I.
No I don’t know everything but I know what I know and trust what I’ve experienced more than I trust you. And that’s just the truth. It’s unshakeable. I’m unshakable.

II.
Broom, vroom, zoom, bur r rat tat burr I like the antiquity of sounds like these. How they remind me of plump dresses and red stained teeth. All the baroque celebrations, decadence in its decay, its this huge hurrah and gallant saturation of pleasures and sins.

III.

It’s just that I don’t believe I’m giving any single person anything. I’m so full of shit and refuse to give anything because every thing has been robbed from me and I guess I’m still angry. And don’t give a shit to be something for someone because I think they’re full of shit too. You know I think I was so disgusted that I wanted everything to stop but I had to accept it. I have to accept things I don’t accept even when I disagree. And it’s okay to disagree, to say no; but I’m told no.

IV.
I’m called weird, pointed and laughed at, and then told I’m loved.  That’s not love, but really maybe I reject those before they reject me, and instead of an initiation of loss from others, maybe I do it myself. Attempt to end it before it’s done so I can walk away and leave. Maybe I close books on people; maybe I’m the one who abandons ship. I might, I’d be the one to leave the masses, the group, and the identity—change my identity. I want to merge, blend, be beside but not recognized. I don’t want to be noticed, I want to see how quiet I can be when obviously I’m toppling with noise and volume, I amp shit up, talk loud, stand tall, shine my hair, wear heels, wander on my own for months across the dark continent, write manically, make sure I design pretty things.  It’s because I got shit to say. I do. Man I’ve seen things from all around, I surround them, serenade, let their defenses fall and smile at em.  Give em what they deserve, value, appreciation, celebration if you’d like.

V.
I’m searching for calm and preservation. 
With haste I’ve always been, searching for the calm and quiet I am now. 
It’s hard to find I learn with a sigh and slouching back.

VI.

Always lost I am, running wild, wishing for something else than what I find inside others and myself. How frustrated I am being inside this fragile presence. I don’t want to be someone else I just want to understand myself and work with myself instead of against. It just doesn’t work when you’re wild like me. There is something that needs to be tamed, to be warmed, and embraced. A raw me is an ugly me with sour eyes pinching at the sides. I just wouldn’t know what I need because I don’t know where to find myself [if at peace.] It’s been such a long time of burning and ashing that now I can’t tolerate the scent of even such a scene I’ve seen, lived within, come to see breed. 
I didn’t ask for this even though I did, it’s just that the price of such fortune was unbeknownst to me. I just was so hungry with such an appetite to feed, where delirium takes place and leads me to where I’ll be.

VII.
I just miss the intentionality of things and achieving long time wanted things. I’m so silenced and speechless because I always thought I’d be better than whom I am sitting in this seat. We can never know what comes to us to be. All we can do, or all I see fit is to do is to believe in full confidence that this needed to happen and accept how it shapes me. Reason why is, I’ve been angry for such a long time that my eyes have red stains on everything. It’s as if I’m walking around in the immediate aftermath of a horrendous murdering, although, maybe now the stiffening has taken place as opaque dust and ashes are remaining.

VIII.
It’s quiet here, this place I’m experiencing in time inside my mind. A humbling, crumbled position of mourning; Where moving forward seems like the hardest thing, because as heavy as these weights are that I’ve been carrying, they’ve been with me so long I don’t know how else to be. It’s become all I know about me. To be without these haunts that follow me silently would be like becoming someone who isn’t me. And maybe that’s why I’ve become so ignorant of the trapping I’ve created for myself; Because in some sick way I think I’m protecting myself or preserving myself at the expense of my sanity. I don’t want this though, of that I’m sure. It’s just such a challenge to begin again and become a new when the last time I did that actively it just destroyed me, more than anything. But I guess at the same time, the explosion of self and shattering did expand my grounds and possibly horizons. Regardless, I feel like I’m only looking down or behind me. To place my eyes ahead of me just seems traumatic and terrifying.

IX.
I have to admit I’m scared of what’s to come; I’ve be one so confident in being lost. Strange to say but it’s what I’ve come to know. It’s what I’ve come to value as a tool for growing. One must explore to learn and understand what’s possible or surrounding. It’s just very daunting to continue to keep walking into jaws that are salivating between teeth. Being so vulnerable, naive and prey–like for all the beasts that make up the world we live in.

X.
Trying to break it off, break away. Fight temptations and comforts. I do like to break it down, swarm it up- see what I can conjure up. It’s maddening and at times confining, but it’s what defines me.

XI.
What sets me apart is my ability to rewrite, revise, depict, and explore. 
I’m open to anything. I’ll live through anything except what’ll kill me.

XII.
It’s this nervous tension I have that makes me want to vomit, I’m not sure what I’m getting myself into. I’m really terrified of what this can be, and what I’m doing. It could be amazing though, and I’ll regret it if I don’t.

XIII.
After a long enough period of time generally I can force attention or force disinterest. 
I can train myself these skills to ultimately overpower myself to excel outside of myself.

