I cut my own tongue
on it's razor sharp edges.
Lacerated words arise
from hidden places.
The sweet salt drips
down my cracked lips
and onto my
What have I done?
Mr. MelancholyI fell deeply inlove with him.
in his gray suit
and his black tie.
He always had an eye for fashion,
and he'd dress me down well.
He'd call me beautiful,
and reassure me that the funeral
they eluded to in their jeers
was a wedding for our souls.
And our honeymoon
would be spent side by side,
as it always should be,
laying down under the stars.
A stone on my finger,
and a stone on top of me,
carefully adorned with flowers,
As my dress turns to lace
and then to dust that slips through my fingers
in rhythm to the ticking of the clock,
he sews my next corset
between my ribs.
It's steel-boned spine crushes me
ever so lightly over time.
The difference so subtle
I wouldn't have known it was real
if it hadn't been for the stares.
I suppose I have gotten thinner,
but he assured me again
I was beautiful.
His design was built to fit a skeleton,
and I wanted to please him.
In sickness and in health,
'til death do us part,
and my parts have
This Place Is GarbageThis place is goddamn filthy
and we are all trash.
No matter how you look at us
or what someone says about us
at the end of the day we all
deserve to be taken out.
I won't deny we are flawed
or even at times disgusting
But at one time we were desired.
Someone wanted us,
maybe even needed us.
But we were broken and used
and then tossed away.
That's how everything fucking works
and you either get used to it
and accept that you are rotting away,
or you realize that you change over time.
We are still rotting.
We are still dying.
But found things can be used again.
An artist's warehouse is a dumpster.
Scraps of cardboard are walls.
Egg cartons are hills.
Broken glass are mosaics
and someone fucking needs you again!
I can not change your mind
on how you view yourself.
Just as you can't change mine
on how I view you.
Call yourself what you may,
my beautiful shard of sharp metal,
you may use yourself to harm yourself,
you may rust and dirty up,
but you are the centerpiece--
The Comfort of Pale-Smile SadnessMy pockets know the back of my hands
like I know the world through
my teary eyes
and just-as-blurry mind.
I'm sure if I ever left the comfort
of closed-lip, pale-smile sadness,
I'd fall right off the orange horizon;
drowning in the migraine-inducing sun.
Because a cold night kisses hard
and love is dropping your legs over the roof
with the gently-used notion to ground yourself,
but instead you just breathe knowing you've already fell.
It's All For YouI know you will never see
what I see in you
because we have different sets of eyes
and different minds.
As much a part of me
as I wish you were,
you're still just you
and I'm just me.
So the person in the mirror you see
is a demon
and I see an angel
and they're constantly fighting.
But evil always wins because it doesn't
like I do.
So you took a liking
to broken glass
at such a young age,
that when you started to grow up,
the skin of your tightly-clenched fist
grew around the shard.
Now it's just as much a part of you
as the knuckles you damage
and the toes you use
to keep your balance
once you finally get up;
maybe to fetch a glass of water.
You've spent every second
trying to cut your own blade
out of your hand,
hoping you'll bleed out
all the mistakes you think
belong to you.
And I know you've heard
a million times
that everyone makes mistakes
but there's truth behind cliches
and those things weren't your fault.
I know you know
exactly what I'm
Invisible EvilI fucking hate this feeling
that there's a hand on my throat--
some invisible evil--
and it's not even mine.
I don't even get the pleasure
of personally squeezing
every drop of air
out of my lungs
and letting it wheeze
through the tiny,
between my lips.
I have to sit here
and watch myself
in the mirror
as it takes my life away
and dulls my eyes
and brings me to my knees.
I have to pretend
I can breathe
just to answer the phone.
I have to pretend
that I don't count to ten
like a 5 year old
afraid of the dark.
I have to pretend
that I just don't want to
instead of that I can't
because I never got the courage
to try and learn how to swim,
or learn how to cook,
or learn how to live.
I can't stand in line by myself
because I can barely stand.
I can't strike a match
for fear I'll get burned
but I've mastered finding blades
and unscrewing screws
and weighing myself
every time I go into the bathroom
because who could love me
unless I was thin
and—oh my g
DandelionShe told me I was a weed
that she should've pulled out
when she had the chance.
And you know,
she was right about that
but I wish she'd just snapped me
at the neck instead.
(There would've been
a lot less pain
Paper SpineIt's strange
to feel my spine
like a poster on the wall
they can so easily rip down;
and they would
because I'm nothing
to be displayed.
Where Have All The Angels Gone?Rarely have I ever seen
a grown-up with scars
Rarely do I ever see
a sentimental word
of hope on their arm.
'Cause the ones
that would have tattoos
over their wounds
Where have all the angels gone?
Where have all the angels gone?
I only see fresh cuts
and old scars
on the people around me
and we all know
that they won't stop
until they're forced to.
Until that one day
their blade cuts too deep
or their rope doesn't break
or their stomach loves that bottle
of pills they just swallowed,
they won't stop.
Where are the angels
that can get these other angels
to see their halo
in such light as we all do?
Where have all the angels gone?
Why are the words
to encourage us
always seem to be
of a different place?
We've got people
to kill themselves
and go to Hell.
We've got words like
We've got things like
fat and anorexic,
piece of shit
The list goes on and on,
and I'm wonder
This Isn't A Love PoemOld friend,
I miss your touch;
the way your fingers
graced my thighs
I miss your kiss,
before I went to bed
that settled all the thoughts
crowded in my head.
