Needless to say, I need less reasons
to feel threatened by you spitting
on my grave; my spirit would still
bloom out a beautiful rose.

You might picture me as a failure
in your mind—so allow me to pose
in front of you, with these charms,
for what you like to suppose.

You only know what you know;
what is revealed on the surface,
of what a person shows.

Yet, if we do not engage in profound
pieces of talk, you don’t know me,
for my ALL.

The sun gleams,
and glitters, famously...
a gilded disco ball,
hung from the ceiling,
of a peaky blue sky.

White clouds, are stretched,
and whipped out,
to a spun-sugar confection.

The wind, snags my legs,
and my bare wrists.
I feel like a side of beef,
on a frozen meat hook.

I gaze, longingly
at the array,
of tender seedlings,
screaming,
to be unpackaged, at last,
and to be freed...

to be given unto the earth,
and surrendered to the elements,
like eager children,
that they may rise, and grow!
...but I can't seem to recall
any of their names, or faces.

...I'm a terrible mother.

Were you impulse buys?
...I hope you'll all be beautiful.
The arctic, unseasonal breeze,
bites at my wrists, again:
a bad-tempered dog,
with an impatient demeanor.

...**** all of this,
I'm going back inside.

Force my thoughts
And tell me what i think.
Shaping my mind
To your use and will.
To what you think is true,
Yet it isn't.

Airing out ***** laundry,
is in turn, walking on a thin line —  

The very line where those garments dangle;
but let a gentle breeze stir up, and suddenly,
That foul scent rushes back to you, and starts
to assault your nose,

Catching you off guard, and before
you know it!

These moving feet always stay hungry
For the steps on finding perfect dreams
Pestering about love again – it really bugs me.
How it usually goes for us, in this love story
Asking myself, “would you really tell me his story,”
Quietly knowing, “you two still share some history?”

Yes, your eyes are both the windows to your soul —
But their curtains are occasionally & forcefully closed
The story of every man, wanting to find that treasure,
Of their favourite girl's heart; marking it with an X,
And they all quietly hope, to closely hear her say,
"Hey, you're so much better than my ex.”
Asking myself, “what love of man, is surely king,”
Cause being that it's all ruled from a wicked heart –
It can take a week to fall in love, but it unfortunately
Takes a lot of us weeks to fully heal from a broken heart.

Love can become so foreign to someone,
Unfamiliar to the tastes of a good French kiss
"What's your love language," we first have to ask;
Body language can differ from what comes out of your lips.
As even a betrayer knows when to give the right kiss…

I just wish for all people to be spontaneous and to do sth they love. Find sth they enjoy and experience true joy doing that. Interacting with others, expressing themselves as they are.

i am stuck inside this body. and it feels all wrong. tears sting my eyes every time i look in the mirror. the face in the reflection isn’t showing my authentic self. but god, a whole lifetime of burying myself in the dirt and i can’t seem to stop choking on it.

the roots have tangled around my body, holding me lifeless in limbo. it’s my fault for letting it condition me into believing i am not meant for anything other than soil. i must have the strength to break free, i can see the light glowing. but i am too scared to touch it after rotting in the darkness for a lifetime.

but god i just want to break free, to be rid of the worms eating away at me. i want to feel the sun on my skin. i want to know myself when i am not covered in dirt. it’s just so hard to dig myself out of it when i am the one that dug it deeper than it had ever been before. i am tired. my muscles ache.

will i ever be able to look in the mirror and see a man staring back at me? the musculature, peace in my eyes, and their perceptions correct? dirt under my fingernails proving the fight it took to break free?

i hate what i see because it is not correct. what went wrong? why was i born in the wrong body? why is this war raging inside me? why can’t i just accept it? why do i feel like sometimes i would rather just roll over in the dirt and rot?

i know there is still time but it’s not moving fast enough. i am drowning inside this body. if i could just turn adam’s rib into my own. but i fall victim to the idea i’ll always just be made from a man’s rib without ever having the body it came from. a rib is not enough. i need to be the whole creation.