My AminalsWhen I was 4 years oldI named all my aminals Because they were mineAnd I could do that.I had a monkey named Swingy,A duck named Swimmy,And another monkey named Eats Bananas.And on my next birthdayI got a unicorn pillowAnd it was my favorite thingIn the whole world.I always called him beautiful.And later I named him beautifulSimply because he wasBeautiful.
Incompetent LimbOnce on another day, I wrote a poemWith my left handBecause I wondered if my left could writeJust as well as my rightAnd I wrote a poem because thatSeemed more meaningful than my name.And I wrote and erased repeatedlyJust to waste timeBecause I really didn't care about my left hand.After all, they don't do muchUnless your left hand is equivalent to my right,In which case you might find your right handUseless.
SwayedThe girl always and only drew hands.She was neither bad nor good,And she dreamt of being an artist.Everyone said a doctor would be better,A teacher would be better,An engineer would be better.So, she sold her pencils and decided to use her feet.
GuardedWhy do you cross your armsIn front of your stomachLike you have toHold yourself together,Keep everything inside?Why do you actLike you are brokenAnd misshapenAnd all you can do is holdOnto the pieces?Why are you silent,As if a word could shatter youInto shardsAt any moment now?Any moment...Now.
Without a PurposeI dreamt I wore a heart sign on my chestAnd didn't watch my feet when I walked.In this dream, my head wasn't dying.Then it ended, and I don't know if I woke upFor my sake or everyone else's.
Running For ComfortOne day you're going to wonder why I left,Why I let you drive me away.I'll finally be the person I wanted,Because I learned everything not to be.You'll have your own living antonym.
The BotanistIt's my words that fear rejection when I pluck them from my brain,Like unwanted dandelions, except I depend on these weeds.They fear being blown back into my mouth - through lips that wished them to work.It's my fear that hates command when I tear it off like petals,Forcing an answer similar to, "no, I do not love you."And it hates the choice that says courageous over careful.It's my demands that rely on ideas when I hand you a rose,Then wonder if the thought really counted for anything.Or are the thoughts really just borrowed - passed around like pollination?It's my brain that holds my tongue when I throw away withered flowers,That lived long enough to make someone smile.So when they're dead, them stem is left alive a while longer.
The Reason for LiesYour pointed question pokes at my chest,Pawing for an answer that will bend your lips.I could check my head for a lie that's sure to please youAnd hope that guilt doesn't get me in the end,Since all you really want is my agreement.I know I'd get away, but how far could I runBefore your eyes showed up in my head again?And how long could I live, knowing I made you smileWith a twisted truth so easily forged?"At least I'd make you happy"... I tell myself.Because as long as you stay unaware of this,Nothing I say can ever hurt you.So it's very important that you never find out,For as soon as you question me, all these lies start to burn.