Those kisses gave me dreams,
that most would say
but they are the only breath
of fresh air
I ever got
And though I miss you
I may collapse,
I will always have
red for love,
winter brew.he wrote me a love song
in a teacup.
I drank down the words,
let them warm me up
from the inside out.
Six Word Stories~She's far stronger than you think.
I love you: three deadly words.
Be careful; she's a delicate butterfly.
Can't the peace overcome the hate?
You and I, we are perfect.
His lips are warm, for now.
Hold me until dawn's subtle light.
He's rare, don't loosen your grip.
Your lethal words aren't welcome here.
You mean the world to her.
Use more tact the next time.
His heart is torn to pieces.
You only gave her shattered glass.
He had my heart held captive.
This Is SchizophreniaI feel like I'm talking to myself,
and not in the humorous way,
not like the, I'm “going” insane way
because I am Insane.
I'm insane in the sense that I can hear
things that aren't necessarily there,
things that burrow their little bodies
inside of my ears.
And insane in the way I see things, things that
you can't see. And trust me it's
nothing to “feel” special about, not a magic act,
not a special power that I harness.
This is schizophrenia.
This is a delusion so real and “natural”
that you can't tell whether it's imagination
or something unnatural
This is a nightmare that never goes away,
that a pinch to the arm only angers more
than medications that are supposed to stop
the mental sores.
These are arms so red and angry,
because pinching doesn't work,
but you pinch and pinch and pinch
in order to maintain some sort of normality.
And these next few lines are not to
dote down on Christians, because
I'm one of you. Just God's
forsaken child, I
god is love
i want to scream god is love. i want to hide god is love i want to cry god is love i want to give up god is love i want to fight. god is love. i want to hate. god is love i want to die. god is love i want to disappear but god is love. i want to cry god is love. never give up dear friends for we are not alone for god is love
dear friend reverse thinking for inspiration . it does not matter which religion you are. we are his children there is light in the darkness donnot give up
Rest In PowerThere is a girl
That won't be able to grow up now.
Just because closed minded people,
Refused to use the right pronouns.
There is a boy
That won't be able to get married.
Or have a chance to change the world.
Because his mother abused him with her words.
I don't understand why people can't just see
Someone who looks or thinks differently.
And see something beautiful, something unique.
Instead they live in fear of the monster
That is diversity.
I am speaking to you, parents.
Of all the people us kids look up to.
It is you.
We look to you for guidance,
We look to you for reassurance
And we look to you for love.
If you can't accept the possibility
That your kid might turn out differently
Than you or other people's children.
Then don't have kids.
Because honestly to be a parent
You need love.
And that is something you obviously
HopeWhen no one else ever seemed to notice me,
You were the first to say "hello".
And you did so with beaming joy.
When I felt so outcast and alone from the world,
You were the one who sat by my side.
And listened with an open heart.
When no one else would acknowledge my very existence,
You were the one to reach out and bare your soul to me.
And you made me feel like somebody.
When I thought of so many reasons to die...
You became my reason to live...
And I will never forget that.
This Isn't the EndDon't make the same mistake I did.
I've been watching you.
How you've been slowly slipping away.
I've laid next to you on the days
That you lay in bed and watch the light
Move across your room.
As the sun crawls through the sky.
I've watched you before you wake up.
Before you get out of bed.
How you whisper that it's all just in your head.
How you take out your favorite sweater.
The marks are hidden, gone.
No one would ever know better.
I've watched you reject meal after meal.
Because you just don't 'feel' Like eating.
And to be perfectly honest,
You don't feel like living.
I've watched you stand on the roof top.
I've watched you examine the bill bottles.
But I am also the thing that makes you stop.
And put the things away.
The thing that tells you that you won't die today.
Because I've been watching you
I know the feeling too.
But we're not the same.
And it'd be such a shame
To see someone as,
And as brilliant as you.
Make the same mistake as me.
Keep your head hel
Soldier BoyOne day he came home,
A man given freedom.
He looked in the mirror,
And liked what he saw...
The days wore on,
And he lived his life.
Morning PT was a distant memory,
So too were the shouts of a Sergeant.
Training came thrice at first,
Then twice, then once,
The days wore on...
And life became harder,
Sacrifices were made.
He looked in the mirror one day,
And didn't like what he saw.
Not the pot-bellied man working for a few scraps.
Nor the slovenly fellow who'd forgotten how to clean his kit.
He earned his freedom, but he had lost what he respected...
And the days wore on...
And so he went out running, one fateful day,
His lungs burning with every breath.
Yet despite the pain inside his chest,
He resolved the soldier, would return to his best.
"You've been gone a long time Corporal Chen, what say we go once more around
-Word of Chen, One-shot, 24 February
exit stage leftif this were a movie, this would be the moment
i break down crying in your arms and i tell you
every little thing about myself that i’ve learned
to hate at four in the morning when i wake up
and ask myself why i’m still alone and you would piece my world
back together with your hands and a simple phrase and i would
no longer want to cry all the damn time and i would
want to leave the house and actually end up leaving the house
and if this were a movie that would be the climax and
that would be the ending scene, us
falling to the ground, me in your arms,
me with my make up running, me thanking god
that i met you, you holding me, you pressing your face to my
hair, you thanking god that you were able to get to me in time
and if this were a movie you would hold my hand
through turning off ovens and locking
the backdoor at night and you would cook dinner on the nights that
i can’t get out of the bedroom and you would eventually figure
out not to worry about me when i