Writers block..
It's killing me.

Like a slow,
Insanity.

It's taking control,
Of me.

Writers block,
It's attacking my sanity.

It's taking control,
Over my mentality.

Writers Block,
Oh Writers Block,
What are you doing to me.

I never said you looked pretty
I never said you looked nice
You never looked good
You never looked beautiful

You looked like art


And art is suppose to make you feel.

How do I start this?
How do I express this to you?
Well, here's the thing.
I like you. It's simple at that.
Sometimes I'll joke around,
tie your shoelaces together, say mean things,
but deep down I really do love you.
And I want you to go and give your heart to her,
not to me.
Why?
Because she will be so much better for you.
She's sophisticated,
I am quite casual.
She's smart and cute,
I'm average and insane.
She's pretty and skinny,
I am fat and ugly.
She's the one that you stare at,
I'm just that thing, that accessory, an amusement for you to use.
Though some part of me wants her to break your heart and hand it back to you,
I don't think she will, not with the way she looks at you,
and the glimmer in you eyes as you look at her,
like shimmering like sun reflections on water.
Some other part urges me to lie to myself,
they won't be together long, they'll break up,
you can finally be noticed for once,
you'll be the heroine, be the shoulder he needs.
But that's the selfish part of me.
I realize, at least he'll be happy right?
It doesn't matter if I'm content
with sitting here in the corner,
alone and observant of the love that surrounds me,
while I stay here in my sullen pitiful sphere.
It doesn't matter.
It's the way your heart beats and the way your smile
inches across your face
instantly making it all the more beautiful,
that's what matters. You'll be happy,
with someone you deserve,
someone you need in your life,
a piece of perfection,
not a berserk,
ugly,
fangirly,
lovey-dovey
nerd/geek like me.
You two turtle doves are perfect for each other,
perfect looks,
perfect grades,
perfect everything.
A barbie doll to your ken.

So please,
walk to her now,
hand her your heart,
that full and crimson thing
that beats so fast next to her, and so slow next to me,
give that to her
while I'm not looking.
Give me some mercy.

Last of all,
good luck.
I hope she will care for your heart,
the way you might care for hers,
with adoration,
kisses,
caresses,
words whispered in whimsicality,
little pearls of treasures only found with two turtle doves.
Not that I would know. And I do hope I will know someday
what it feels like to be one of those turtle doves.

i didn't know you quite well
i just knew you hated
yourself
and loved disney films
and musicials

(i hate musicials and disney)

we sat at the same lunch table
2013
i remember your cotton sleeve
wiping across the corner of my left eye
because there was a storm brewing in them
and it flooded

you talked of
that boys don't know
better
and told me to stay
strong

how can someone who is not strong themselves
encourage me to do something
that they can't even triumph

you fell ill around december
or was it november?
i can't remember.
you almost followed the footsteps
of your lost nephews (two and five)
why couldn't you absorb your nutrition?
was your destiny to see the mortician?

(no.)

but you left the hilly suburbs of ohio
to go where the sand storms
and the palm trees sway
and the salty bays lay.

alex, alexandria
(defender of man)
i still remember those sleepless green eyes
filled with defeat and woe
and yards of wavy tangled brown hair
that flowed.