XIV.
Its better to be blank and silent than vibrant and loud. To have tasteful intent and uniform standards; It’s cleaner, neater, kinder, and easier to manage.

XV.
It’s better to be patient and believe in possibilities. 
Wait for what you wish for, deem for, expect; ah bitch you better insist for it, 
repeat your question, muthafka better demand that shit, 
yo gimme that gun- cock that shit and shove it in his mouth, clanging around his teeth. Yo you see this shit right here? This here is mine because I made it mine. 
You see here how this works?

XVI.
No use in pretending we don’t know proper manners and etiquette. I know all the things I’ve been taught and seen. It’s important to continue onward.

XVII.
I just sometimes don’t understand how coping can be rude; inside all I had were haunts and torments. But I upset you because I didn’t call you when my eyes were shut and I was running in the dark being chased by some unknown to me thing. 
A living, breathing monster, I think, who will rob me and steal me, 
and for as long as he hides me, I feel like no one will find me - 
and I’ll never come back to see the beautiful things inside and outside of me. 
And I grow sad and lonely; already! 
Even though at the moment my eyes are open and wide.

XVIII.

I do at times feel happy and lively. Other times I’m just sad and am mourning. But I rather celebrate and grab hands with others and tell them how fantastic I think they are because they’re a sight for sore eyes. Mine specifically because they worked only to see death and narrow slits of mercy. But now here you are, everyone in my life is a blessing and given to me as a gift. I should be more thankful and giving. Move harder and talk louder but love stronger and learn how to translate my value and appreciation I place on you.

XIX.
Shine brighter than everyone else because I’m crazy about you and couldn’t wish for a better sight to see than a glorified you. A celebrated you, because you are the most beautiful thing to me.

XX.
My heart feels rich and full. That’s lovely too, isn’t it?

XXI.
I think I started feeling so much for other people because I felt so much inside of me that I wanted someone to be beside me and understand, feel as I feel. I did that to others in turns; I would listen to them, help them yell, help them feel. All I could do is do anything I could to evoke, affect the senses. I wanted them to cry, scream, celebrate, and feel gloriously. I needed to provoke anything that tugs and pulls me even if its from an image outside of me. I wanted to split my skin; I wanted forgiveness for my sins. I wanted to reach down inside of me and see what I’ve found, what I behold. I’m just terribly afraid it might kill me first.

XXII.
I guess I’m getting a little stone faced, a little brass an’ crass. Spitting you out a little sass. Maybe I just get bored easily. Or maybe I think nothing is stimulating. My need to feed and tastes worth acquiring are growing with propensity and vigor. Don’t turn me away or turn me down. Just let me sit down, sit and watch a while. Slowly but surely I’ll pick up speed and intensity.

XXIII.
I just have to grow. Grow to know what I don’t. I don’t like being left in the dark. I don’t like being left in the cold. I want to master, craft, and understand richly. I want to see color where I never noticed it before. I want a keen, sharp eye.

XXIV.
I feel rejected when people don’t explore that vault of mine. It’s full of my treasures. When left unmentioned or unknown I feel I can’t connect. I feel undiscovered, unsatisfied and not alive. Nothing has saturated me; you remain unaware of who I am and what I represent. What I believe in and the world I perceive me, us, we, you to be living in.

XXV.
Calm and centered,
Waiting, patiently for the

release of the spinning beast

whose teeth have ravished

and devoured me.
over all this passing time

I’ve been mourning, I’ve been tired.


XXVI.
All this loss and ashes, all the flame and

tramatization of traumatizing things,

how I can’t wrap my head around the

very actual things that did

indeed happen. No matter how

exactly my mind can erase

and deny. Push far and further 

away as possible from my actual
 place.

XXVII.
I’ve carved out my own space

in this wooden box, that I’ve found

and deemed safe. My own sanctuary

where deep inside my mind, is free

and safe; far away from my heart. 

For it beats so heavily, like a drum

becomes my chest, making my ribs 

a xylophone, clanging all around;

all kinds of nonsense, nothing rings 

recognizably. I can’t hum this one

nor sing along like always.

I’ve held a melody inside of me 

that kept me safe, feeling comfortable 

inside my lonely place

and I have always been able to find

a song, that sings inside of me.


XXVIII.
But now all sounds contacting

have become weak; distant and muffled,
scrambled and
 scratched. Struggling,
I am to understand
 what it is
my heart has sung, learn its 
song.
But I work hard intentionally, 

simultaneously to do the exact opposite. 

For terror runs though me 

surging rapidly, deeply, and tightly

winding it’s grasp manically 

around my nerves and veins. Leaving an

imprint, wrinkling my DNA.

XXIX.

I just was too young.
                
                too young to realize what I was

experiencing. Talking about it now, maybe

it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t be

so upset or high strung. But I wasn’t used to

the kinds of things I am now, today. 


