

You, tah-tah!

I have leaned against the railing of my deck.

half way falling over the side,

I keep waiting for you to comment on my positioning-

Only, I am greeted with the oh-so familiar, "as of late" silence.

I'm not okay with not being okay.

At least when you were here, someone was grieving stupidity like me.

stupidity, such as me.

And on nights when you saw me

carelessly becoming young again,

rebirthing innocence in the form of

makeup, curlers and 300 wardrobe changes.

When you watched me get stood up

for the fiftieth time,

I should have known.

he was stupid then.

While you walked street to street,

at 12 pm.

arriving at home

to play with me in the snow,

(to wake me up, to play in the snow.)

we shivered and talked about

who was stupid then.

And now

you might as well be 3049 billion miles away.

I know there wasn't much I could do,

you leaving was so exciting.

one of us was getting out.

at least one of us would get out.

and maybe I'm starting to realize

I was stupid.

Send

I love insomnia fakers.

They stay up until 1 am,

drinking coffee, and reading comics.

Agitated by the caffeine that melts away any chance of sleep.

If only they knew

how it felt

to fade into day and night

the only difference between being

the light shining through the curtain.

I wonder if they understand the concept of counting sheep

I wonder if they've ever counted

3,000,000,000 sheep.

and then watched the sunrise.

If only they understood

insomnia never sleeps.

and while they are counting,

I'm herding sheep.

Ship wrecked

If my insides could match my outsides

I would look a lot like an oil spill.

clouded with dark patches,

glimmering red in the sun.

I wish I could be serious with myself.

But I am an immediate joke.

I set myself up every time.

it's so easy to kill yourself.

when you hardly know yourself.

it's a lot like committing murder

with zero chance of consequence.

there is a blossoming,

and a wilting.

But me?

I have discovered the beauty of sleep.

Here goes me

There is a carnivorous blossom

within the lions view of my rib cage.

It dwells inside.

I find myself feeding it,

just to die.

Harvest

There was a point

when harvesting your moonlight

was my midnight goal.

I can see your face,

3 minutes from my own

and the only harvesting I want to do

is myself.

and leave.

Tick tock

He'd sell me out in a second.

If it meant seeing me naked,

if it meant me not making a sound.

He's just like the hands on the clock

touching numerous things.

reminding me

time takes it's precious time,

And won't be swayed by any warp.

the minutes, the minutes.

He'd sell me out in a second,

if it meant seeing his name etched across my breast.

Angler like depression

I am at the edge of darkness,
praying for an angler like light
to guide me through the cavernous cracks of earth.
Preying on the words
I can see you've clearly sketched
across the purple granite.
Watching your wrists twist and crack
in concerning patterns,
gliding and slipping
into an electrical current
you call a habit.
I am watching you
illustrate the illusions
of life onto a solved,
scientific surface.
and what an untameable force
this frustration has become.

Windows

The windows got a bit foggy
when I started to shout out
all the imperfections
my little eye could spy.

I know

I think it's best

I just hold my breath

and wait for the sunrise.

oh pretty bird

The cologne dripping off the curves of your nose

reminds me of a young viper, unable to sweat.

Unable to lust for simplicity and abnormalities.

At least in your eyes.

At least in your eyes I was foreign enough to make a difference.

Even when vision was dulled by watery grief.

I still could see.

Even when the taste in my mouth

was not an exotic salt I retrieved from the ocean,

it was my own.

I still could taste.

At least in your eyes I was safe.

Part of me understood that you would disappear,

that you would pack your emotional baggage

and leave me destitute.

desert me, because that's what they all do.

A momentary lapse of happiness-

ruined who I am now.

But the ruins of me, expand my palace.

I experienced happiness

so much, that now, in my moments of despair,

I don't want to feel a thing.

Yet I continue to feel.

I'm sure when a western wind blows

blows through your planned out skin,

my bastard eyes will appear.

appear and pierce the part of you

that knew, there was so much more to gold

than just its temptress color.

but throw that away now.

Because the package she comes in

is rich with perks.

I was hardly ready to be kept in a box

and tied tight with a pretty bow.

I have legs that extend to the farthest places

and I demand they be stretched.

You wait now,

with the security of food,

and shelter

in your beautiful cage.

Sing when they ask, you

"pretty bird."

And when they trim your wings,

it will be too late to fly.

But if the sun gets too hot,

I can promise you one thing

I will cast my shadow

and keep you cooled

while you try and chew through the bars

that keep you from living,

Living

like me.

Lillies

It's getting dark out, and the raindrops are blurring into lights,and unholy figures. I'm blind in the dark, mostly because I cover my eyes, I never know what is lurking in the shield of it all... But I could find this in the dark. I know the face so well, the curves of lips, and the center of a smile. The feeling this presence gives me, the mold that vanishes from my heart when it's near. The moment I begin to breathe like I was taking my first breath. That's when this surrounds me, that's when the color becomes every spectrum of the crystal reflection, and fills my beige world full of beauty.

I have never been more awake.

6:46

I pity pessimists with their glasses half empty

sitting on the yellow side of the hill

while I dance on the greener side,

Gorging myself with the rich nectar my half full glass holds.

I hear too much about how

The cold weather makes it harder on everyone who suffers

and with the gusts of winds, and the random rain storms,

anyone who hurts at all, will only hurt worse as the weather worsens.

wake up and realize

that the sun is always on the other side of those troubling clouds.

and brightness, though sometimes dulled,

is forever,

it may take seasons,

but you will find it, always, and again.

I know that you're reading this

because you loved me

even when I was in a creative slump.

and now that my mind is swirling with creation.

you love me still.

NV

It seems like every where I go

there is a street sign telling me where I belong.

I've driven 100 miles to escape the pollution of my city.

Only to find myself breathing harder

and farther away from my own bed.

I was ready to leave such a terrible town,

filled with has beens, and let downs.

Finally I arrive, I arrive to destination,

and to conclusions.

Nevada isn't where you keep your lover,

it's where you keep your booze.

Fathers breaking laws with their daughters,

secrets become delectable.

Oh nevada, I've never been bound for you

I just showed up

we all just kinda...

showed up.

The view of flat desert

topped with snow peeked mountains melting in sin.

From my suite hotel on the 18th floor,

viewing the spirits flow

from within terrible health inspected buildings.

oh nevada,

such a whore

I just happened to show up.

and you,

breathe me in.

Now this,

I pray when my fingers ache.

My hands crumble into position,

my weak existence ruptures,

and I discover what it truly means to be alone.

Do not pity me,

I have been illuminated

set free in a world gone mad with numb.

I have felt too much pain,

to not recognize when I don't feel at all.

I spend days high,

laughing because the creases in my mouth

remember that first,

remember that before the curves of a fermented frown

captures the nerves in my body

and appears.

Oh it's there, the pain is there...

Let me be the first to tell you.

Take a seat,

and we can talk about ruins and ruins,

and bridges I've blown up, just to swim.

I amaze myself.

I torture myself.

Sundeath

I no longer remember the sunrise as a passing sun,

but as a que to turn off my mind.

It rarely happens.

I rarely am alone.