inspiration can bite my fat ass.

what i need you to etch in me...
i haven't got room for the carving...
the cuts...
the grooves...
the man who'd risk my beauty rather than keep his tools sharp...
the way the chisel hardly breaks the surface
and yet my tears are quickly eroding me as if i were made of limestone...
as if the man was a raging river...
as if the only unique thing about me is that i am sedimentary...
leaving myself behind in piles and heaps...
to keep someone else's land fertile...
to help someone elses flowers grow...
shaped into a cavern or figurine
i am still not the sum of my parts
i am a sculpted creation
made with someone else's best interest in mind...
when all i want...
is to be something beautiful for you...

ramble ramble.

do not be alarmed...
for what i have made...
i have made with stone and blood...

and i am not afraid to finish it...

do not be fooled by innocence of age...
for what my father's made...
he's made with blood and promises...

and he is not afraid to end it...

this beast...
this, screaming guide...
it speaks to me in tongues...
repeating what i already protect like truth...

keeping guard...
the monster puts me to sleep each night...

because he fears not blood, nor youth, nor corruption of the truth...
he sees what i'm eyeing...

my catalyst has become too much a solvent to make much more than a mess...
and i am preaching wisdom to those who already knew it best...
and it is escaping them like a song they didn't like...
like a poem read too quiet...

reminding me...
all the while...
that the truth...
is much harder than it seems....

scales.

like a snake
slithering haphazardly
trying so hard to shed it's skin
reveal the sparkling scales beneath an itchy tight sheathe
my eyes have been cloudy, too, snake
you're just trying to shed your skin out of instinct, out of habit...
i'm trying desperately to shed mine
because deep down, i wasn't supposed to be this...
you and i are both wild creatures...
both stuck in cages with glass walls for strangers to look in and see...
we'll put on a show, hood up, let them see our underbelly...
we don't do it for them...
we do it because we have to...
it's so strangling sometimes...
living with an outfit of age...
but when it comes down to it, snake...
we're both just living for the next time
that we can shed our skin

muting the poet

lately, i feel trapped in a prison of pink and blue flowers...
something so soft, so delicate, and yet their bars won't ever spell out the answers to my questions...
like...if you love eachother enough, does it really work, does it really last?
am i being lied to, or am i just not hearing your truth?
have i lost my edge, or has someone or something else stolen your attention?
or other questions...such as...
why do fathers end up giving up?
why don't they love you like you'd like?
after all these years, would it be easier to write him off?
and the question i find myself coming back to, that i can't bear the truth about...
do all women subconsciously seek men who are just like their fathers?

and...mommy, can you hear me?
because daddy's been dying a long time, he's long gone...

lover won't love anymore...

and i still don't feel good.

your boy's grown up big and strong and healthy...
the girls like him a lot...
he plays baseball well...
smart...
but he does too many drugs, momma...
i'm not sure if it's cause he misses you...
or if he's just bored...
maybe he doesn't feel good either...

daddy sure misses you...
so bad that he's dying a slow death from missin' his woman...
got rid of everything so nothing would remind him of you...
of what he's lost...
and the life he wishes he could lose...

grandma just turned 70...
and just beat breast cancer...
she's lopsided now, but well taken care of...
her spirits are higher than mine...
always have been...
she pushes me...
the way i wish you were still around to do...

your brothers...
one seems pretty happy...been with his lady a long time now
the other seems unhappy...not quite sure why

as for me, momma...
i'm doing about the same...
my heart's never really stopped hurting...
and the stomachache's still come and go...
wouldn't ya know it?
i don't have a problem swallowing pills now...
so many things have happened, and we've grown so big, momma...
adults now...
but something inside me...
i'm not sure what...
never feels good...
i feel like i'm in a constant dream state that i fear i'll never wake up from...
i never once...found god.
i've never felt kind of comfort since i was little and you'd hold me in your arms...
i guess on the outside, you'd be proud of me...
but inside...
you and i are exactly the same...
i just don't think i'm ready to swallow as many pills as you did...

credibility

no words of mine will help you see the error of your ways...

i wanna peel...
off my layers for you.

cry.
laugh.
let go.

i want spontaneity mostly...
but i'd settle on happenstance.

to know that your love...
is as close as i'll ever come to knowing god...
i'm settling on atheism and making sure i never stray too far from your embrace.

i feel like a woman.
who's finally being loved the way she should.

i feel sexy.
like my body, mind, and heart are connected and healthy.

i am forgiveness.
i am enlightenment.
i am revolution.

and i am coming home...

cleaner than my departure.

wisdom

i wish i was old enough to know all the answers...

and i wish i was smart enough to know that that is something that probably won't ever happen...

if time doesn't get me, stupidity will...

i wish my lament had more meaning than what it means to me...

i wish it made sense as it makes my mind feel powerless and wasted...

i wish my fortune had already been told so that i'd truly know what i am worth...

i wish i could see my inner light, but i guess it was built in the wrong place...

i wish i could find, far more than i already seek...

here's to hoping that you'll never forget me...

i'm finding it more difficult every day to be exactly as i am, what i am...

is that even right?

but the tides, turning, can't be seen...

when you're this far from the ocean...

Biscuits

i need to talk myself out of wanting fancy things...
because the beggar's on his last biscuit, and i've still got all mine...
except they're all half gone...
there is nothing more daring than living on the edge of the end...
i wish i could mail myself to somewhere that gave a fuck...
but the score is still uneven and i'm still lacking points...
i'll be optimistic if only i'm given the opportunity...
i still haven't found the treasure my heart seeks and i fear it's because i'm terrible at taking directions...
my father will die before i find the love i need in a cold man's heart...
choke...choke, baby...choke on those words...
but i...
deserve to hurt...
inflict yourself on me before i change my mind...
you'll be just another scar on my skin like a trophy hanging on a wall...
hurt me...
hurt me...
but i will hold him close and breathe him in, as i did my father...
except that he...
will not let go of me in vain...
and he...
will not remind me that i was an accident...
he will tell me that i am wanted, and won't mention that i am just like my mother...
and if he does...
it won't be a bad thing...
this could have been my uprising...
this could be the revolution of my humanity i've been searching for...
but then i look down and see...
i've still only got...

half my biscuits left.