Demons live inside me (Poem #146)

I have demons in my brain,

And angel on my heart,

The Devils plays his game inside,

So much I fall apart.

He reminds of my heartache,

And teases me with love,

Then reminds me I’m not worth it,

Reminds me I’m not enough.

As the angel sits there crying,

Begging me to stay,

I put the gun to my head,

I pray to live one less day.

My hands they start to shake,

As the devil, he appears,

With open arms and big blue eyes

To whip away my tears.

He pleads for me to love him,

And to stay just one more day,

He gives me everything I want,

Then tears it all away. 

The angel wants me alive,

So he can give me love,

The devil wants a play thing,

To get his bidding done. 

Because heaven is far away,

And I stand on the brink,

Of hell on earth and suicide,

Please just let me stop and think.

Would I rather be dead,

Or standing here not truly alive,

I guess I’ll never know,

Because I never really tried. 

So I lay with tears screaming down my cheeks,

Goodnight my angel,

Goodnight my devil,

Love truly your play thing. 

What do you call it (Poem #133)

We seem to get wrapped up in this concept of titles,

Everything has to have a label…

But why?

Why do we have to complicate this?

Why does it matter what I call you?

You could call it anything…

I don’t care,

I just want you!

Intimacy (poem #126)

   

I have so many secrets,

The biggest,

How I feel.

This photo is just one crystal on my chandelier now shattered on the ground,

You have seen more of me than you ever will,

Because this captured the moment everything fell apart,

Truly there is nothing more intimate… 

Our generation (Poem #119)

There is a barrier in our world,

between generations,

between families.

Somehow we can not understand each other,

as if after childhood we stopped speaking the same tongue,

and become ignorant because we decide to love before fight.

They always say that we will grow up to be them,

but how can we turn into them when were were never them,

we never lived their lives,

we are young,

we are dumb,

we are stupid,

we are understanding,

we are charming,

we are naive,

we are free….

Choker (Poem #114)

The Choker

I slide it over my neck,

Perfect the placement,

one inch lower or a half an inch higher,

it needs to be perfect,

as if the  placement determines the pressure that reminds me to breath.

Maybe it is more than a fashion statement,

truly it reminds me how precious my life is,

as ever breath I take tugs upon it.

But how would  you know that,

all you see is the piercings,

the tattoo,

and the choker,

securing a memory in your mind of that girl,

not of me.

He took his and mine (Poem #113)

They told me what you did,

at first I thought it was some sick joke,

as if life was something that couldn’t be taken away in 3.5 seconds,

but as I sat there,

it sunk in,

they weren’t kidding,

you had done it,

you had given up.

My mind rushed,

words meshed together to create a choased mash up of songs fights and tears,

my silence turned to sobs and screams,

never again would the words petrude my lips,

your life was so precious,

but so was my innocence,

yet both of those were taken away by you,

and still somehow I cannot look in the mirror

without seeing the face of a monster I created

because even though I couldn’t forgive you for me

I swear I would have done it for you

if only I had known….

Why do I feel bad,

you did this to yourself

you felt bad because you did that to me

why do I feel bad…..

it should be you feeling bad still….

you took the easy way out,

you stopped feeling,

you are gone,

why am I still angry…

why did this….

why did you….

why….

I wish to be made (Poem #110)

If I could be made of anything,

I would not choose

gold or silver,

diamonds or chrome,

nor granett or steel.

For no one desires to fill every waking moment with such hard material.

Yet I would not desire

to be of feathers,

or silk,

or suede;

for those are delicate and hidden away until a truly gentle moment arrives.

I would desire to be made of something common,

yet beautiful,

while still strong enough to stand on it’s own,

and gentle enough to kiss the face of a child.

I wish to be made of the only material that holds something strong enough to wear on past the date it expires.

I wish to be made of something so unique that it could never be remade the same.

I wish to be made of the only material known to man which can hold the world in balance for another human being.

I wish to be made of flesh.