Ballad of Urgency

Ballads may not sound urgent, but they are.

They are born from an intense longing.

A raw awareness of the heart.

This may be the the most exhausting form of obsession regardless the dilemma.

And in its shallow rhythm it still screams of urgency.

My voice may be weak from the toll the hurt has taken.

My heart may be heavy and in a thousand pieces.

Still this ballad I have summoned,

Fills the distance between us like a beautiful storm.

Just as there is quiet in the noise,

There is noise found in the quiet.

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“Perfect”

Last night I had a dream.

A little boy tugged at his parent’s clothes.

“Look, that one,

That’s the one I want…

I want her.”

The girl had scars all up and down the right side of her face from cutting herself.

She was trying to hide them.

The little boy didn’t care.

He thought she was beautiful.

“Really son, her?

That’s the one you want?”

“Yes,” he smiled.

“She’s perfect!”

Trapped On The Inside

Does everyone have a soulmate?

Is that why I feel so alone? This emptiness is heavy. How can a feeling of nothingness feel so full that my heart just might fall through me onto the floor? I cannot recall a time when I physically felt my heart hurt. Not like the interpretation of ‘heartache’ expressed in cinema, or the word we attach to a feeling so carelessly at times, but an actual affliction of soreness and throbbing. The discomfort that not even a handfull of percocet can relieve.

Alone and heavy hearted.

Why does everyone die?

Literally and figuratively.

On the bathroom floor and in my mind.

There is no one to talk to. Only this paper carries my burden. I can see it, but I can’t do it. I’m so tired.

Is it the end or just the beginning?

Either way it’s going to hurt.

Your voice was the only voice I could bear to hear screaming. Because it was beautiful.

How do I put the million little pieces together to tell my story?

You need to know.

My mind is so undone I cannot form the words. Is that what breeds the pain? The inability to form words the heart is trying to scream, but they remain trapped. Is that why the lyrics of a song have the power to unravel me into a puddle where the million litte pieces seem impossible to reassemble? A puddle I’ve been trying not to drown in as long as I’ve been alive. This is where I live. A house overflowing with words because I cannot get them out for a normal person to decode.

The house where the locks are on the inside.

At least I can write all over the walls.

And my words no one can paint over.

My Morning After Pill


Sitting on the floor

Staring out the window

Wiping off the polish

Lost in a trance

Listening to GaGa

Post Superbowl

Acetone morning

Child on her left

Controllers and LeBron

Has no clue mama’s gone

Looking straight ahead

She listens and nods

One say he’ll remember

Mama in her towel

Singing

Painting

Dancing

Her portable speaker

Words give her life

Feeling sexy today

She never knows

Yesterday

Today

Both afraid

But born this way

Her eyes touch the screen

But she can’t see shit

Training herself to separate

What’s love got to do with it

Getting High Getting Low

She loves getting high

Always have always will

Doesn’t mean she’ll keep crushin’ up or throwing back those wretched little pills

But she probably will

Love the feeling

Hate the life

Prey on weakness

Overflowin’ with strife

Let the girl be

She’s coming into her own

But now’s the time to take her

She’s stripped and alone

She knows the devil so well

You’d think she’d see him comin’

So wrapped up in the bottle

She can’t ever get to runnin’

Paralyzed and cornered

He chases her down

His partners know her hiding places too

There’s not one more to be found

She’s danced here so long

Hell ain’t nothin new

He tricks her with the wind

It blows a new direction

A better high to chase

But it only lasts a minute

It’s worth it though, ain’t it?

Just in case this time is different.


90 days sober

I wish my insides matched my outsides.

Then I could more than halfway feel pretty.

Then when that creep gives the animal call,

Then when that man gives the nod,

Then I could muster up

The look in my eyes that matches the pain in my heart to say“fuck you”

Oh why can’t I, oh God?