Don’t think that you know me.. 

from my outpourings of need and desire.
All you see are the glimpses I show,
Don’t be blinded by my fire.
I am sometimes crude and base and blunt.
Sometimes a princess, sometimes a __.
I am stubborn and stilted and disjointed and shy.
I am hidden and cold and aloof and wry.
I am at my core a lover, a hidden romantic so sweet.
I am all the mistakes I’ve learned from and all the ones that I repeat.
I am not a fragile innocent little flower.
I am not without responsibility, not without power.
I am a submissive, strong and proud
I am often silent, sometimes loud.
I am a deviant, dark and twisted.
I am all the things I have explored and all the things I have resisted.
I am an explorer, curious and wide eyed.
I am all the tears I’ve held inside and all the ones I’ve cried.
I am forever changing, still learning, still growing.
I am wanton and plotting, controlling and knowing.
I am idle and frustrating, I’m ambitious and I’m driven.
I am all the things I have taken and all the things that I have given.
I am beautiful and I am flawed, I am well rounded yet neurotic.
I am a dreamer, silly and quixotic.
I am all the pain I have chosen and all the hurt that I have not.
I am all those things that I remember, all those I have forgot.
All you glimpse here is the odd page,
of the complex complicated book that is me,
So please don’t think you know, who I was and who I am and who I’m yet to be.
All you see are glimpses, of my thoughts and my desire.
They burn the brightest sometimes, but don’t be blinded by my fire.



I used to hold my own hand
And sing a lullaby into the darkness
To fall asleep

I’d lie on the floor and string chords together
And melancholy notes
Bit by bit

I think they all saw my blood
Splashed across that one cozy bedroom
And thought
Just maybe
They could force those lost molecules back into my

Multicolored veins

I knew we weren’t real all along
(Just rag dolls
Sloppily stitched together
Or some sort of
Hazy memory)

And if we did exist
Why would I feel so empty inside?

Final destination

There is a sickness inside me & no one can see it
It’s been there for years now

A lifetime, maybe
It grinds my bones down


Until the only thing left

Is stardust and moonshine
Drink it down, baby

One shot

No hesitation

No going back

Knock it down

And feel your empty heart fill

And your broken soul soar
How high is Heaven…?

I’ll never know
It’s somewhere down there

Beneath me and my high flying dreams

Deep within the flesh of the Earth

Still baking in the womb of the world
But where is Hell then…?

You would have to ask me that

Because only devils like me

Know the way
Hell is a dark

Hollow place

Etched into the very essence of our being
We are Hell

We imprison ourselves

We condemn our sins

We repent

And repay

And regret

And remorse
And none of it makes any difference

Because you cannot be rid

Of the Hell that is inside you
No one can see that either

Only you and me, baby

Your eyes reveal my secrets

Mine cry your pain

And together we hold hands

And let go of control

And one more drink, for the road…!
The way to Hell

Is a lovely little path

Lined with good intentions

And all the damage they do

It’s a quick trip

It only takes a lifetime

It only takes your life…in time.



I try to breathe, but I’m  barely breathing,

I can’t think clearly; i can barely speak.

My mind is filled with needless thoughts.

My cheeks are red and feverish…


I know what i must do,

But i can’t bring myself  to do it.

Instead i jump into a thousand distractions…

Mindlessly seeking the thrill of the ‘anything’,

I cringe at the progress of time on the clock.

And with lips gone dry from an internal hell-fire

I continue to evade what I cannot face.


Break me already.

Whenever I’ve reached the peak of a mountain of suffering, I wipe my brow, take a deep breath and start the journey back down so I can be on to the next one.

I’m trying to learn how to sit at the top for a moment and enjoy before I start looking at the wonders that await me at the bottom. That’s my robot mentality coming out. Ticking off that box, ready for my next task.

I just love that struggle. I want the turmoil that comes right before you take your hand off of my throat. Where I can comsume every last bit of air in the room with one sharp gasp. The relief is exhilirating, is necessary, but the second I’m released from that prision, I long to find my way back.

I throw the keys in a place far enough away, neither the guards nor I could undo my decision to crawl back in that space and lock the door.

Break me already. I’m not as broken as I need to be. I feel you chipping away at me. Piece by piece. I’m impatient to feel the weight of you. Destroy me. I don’t want your chisel anymore. Give me the knife. Cut me open. Make me ugly and beyond recognition. Make me a girl no one else would ever want. Make me yours alone.

I’m sick of pretty. Hot bores me. I want to be less than. A crumb on your floor. Begging to be your afterthought.

Fuck me up. Tie me up. Shut me up. Tight.

Tear me up. Rip me down. Make me yours.

Souls & Sparkles

There are a thousand rooms in each person’s mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.

We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us “bad”, unequal, or imperfect.

Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words.

Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we do not fit the rule of “good”, we are bad. We are evil, we are tainted, and so we are unwanted.

