Ode to you,

Ode to me,

Ode to the man down the street.

Everyone's a stranger

And even stranger,

I am a stranger

To you,

To me,

To the broken man down the street.

How much stranger

Can a stranger be,

Than a stranger stranger than this stranger

You,

Me,

The empty, broken man down the street.

It's hard to compare a stranger

To a stranger stranger than strange,

With strangers as strange

As you,

As me,

As the sad, empty, broken man down the street. 

That's all you are

That's all I am

That's all the crippled, sad, empty, broken man down the street will ever be.

Strangers.

SRC

Walking around helps me think

Talking it out helps you see

That this isn't me

See, the real me is trapped

Stuck

but no one else see's

This body, this gender

Isn't ME

Go ahead, fear the 

Coarseness of the world

I can't do any fucking

Thing to stop you.

Some terror is healthy,

I understand, but what 

You need to realize is 

That you're going to 

Miss out on a lot

Of shit. 

That being, the uncut beauty

That roughness adds to

Certain things. 

And I can't convince you

Of any damn thing, I know.

But consider that before

The world was so fucking refined,

It was raw.

And even you, for all of your forsaken,

Horrible goddamn mannerisms

Should be able to see

The undeniable fucking purity 

In that.

Place your warning signs,

Your shitty content ratings, and your

Superiority anywhere you

Wish, but remember

That to do so requires travelling

To some "unsavory" parts.

And when you arrive

To this damned distasteful

Ground I'll be here

To kick your lily-white ass

Off of it.

Take your fucking holier-than-thou

Attitude away from me, be

Who you want but 

Know that you won't be placing any 

Of your useless, self-conceived

Limitations on me.

Not as long as I have these words in

My mouth to say something 

About it, motherfucker.

An acquired taste, it might be.

Sour to you, but sweetly 

Righteous to those who embrace

The ruggedness of life.

Damned if you do, and damned

If you don't.

Anger triggers violence triggers

The uncouth.

Fight your words, throw your

Clenched fists in slow

Motion towards that

Piece of your

Mind. 

Be my guest, asshole.

But I will tell you, that as soon

As you take into account

Some emotions long denied

A word will arise from

The tip of your tongue,

And you will feel

Shame.

Though in it, a glimmer will

Shine amongst the shit.

A diamond in the 

Dust,

For there are

A few moments that

Regret doesn't exist. 

When you answer the unspoken

Question and tell your girl

Her ass doesn't look fat,

Or your guy that his dick

Is the largest you've 

Ever seen, regardless of the 

Lie that may or may not be,

It will be worth the language.

Foul, yet once you see that

Smile, and pleasure spread

Across their face, doesn't

It make you see the

Harshness of the

World in a

Different

Light?

poetry on my screen, in my mind, racing in and out my brain.

real authors. "real authors," like there can be fake authors?

own your talent, love your talent, but mostly, live your talent.

share what you've made with the world.

every day, write. write! write, write, write like tomorrow's a far-off dream, a maybe.

this is for everyone who had the guts but not the breath to love out loud, whose lion hearts were led to hope like sheep to slaughter, who woke each morning in fear for their lives but found their pride in a safe haven in the midst of hell; this is for everyone who's out, love is love and hate is hate and whether or not the world chooses to believe it, this is what it's about; this is for everyone who simultaneously discovered too late and too soon that bullets were the salt and we are the wound; while this world is on the edge of an infection, i am ill with fright; this is for everyone who died that night:

there are those with hearts, and there are those with a pulse,

but there are not enough of those with both.

Curtailed flow of body, not soul

a rhythm in tongues both native and not

she weaves transcendent tapestries

to hang them in passageways

of her own obscurity

coveting obsession for fear and insecurity

our natural codependency

trading our ordinary

for mystique of pen name insanity

vogueing in a manufactured fog of

self imposing boring mystery

Hi my name is Jane--

and we are all the same.

two 

inconsequential

children

poisoned by love

as test subjects

to show what happens

when you take something you shouldn't.

don't go around stealing hearts

Wind up tick

   toc toes firmly buried in the sand

Look alert smile

   and nod it would not due to not

give a whit bushy

   tailed to the knife edge of plausible

otherwise coast

   fluffy free float olivion indifference

is no nothing to

   complication or attachment Pin

a pulse to something

   shifting

      fickle

         inconstant

Save the sanity

to mock another day.