Paper

I'm tired of being angry

I'm tired of being scared

I'm tired of being paranoid

And anxious

and nervy

Always so angry,

So full of naked rage

Why?

I don't want to be.

I just want to be simple

To be clear

Like a piece of paper

White and precise

No more to it than

the front

the back

and the whiteness.

And maybe I dont really want to be simple

I just don't want to be angry .

The Word Fucking

My hands are cold

My nails are red

My legs are sore

Because I've bee running

Running away from

You and your opinnions

The ones I don't want to hear

The ones I really don't care about

The ones that make me want to shoot you in the face

And throw up everything I didn't eat

Just to make you happy

So just let me run

Let my legs ache

My feet blister

And let my fingers bleed

Don't even bother worrying about me anymore

Or pretending

Or whatever it was that you were doing

Look at this

Im so fucking angry

And so fucking hurt

I cant even get through a fucking sentence

without saying fucking

or even write a proper poem

Abandoned

You abandoned me

When I needed you most

I stayed strong for you

Only for you

And you ABANDONED me

And you HURT me

And it was like you trampled all over

everything

everything

everything

I am frozen in this web

Paralyzed by the gruesome face

of the unfamiliar spider that crawls

towards me

Ready to feast on me

On my vulnerability

On my gullibility

On my trust

My love

and my heart

And when you need me

I hope that you'll remember

YOU ABANDONED ME

and now I want to abandon you

Want to leave you

To face the fucking spider

that wants to devour you

and everything you have

everything you own

and everything you ever knew

But I wont

Because I refuse to do that

Because I have been abandoned

And you better fucking remember that.

So recently I've just kind of become insanely obsessed with British musicians. I don't really know why, or even how, but I am now hooked and can not help thinking that their music is so, so much better than the American music we are forced to listen to on the radio. I mean, I am stuck here wondering, "Why is it that artists who make a song that has one phrase in it [.E.G., Pitbull's 'I know you want me'] make millions and millions and are instantly given notorious fame and a ticket to trample the red carpet, but that the beautiful voices that lie in the UK simply do that-- lie there?" We are not given the chance to listen to purely brilliant music because for some reason that I can not fathom no one really bothers to play anything different once and a while, thus we are stuck to listen to the Pop / Rap / Hip Hop for the rest of our lives OR spend hundreds of dollars on CDs that are actually worth listening to .

The Beast

Sitting here alone

The world is dark

Or I am blind

The stars are hiding

From either fear

or Shame

The moon hangs lazily in sky

Wishing to be somewhere

else

Somewhere where it is

beautiful

and appreciated

and not just cast away

like an unappreciated

birthday card

or a kiss at a rave

Inside me the beast quivers

It comes out

It roars

It rumbles

It raves and dances

Pulling out drawers

full of hidden away

secrets

and taboo thoughts

The world is dark

And I am here

Left alone to fight

the beast that dances

Trampling on my heart

and pushing around my organs

Like they don't even matter

The beast sings

The sound is so horrid

I am forced in to solitude

Where I cover my ears

And close my eyes, hoping

To find refuge in my imagination

But only close my eyes to find

darkness

And that's when I realize

I am truly alone

Eighteenth Floor Balcony

I just want to stand on the eighteenth floor balcony

screaming until someone hears me

screaming until someone cares

screaming until my throat runs dry

and I'm so tired i just fall

in to the deep abyss

in to the ocean of narcissists

in to the ocean of people swimming in their own stories

their own tragedies

their own lives

and then i can just lie there

my mind finally silenced

my body finally at rest

not even having to wonder

when people will start to notice

that we are all just waves

pushing each other away

to get to shore

even though in the end

we all just soak in to the sand.

The Vine

And I'm just so broken

Like I've run in to a wall

and my wings have given up

though my minds still yearns to soar

and my faith is wavering

although I want so badly to keep strong

its oh so hard

with such little support

A vine reaching towards the sun

without anything to lean on

needing to build up strength

to keep alive

or else all shall fall

and it will rot in the ground

trampled over

and covered by the dirt

it was meant to raise above

I need help

I need Guidance

For I will either fall to the ground

Or grow in distorted

and go in all the wrong directions

with out it

So Help me, please

I need your stake

to keep me up

I need your sun and your baby's breath

To make my life,

My vine,

fruitful

So Help Me.