This is take two, which we all know won’t be what take one was…Oh well, spent too much of my 34 years dwelling on the past anyhow!!! Plans to break that habit are in the works.(any ideas, I’ll take them) Anyhow…I am going to be posting older poetry and writings. I have a bad grasp on grammar and my spelling is only better than a second grader.(a really dumb one) I’m must warn you my poetry doesn’t do all the things that poetry is suppose to do, but who cares. It marks some really bad times and bad things but I think getting it all out in the open heals all things. Part of my mind wants me to keep all this stuff to myself and tries to scare me,but what do I have to lose??? I’m 34 and my life doesn’t amount to much, I’m not rich or famous and I’m still really fucked up. As for being older and wiser I am older, but…anyhow….I plan to put out into the world my crap. I have a huge box of pages of my history and here they come, the good(hardly) the bad and the even worse…Maybe you can relate,maybe not.

“Me”

If you love me then understand.

If you listen you will know.

Just be there.

Stand strong.

Open your heart,

close your mind to those preconceived notions you’ve painted inside.

Look not with judging eyes.

Feel not with a demanding heart.

Look softly with love,

hard and deep with compassion.

Ignore the cover.

Read deep into the pages of my soul.

Reach with a loving hand and you will find me.

“I wish”

Oh how I wish I had the perfect words to bridge the gap to my world.

For I would paint you a picture so you may peer into my soul.

If only to touch you so you may know how I feel.

But alas,

No words,

No picture,

Trapped here alone on the island of my heart.

“Normal”

Normal,

Oh so healthy,

You see things clearly,

No not me,

a crack in the fun house mirror,

has ripped away all normalcy.

Twisted,

Distorted,

The view I see.

Obsession conceived in pain and oppression.

Too many years lost in the Valley of depression.

Distorted body image they say has made me what I am today.

Twisted in a world of my own,

praying to a porcelain throne.

Perfection is not mine to own.

A pill a promise to no prevail,

my hunger grows and my body ails.

Legal “beauties” in a bottle,

such a lethal road to follow.

Feast on the forbidden,

I know I’ve bombed it,

get it all up,

one solution

I’m back on it.

Written on page maybe my confession,

wanting not to be locked in this deadly obsession.(feel myself sliding down,I know what’s coming up)