writers block

you’ve given me writers block and i am stuck
frozen in replaying thoughts and hiding in dreams
where words won’t flow to finger tips left tingling.
you’ve stopped my thoughts
in your whispered confessions and blurred realities
of tangled souls and ghostly kisses.
i am lost in finding meaning in sweet nothings
driven by late nights and shared spirits,
trapped by the inadequacies of tomorrow.
i am silenced by the truth of you
pumping though my veins, praying one day
starlight words can find their way.

Don’t tell me to stand tall

Be quiet

Show no pain.

Don’t tell me to lift my head

shut my mouth

And control my emotions

In moments of agony and heartache.

Don’t tell me to swallow my hurt

when I am struggling and suffering.

My emotions are me.

They are strong and powerful but

They make me who I am.

My emotions are beautiful and powerful

Reflections of my soul

Whose flames lick through my skin.

So don’t tell me to be a good girl

And stand tall.

Accept treatment

That no one else would.

Don’t tell me to hold my tongue

And silence another voice.

Don’t tell me to embrace

The chains that weigh down

The legs of women who try

To step forward.

Don’t tell me to be silent

Just because you think

Silence is golden.

Tornado

I need to walk away from your storm

and all the pieces of me it leaves behind

but I am pulled in to your tornado

and always left scattered in the wake

of your touch down.

Regrets

I wish I’d never told you,

shared that piece of my soul

for now I will always live with

remembering that you know.

I wish we’d never talked,

acknowledged that we cared

the blurry admissions leave me

gasping, choked and scared.

I wish we’d never spoken

for lingering in my mind

is my own agonizing truth

that all your words were lies.

I wish that I could tell you

all the self doubt you don’t see

I’m not good enough for you

because I’m not good enough for me

Enough

Pounding footsteps through

empty halls

where dreams go to die

and illusions melt

in acid promises.

Where hatred filled tears

hide under golden smiles

and broken hearts hide

behind boisterous laughter.

Every haunted fear

affirmed and

agonized yearning

pulled and snapped

like a puppet’s strings

at the hands of a master–

skilled beyond understanding.

Insecurities breathe down

the neck of the beast

that eats at the belief

in value beyond temporary

and agony filled breath

chokes the voice that continues

to say quietly

“One day I will be enough”

With flames that lick at my toes

and scar my skin,

with brimstone and burning

and breath that exhales in

pulses and gasps

With the stinging sensations

that course through bones,

and pounding rhythms of

a beating heart

do I remember why

I close my eyes

I am not naive

just hopeful that

one day

someone will love

my scars

as much as they

want the illusion

of my perfection.

And until that day

I will grasp at the

wisps of truths

and the haunted lies

that float through

fingertips.

I will kiss the

painted sky of

hope

until I drown or

win

Tired

I’m tired of living on coffee and dreams
while others breathe
tired of bleeding crimson tears
to free myself
exhausted from lifting legs
weighed by expectations
and filling the cracks with
layers of paint
sick of playing other people’s games
being moved like a chess piece
two forward and one to the side
I’m tired of being taken by force
or guilt
silently crying refusals
instead of screaming
tired of falling apart
while making it look easy to smile
Tired of swallowing stories
never meant to exist
I’m tired of fear
and going along
because I don’t want to go back
worn out from balancing on one foot
on the peak of pressure.
I’m tired of gasping for air
and tired of pushing
the self destruct button
waiting for the explosion while
being tied to a chair

she believed she was mediocre

so she settled for mediocre

her light was always a little pale

but she loved the vibrance

of those whose souls

seemed to swallow her whole

All she did was dream of

of having the tough shell

everyone believed she had

After years of being strong

She wanted to be weak

But it was too late to

break through the callouses

and too hard to cry

through the scars