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Rain On UsSometimes,
I cry for the world.
And then the rain falls
into my ears and my nose and my heart
and I wonder why.
It whispers back to me,
because you live in it.
And it's sad and it's stupid
maybe it's not even right
but as the cynical rain washes over me,
I smile anyway,
I'm wrong after all
and the world is too beautiful for my tears.
Another Kind of WrongSomeone close to you once said,
there’s a kind of beauty in silence.
and anonymous masses said,
you’re too different
and different is wrong
someone said that they wanted to change you
somebody told you that you weren’t good enough for the world,
and you tried not to listen,
but you heard.
And I asked you
why are you pretending
that it doesn’t hurt?
and from far away, someone said,
You curl up inside me like a flower in my throat
let me do the talking,
let me live in your place.
The ice in my chest is burning
and you scrape the ceiling of my mind
asking at once
to be set free, but pleading
for me to never let go
and so I cling to you
cracked in a thousand places
sing away my voice
and you disguise your shivering with laughter
and I watch as you
melt through my fingers
in ten thousand ways
masked in ten thousand disguises
so that when you finally fall,
you’re already too broken for it to matter.
And the c
World-WatcherBlood on the sidewalk
mingles with his tears
and the source of the drip
dripping of lifeblood onto the street
because, I suppose,
we were all too afraid to look.
Turning heads fit smoothly into our turning world
as they turn, turn,
turn to look at his blood
his lifeblood on the street
and his tears will dry soon
and he will stop
and we will stop
not for long.
And the source of the drip
dripping will return
silent and brooding and silent
and they will be afraid
afraid to look
but their heads still turn
and I want to move him
to move you
but we are both still
and turning heads find the
two teenagers on the sidewalk
spilling onto the street
side by side
hand in hand
these were the forgotten
the suicidal teenagers
that nobody caught,
because we were all
InvisibleHello, do you remember me?
Do you need some reminders?
I am the face in the crowd,
The one nobody notices,
The one who you never hear speaking
Because you never listen.
Do you remember me now?
Do you remember all the times I stood up for you,
All the times you brushed me off?
Do you remember?
I am the one who listens to you when no one else is willing.
I am that one person whose name you always forget,
Whose homework you can cheat from,
I am the one who will always remember you.
Whenever I saw you in the hallways, I would smile and wave.
Sometimes you would wave back,
More often you wouldn’t notice
You would walk on with the group of people you chose to call friends
While I sat back down in the back corner of the room
Waiting silently for class to start.
I remember you.
To Make a DifferenceThe roads are paved with soot
and the buildings laced with suspicion
and as ash crumbles beneath my feet,
a dead man whispers
something about change
and I whisper in return that I’m sorry
but I have none
none that I can spare, anyway
and the sky is seasoned with despair
because we will not change
there is no change
none to spare, anyway
and outer voices cry out
and the weak die
and the hopeless scream
and the strong reach out and build
but never change.
We are the remains of a fire that died out long ago
the remnants of what could have been great
and we grew and we grew
and we forgot
what it was that we were searching for
and the voiceless and the pathetic and the weak
everyone who can see
who has seen
something about change,
spare some change
because they have none.
And cars sweep up soot
and steam pours into the despairing sky
and the strong live
and the rest die,
and humanity goes home and prays to its imagined savior
Identity ThiefWhy would anybody want
to care about me?
I grew up loved by obligation
not by choice
and it shows when you don't mean it
but I understand, because why
would they ever want to care about
stupid and dim and silent and sad and vague
and not very good at anything that matters.
I wish I could scrape my fingertips across shards
of broken glass
to scrub away all my fingerprints.
Everyone who sees me, then, will look
and I will be different
For those people, though,
the two of them,
they each get some of my fingerprints
so that they can hold them however they like
and believe that it's me they're controlling
even though I'm somewhere else entirely
pressing broken fingers to broken paper
so as to carve onto the white space
my very own fingerprint.
Why would anybody care about me?
Why would anybody want to?
Me, without a face, without a tongue
I am my ears
and I hear you
and I heard you
but I have hands, too,
and a voice
and probably a heart as well;
PracticeLet me practice dreaming
lest I forget how.
Let me practice loving you
lest you forget I’m here.
Let me practice speaking
and screaming your name
lest you forget the sound of my voice;
then together we practice wordplay and gunshots
and resistance and politics
and bloodshed and violence
and the hate crimes that all sound just a bit too familiar -
we practice those
lest we forget the world.
But we don’t really need practice for the inescapable, do we?
Truthfully, instead of living with reality,
I’d rather dream;
but if I sleep forever,
the world will spin on without me
carrying you with it
so I keep up
and I learn
and I take in the world around me
and I do everything I’m supposed to do.
But every night,
I go home
and I dream.
DreamsWhen I was young,
I was so immersed in my perfect world
that every time I fell and hurt myself,
I bled dreams.
Back when 'stupid' was a bad word
and love was an unbreakable smile,
the wind had a voice and the flowers whispered to me
speaking fondly of the seeds that would grow into their children.
Back then, I was always singing,
and I sang of trivial things like sunshine and ice cream
and everything that I loved -
everything my world was made of.
A few years ago, though, I fell particularly hard
and all my dreams
spilled out of my knees onto the pavement.
now that soft words and wishes
appear grey and dull and meaningless
in the eyes of the world,
I fear that all our dreams
have been pumped full of red.
GlassFly with me
through the empty universe
and I will fill the sky with our love
and my heart will spill out
onto the surface of the stars
and you will smile and say that I’m beautiful
that I’m not worthless
things that I could never believe.
Let’s fill the sky together
dance across the ocean
and I’ll probably step on your toes,
but you won’t mind
and we’ll splash through the sea foam
and the droplets of soft green water will roll down your skin
and the world will be perfect and blue and beautiful
maybe not for long,
but at least for those moments
it will be perfect.
But, you know,
our world is like glass.
Beautiful and smooth and transparent
but it can cut deeper than you would believe
and it doesn’t take much
to shatter it.
I would live in this world with you
as long as you like
or as briefly;
be it for an hour or a lifetime, I will stay in our glass world
no matter how harsh and cold it be
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
Permanent PretendWe live in a world of bedbugs and frostbite
of smiles and tears;
we live in a world where we blink into the sky and pretend to laugh
because the people around us pretend to do the same
and children have the best imaginations
they never have to pretend to be real.
Obligatory bedbugs bite into
as we pretend to believe in the
that we're accustomed to.
Yet smiles blend with salt water
as we cry over spilled milk
spilling from sockets in patterns that we wish
we could control.
In the end, none of it matters;
we dissolve slowly into ourselves
as the world forgets us.
But as we look into the end of the sky
we still find ourselves wishing and wondering
what it would be like
if we could breathe the clouds...
And I suppose
Obligations surround us and
the atmosphere battles our being,
and we pretend and pretend and pretend that the world is nothing,
yet somehow most of us live on in love
with our own dreams.
Still, as bed
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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