My poetic fluidity... Out the window My thunder storm of ideas on the land of my brain Its sunny now And me I'm broken Out of words to type But full of the emotions to feel What does one do when they are uninspired Just sit Its not enough I need to write for my hearts healing But my brain is out of words It can no longer heal Maybe its done And now its sleeping

What if oxygen was just poison that took 80 years to years to kill us? What if we were really on a speck just like Horton said? Of what if one day you woke up and your whole life was a dream? And what if heaven is real? Would God be foreskin if Jesus had not worn the crown of thrones But rather wrapped them around his knuckles? Or if Adam had not eaten the apple But instead the girl? Would I be forgiven for not knowing the things That so many people act like they know so well?

I hear whispering and piano playing in the pit of my left ear But its okay because the whistling is coming And yes my room is silent And my brain is empty And in the strangest way The mind conjures up these things called words And puts them in your head Streams them down your arm and into your fingertips Where the energy is transferred into the pencil and on to the paper To create the magic of insanity

People think its just an ordinary day
Shows how good I can hide a problem when I see one
But its been two years since her passing and I haven't felt lonelier
Tell me why you took her
She never did nothing wrong
She never hurt a fly
She still had a few good years left in her
"I'm the only one who wrote in her obituary"
I thought they loved her...

...I cant say that my writing has never gotten me in to trouble
I can remember my first poem I ever wrote
About the pain my heart was in, due to a boy
And I can remember all the jumble of bad words storming in my head
But I refused to write any of them down
But I've come a long way since then
I can truthfully say now that I don’t give a fuck
What people think about my poetry
My eyes are the only ones whose critique will ever matter
This world is just so obsessed with doing the right thing and not being a bad person
And keeping you self covered
But sometimes doing the right thing and being you self are two completely different things
We need to start showing off the gifts we were given
And take the sticks out of our asses and just walk along our own path
A while back I wrote a poem about sex and all the many details of it
As proud as I was,
I showed it to my teacher
Because it was fucking awesome

Chewing Gum

When the kids in school ask for gum they don’t realize
That sometimes its not just a stick of randomness to chew on when your bored
Or something to freshen your breath so people like you
Sometimes it’s the only thing keeping you sane
Sometimes its what we do to take place of the food that our body isn't getting
Or the cigarettes that the lungs need so badly
Sometimes it the only normal thing we have
People don’t realize that it keeps me alive
My dentist told me not to chew it
You know with my braces and all but with out it
I wouldn’t be on this earth

Brittle skin strokes the dried up burnt residue of the chicken Mamma had cooked that night
The food turns to ash and her knees smack the floor
Her eyes come into contact with the tear that has fallen on the tile
Her lungs pulse for air, but they are blocked by nothing
Her heart takes a rest as her body slows down
The gauze unravel themselves
Reveling her open wounds and reveling all the secrets
The tile is cold but she doesn’t seem to hesitate or move
Her ribcage becomes more defined as the number on the scale drops
But the mirror will always tell her different