accept yourself, art, aspiring author, blogging, flawed, follow me, i am myself, my blog, poems, poetry, WIP, writing

Too True

Tongue tied, tipping into my own defense,

wrapping my arms around myself.

Cover up my scars,

deny my lies.

Try to destroy everything else.


You can burn the papers all you want,

They’ll never quite disappear.

And you can never burn the truth,

Until it’s completely scarred,

but you’re still a criminal.


Everybody else,

they do it so easily.

Hold their secrets so close

Never letting go.

Denying it all.

You can never figure out how it goes.


So you try to emulate their easy smile,

but it’s slipping down down down.

And you act as they don’t bother you,

but it’s all a lie… lie… lie…

You’re such a little liar.


And you can burn all of the evidence.

Turn the house into smoke.

Put your cards in the fire,

but they’ll never go away.

Their existence is carved in stone.

And you’re going to have to deal with it all.


Their eyes don’t betray them,

as much as your own do.

Can’t figure out why you cannot hide.

It’s like your body betrays you

and your heart wants to be seen,

bleeding on your arm in vain.

They take you for all that you have.


I have written down my sins,

I know all of my flaws in length.

I have burned my heart,

tore it to pieces.

Tried to hide behind it’s shattered lies.


You can burn your tears,

That wont stop you from crying

You can twist and wring your hands,

You can stop them with your shouting.

Hold them back with your anger.

But they will always get out.


You’re responsible for yourself.

No one else owns you.

You have to own up, to what you have done.

You’ll never destroy the truth,

You must accept it.


You can burn the papers,

doesn’t stop it from being true.

art, aspiring author, blogging, devil, flawed, follow me, heaven, hell, love, love yourself, my blog, writing

Excerpt from Body for Sale

            “Hello!?” I shout into the dark room, how in all of holy hell did I get here?

            I am in a room resembling a shady lawyer’s office, and I am wearing my crappy pajamas that I am pretty sure I only wear alone in my bedroom and sometimes around the house when I’m feeling super lazy.

                        But inside of this room, it’s a sweltering 100 degrees, and these pajamas are becoming too heavy to wear. There’s an odd dress hanging on a hook by the door and the shades are covering the outside hall, which I assume exists in my little fairyland.

            It’s my favorite shade of green and looks lighter and cooler to wear in this hellhole. I shrug my shoulders, and don it. It fits me perfectly, but this is dreamland, so whatever I see will be made for me anyways. There’s a mirror on the door, and I turn back in forth in appreciation.     

            It’s slimming and light on my body, which is hard to do, but it has a low-neckline that will make any guy drool, and there’s a cute pair of brown wedges next to it. I decide this is heaven, albeit a hot one, and put them on too. They fit like a glove and I float around the room feeling pretty. Back in the mirror, my eyes are glowing next to the green color and my hair is behaving in my natural curls framing my pale face rather sweetly.

            I swish the dress around a bit more feeling feminine and cute, when the door opens rather abruptly and standing there is one hot dude.

            “Having fun?” he flashes me an insanely hot smile, full of charm and obvious confidence.

            “uh-uh.” I think I reply rather stupidly, but I have never seen such a hot guy turn on the charm for little ‘ole me.

            I finally pull my lips back up from the ground and give him an appraising look. It’s like he was written out of the book on How to Make a Bad Boy Look Good. I instantly write the title in my head and instantly regret it.

            He’s at least 6’4” with broad shoulders, long, masculine arms, and wide hands that look like they could break my ribs with a squeeze. I shiver indelicately.

            He’s also got heart-breakingly dark green eyes and dark black hair. His skin is a nice tanned color and he probably works out three hours a day. I can almost imagine his flawless abs underneath that way too sexy dark gray suit he’s rocking to impress me with.

            He wins.
            And on one of his hands, I can see a tribal tattoo coming out from underneath the wrists of his suit jacket. Yum.

            He smiles at me again and I notice one dimple pop out. I’m a goner for sure now.

            “Like what you see?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Well, you’re staring rather unabashedly at me, I think I have the right to ask.”

            “Well, you’re not supposed to be in my dream, so please step out.”

            “Your dream?” he looks rather surprised. I smile triumphantly; I managed to trump him on a technicality. But in all reality, he isn’t supposed to be in here, I only dream of cute guys I can get. Not unrealistically hot guys I will never touch. Although he is so obviously close and easily touchable within this distance.

            Snap outta it! I shake my head and focus back on him, trying to ignore the obvious sensation of losing the feeling in my legs when he smiles. Damn him!

            “Yes, my dream. See, you’re too perfect, you should be too short or have a serious physical impairment to your otherwise perfect looks. Sorry! You do NOT belong in my dreams. Ta Ta!” I wave my hands at him in a goodbye motion knowing in my dreams he’ll just disappear because this is MY world and what I say goes. Unless it’s a nightmare, than I have no absolute reign, but in a dream where I have sex with a hot stranger, this guy is definitely under my power.

            But after waving my hands at him in different ways for probably much too long, he’s crossed his arms and is waiting patiently for something to happen.

            “I’m not dreaming, is the obvious question to ask now, huh?” I finally say out loud.

            “No, you’re not.”

art, aspiring author, blogging, my blog, poems, poetry, writing

ART: Try it Sometime

the fingers rest on a dirtied page,

covered in ink.

Pencil marks across their world.

Their sight blurred for staring too long.

Looking for something they tried,

tried so desperately to put down.

they rub their eyes, the ink

staining their face

the pencil is falling to the floor.

Forgotten for the moment.

It’s not finished, not by half.

It’s filled with potential,

with a half-lived Dream.

Thoughts resound in their ears.

Do this. Do this.

Add just a little more texture here.

Make it Come Alive.

See how it moves?

Music is playing somewhere,

somewhere too far away to register.

The Senses are filled with sight and thought.

There is nothing Else.

tongue, nose, the smell of paper,

the sooty taste of the lead.

It’s something else, huh?

You put this down,

You created it.

but the ever-persistent question,

is it all you thought it would be? 

Or is it more?

Did it manifest into something?

By its own design more beautiful

than your own mind can comprehend.

True artist is never what the artist sees,

it is what as the final product,

the Art has become.

Stop thinking to yourself,

and try it sometime.