Curtains half closed
Maybe half open
Dependent on the look
Of the environment

It never happened quiet
Just as a thunderstorm
Trying to be a breeze
You made me feel

A bulb flashing light
Powering with full might
Why is it always a maybe
Or a could've or should've

But never a genuine "would've"
Torn within the darkness of the light
The last breath before a time
Tainted red-

You wished, you prayed
But really never fixed the light
That wasn't at a regular volt
Just a overworked circuit

When all I wanted was peace.

this feeling of
upset,
frustrated,
sad,
misunderstood,
mad --
just makes me want
to rip my hair out of my head
and punch something.

knowing i full well
do not have the strength
to do
either.

i would break my knuckles
punching something,
and hurt my hands trying to
pull all my hair out.

im too weak.
that's what this was all about anyway,
im mad because im weak,
im sad because im too quiet,
im frustrated because no one hears me!
no one truly understands
my brain
and that will never change
no matter what i do.

no one but me is in here.

i feel things loudly,
and it feels like
im being swallowed
by multiple intense
feelings
all at
once.

and it's just too much,
for one girl.
one brain.
one heart.
one voice.

it makes me want to yank my hair out
and punch something
until my knuckles are red and ******.

im not even mad anymore --
im just just
tired
of your antics.
you twisted things
so well
that i actually
started to believe
that i was the villain
in my own story.

you were loud,
but somehow,
im the one that
they stopped
listening to.
it's funny
how that works, huh?

i wont send this.
because you would
more than likely --
just turn it into another reason
to prove me wrong.
but honestly,
youre not worth my voice
anymore.

I write because
I have to.
There is no rhythm or reason.
My poetry isn't for you
half the time
it isn't even for me.
It just is.

Once in a while
the hands from the "chosen" gods of
allpoetry.com
will deem me worthy
to grace the stage
of "front page"
Where all the big wigs of the site
get flowers
their proverbial ***** stroked
and told how pretty they are.

Poems like mine don't get chosen much.
I have to be
literally *******
the picker
to get one of my
mediocre writes
displaced for
a few hundred
or thousand views
some likes and of course
DMs from boys.

There are times such as today
where my writes get taken off of "pending picks"
The God of this land finds my words to be too offensive.
Asking what do certain metaphors mean
and my formating is wrong.
I make my own words "weak"
That the word *******, is
too strong.
To that
I light my nightly cigar
and the urge to burn
my page down
is fighting
with the cats and possums
clawing into each other's back
between the shed and old fence.

To hell with
modest clothes
that cover full breast.
**** the short skirts I wear
and the boots that I could very easily kick your teeth in with.

If you want poetry
about babbling brooks,
tall red wood trees
and metaphors you can
sing to your
small child at night
while her father
slams down
another empty can of beer
hoping to not wake
up in a bed of his own ****
in the morning.
That won't be misplaced here.


Dear reader
my poetry
isn't for you.
Neither is it
front page
"worthy"
I write about
depression
***
cheating
loneliness
being ******* over.
About being
Bi polar
and all the
******* pills I
have to take
to let me sit
near the "normal crowd"
and if that's not what you want to read.
then go **** yourself
*******.

the sun is as hot as spaghetti
steaming with a sauce
served with a side of sizzling hot cherries.

my tie is so tight I cough in silent h's
and I'm sweating
my pores shooting out like a fountain
and my face, like an umbrella in the rain.

no time to think
no time to reason
"Ding, Ding DIING!"
I jump like I was slapped on the cheek
my beard itches, my right eye twitches
"What the F* is this?"
I write out the first words that come to me
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
but I'm not done writing
I look at the bell,  "you f*king ****"
and I jump again, like there was a puddle before me
my head is as hot as popcorn
no, even hotter
and you can hear it pop
from the front and from the back
"Ding, Ding, DIING!"
i jump again
it's me vs. a bell.

these few days
sleep has been
something not so
easy to go in
i feel myself
drift off
for but a second
till a cough
or a sneeze
or an itch
wakes me up
from this ditch
and brings me back
into reality
sections at a time
then the sun shines at me
and really i go to sleep
for the serenity; the peace
but i find none
just black before my eyes
and a headache
i’m awake, just, in disguise
either that or
i’m awake somewhere else
in a dream or a nightmare
i’ve got to help myself
i never find myself
in that state of mind
being rested being well
i wish there to reside

is the problem me;
i have many talents;
monetisation.

lately i've been scared
worried the darkness will last
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel powerless
so backed into a corner
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel judging eyes
like i'm not just projecting
but i hope i'm wrong

i think i see it
they wince when my mouth opens
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel unwanted
it's unlucky to know me
but i hope i'm wrong

unhelpful and shamed
no one is glad i'm here, right?
i just hope i'm wrong

only by working—
my body, my only strength
my hands hold children
but my mind is too broken
prove to me i'm wrong

Inefficient love
Subpar communication
Almost good enough
Almost worth listening to
If you say nothing
You confirm it with silence
But if you argue
Please bring some more evidence
I'm trying to hope
That this self-talk's distorted
I'm sorry my pain
Is underreported
If nobody cared
Then surely I'd be alone
And not surrounded
By those who want to love me—
But I don't know how
To feel the love that they show.
I shrink back, I hide,
Because it hurts me sometimes.
These are all my thoughts
They feel so true in my mind.
But I really hope I'm wrong.