There is a monster
sleeping in my soul
and there are days that it rages
and makes such noise
that I cannot do anything save curl up
will I fight with the monster
or will it consume me?
It cannot consume me.
It is me.
LesbianMy thoughts wandered back into my fourth grade mind frame.
She had beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes,
And a perfectly white smile that reflected the sunlight like a mirror.
She was a good teacher, mmmhmmm, good to look at,
And I even knew it back then,
Before I knew I was a lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Ranbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of Sam, my first girlfriend.
She was shorter than I was, with wavy black curls,
And with hazel eyes that seemed so enchanting,
And she had beautiful pale white skin, mmmhmmm, lovely girl,
And I knew it then,
I was a pre-teen lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Rainbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of "coming out".
She came out on accident, and 'she' was me,
Brave enough to accept the fact that people were noticing,
But smart enough not to get myself into trouble, mmmhmmm, that's me,
Dear Readeron the roof
sheen after sheen
from buckets of paint;
you do all
with the color
open their mouths
in the rain
spread one wing
and lean out
as the moon
like a coin
in a fist;
peels a lime;
pulls at the door
while the waitress
clears the table.
is making space.
dragonsA creature of myth,
Or so many believe-
They fill fairytales,
And haunts the past.
It's fierce eyes,
Gazing upon you,
staring into your being-
It's fiery breath,
The stench of lost souls-
Dried blood upon its talons,
A victim of the past-
The dragon's burning heart,
Driving his wings-
To spread his will-
To soar through the sky,
claiming it as his own-
The creatures driven,
By they're own being.
life is but an open wound
forever drowining us
people are foolish
to think that they can stop us
but they cant
each one of us is filled with flaws
good and bad
we are different
yet the same
no one can truely see
what we see
they will never understand
there might be others like us
but we are alone
She Talks With MonstersThis girl never had a fear of monsters.
She allowed them to rest on the insides of her eyelids,
the crook of her neck, the empty spaces of her chest cavity.
She had no fear, there were much scarier things in this world
than darkness, clawing at her back. Living for the night
she etched her dreams upon the bars of her cage
whispering of centuries past because she truly missed the sun,
grass on her back. Frosty Decembers have her forgetting
what it feels like to love, but she knows who she is
she doesn't need the taste of cigarette ash
suffocating her inside her own flesh.
November skies tore open this night,
ripping a hole in her bedsheets.
It is in those dark spaces between
bone marrow and heartbeats that she finds herself-
tattered and breathless, whispering dark secrets
into a strangers ears. Her origami limbs folding
like patterned paper only to reach desperately
for the sun kissed frills of Apollo's robes.
the dead and the dyingthe funny thing about
humans is that
we think we are
invincible and immortal
a tainted world
where cars drive
too damn fast.
i just try to
get by without
more than once.
AnxietyI sat alone another day.
The world was moving all around me,
but it seemed as if my life was in a standstill.
The doctors say its anxiety.
Everyone thinks anxiety means nervousness or fear,
but it is deeper than that.
Anxiety holds you prisoner.
You can't leave your house.
The doorbell rings but I can't answer.
There is too much fear inside.
You can't answer the phone.
"Telephone for you!" my family yells. I
tell them to say that I will call back, but I won't.
You can't eat.
No, not me. The anxiety
even controls that. All the pain rushes back up with
every little thing I eat.
You can't go out.
Everyone walking around me, but I can't move, the
apprehension paralyses me.
Everyone says, "Be brave. You can do it. You'll make it out of this."
But sometimes I wonder if I will.
I try to combat it all, but if I attempt to do anything,
it all starts over again.
My heart beats faster and faster.
I can feel it in
Hold My HandNobody gets it,
No one understands.
Nobody knows how much,
I just need someone to hold my hand.
Theres something comforting,
About fingers interlaced.
As though the world is perfect,
No worries in your way.
The warmth of someone elses hand in yours,
Keeping away the cold.
Holding on tight,
So theyll never have to let you go.
I cry myself to sleep at night,
Wanting someones hand to hold.
Knowing if I had them,
The tears would freeze and go.
Oh, is there anyone out there,
Anyone at all?
Anyone who would love me,
And just hold my hand?
One, two, threeMy boyfriend watched, open mouthed
as I unscrewed the lid of your urn,
and ran my fingers through your ashes.
Your depression, your soul dust.
I felt an ocean rolling under my ribs
and an urge to cradle your urn,
rock you back and forth
like you did for me when I was young.
At the funeral, my uncle announced
that you hated religion.
But he left out the part
where you did believe in a God,
just that he was always punishing you.
“There was nothing you could have done”
said the other uncle.
I think of all those spent wishes,
the birthday candles extinguished for gifts,
the meteor showers I wasted on love,
the prayers offered from family friends
that are now given a little too late.
This year, I turn 22 years old.
But when I blow out the candles,
my wish won’t matter.
None of them did.