Thursday, January 13, 2011

Things to Work on


These eyes are dammed--
built up from the weeks of unfeeling

My eyes are brown.
They have been for years.
It's all the shit they hide.
You think that's a smile.
You think I want to laugh.


I want to cry for every person
who ever learned
words can always hurt me.

These sticks, these tones,
they scar and burn me.
These words cut me
like razors across the soft
skin of my wrists.

I want to cry.

I want to cry for mothers who will never see their sons,
and fathers their daughters.

I want to cry for custody battles.

I want to cry for the soldiers on the fields.

I want to cry for anyone suffering,
for mental disorders and psychopharmacology.

I want to cry for Zoloft and Paxil and Ambien and Prozac
Abilify and Lexapro and

not feeling a FUCKING THING.

I want to cry for you ripping and pulling and shredding my heart.

I want to cry for the God that disappeared on me.

I want to cry,
and this long sigh,
this is me knowing I can't.

I can't cry.
I cannot ever, ever let these tears fall,
because I have to be strong.
It's a promise I made.
A man says forever,
and I won't walk away.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Dear God, Remake Me

I sit in my room listening to the music of my friends
and I notice that I want to be different.
Not from them, but from myself.
There's so much music on Tumblr today.
There's such a need for music today.
In my head there's a void to be filled.

Do you remember when I was BRILLIANT?

It's hard for me to reminisce

It's hard for me...

I want to dance. Do you understand?
I want something to occupy my whole being.
I hate when people ask if that makes sense.

Does that make sense?

I hate myself, but you can't save me.

You, tall, redhead, and freckled cannot save me.

Neither can you.

No one can save me.

Do I need saving?


18 and hearing me
without any chance of sound
to be alive without a doubt
he'll be the best that he can be

self confidence from years of doubt
means that he knows what he's about
and that's a smile, a silly joke,
a heart of love behind a mask

but still you see if you try
that someone cares when you cry

Monday, January 10, 2011

my writer's block interrupted by a back spasm

Next to Normal plays as I lay
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.

There's nothing in my head.

I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.

I opened it and you walked in.

And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.