Tristen's Diary

Tattooed music notes soak into her skin
They play in her veins
To the beat of her heart.

One Love hidden on the curve of her ankle
To remind her of yesterday
Give her hope for tomorrow.

Dispair and Freedom are at war on her wrists
Hiding in an unspoken language
For the days she doesn't want to understand.

She will never speak to you, silence hangs on her lips
But ask her to undress
And her body will tell her story.

Psalms will ring out,
Prayers will be whispered,
Forgiveness will be found
On this smooth, vulnerable canvas of life.

The only scars you will find
Are the ones she has designed.
They are her diary,
Her secret truth.

And no matter who you are
Or who you think you may be,
You have never known her
Until you've read her skin.

"USED"

"USED".

That's what the sticker said.
As she carefully peeled it off of the book,
And placed it against her thigh on her jeans.
It spoke out with a purpose to the world.
No one noticed or understood.
No one but her.
Her bare hand rubbed over it slowly,
Pressing it a little in the places it didn't stick.
It was meant to be a label.
Originally, so that the consumer could see
The truth about the book.
It was cheaper, worth less
Because it had already been experienced
By someone else.

She wondered if it said the same for her.

But somehow the bright yellow with black print
Screamed to be noticed,
Loud and clear
Though none may understand what it said
She did.
And this gave her freedom.
The freedom to admit the truth
Somehow to say it
With one word:

"USED".

She would scream it loud and clear
With defiance and pride.
Even if she could not open her mouth
Even then,
One word pressed against her thigh
Said it all.

She didn't have to.

Fuck It.

Fuck it.
No really
Fuck it.
I am not who you think I am.
I am not who you think I should be.
This world doesn't satisfy me.
Fuck it.
I am not a label.
I am not a stereotype.
I am not perfect.
You aren't either.
So, fuck you.
The world we live in is a piece of shit.
We will forever be disappointed by it and each other.
So, fuck it.
No really
Fuck it.
Fuck the judgment.
Fuck the gossip.
Fuck the lies.
Fuck the temptation.
Fuck the addiction.
Fuck the pain.
Fuck the justification.
Fuck the excuses.
Fuck the hypocrisy.
Fuck all this shit.
And fuck yourself if you let yourself become a part of it.
No really
Go fuck yourself.
Then fuck me.
Fuck me for the times when I become a part of it.
(Because we all do.)
So, fuck everyone.
No really
Fuck everyone.
In fact, fuck the people who are getting uncomfortable reading this.
Fuck the people who are so offended by the word "fuck" that they can't understand the message behind this poem.
Fuck them.
No really
Fuck them.
Actually you don't have to.
They are already fucking themselves by being that way.
And if you feel like it, fuck whatever supernatural being you believe in, if you do.
Fuck them because you don't understand.
Fuck them because you do.
If you really believe in them, then they created you to fuck for a reason.
So do it.
Fuck.
Fuck it all.
Fuck everything.
Fuck everyone.
And when you get done fucking
And there is nothing left-

Then you can begin to live.

Before

I miss before.
Love in cut out paper hearts
Pasted in a locker
While whispered confessions
Find their way through the hallways
And into my ear.
Fear was the loss of
His attention between classes
Regret was a song lyric
And courage was sneaking out
On a thursday night
To steal a kiss
Or two.
Home was a still photo
Never moving
Never changing.
Family was a fact
Learned in the course of life.
No one ever told you
Life is only in theory.
Living was an idea
A dream-
Not a responsibility.
Choices were a way
Out of boredom
Not a self-sentence.
Life came in seasons
And summer was vacation from it,
After Spring's drama-
Of long looks and misgiven trust
On the back of a paper charm
On a yarn necklace.
There were take-backs
And "my bad"s.
Goodbyes meant until tomorrow.
Forever was a school year.
Love was paper hearts...
Fluttering down...
Down...
I miss before.

A Guilty God

It was long long ago
In the scriptures of old
When my mother's mother
Did not do what was told
But with curiosity You gave her
When in Your image You did mold

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?

They were Your chosen people
With no church and no steeple
When they strayed from your ways
As imperfect ones will
So You washed them away
With Your wrath in Your will

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?

We are taught that Your Son
Was the oh Holy One
That You gave as an offering
For redemption and love
Or was it Yours that You sought
When You sent Him from above

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?