Circular fear

Making the same mistakes

Again

Again.

Because I don't know any other way.

I need to feel something.

Please don't judge me for it.

There is no blood

And so I tell myself no one is hurt.

Sketchbook

Can we open a new book?

Smell the fresh, white pages.

Feel the stories waiting to be carved out.

Let's free them together.

Put the old book on the shelf.

Let it sit there,

For that's it's place now.

Its pages are full, you have filled it with stories.

Now let's place it behind and look forward.

Put the colours down,

Make the pen scratches,

Brush the pencil softly.

Try and again.

Until perfection is attained.

Grow, grow, move and feel.

The pages of my skin feel your every move.

It's your choice,

Make me what you want.

I'll be your creation forever.

Can you live with that?

To infinity and beyond

I feel as though I might explode.

Either burst and leave glitter remains to bury,

Or just cry pathetically.

All I know for sure is that there is something inside me dying to make a break for it.

Please don't forsake me.

I might be crazy.

Here I GO

I know. I know.

I KNOW I should not do this.

You don't even have to tell me.

Too dangerous. Too much risk.

Too close too fast too far,

Can't go back now.

But if I am right.

What then?

Yes, the chances are worse than slim.

Yes, my heart will certainly break a thousand times.

But if I am right...

What if I can fly through pages,

Scatter beach white sand and blow kisses.

Would it matter then?

The dirt and the mess and the ripping.

It would all be clean, wouldn't it?

freedom of speech

To say anything.

To be able to speak my mind.

The words are tailored and safe.

No risks, no edge.

No feeling.

Calculated. Weighed.

And altogether empty.

I want to sway at the edge

And scream profanities.

Scream Life and Joy and

LOVE.

Insanity!

To feel and use every word.

The shape, the sound.

Words have texture, did you know?

Rough or smooth, spiky even.

Some words taste like velvet.

A year

Blur the lines

Smudges smear the page

A beautiful disaster

This place

Again

Compromise is a chorus

It always comes around

Real is elusive

I just want something to hold on to

Just Barely

I am nineteen.

Just barely.

This is not the part of my life when all my friends are supposed to die.

I knew her.

Just barely.

Enough to care.

Enough for the world to shake.

I saw her. I touched her.

But it never happened now.

Menstruation Monologue

I am sick of this regularity,

This cycle and its “special” time of month.

It rolls around every 28 days just in case I was actually enjoying life.

I am fed up with the bloodstains on my favourite panties,

The napkins that aren’t invited to dinner,

The little cotton messes on a string.

Who came up with tampons anyway?

How did the baby alligator resolved on eating me from the inside get in?

Why do I turn on my own family

And find vehicular manslaughter a justifiable crime?

My immune system goes for crap.

It is impossible to feel clean as clots work their way out.

It is impossible to feel sexy in my bloated jeans.

I have lost the will to pick up the mascara.

It feels like it will never end.

And when it finally, slowly peters to a finish,

There might be hope

If I didn’t know it would be back.