Frustrate

The pen that dries up before the sentence
so, press harder.
Rip!
Saliva, fire, effort all futile.
Bliss and flow elusive as the broken
lines of ink and frustration.

I was almost finished!

Control Me

Don't force it.
Have patience
regardless of imminent need,
ability to adapt,
or inability to control.
Illusions create themselves. 

The Mess You Made

My late arrival to this gathering of cannibals,
innocuous, unnoticed,
a quiet slip at your behest.

Excuse my sharp elbows.
Behold my booming acumen.
I'm loud and I've watched,
waited within your system
because you wanted a wallflower,
but instead you invited my obnoxious beauty.

Look at me!
Your party sucks.

The punch is spiked with cheap vodka
and everyone notices that you forgot food.
Paltry, stale ambiance as ancient and unvaried as your guests.
Invited and expected to be a bandaid,
but you don't need a fix.
You need an eraser, a wrecking ball,
an understanding
that if I have to clean this

disgusting, filthy, stupid mess
alone, I will
on my hands and knees
scour the earth with fire.

My Inner Cynic

Horror splattered like senile kitchen grease;
sticky smoke-stained goo clinging to the tile
in a rancor decked room.
A functionally outdated,
sturdy ramshackle of jaded curtains
filtering, stretching,
encumbering bursts of light.
Tendrils barely reaching the table where
the cynic sits grasping cigarettes in her bony fingers.
Both killing and dying,
she bears a burden of solitude cloaked with relief.

Soulfood

Hand-picked, exquisite, inimitable,
nimble, and brilliant;
adjectives parading on a hollow scale.

Trophies collect dusty laurels.
I came to eat your skin and soul. 

Collaborate

An assault to peace,
the pitied middle-child
of outrage and reason.
The cusp of good and evil.

Compromise strains,
compassion unites,
culpability heals.

Pretty

My body is not here for your mold,
to fit or break.

A fine piece of art, sculpted for vanity and pleasure;
just not yours.
Built from dirt and stone, blood and tissue,
and a foundation that grows like roots.
Battered by hail, wind, and humanity.

Your pride in my delicacy neglects the storms I've weathered.
Your idea of beauty, devoid of empathy, effort, or efficacy
is a joke.

Election Year

A clashing commotion of fracas filled fanfare.
A symphony of squabbles with notes of
grandstanding rage and histrionic junk
roaring around me.