You
Are beautiful.
You
Are funny.
You are dynamic, and nuanced.
No one knows how to see the world
The way you do.

You don't give yourself
Credit.

You don't think you're
Worthy
Of good things.

You believe,
And heaven forbid these words,
But you believe
(Whether in some immense degree or a smaller, subtle way)
That you
Are
Worthless.

Oh, my beauty.
Oh, my dazzling darling.
You are more than you think.
You are so much more
Than you have let yourself
Become.

It's not too late.
Drop those weights,
Those heavy, dark thoughts.
And remember who you knew you were when you were too young to lie to yourself.

You are amazing.
You have flaws and they
Are wonderful.
You are not a magazine.
You are not a Barbie doll.
You are you.
And that is what makes You
So very, very
Perfect.

pressing the tight muscles of my shoulders
hard against the stillness of the air

leaning into the melody and out of it again

my fingers not unlike grasping claws
trying to pull music from
a dead thing
that does not love me
the way
it used to.

you have robbed me of my music,
of the words that would
flow in elegant waves from my willing fingers,
refreshing as water but not nearly as
cliche.

the melodies
that raised the veins in my neck
when i spoke them to the mirror
and the windshield,
that left me breathless
heart pounded
half-smiling
into the beautiful vortex of my
spired mind.


they're gone now.


and i'm left with a dead horse slung across both shoulders
and an albatross
around my neck.

Why does mirth rhyme with birth?
Is it the accompanied boundless joy of one?
Why does joy rhyme with mama's boy?
Is it the countless mirth of having one?
Why does cry and goodbye rhyme?
Is it the tears that flows after one?

Shy and pie rhyme,
Why?
Just like shout and knock about
Do just as well.
I rhymes with mediterranean fruit fly,
And you rhymes with stomach flu.
Wait! Is it too late?
Am i drunk, i smell a skunk,
Life is short, may be not,
Night is dark and it must ****
That oceans wide, do divide
The boy, the joy, the mirth,
The girl, the cry goodbye and tears.

Hide and Seek is not for the meek

last time my parents didn’t find me for a week

no matter how much I peeked and squeaked

Next time I’ll eat garlic so I’ll reek

it will be a much shorter game of hide and seek