So, each of us hides our failures; our shortcomings, even though they are exactly the opposite of such. They are a representation of the uniqueness of each human soul, but unique is “bad”, and so we hide. And those impure thoughts are hidden in darkened corners of our mazes, trapped in locked closets, guarded by wary soldiers.

But, every so often, we find our way back to that small room, and the guards avoid our eyes, and we rediscover ourselves. We find sanctuary in the unopened space, and quickly shut the doors behind us, lest our sparkling secrets are spilled.

It’s a closet of glitter and unopened boxes and the smell of photographs. It’s jars of buttons and déjà vu and moth-eaten gowns, and it is our private place. We open the doors late at night and the secrets spill from our maze into our real room, into the dark.

It’s this room that connects everything. It is where our dreams exist (tiny figures in heavy shoe boxes) and it’s where love begins. Because to love, we have to allow someone into our secret room.

They take in the scent of our hidden things, our fear of exposure, and they unzip their hearts and we see the sweet innocence trapped in their own room, and we understand. Because if there is not understanding, if there is not soul sharing, there is not love.

(Not my usual style but a change of tone was badly needed!)

Make me

It isn’t within me to let go on my own. It needs to be taken. Made to let go.

Make me let go?
Swallow up my fight and thwart my spinning inner workings with pain and pleasure. Overwhelm me. Wash over me in waves of heat from curve of breast to curl of feet.

Make me let go.

I know you see my need. In the way I look at you, pleading with open tearing eyes. I know. My voice is small, meek in its whispering in my mind.

Help me. Hurt me. Find me. Break me. Build me. Hurt me. Hold me. Kiss me.

Please, make me let go.

Make the burdens of my world gone, bring me focus.

Make me feel.

Call out my voice from me in pleading, trembling, begging words.

Make me.

Make me let go of the things I hide behind. The false smiles and well learned deflections, take them from me.

Shower me in rains of our sweat and fluids and clasp me, grasp me in knowing hands.

Reduce me. Use me. Help me. Hurt me.

Make me let go.

I beg you please,make me. I know you see it in my shivers. Hear it in my strained cries. Taste it on my warm lips and searching tongue. Feel it when my muscles clamp tight pulsing around you and your hands. I want this, please?

Make me let go.

Overtake me. Consume me. Restrain me. Pain me. Release me.
When my pieces are soggy with tears and spittle, when the broken parts are welted and bruised, when the hidden slivers of me are coated in you and sweat.

Then make me see I am not so broken, but treasured.

Make me let go of the things that haunt me, with your gentle strokes and cooing, calming words.

Make me lose the veils that cloud mine eyes as you kiss away tears.

Help me. Hurt me. Seduce me. Save me. Console me. Control me. Keep me. Take me.

Make me.



I see this light.

It’s the most beautiful thing in my life and I want to bask in it’s glory. Absorb it’s rays into my imperfect skin and let it radiate from my fast pacing heart. Shining and beaming on anyone that comes near me, letting me be the person I want to be, and help others and be with others like I’ve always wanted.

But then, I realize,

I’m not allowed to touch it.

I can only see it in my mind.
A bird of sorts, staring at me with it’s black eyes with a straight expression. Unafraid, and yet, aware.
And as I try to approach it’s wonder,

It flees.

It leaves me alone here in the dark, gray, concrete
I never escape, it just taunts me with it’s sheer freedom. Just the fact that it has the ability to fly elsewhere beckons at me with jealousy.

Cut off it’s wings.

A sudden impulse.
This feeling… what is this? I don’t understand…

Cut off it’s wings. Use them yourself.

I’m scared.
I don’t want to do anything like that. Why am I thinking these things? It never did anything to me…

Cut off it’s wings. Use them yourself. Get out of this hell hole.

I can’t leave this way.
What am I doing?
Why are these scissors in my hands?
I throw them to the side, deep where I can never find them, and the ebony eyed bird leaves once again.

Cut off it’s wings. Use them yourself. Get out of this hell hole.


These impulses, they almost invade my mind. Almost in a way to where I feel like I can’t control what I’m doing, even though I’m doing nothing.
Frozen, in time and in thought.
Scared, motionless in pure fear of myself and for those around me.

I open my eyes.
I’m sitting at my window.
The sun is heating up my stiff arms on the windowsill.
Birds are chirping in the distance.
My hand touches the cold surface of glass.

I’m trapped
Alone again.

Pleas and please

My head is full of clutter and begging for simplification.

Fuck feels. Fuck plans. Fuck thinking in any way shape or form.

Make me useful.

Remove second guessing with actions that leave only one possible reaction.

Make it hurt, not because I earned it or even because you want it to, but because that’s the way it is sometimes when you’re alive instead of just living.

I need to feel it, to feel something sensical in the silence between the screams.

Make me beg for it, desperately debased in the face of unknown hunger and unrivaled desire. Give me yours until mine overflows in pleas and please.

If ever you’ve wanted me, however you’ve wanted me, now is the time to show it. Telling is for the dreamers, and for once I’m feeling awake and reveling in reality.

Be real with me.