I'm mad at God
I've never been mad at him before
Always understanding and patient
I never questioned the purpose of the pain

The purpose of pain
I'm sure there is one
but I am tired
It is the same thing and I find myself trapped in a cycle of insanity
What is the purpose? What is the lesson? What am I missing?

I'm mad at God
Maybe mad is the wrong word
Frustrated. Hurt. Exhausted. Angry.
But not mad.
Its not so much a place of casting blame
but rather "what do you want from me!?"

How much longer will I have to endure?
How much longer will I have to cry out?
When will I see an answer?
You don't play mind games
and yet I am currently unconvinced of this

Unconvinced I have received any sort of healing
only led to believe so
"I don't know" has been a phrase I've said the most

So yes perhaps I am mad at God.
I don't know what else to feel when one is falling apart, even if they are falling into place.
The pain is still the same.

On wings of ravens, your sanity flew.
Taken to the shadows, your mind is lost.
Life's cruel fist, and melancholia, you knew.
You traded it all for such a high cost.
Too far gone in distant time, your eyes.
I can't go to where you have wandered late.
In pain, you can grow, but you bought the lies.
How does your vast and empty world now rate?

I read of sanity lost in old books
But never thought it would happen to us.
Thank God you are immune to all the looks.
In my weakness, I scream, you succubus!
I wish I could have saved you from yourself.
And now my love sits lonely on a shelf.

I simmer in the anger
It surrounds me and
Brings life to a boil
Stretches the rubber band
Pulls back on the string of the bow
Hits the bottom of the bungee jump
Gets ready to fire the catapult

And SNAP

It leaves in red hot flashes burning with built up resentment
It snaps and cuts and hurts the innocent
Rather than the stokers of the fire
It slashes and leaves hollow emptiness
In a space once burning with the desire to
Scream
Yell
Lash
Hate
Thunder

A space burning to let go.

Beached craft
Begging a current...
When the sun shines, does water laugh?
Dependency is the joke, to never relent...

Oil, has forgotten the cares of us...?
Slippery and truthful
Teeth are sincerity's weapon, poised to hush?
A saving ask, of when the truth is same's goal...

Justice for a tear?
Simple chaste, to entail charisma
Form and function, with pity's honor?
Sake promised, a fate before silence and sanity...

A ****** eye, with a stark devotion...
Paired to consume
The deeds of actual shares, a time for notions
That played their part, to a divine doom?

When is water, a living miracle?
When it feeds you...
Spare shadows and hunger, and means to lend a will...
Avid to terror's dream, who else sniff's glue?

Dark caverns of cranium so vast they get lost in the immense black abyss

There are zero ways to depict the frustration that writer's block is

The sentence fragments stab wounds into soul until blood is gushing out

The only method I know how to start mending is to verse something sane

A poem that can untangle the knot of multiple conflicting emotions winding it's way through my skeleton

I listen to male artists,
Men who remind me of my father,
And his pain,
And my pain.
I imagine they sing to me,
Protect me,
Love me,
Give me all I've never been given before,
Everything I was supposed to feel,
Everything that was supposed to show me how people work.
I listen to deep, strained voices and reflect,
Connect to things I’ll never experience.
Men are angry,
Worthy of their feelings,
Allowed to unleash their rage in screams and electric guitars and unnecessarily loud drum solos.
I listen to music sung by men,
But I also listen to Stevie Nicks,
Joni Mitchell,
Janis Joplin,
Joan Baez,
Even Dolly Parton.
Hell, even Olivia Rodrigo.
I listen to women who are angry,
Angry and still women,
Surviving through agony and still women,
“Leather and lace,”
Black clothes and black makeup,
Singing about beauty and moonlight and darkness,
Female rage.
I don't have to be at peace to be a woman,
I don't have to be happy to be a woman,
I don't have to be pretty to be a woman,
You don’t have to like me for me to still be a woman.
Let me be angry,
Let me feel pain,
Let me be lost,
Let me like the darkness,
Let me find comfort in the night,
Let me chase impossible dreams and impossible feelings,
Let me feel everything I feel.
Women are put in a box of emotions,
Too sensitive,
Too dramatic,
Too simple.
I am not sensitive or dramatic or simple,
Don't put me in that box,
Don’t tell me what I am,
Don’t tell me how to feel,
Don’t tell me what my feelings mean,
What they make me,
Don’t project your weakness onto me,
I am not weak,
I am not weak,
I am not weak.
Let me be raw and witchy and honest,
Let me be intelligent and intuitive,
Let me see more than you'll ever see in the world,
Let me be frustrated and misunderstood and just a little too loud,
Let me be a woman,
Let me be me the way I should be.

Confirm the fact and fate
Of a life of contrariety & frustrations,
With a note on every date,
And a count of its disruptions.

Bear it all with amusement,
Be a witness and shed the torment,
Give it beautiful words for garment,
Help heal the worlds' ailments.

You are the maker of your Joy
So wait not for the end of all ploys,
To grant yourself the gift of radiance,
And step into moments of only gracious dance...

My horse was showing so much promise,
Fit and healthy,
Much loved and admired
Fresh fed and groomed to a shine,

But a shiny coat and tack doesn't matter much,
What goes on the track counts more,
Amidst the thundering hooves
The sweat and flying turf

It's the placing at the line
That counts,
And my horse?
She fell

At the first.

how loudly
that clock ticks
when all you want
is ******* sleep