Hurts Like Scabs (4.17.17)

You walk into a pitch dark room,
The only light from the open door you came through.
The stale scent of stagnant water hits you first,
Then a tang, like metal, sinks inside your nostrils.
The air is tangible and cold, still it is too dark for you to see.
You recognize the ground is concrete
At the same time you realize you've lost your shoes.
The chill sets deeper in your bones,
You notice you're without your clothes
Completely exposed to this endless dark room.
Through the 'you' shaped shadow you see a pile
Dead center in the room.
Every cell screams for you to stand still.
The grit from the floor digs into the souls of your feet,
Still you push forward into the shadows.
With a creak and a snap, the door closes behind you,
As you knew it would.
So there you stand in the pitch,
Shade coalesces into bonds,
The already cloying air clots further,
You can feel it like memory foam sandwiching you still.
Nakedness, cold fear, and alone.
Wetness rolls down the side of the hollow of your cheek
You're crying-
You didn't even know.

Back Ally Bar Fight with Your Heart (04.01.17)

Welcome back to the dirt.
Hands, rotting and crumbling,
Something not quite dead.
Little shambling thing,
Created just to move.

Can you still feel the breath leave your lungs?
How did you end up here?
Black, blue, bloodied.
By some unknowable force.
Did you tell anyone you were wandering alone?

Smart girls know to only walk on well lit streets.
You weren't a smart girl, were you?
Treading where others refused to go,
Running through where trouble resides.
And now you'll never be found.

You died gasping,
Grasping for someones hand.
No one came.
Perhaps, by chance,
Some kind rain will come
And wash you all away.

Interesting Developmental Magic. (03.30.17)

Violence isn't your vice, it's mine.
Amongst other things, like my Lust or Pride.
You've seen the sinner hiding behind these eyes,
You reach out in absolution.

You seek to do the impossible,
To leash a hurricane and contain sunshine in smile.
Somehow, with a strange and developmental magic,
I believe you might just pull it off.

I stand like a grecian statue
Aphrodite who walks with wolves,
You do not fall to worship, but stand at attention.
Arms, like oceans, waiting for my embrace.

We are two sides to one story,
Water and fire tumbling into one another
Some cosmic stardust binding me to you.
Because you do not quiver.

I am carved from the toughest stuff,
Strong as a bull, and stubborn as one too.
Somehow, through an interesting propriety,
You are strong enough to hold me.  

I N D I S P E N S A B L E (12.29.16)

A kiss to my Third Eye and your world becomes clear.
Here we are clean, washed free of remorse and fear.
Held in arms like mountains, infinity stretches within my reach.

Around us a green haze, colors mix and dilate.
Like pupils, we grow, we learn.
From each other and from life, forever intertwined.

This moment is a micro cosmos.
Stars, so impossibly vivid, blink in my vision.
I can't tell if it's the on-coming headache, or actually a nebula.

Our hands interlaced, like the strings on my old leather boots.
These hands will take me just as far.
Gently tugging me along, lifting me up the same way.

I polish your ring with a kiss,
You are the king here.
How I love to watch you rule.

We seal the moment with a kiss,
Two speaking parts sacrificing the same thing,
So that the other could breath.

You are indispensable to me.

Walk With the Sun, Love With the Moon. (11.16.16)

She is a wildflower,
Sprouting where nothing dares to grow.
The sun light flits over her garden,
That grows on the side of highway 66.

Her eyes shimmer like gold dust in a California river,
Given the chance she'd rather be panning for minerals
Then pining over missed chances.

Because to her there is nothing quite like the air,
Mixed with starlit woods.
Something about the dead of night
Makes her feel alive.

Let's get one thing straight (Think Thoughts.)

My brain is not my friend.
On that note neither is my body.
Both of these offending objects try and kill me on multiple occasions. Normally that processes is attempted like 40 times in the same day. Like today, I've been working my tail off for an 8 hour shift, and I've been doing my best to keep in contact with friends. My brain however, doesn't care. It looks me in the soul and says,
"You're not working hard enough, I wonder if you worked harder people might actually want to spend time with you."

What the hell?
NO!

Listen, I know what that voice is, it's Anxiety or Depression. Some kind of chemical changing my vibe from good to gross in a matter of seconds. No one thinks I'm not working hard, and people love me!
But that doesn't stop the voice.

So, why write this?
Why post yet another homage to my messed up connections?

You might just be thinking the same thing. You might feel useless and hopeless, like no one in the world likes you. Don't believe the hype, you are so wonderful! You're the most wonderful you in the world! The only you.
So don't listen to your bastard track.
You go be the most wonderful you that you can manage.

What Do You Want? (3.7.16)

Out of all the possibilities I imagined as a sad and scared 10 year old, this was never one of them.
Perhaps dying, brilliantly and tragically, at 16 with so much life ahead of me.
Perhaps living, a young genius, whose mind was unrivaled. Published author at 15.
Perhaps lost, homeless and cold, but free. 17 with nowhere to land.

Now I'm 18, I live in my grandparents house, I struggle to finish a single class, I fight myself constantly.
"You cannot do this, not today, lay back down and sleep." Is what my mind whispers to me, cruel and unrelenting.
My heart screams, "This is just a moment," "This too shall pass," and "You are stronger than this,"
Millions of other platitudes recourse around my grey matter, until I am forced to collapse.

I feel lost, like I'm dying and living all in the same breath. Like tomorrow will be the raindrop that breaks the leavy. It never is.
I spout the same nonsense to anyone who will listen. As if repeating the lie will make it true,
"I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing."
A mantra whispered to a pretty boy with soft eyes and small smile. A war cry screeched at siblings, who are more afraid of their future than I am of mine.

I want the world, I want the stars and the planets and the oceans. I want an open apartment, with large windows that look out into the snow globe world. I want the freedom to pursue flights of fancy, and the security to fall.
I want a place for my marshmallow heart to call home.

I'm a scared and sad 18 year old now, so let us imagine once more.
Perhaps successful, living in a new city where I've carved my own path, 29 with so much still to do.
Perhaps mountainous, 22 with eyes cut from sapphires, glinting with righteous fury and thirsting for blood.
Perhaps found, 25 with a hand to hold, a bed to sleep in, and somewhere to be.