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?