i prefer to have them watch me
its better than them not to notice
now do you understand
the short shirts and ***** shorts
see through tops show bras with no underwire
eyebrows filled in and lips filled with lip liner
ive become unaware of my volume
speaking loud enough to show my power
why should i hide
wanting to make a hero i made a monster at the same time
the names labeling me are more than likely true
i don't fear the looks they give
they almost fuel me to stand taller and show a bit more
say what you must
your words will feed my lust

i no longer find solace
in my solitude because the voices in
my heard are too loud.
                      "your nose is too big"
"you're too fat"

          "you'll never be good enough"

"no one likes you"

"better off dead"

and the office talk begins.

A little boy of shadow
Sitting in carnations
Terrified
Of God’s creations.
A little boy,
Lost and to never be found
Never knew
The voices could be so loud.
The voices that say
“If you stood, the world could be ours.”
But he prefers wishing on stars.
Because his legs are beaten and bruised
And he cannot walk.
But he wishes for someone to help him stand.
And doesn’t make him talk
About the things he wants to say
The things he wants to keep away
For someone who will always stay.

Mushrooms and tiny pops,
Fungus growing deep inside,
Its too much, too loud.

my words mean nothing to you,
do they?
all you want are the raw images of
lacy curves and hairless thighs,
the sound of my breathing and the way
my name sounds so good rolling off
your tongue.
it's as if when i say "hello"
all you hear is "ready, set, go"
my words mean nothing to you,
do they?

The song I played for you on the phone,
The jokes you had me on,
It’s things like that,
Making me feel so alone,

Had to leave so many houses,
Just to find out, non could be a home
It’s things like that,
Vanishing me when I wasn’t even gone,

Standing by the window in the dark,
Wondering where I lost my spark,
It’s things like that,
Always bleeding, leaving a heavy mark,

I want to sleep, but oh I can’t,
I need to, but I don’t feel a thing,
It’s things like that,
Freezing me inside and out,

There’s so much to weep over,
But the tears seem stagnant,
It’s things like that,
Leaving me —insignificant remnant

If I ever had one, that soul’s dead,
Brutally murdered, not once,
Sometimes with words,
Other times —silence

Do you mind if I sing out loud?
The world doesn't want someone who is too sad,
but it doesn't care for someone who is too happy either.
It's unnatural, and it's fake.
I'm a liar
because I say 'I love you' enough that I have no regrets?
because I look in the mirror and smile at myself?
because I sing out loud.