I don't think I can do this anymore. It just hurts so much.

I'm not your Kitty anymore

I'm not so pretty anymore

I'm just so shitty even more

Than I ever was with you.

Poetry Roughs

Here are some of my poems from the first draft of my chap book:

Magnets

purple skies
heaven wide
but i lay next to purgatory.
dirty words
feel magnetic,
but in the cerebral
i feel mixed in a blender
is this what love is?
out of sight, in my mind
but a negative
to other positives.
is this really it?
now i'm lost in the thought
of flight
of rampant touches
and unfounded intimacy.
tell me, god, what this should be.
i'm trapped in a hormonal hell
while you sizzle to char.
take me to the winds of polyamoury
and surprise me with a kite
(or maybe a conch shell).

Insanity

Not friends, not lovers
More in-betweens
Companions in mind-fuck insanity
That never ceases to intrigue me
It challenges any stability
I thought I had
Call you two people
Call me decision-less and obsessive
I'm guessing we are both closer to accuracy
Than error
Your staggered identity
My see-saw emotions
Blend oh so perfectly
That it's irresistible

They say two wrongs
Don't make a right
But they sure do make
For a hell of a ride
So cheers to us fellow thrill seeker
I accept that we are destined
To be fucked up together
So the next time I swear
We are over and done
Just know that I'm penning
Hearts around your name
At the same time.

Untitled

Sunnyside down.
Same taste, but the egg's no good.

My boyfriend broke up with me. A flood of poems to come.

Progress

I am making the final touches on my first, self-published poetry collection. It should be completed and for sale by August. I can't wait! Oh, and a preview...it is called "{Voices}"

The Psych Ward

Eyes shatter, shatter, shatter

Down the drain.

(I like threes)

The Blind Rose

Can a blind man touch a rose?

Oh surely, he can.

He must shyly climb his fingers

Up its stem.

Pull back, pull back, another trip

To come.

As time grows,

As he grows,

So do his trips to the rose.

He climbs and climbs so high,

Then he rests his fingers on

Satin, savory rose buds.

Oh yes, a blind man can touch a rose.

But then, you ask, how can

He worship such a flimsy, ironic blossom?

Well, every color has a smell.

We are stuck in small boxes

Of green, blue, yes, no.

What about the color of touch?

It exists, ignored by almost all

Except the blind man.

Oh yes, a blind man can worship a rose.

Can a blind man kill a rose?

Oh no, and neither can you.

For roses grow from human hearts

To kill a rose would be to kill oneself.

Can a blind man kill himself?

Definitely not.

Mortality is but a lie from a rock,

A very sly rock at that.

He screams death and we believe him

However he remains intact.

But there is a secret from

The rose that one can only feel.

You may see the rock's lie

And live to dance in circles

But the blind man just basks in the roses

Immortal, like all

The seeing scribblers.

 Cigarettes

Bang, bang, bang on the window glass

Come save me- I need cigarettes.

Everyone itches here

Nobody works here.

We are all broken toys

And they are the children,

Trying to put us back together

With Elmer's glue.

We are still broken.

We are still broken.

We are still broken.

Hop on a merry-go-round

Feed us meds, meds, meds

Tell your feelings to be quiet

Let us teach you how to die

But remember, it is quiet time.

Come save me- I need cigarettes.

Your paper degrees cannot win me sanity.

Questions and Answers

Hello?

Let's get rid of the age-old answers

To questions ad infinitum.

I'm alone

I'm alone.

I'm alone.

I can't find you.

I'm attached to your brain.

Someone needs a wash.

Yes, I'm sticky

Sticky

Sticky.

Could you spare a stick of glue?

Oh no, where is the formaldehyde?

Out of stock, the soul-less.

I keep it in my fingertips.

None to spare.

Convert the energy?

Oh, no.

I keep it to settle fights within you.

No control in glue.