XXX.
I didn’t know, or realize how very terrible

things can be. People can be, humanity could

be. With all the greedy fingers, desperate eyes

emancipated bodies, being thrown aside with

insatiability. All of these foreign concepts

strung through me rapidly, I couldn’t possibly

follow the story line. I didn’t understand

what was happening, and as I was trying, more

things just kept occurring. It was the speeding ball

I became, wrapped around by things that collected

around me. And I had no safe place, or person to

bounce off of. It was only me and my tight 
embrace,
and as this was happening I was being
 ravished and thrown
into these places that no one goes to. And there I was,
young and completely
 unable to protect myself.
Even asking for help; it
 couldn’t possibly come
for another 7 to 8 hours at
 most, at best it was
a stranger to come, one I had only recently 
called a friend.

XXXI.
All these passing faces, connections
 made,
how these connections all also took a

part of me. And I gave myself wholly away,
until
 one day I looked down at my body
and my knees, and 
realized I didn’t see
a single thing. I had disappeared, 

and become blind, I was hungry.
I had no concept 
of time.

XXXII.
Delirious from the heat and harassing dehydration,

I was just making my way through a place that had no

room for me. I was if anything, the very oppressor that

enforced such a humbling way of seeing and interacting

with life. And here I am, a person who grew up in 
true
oppression, not directly on me, but dispelled neatly.

And, its just not okay, I’m not okay with it.

XXXIII.
I’m not 
okay with victimizing people, robbing
women without males, I’m not okay with poverty
in such hysteric states
 where people run to you
in swarms of bodies, and 
pull you, ripping you
of all your things, not because
 they’re rabid
but because they’ve lost all their things too.
Sometimes their belief is gone, and you can see it
in those eyes that don’t see you. You’re not a person
or an object, just a single prize. When you have
nothing to lose, you’ll go to extreme measures to win.

XXXIV.

“Victory for us desperate bastards!” And I’m just supposed

to struggle to defend myself? Who indeed, yes, does 
exist?
I am real, but not a single person around me 
even saw me,
or acknowledged me; as they stared
 me down, sized me up,
competed to purchase me. 
It just was what I represented
to them, what they saw. 
You know when you’re thirsty
and you look into the 
sunlight, and you think that you
see water, or you see something you’ve been wanting
for a long time? The kind of delirium that rampantly
clasps with clawing fingertips– upon your eyesight,
your state of nervosa, your mind playing 
tricks.
That’s all I was to them, a trick of their beady eyes,

transforming me, to be only questioned after a strange
man in blue saved me. I didn’t feel safe in any place.

XXXV.

It’s trapping, this desperate comatose sensation that stole me.

I never quite calmed down; I never quite made it back,
from the sharp grasp of delirium that shook down my spinal
chord. Spreading across my back and chest, madly ringing
in my ribs. Infuriating a burning sensation, which becomes
heat magnification. Rising steadily until its unreasonably
untolerable, 
but then, it stays there. Stably, for weeks
or months at a time;
 and I do not rest. Not my body.
Not my mind. There is no comfort or pleasure that can
be found anywhere, not only within 
or immediately outside,
but in any place identified. 
Rationally is gone;
erased immediately, overridden by this 
extreme desire
to stop the mutherfucking heat that is 
scolding my
entire body. Insides and outsides, and as my skin is melting,
I sink deeper and lower into myself, 
a puddle growing around
me. I sink and swim until I’ve 
drowned in my own self,
never to be rescued again. 
Until now, it is, that I am trying.

XXXVI.
I guess I don’t feel good, I guess I can’t figure out how to make
that better or different. I need a hand to guide me unfortunately
because I’m so lost, and I know that I should be able to figure out
how to fix this and get out of here, but you would have thought I
would have done that by now.

XXXVII.
I feel like when I’m struggling,
when I’m suffering I turn to myself,
and I become suffocated at times
like now where everyone presses
their things up onto me, and I feel like
they aren’t respecting me.
I don’t deserve these transactions I’m given
and it hurts my feelings and makes me feel
irritated and hate on people.

XXXVIII.
Its space and space
every day I’m wanting
and searching for.
So badly and tiredly
I want to be left alone,
so for months at a time.
I’ll just sleep all day, on my own.
I don’t want any one to bother me;
but maybe just quietly hold me,
and fall asleep with me,
syncing with my breathing.

XXXIX.
I’m at a sensitive point where I just can’t decide
if I do, or do not want people around me.
I push and pull people. I push and pull
within myself, struggling to find out what it is
I really want and care about. I want a listening
ear that will accept me and not judge me.
Damn it, I want understanding. I know its possible;
I’m just turning to the wrong person. That’s why
I hold my secrets so tightly inside of me,
daring not to show them to the wrong person,
at the wrong time; the kind that’ll make me feel
increasingly guilty, empty or pathetic.

XL.
I don’t want pity; I just want empathy respectably.
An ear with eyes that can see light at the end of my
very real tunnel I’ve been climbing through for years.