A little black book told you so
Lesbo, Dike, F**
Labels and names meant to rip us apart like paper
Tear us down to create an empire of hypocrisy for you
Make us silent so we don’t speak, or ask too much
Because we’re fine on your computer screen but not in your chapel
Perfect in your sheets and better on the streets
Kicked out and beaten for our love.
F**, Dike, Lesbo
God hates you.
As if God is a creature of hate
As if God looks at me and hates the girl he’s created
You are wrong.
God doesn’t hate me because a little black book told you so
God is love and love never will be wrong
But Hate?
Hate is always wrong, along with prejudice and hypocrisy.
I’m no sinner and you’re no saint
Get off your soap box
Do us all a favor, and shut up
I won’t stop being me because a little black book told you I shouldn’t be.
I won’t stop loving because it makes you uncomfortable
I won’t give it up and let your hate rot it
And I won’t sit back and let you tear down people like me
Who are still confused and hurt
Because your hatred still gets to them.
You can paint gray over someone’s colors.
Hope that you can cover up who they are
But in the end, let me tell you something.
The more you try to destroy us, the stronger we get.
So shut up and read your little book
Trust me; it’s more about love than you think.
Because love can’t be wrong,
But you can be.

To Grow Up
Hatred is a flower that grows as thick and tall as the vessel that tends to it.
Creating a mentality in its care that as humans we refuse to abandon
As we would rather feel justified in our hate than in our love
Rather watch our hate flourish while our love whithers
Dried up, alone, forgotten
Not long ago, my friend asked me “When”
“When did we allow hate into our hearts?”
And as I looked at her I had no answer so I said
“When the World got to us”
But as I replay the moment in my head
I wonder why, I blamed the world.
The world is made of humans, humans who’ve abandoned their love
And so…
As humans we create hate, breed it, right?
Hatred is born of our laziness.
Our Fear
Our ignorance
We destroy one another because we are ignorant and scared
We fail to help one another because we are Lazy or fearful
But it was not always like this was it?
As children we pretended to be heroes.
And as children we had all the faith in the us we are now.
To tend to our love and let our hate wither as they did
I believe that if our younger selves could see us now, they would weep for us
Weep for the doomed loop of tending to their flowers of Laziness, and fear, and ignorance
Sometimes I try to justify myself to her.
The younger me with bright eyes and heroic ambitions
But all I can say is “Growing to hate and fear… Growing to think you know when you’re really clueless…That’s what it means to grow up”
But I wouldn’t tell her that. I’d just smile and hope she understood what I meant when I’d say
“Never grow up”
Failure in prose
It’s poetic. Failures and f*** ups and scribbled out words on pages.
And if that’s true then I’m made of poetry
Prose of incorrect words
Rhyming scheme of repeating the same mistake
Metaphors in explaining the only way what I’ve done could have been worse
Laying in bed letting the words wrap me up and put me to sleep because
I don’t want to stare at the ceiling and wish everything I’ve done today was done differently.
Can’t focus, can’t fix it
Oh what am I doing?
Breathing is effortless but it feels hard
When you’re letting the hands of your guilt grab you by the neck
And no one blames you for anything but you
Because god damnit if they call you perfect then you better be
If you’d like to be the good kid
The prodigal daughter
And make up for things you can’t fix
Then you have to go and do everything in your power.
Even when they tell you it’s okay, that you don’t have to do it they’re proud of you
Because you’ve beaten the need into your mind
The need to please, to be perfect
And only now am I realizing
That Poetry isn’t perfect
It’s expressive and simple and deep
And if failure is poetic
Then I’m the most beautiful poem you’ve ever heard

Insane rants
Have you ever tried to empty your head of every thought and just breathe?
In, out, in, out
And hoped and prayed by stopping everything else and focusing on one stupid act that your pain would disappear?
If not then you may not understand.
Maybe you don’t cling to your heartbeat and maybe you’ve never prayed that the stitches keeping you together don’t pop open
Maybe you’ve never felt the lead in your veins holding you down and making it impossible to move because everything inside you just hurts and there’s nothing you can do but just take it and hope it passes
Maybe you’ve never whispered nonsense to yourself about drowning and breathing and rubbing salt in your wounds because you can’t explain how you do this to yourself unless you enjoy the pain and in the end when all is said and done and the hurt has passed you miss it.
Maybe everything is nonsense and later when you sit in front of your heart and stare at your name in it you don’t question how it belongs to you
How you ever fell this far, or ended up systematically dealing with the hurt every time it came around
But maybe you do
And if you do I suggest you take some deep breaths and grab whatever anchors you because it will keep you here. Even when you doubt its powers. It’ll keep you among your friends, pretending like you’re fine, or with your parents smiling for their benefit, or many it will just keep you in your favorite dark corner, nursing your wounds or enjoying the time in between broken stitches
If you keep listening, I can’t guarantee your stitches will stay closed.
Maybe from the moment this began your heart has been beating fast and hopeful because you understand, this is you and you want to scream it to the heavens but not too loud. Never too loud because if you’re too loud maybe someone will hear. And if they do they might come to ask if you’re alright and you might not have an answer for them because they’ll ask over and over to reassure themselves that you’re fine with your half-assed answers and quiet regret because you never could ask for help could you? So you say “I’m fine” and you appease them because those little words because it keeps everything simple in a complicated maelstrom of the truth
I cannot destroy you.
They pain cannot destroy you
Your armor is indestructible and you are the only one underneath it with the ability to twist the knife into your gut.
So don’t give yourself the chance
Put your heart in a jar and put it on display and when people pass they will think “interesting”
Not beautiful.
Not broken.
Interesting and Interesting alone
And if you simply take a pen to your name they will not know that it is yours either!
The shackles holding you to it will be gone
You will be free
You will be alive.
Not because you let go because I don’t care what they say letting go is impossible but because you are detached from the pain.
You are fighting a war and you can stand up straight and feel it in your very core, no matter how heavy the armor.
Don’t let the pain drive you to sleeping it off stand and laugh at its pathetic attempt to destroy you
The pain cannot destroy you.
The pain is outside your armor you are safe, you are free
Laugh at it and dare it to come closer
Stitch up your wounds with metal because you are no longer afraid to burn yourself on it or live with the deep cold weight in your chest because that heavy chest of yours will just inspire you to hold it higher.
Be strong. This Fight was one that you were born to win and I’d like to see the demons howling at your door get in and hurt you with your heart jar and you’re crossed out name and your metal stitches.
The world cannot hurt you now.