The Talking **** is babbling
He’s not quite capable of reason.
He’s busy patting his own back
Every day, every month and season.
The Talking **** is assuming
As usual that we can’t think.
But we know for a certainty
That a talking **** still stinks.

The Talking **** is promising
All the miracles he will perform.
He’ll take credit from others
After all, that’s his norm.
He’ll put down the good efforts
Of those who came before
Who actually did the good work
While he worked on his golf score.

The Talking **** is not required
To make very much good sense.
He has his Nazis beside him
And a crowd of the politically dense.
He says what he knows pleases
Those who are not quite bright.
He chants the hateful dogma
Adopted by fools on The Right.

I do not know what to write
I have not for days or months or years
Or since I was born
Because
Some people wish to be free
I do not

I am afraid

I look in the mirror and I freeze
Captivated by my flaws
My ego sneers
"You're not good enough"
"You'll never be good enough"
"No talent no job no lover no family no meaning no purpose no life"

"No wonder why everyone leaves you"

And for a second
My sadness makes me feel real
And
Relatable
Because I am not an
extraordinary beautiful crestfallen angel


I am just a girl who writes ****** poems at 3:30 AM



But still it's the
mild differences
that make me feel
so alone

The Existential Despair of Diet and Exercise

A banana instead of a bite of cheese
Skipping the butter on ground-acorn toast
The mocking of perfidious calories
One more notch in the belt – feel free to boast!

To the treadmill, now, with your lazy (self)
Off the cliff with those Sisyphean pounds
And a steak for dinner? – just give it a pass
Think yourself skinny, and make hopeful sounds

(Time passes)

A week of denial, now the scales – oh, da(rn):
You lost no pounds; you gained a kilogram!

I’m tired and this drama is making me sick.
I won’t even try- Just throw your bricks.
Everything you said was right about me.
I need sleep but I’d rather drown in the sea.
I’d swallow another bottle and go back to bed,
But I can’t fall asleep when the light hurts my head.
If only I had something to believe in,
Then maybe I wouldn’t let this poison under my skin.
You’re no more than us, but I’m only less,
I’m the lies that lay underneath your dress.
They asked me why I threw it all away,
I told them I was bound to sometime anyways.
Won’t someone save me?
(No, I’m vile.)
Is this the only way to set myself free?
(I’m not worth your while.)
I just ask that you bite my tongue out of my mouth so I know,
When you’re through with me so I can let myself go.
“I need another savior on my cross again.”
I am not the angel your faith meant to send.
I’m secondhand smoke,
Filling your lungs and overwhelming until you choke.
I guess my hurt has no healing.
I’ll do my best to drown out the feeling.
You’ve got all your poisons in a row,
So when I don’t wake up…
You won’t know.

A life filled with struggles is still better than a life filled with regrets.