Poetry I Writed When I Was Younger

She curls up into herself and

cries aloud to the brightness

(why did you put me here)

She is leaking through the cracks in her existence

Smelling beautiful     looking broken

Taking herself into the void          she can be alone

painting her skin with blackness of coal

coal she stole from the fire of another

and

stealing naked glances at the gods

(i was reading a lot of Gaiman at the time and trying to find myself. Obvs.)

________________________________________________

over the underpass, i

passed up the shortcut and shorted the pass

it was horrid oh horrid

but it came to pass

that mama's boys

and hell's angels 

should never do business together

(pretty sure I wrote this at around the same time I discovered Bukowski. Oh CHARLES.)