the problem daughter

I am not a resident. I’m only passing by.
I am not a human being, but I might trick your eye.
They look at me, without a word I know the though the think.
Impossible to voice – she’s just a problem laced in pink.

I – problematic – hide behind the glass.
So they need never wonder where I go.
My body in deep secrecy will pass,
and mama’s mama need not ever know.

So some may think the problem self-contained and never ask.
They, like me, blame themselves ‘cause finding fault’s a nasty task.
So side by side we sink the sharps into ourselves and smile.
“I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” We lie and like it like that – cutting’s style.

Another piece of me is gone each time
I smile for the bondage you began.
To save my sanity I dance I rhyme.
I smile for the camera all I can.

I cannot see the way to flee from chaos’s ruling grasp.
I, born in chaos, raised in chaos, see the pattern last.


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This Is The Place

I’m in the valley of the lord and here tonight I’ll sleep
a mess of dreams of things that never fail to make me weep.
Oh I was bred to die here, raised to make this place my home.
But I could not survive here – sober, empty, and alone.

This is the place. This is the place.
This is the place…

A witch they’d surely burn me, surely smile at my screams.
They love the sinner, hate the sin. I sin e’en in my dreams.
I am the sin. The sin and sinner in me are the same.
And I won’t change a hair though they might make of me a game.

This is the place. This is the place.
This is the place…

I shrink to think I’m lost again – such thoughts could make gods weep –
but madness here is catching and the horror in me steeps.

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Filed under hymn, iambic heptameter, poetry

The Box

and every time I leave, I leave the pieces left of me
in cardboard boxes, sad and void of anything I’d need.

She broke my heart and in a box the cold remainder went.
Her shoes. Her papers. Every scrap. The love that she last sent.

They think it’s time to seal the box. My choice will alter theirs.
My life or their opinions. Which deserves my honest care?

I’m nothing but a string of actions and well crafted lies.
My past is sealed in paper – locked from even my green eyes.

I’m closing up the box with plastic – giving it to you –
afraid this piece will disappear if I don’t claim it soon.

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Filed under iambic heptameter, poetry

Odd Gods

Know every single one is precious, dear.
Know every one was born the right way first.
Know not a one should live a life in fear.
Know difference is the thing for which gods thirst.

Oh I will fight my whole life for the ones
who’ve suffered for the thing they always were.
Oh I will scream it til the hate’s undone.
Know some were simply born for brighter furs.

The ones who love their equals beat the odds.
The odds are dying out. Their chance is gone.
My kind will have their moment, like odd gods,
but not til I’m just ashes; just a song.

I’ll fight for you. I’ll cry for you. I’ll pass.
But never will I live. Life moves too fast.

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Filed under iambic pentameter, poetry, sonnets

I Would Fall Along With You

I dream again again I’m looking in on everyone else.
They’re bare and pressed together and I’m wrapped inside myself.
The naked lovelies watch me, so untouched, and think me queer.
They see me as I am – they’re right. My distance wins their fear.

I wake up like I dreamed a nightmare – like I’m dripping blood.
My head lands on the pillow – drops – with such a gentle thud.
But quiet is a fatal flaw. I know that I self-harm,
although I have no reds to show, no wounds along my arm.

Oh in the waking hours I have lived such simpler dreams.
The real ones have called out to me, have tried to rip my seams.

I’ve loved as much as any. I’ve undressed for unknown eyes.
My chastity’s a blanket and my virtue is a lie,
for I would fall along with you so easy it’s a laugh.
The dream is not reality except for by a half.

Wrapped in the moment I progress and give myself to lust.
It’s after that I question. After. After. Am I just?
Just in the dream I shy away, like in my lonely youth.
My angst is idle but the pulse deep down in me is truth.

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Filed under iambic heptameter, poetry

Glances in the Kitchen

She stumbles as the train starts and she tumbles into him.
She says she’s sorry sorry, but he’s sorry for no thin.
Oh I was try’n to save you, he says with one arm outstretched.
They smile smile quiet but the girl just up and left.

The world of man and woman changes with each step we take.
We’re farther and we’re closer with the easy love we make.
Flirtation drives me deeper into into my own head.
It’s harder, so much harder, just up fall into my bed.

She smiles as she passes and he mumbles something sweet.
She doesn’t hear a word but laughs and looks back and she winks.
It’s easy just to love him if they never really meet.
She glances in the kitchen but she cannot stand the heat.

I’m only only looking. I am not ready to buy.
You can be my daydream, but you cannot be my guy.

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Filed under iambic heptameter, poetry

Can I Have Your Heart and Break It?

Does the chaos in your room reflect the chaos in your heart?
Do the things I say and do pick your aching brain apart?
Does it hurt you just to be a friend to someone mean like me?
Can I have your heart and break it? Could you give your parts to me?

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Filed under poetry, quartus paeonic tetrameter