If your mad at someone and confused...write a letter and don't send it.

Getting out of bed, my face close to yours

You seem to have resentment towards me, towards something larger than me but I don't know what it is

I have already betrayed you and lied to you

Now my soul is clouded with doubt and regret

What will wash my sins away? What will purge me of those feelings?

The concept of apologizing, will that lead me to redemption?

Or rationality? Meditation? Self esteem?

If I put you in a graph and pick apart the emotion, you are bad news very bad news.

You are so condescending and use large words for the sake of your own benefit, little do you know, I completely understand them.

Just for my youth do you punish me and my ovaries and the fact that I don't have a PHD.

Well FUCK YOU I am smart, and you are not the nicest thing that has happened to me another guy was and now we are not in love.

He used to pick me flowers and tell me I was the prettiest girl in the world.... and you know what? He actually believed it Jack ass.

You are the bane of my frustration a thorn in my foot but you are the only option I have but you are going to leave me soon.

But I am going to leave you as well and then it won't matter.

Her heart was a travelin' stone

I do not need you, I want you.

Reformation of the mind's logistics, what a terrible thing to waste.

What would I call this emotion that wells up from my gut and seeps out my nose?

Apathy? Attachment? Humility? or a cumulation of them all.

Absolutely Amazing Poetry

Lady Lazarus


I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr god, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Sad Bastard Music

I wake up, and try to fall asleep.

I try half heartedly because some intrinsic force makes me want to complete the day.

From my hair follicles down to my untrimmed toe nails I feel some dull desire,

throbbing in my brain. Get up. Make coffee, make sustenance , make yourself look better to face the world, scrub out the grime that seeps into your pours. Get up, face the faces jeering at you through impoverished eyes on the street corner making you guilty for being alive. Face the men that grin when I ride by on my scooter, with their leathered skin and lustful eyes. It makes me want to shower at least ten times a day. When I get home I can never fully scrub the filth of humanity out of my skin. But oh yes I'm getting ahead of myself, I haven't even begun the day yet. I then drag myself out of bed and rummage through the cabinet for my so called medicine. Medicine? "(medicine) something that treats or prevents or alleviates the symptoms of disease" Apparently sadness and nervousness is a disease the only shitty thing is, I still feel it and I need to. It helps me appreciate happiness more and more. I need to be sad whether people like it or not. What is up without down?What is cause without effect? The doctors say it help from anxiety but then I look in the mirror and the side effects from the "Medicine" are depressing as hell. I have noticed in the past year changes I could not have made on my own and although my diet nor exercise routine has changed, I gain weight. I feel as if I am slowly being engulfed by mounds of lard. I strive to maintain a healthy state but it's difficult when modern medicine views intelligence as anxiety. But I'm not one to say no, so I take it. I grin and bear it and bear it and bear it. And hope til tomorrow that today will be different. That I will meet my sunshine or at least find it. It's 3 am and I finally gave in and took a tylenol pm at 2. I hope my dreams are better than this note. Goodnight?