Lonesome and stressed
Derived
From pure hopelessness
A plague
Of misery and loss
This populous city
Is endemic at best
As if gangrenous
Hands would caress
The eyes of the unknowing
Whilst the eyes themselves
Pierce through hearts and minds

...Everyone is welcome
Where no one is wanted...

Man's guile swallows me
Like a plume of smoke
He's suffocating on diesel
She's getting high on two-stroke
Light headed and confused
Sickening and well, just samey
A commuter on life support
With a twisted ankle
A mother on the school run
With a ****** nose

Build.
I was told that woman are made to build.
But wait...
What if I told you that my gender identity was as messy as raindrops as they hit the ground?
What if the only thing I can build are stanzas in some wanna be poem.

Yes, I do have a ****** but I bind my ******* so tightly I cannot tell the difference between breathing,
And a panic attack.

I am not a woman.
I am not the type.
I am your type.

When I am asked what I would like to be when I grow up,
Isn't it sad that that the first thought that occupies my mind is,
"I want to be a man.."

My mother pushed out her precious baby girl and keep in mind I had a brother.
Have a brother.
*** and gender are two completely different things, darling.

When someone asks what I want to be when I get older,
I will say a carpenter.
Because at least then I can build myself to be a man.
From the ground up.

But for now I will have to settle for pecks made out of metaphors,
And the thought of a ***** as long as my lyrics.
Would you still love me if I was a man?
If not,
Then have fun choking on my poetry.

it was late at night when things got silent.
a mid aged woman's daughter, snook her moms bottle, the same bottle that sent her mom insane just earlier that night.
the girl drank gagging to the taste, and she kept drinking.
the bottle then became empty.
her world was blurry
just like her mind that night.
she was numb just like her heart,
it was like a dream to her.
she was chasing the butterflies the same way she would chase her dreams.
alive, and walking dead.
she went into the bathroom and looked up in a mirror were she saw nothing.
she felt worthless to herself so she sat on the floor, took out a razor and began taking it apart.
holding her blades hesitant and courageous, she began to hover over her wrists.
the sensation of release before the slicing through her fragile angelic skin.
she cut and it was deeper than what she could normally take.
she counted as the drops of her own blood spilled out, watching the life fading away from her right before her very eyes.
she started to loose count and began to look up at herself.
she waned to go back but it was already too late.
she fell to the ground before she could even scream her pain.
she dropped beneath the ground and kept sinking.
oh god where did she go...