Strength

I have a theory;
Those who choose to eat are weak.
But I don't feel strong.

Scientifically proven:
strength is in numbers.
So when I put two fingers in my throat,
and everything is purged on a platter of perfection:
I don't feel strong.

It's a fact that
strength is the fall of a thousand men.
with a pinch of hubris, and a dash of self-control.
But I have no cntrol, no love, and no faulters.

Strength is earned, not granted.
I guess I'll jsut have to keep starving,
Keep hurting,
Keep cutting,
Keep crying,
Keep lying,
And most of all,
Struggle for Strength.

Strength in numbers invisible

Thorn

It stuck with him like a thorn in his side.
She twisted it in his wounds and tended to it
with lemon juice.

Because when Life gave her lemons,
she burned life's house down with lemonade.
She makes the sweetest things toxic to the touch.
Her kisses are death
but he egarly lurks towards them becasue he knows
We're all going to die eventually.
Sooner now than later.
a few seconds is all it takes
to say goodbye to one's we loved,
one's we thought we loved
and one's who never loved us back.

She didn't mean to be crued as oil,
slippery were her thoughts
slick was his.
Idealy they were ment for each other.
But the puzzle peices didn't fit up right:

He was a puzzle
and she was a painting.
They were a time bomb egar to explode
and wipe out the earth
scorching it black.

Volcanic rock hard hearts
and still beating.

So when rocks break and fragment into rivers,
she drowned in hers and he floated downstream.
Pastels and black overalls
can't bandage up a fire put out.

Flames dance like people and he is neither
flame nor fling
He is only a man.

"Do you still love me?"
She said.

He truns to her
Quoting the "raven"

Take thy beak from my heart
and thy thorn from of'th my door.

And she did,
her tounge as dark as a raven
"Nevermore."

Flicker

She's always had a thing for fire
because when she was young and they were supposed to tell her
"don't play with matches or you'll get burned",
instead they handed her the pack and said
"If you want to see the light, then light it".
She looked like Beauty,
but she talked like the Beast
and played with fire like it was the rose.
Burn marks define her
Because fire leaves scars
lighter than the lines of a broken heart.
Fire smooths over surffaces.
it hurts,
hurts but you get over it.
Because fire?
you can put it out in a second,
but a heartbreak will never burn out.

So when they were supposed to tell him to
"bring her home by eight or else"
H went and told her that
"He had hotel room eight locked and that she better not scream or else".

She was too strong to tell him that she was fragile,
she was too shy to tell him that the lighest touch could break her.

And when she brok and he cut himself on her glass eyelashes,
he cut her with glass.

So when she need to hear
"it's ok to not be ok."she heard
"what were you wearing the night that you were raped?"

And thats why she struck the match in the back of the MOTEL 6 and became a human candel in the wind.
No.
Not because of all the things we put her through.
No.

Acording to her epitaph:
"Some people just want to watch the world burn"

If You Don't Mind I'm Going To Cry Now

If you don't mind
I'm going to cry now.
I'm going to turn into a ball,
roll into the shoadows,
Extend the Nile,
Become Taylor Swift and sing about
How much you hurt me,
But then I'l let you do it again becasue I want another platnium album.

Excuse me while I go cry now,
I'm going run under the sheets
and hide from my feelings.
Punch my pillow with a printed out picture of you on it,
but then relize?

That picture is me.
And conitnue to punch it.

Paint Isn't All That Pretty

She had this odd obsession with paint.
So odd that it evened out her normality’s,
Divided up her deformities
And substituted her qualities in a way
That she kept a paintbrush in her hand at all times.

She drenched her fingernails in every plaster possible,
spelling out a phrase she knew all too well
"LET’S PAINT THE TOWN RED".

Little Miss. Interpretation took red
To seriously and painted everything
EVERYTHING
Obscure.

Paint dripped from her chin
Like ambrosia dripped from the sky
And fell onto the mouths of gods
Suckling on symbolism.

She painted a portrait
Of herself
And left it blank.
Titled it "PAINT"
And hung it in the corner of the gallery upside down
So that way everyone knew the girl who
Didn’t even know herself.

She bends hangers in her hands
And holds out
"Look mommy, modern art".

Taking every joke to seriously
Yet taking herself not serious at all.

She cries paint.
She inhales it into her bloodstream,
the black tar on her lungs is just a canvas
like this world is a canvas
and she is the only one who discovered invisible paint.

So while you are all listening to this poem,
she is painting.
And you never notice because you think
she's a painting herself.
So ugly that you called her a masterpiece.

Because Art?
Is what we call everything we don't understand.

"911, What's Your Emergancy?"

"911, what's your emergency?"

Hello? Yes. I'd like to report a loss. A loss of something.

You see, I lost myself.

I met this man who said that if he took my regrets he would give me hope.

So I gave him the tear I didn't cry when the man I loved left me.

I gave him the black dress that I didn't wear to my mother's funeral that I never went too.

I gave him the address of the hotel where I didn't lose my virginity, and gave him the name of the alley way where I did.

I gave him the corsage I never got from when I got stood up at prom.

I gave him the kiss I never got in the rain.

I gave him the good bye monologue I never got to perform for my mom in the hospital.

He gave me a key.

He told me "25th and 73nd avenue. cross the lake and walk the block and follow my intuition."

It led me to a shed on the outskirts of a toy's imagination:

Doll sized with a lock.

Opening I found....

Nothing.

I wasn't sure what to do with it... So in the meantime I stored my memories there.

I put in the hug I gave the love of my life when he came back.

I put in the flowers I left on my mother's grave a week after her funeral.

I put in the diary and the poems I wrote about that alley way.

I put in the picture of me and my best friend from prom.

I put in the weather report that said it would rain tomorrow.

I put in the good bye monologue I shared with a stranger about my mom.

I put in all my memories I ever burdened.

And I left.

I forgot where it was; I can't find the man again.

I can't regret what I can't remember.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Hello? Yes I'd like to report a loss of self.