I have a gaping hole
in my chest.
My insides are maggots
and I’m throwing them,
whipping them at walls.
Squishing and flicking away
so quick, with disgust
until I hit bare bone
My insides are maggots,
bright, false-colored maggots
and what does that say about me?
The Madhouse
once you leave the madhouse, it’s another hour until home.
your hands on the wheel, with an infinite stare,
unbreakable, by any means, at all.
once you leave the madhouse, you’re only on your own
for the rest of your time.
don’t be fooled by what your friends say.
once you leave the madhouse, your breathing will change,
from long. relieving breaths—- to short, angry puffs,
like in the winter time, when the air is too cold to inhale.
once you leave the madhouse, you are a stranger
to yourself and to others, it’s a shame.
you’ll wander the streets, gasping for breath, and lonelier than ever.
It’s 3 o’clock PM
and I’m somewhere between happiness
and that special kind of feeling you get
when you wake up early without enough sleep.
But this is better than what I once was.
Spending years bitter and miserable
wears on the thickest of skin
and it is embarrassing that I ever
got so angry.
But I can still get so angry, I punch walls.
I thought I broke my hand once
when the door was sturdier and stronger
than I had imagined it would be.
I shook it off and jaws dropped all around me.
But it did not matter, since hardly anyone meant anything to me.
I have as many friends as fingers
that mean as much as my poetry
and laugh as much as they need to.
My generation disappointed and got distorted.
But I have been saved by the best of them.
Ginsberg would understand just what I mean
when I say I’ve seen people fall and lose it all
and they had so much potential to be.
Although, I am not always at my best.
But I always remember: I am, I am, I am.
I might get abs
from sucking in.
Is this why my stomach aches?
Maybe the muscle strain
is healthy.
Respect
anyone who pays all their bills
who has a place to live
and is mentally stable.
.
Because crunching numbers,
I’ve found
is the worst thing to do
when you just want is to go
for a drive.
hometown
I don’t like to sleep,
because I don’t like to dream.
When I dream it just reminds me
of all I once had:
Ambitions, desires, a planted on smile,
one that the worst days couldn’t wash away.
Now, in the dark, I sit alone
pen in hand, pouring out my soul,
worn down by years of worrying
over nothing worth worrying about.
.
When the birds start chirping
it’s the only thing that reminds me
I’m alone only part of the time.
Their voices carry past my curtains
and it stuns me for but a moment.
If I could I would live
in nights with stars and the moon so bright
that all of the terrors are illuminated.
.
It’s nights like this I wonder
where on earth that smile went.
And I’m trying my best
but lately it’s been so hard
to find beauty in a world
where everyone is focused
on everything other than beauty.
Maybe I’ve been stuck here
for a little bit too long.
A town like this will wreck your soul.
I almost wrote a love poem
about what it means
how our hands intertwine
but I got pretty tired
and started to doze off.
.
But just because I don’t say it
or write it down
in pretty words
it doesn’t mean
I wouldn’t do anything
to see you smile.
I woke up today
to six alarms
in the span of an hour.
.
One of which I showered,
smelled nice and did my hair;
Two played similarly,
but just not quite the same
.
My hair a mess, my face so flushed
I reeked body heat with a temp of 103
Since I was sick at the time,
three was plausible,
I stayed home and slept all day
Or I had faked it,
no fever to be found
but I did not leave my bed all day
and my class went on without me.
.
The fourth of them all
seemed most desirable.
I had no real reason to turn on a light
or leave my house by eight—
so I slept
and I slept for a few hours more.
.
The fifth was less than ideal
where my mother cursed and sat me down
for what she thought she heard
last night
and I jumped to defend
myself and my honor
but we fought fists all morning
weary of where we’d end up.
.
What happened actually,
is a sweet, sweet combination.
I had showered, smelled nice,
my hair was all a mess.
My class, not cancelled,
I went a tad bit late.
And though I struggled in the morning,
I got out of bed—-twenty minutes later—-
and the sound of my own breathing
snapped me clean off my feet
and the only alarm that woke me up
was the yelling.
I am writing this poem
instead of final papers
because final papers
cause anxiety
and writing is a therapy.
.
I am writing this poem
instead of practicing math
because I’ll never use radicals
but poems, they’re pretty rad.
.
I am writing this poem
instead of studying flashcards
because I have a phobia of psych
and poems are psychedelic.
.
I am writing this poem
instead of anything academic
because education can be toxic
but poems are a mind’s antioxidant
I want to scream it
a thousand times over
not because I need to,
just because I want to.
