TheIneptPoet

I swim in a sea of blank paper, Crumpled, torn up, given up sheets. Overwhelmed by my rejects. I tango with the undertow. Fighting, clutching pieces Of ripped up sketches, I aim to drown out The illegible words. My strokes are uneven I can not drift on by, Floating on a raft, Of my half-drawn Dreams.

In the glass section of the wooden door she can see her deceptive reflection. Her glance is wary, and her green-blue eyes appear as a stormy gray. Her body juts at all angles; the weight she was supposed to gain never made appearance. On her head rests a bandana with an American flag; which leaves the false impression of patriotism. In the background she can hear her mother begin to barf into the toilet. Her mother's voice calls out, "Give me tissues." She leaves the kitchen for the bathroom, with a box of Kleenex. Georgia doesn't question, just hands her a box. She expected this outcome, and softly says: "You need to get more sleep." Then

You wear your hypocrisy like a cloak, Wrapping your anger around you as protection. You say you are weary and the wolf is on your back And I have no sympathy for tact. You say "just the facts" You twist the truth with such craft, call in a lectern, To watch as the river burns, the border collapse Between what you say and what you choose, Caught between a storm and a noose. You recite prized mythologies built by age, Too bad the world does not work that way, Bring in that classic attack, pack mentality, I refuse to play your mirror with impunity And I have no sympathy for that, I always placed sentiment over facts.

Dust five layers thick, A fine snow coating, Suburbian wasteland. Trauma sticks in the air. The paint has ruptured, Pictures quickly blur, Nothing remarkable, No marketable pull, Tenants flit in and out, Past a few centuries, Of muffled histories, Surrounded by trees A patchwork of the Antique and sleek, It crouches in wait.

An itch without a root, Time without measure, Music forever silent. Days overlapping, Into unencumbered Decimals and numbers If I can speak without The entanglements Of syntax and letters, Would you listen If I ran until my Feet bled a path, Blood against snow (Always glistens). Would you follow, Tracing my steps, With precision. Or am I trapped Beneath buried fears. When the mist of Misplaced affection Clears, will you stay. To rebuild an affair?

In my head words blur. Where logic is twisted And delusion shines Brighter than the stars, And comfort is so far From my timid reach. In my head facts lie, And memories die Over and over again. How can i pretend That hope is for free, Even the blind see, Order in madness, Anger in sadness. In my head I hide, Trying to revive Dead dreams.

She sits on a hill watching the world slip past her finger tips, And she wonders is this insanity or have come to grips, With the day past the night, With vision beyond sight, And the crow sits on her shoulder, Of heart break, he sings so melodically in her ear. And he is there as she avoids fear, And in no one's arms is solace near. She sits so still, And wistfully dreams of forests beyond the hill, And she wants to feel the breeze, Dancing with the leaves descending from the trees, To the mossy ground, And there are no others around. But loneliness is a bitter pill. When the dream has died and there is no will, To fight agai

Forever searching, For something that cannot be found. Something that comes and goes as it likes without a sound. Something that can be seen everywhere by those that see, But only the blinded plea, For something to become clear, In worlds within and outside reality, And that is why I fear It will always be missing, And I am not meant to find it here. To only be meant for wishing, It would appear. In the shape of words, Slaved over meticulously, They are my cage, and yet I expect them to set me free As the birds forever flying overhead, But I am only to be destroyed and left dead, By my own creations and bindings.

 Concave thighs, Razor blade eyes Skin peeling away With words for clay Gender erased Illusion replaced By a bitter taste.