Her window was open
And her eyes were closed
She sat there in the passenger seat,
Music blasting
I could hear her singing
And her voice was haunting
Her green car drove past me
In a blur
But I recognized her face
From what feels like a thousand year ago
But was only a few
Back when she was a little girl
She finally looks happy
She never used to
…
Time passes and one day I’m at a bus stop
Waiting
Just waiting
I sit on the bench as the smell of cigarettes
From the smokers nearby
Engulfs me
And there she is
In the crowd of people
But I recognize her
I catch her eye, and I see her expression flicker ever so slightly
Her eyes narrow in dislike for a split second
But as if it never occurred, she looks away causally
As if she were staring at something just over my shoulder
Another bus pulls up and she boards it,
Flashing a polite smile at the bus driver
She is so much more pleasant to those who don’t know her
But I have given her reason not to like me, of course
One of those regrets you try to drown with an oh well
…
Fraternity party
I’m haven’t even finished my first beer
There she is, in a would-be modest dress, but she made the mistake of accepting a drink from a stranger so the front is unbuttoned more than I know she usually would let be, sober.
The punch was spiked, as usual. I know, because one of my buddies did it.
Too many hands on the giggling mess of the grown up little girl I used to know.
I never really particularly liked her, but something about it bothers me.
She is like a part of my childhood. Nothing important, just a blurred piece of the framework, but still.
I can’t let her be defiled by the man she doesn’t know with clear bad intentions who is leading her by the small of her back out the door, his hand slipping a little too low.
I tap the guy on the shoulder and he scoffs at my request to leave her alone.
She is confused but vaguely recognizes me and earnestly informs me she doesn’t like me because I didn’t used to be very nice to her.
I tell her I know and I’m sorry but she’s got to listen to me.
I manage to convince her not to go home with the man.
I get her to tell me how she got here, she drove herself, alone.
She is far too drunk to remember where she lives and she doesn’t know anyone here.
Reluctantly, I bring her to stay at my house for the night.
She vomits and passes out in my car on the drive there.
I carry her in and mean to drop her on the couch but I find myself pacing up the stairs to my bedroom.
I gently lay her down, and watch her sleep. She doesn’t scowl as much as she used to when I knew her when she is sleeping. I notice she is pretty, then grab a pillow and sleep downstairs on the couch for the night.
…
I wake up and roll over to the sight of her lying on the other side of my bed.
Her eyelids flutter open and I smile at my beautiful 7 year girlfriend.
A used-to-be part of my childhood, and now a part of me.
I whisper her name, and pull out a diamond ring.
…
Hop off the plane when it touches down back from my business trip and dash to the nearest taxi to the hospital
Maybe all those three AM cravings and watching my beloved wife cry because of the hormones will be worth it when I hold my baby girl in my arms
I reach the waiting room, holding the little baby blue (appropriately so) socks I bought for my unborn daughter, and a nurse stops me asking my name.
They take me into a room. Why is no one smiling when the most wonderful baby the world has ever seen is either born, or about to be?
The doctor comes in and as he speak I decode the medical terms and slowly his words fade to a ringing silence. All I catch is: I’m so sorry about your late wife and child.
…
Blue socks on my dresser.
Her picture by my bed.
My half empty bed.
Never to be married again.
Who else could I possibly fall in love with? Besides the girl with her car window open and her eyes closed?
…

Repost if you know anyone with a child or wife or both lost in childbirth.
Comment please! I LOVE to read people's interpretations of my work.

Girls married off
To a dogma they can't stop
Decided at birth
I would tell you it hurts
That it truly is terrible
But it gave me an outlet
Made rebellion bearable

I abhor to see they way
They block us make us stay
They're pretty little vessels
But now it's too fun, I have to wrestle
The rules and regulations
The trials and tribulations
They really aren't that terrible

Mess with the horns, you get the teeth
Because she's determined to become a female preist
Tell her that it's wrong
That she disobeys God
But she'll just tap the Old Testament
Won't let her resentment
Control her when she smites you

I don't wear makeup.
I don't want to.
I don't want a pretty face,
Smiling and nodding,
Lulling you into a false sense of security.

Children are being ****** out by their own parents!
People are being murdered by the officials meant to protect them!
There are people so scared of their emotions they would rather die than confront them!



And you're ****** because I don't meet the beauty standards you adopted from our society?


Everyone is being forced to say sorry
And smile
And giggle
To make themselves and others believe that the superficial problems they face are dire
And that when they solve that they've accomplished something
And that everyone is just swell.

Not me.


I'm more blessed than I'll ever know
More fortunate than I'll ever appreciate and I'll do my best to save everyone,
To fix what is wrong.

So if I become over zealous
And ***** up my face
And disturb you
And force you to reconstruct your worldview
I'm not apologizing

And if you hope to take solace on beauty afterwards
To seek comfort on the familiar
My face still won't be made up