Why do I...
Rely on tomorrows,
Loathe in secret sorrows.
Why do I...
Pretend like this time is borrowed,
As if this isn't the real thing...
It's practice, that must be what I think.

Why do I, when I know it's not true?

Here’s some Xanax for the anxiety caused by the Adderall that you got for not being able to focus as a side effect of the anti-depressants prescribed to you for the depression caused by a low nutrient, snake oil infused society.

This pounding is much too harsh. Always aching with the drum of my truth as it slaps me in the face. My fat jiggles in a horrendous fashion, I don't move with grace, but thunder. I blunder, wishing to keep up with your pace. I want the stride of your beautiful. I want to stay youthful, but my metabolism is slacking and I hear the snickers, so I'll keep my eyes glued down. At least I keep score; I see days I don't eat, versus days of defeat, I'm a fat-*** puppy always sniffing for treats. And I get sick of the stale lines telling me I'm beautiful. Because only awfully gorgeous people are the ones to speak, and they tell me to gain more? It's not a chore, I'm not resisting when I secretly want to snack. NO, I just forget for a moment and shove some in like a zombie extra-diseased as fat.
I agree, I'm pathetically weak, but people don't understand that it hurts more to know that my power of will is low than to see this mass of mountainous freak.

i am so trapped inside myself.
there are words in my heart
and they try to leap out,
battling with the black hole of my person.
there is so much i want to say
so much love i want to share
but the fear won't let it escape.
even when the alcohol dissolves the barrier,
the fear is still too strong
and again the words are lost
before my mouth can form the shape of 'i love you'.
i am so in love with so many people;
each of them a planet within my solar system,
more beautiful than anything you could imagine.
i wish i could tell them how i felt,
how much they meant to me,
how they keep me alive.
but
as always
the words are lost.

A man once told me
He felt as if he had created me
From scratch, a muse
Conceived by invention,
Rather than the precision of my blood
or the tiny cosmos within my marrow;
He was mine,
But did not belong to me

The path of sirendom
Is paved with gilded lilies,
Soft flesh, and quiet angles
If you let them,
You can drift on through
Your feet hovering three inches above the soil
Saturated ripe with fertility,
Easier than breathing

But there will always be
At least nine of you
In every patch of every field
Preserved in light
The quicksand of reason, immortalized
Delicate whispers convince you
What a lovely work of artistry
An inspiration, the birth of genius
But you are only the vessel
Left empty

But I have never
Belonged to anyone,
No square of grass
Lush enough to rest my head
on a practiced lap
I was not an island to discover;
Sprung from beneath the Mariana,
I was built from the deep place
No pedestal to extend
The unhinge of my reaching arms

I took the long way up
Scratching through earth, long dead
No fruit, carefully arranged
No marble, heavily lidded
The flowers collapsed,
Like your idea of Woman,
To linseed stain
A smashed sunrise
It wasn’t god, but myself
That I met on the other side

dear girl,
i would like to apologize on behalf
of those that will never.
the world lied to you
since you were old enough
to balance a book
to listen, retain,
consume without question

i would like to apologize on behalf
of those that informed you
your value is calculated
by the sum of your parts
that you are worth the contrast of fat deposits
over the angles of fragile bones

i would like to apologize on behalf
of those pining characters they wrote you,
every soul with a haunting disposition
who was given the noble ambition
to invoke longing within those
that remain on the outside
of the glass

because the songs that were sung on the radio
cast you as the the inspiration
but when they painted you lips for love
they denied you the language of narration
and you lived your life thinking
you could invoke magic
if you were only willing
to wait your entire life
for someone else to conjure it

i am sorry
that we filled your head
with empty adjectives
to whisper in your ear
that you were nothing
unless validated by the eyes of strangers
seeing you as nothing more
than a commodity
for which to window shop
and consume

and when they abandoned their casual browsing
their wants transcended your right
to exist
and it was you
they chose to invade
to tear open
because after all,
you were man made
a nail scratching a rib
a void to fill up
with whatever poison they thought you’d look sexier
choking on

dear girl,
i would like to apologize on behalf
of the fact that you remain unnamed,
an improper noun
a caricature,
a statistic,
a silhouette on the back window
mouth a perfect oh
that will never know words

i am sorry that the second
you entered the world with two X’s
they would reduce you
to an exquisite tragedy,
place them over your eyes
and declare that the death of a beautiful woman
is the most poetic thing in the world

i would like to apologize
because this world was never
quite big enough to hold you
and we knew
and we saw
and we opened our mouths,
took a breath,
and we closed them

You are a child of the Universe
You have a right to be here
And eternal right
To be you.
Unique.

rejection of others
is rejection of oneself
that's what hurts

imagination is a spirit worth listening to
it has the possibility to take you anywhere

when we met across those sands of centuries
slowly ebbing their way as we embraced
our eyes so sublime in the fullness of meetings
I was holding my dreams and nightmares
in either hand but you never noticed when
out those experiences I added you to my dreams
because your presence dissipated all my nightmares