Lines and names are essentially the same.


You don’t call me that.

That name has too much connotation,

Too much resentment.

That name has too many memories.


So then what’s left?

Certainly not clichés.

I’ve ruled them out.

Along with that other phrase.


The new ones:

Gorgeous       Transcending

Daring            Infatuating

Dear               Tempting

Things you think I’d like to hear.


So why are these all lines too?

Right there that you whisper in my ear.


Other girls heard these names too

Fall from your lips my love.

The same way I heard that name before

By guys I was only a booty call for.


The writer is trained so perfectly.

All of us are.

To use and manipulate words,

For good and for spar.


There’s hardly a name in the book

That hasn’t been used

To describe the other half’s muse.


So no not that one.

There he tried to get in my pants.

Nor that one.

Used by d-bags who hardly give a second glance.


There are Lines and Lines

On top of more Lines used as confines

Each a slightly different design used by human-like porcupines.


I happen to know she heard that one.

I happen to know when he said that I knew we were done.


Because lines and names are essentially the same

And I have no desire to fall within that cliché frame.




They all get mad when I’m not affectionate like that.

When the way I see it,

There’s only one of you who is mine.


Now try and count:

How many “babes” there’s been.


Try and count how many women

Were called:

Sweetie            Honey             Babe                Angel

Cutie               Doll                 Flawless


And worst of all:         queen               and      goddess.



There’s only one of you.

Only one, and only

One that’s mine.

Never to be summarized in a singular line.



On your knees

Hands on your lap

Assume your position

On the floor

Head down towards the mat.


I want “yes sir” only

As I do as I please

Never shall you directly

Look at me.


Your opinion, your mind

Becomes moot under me

My rule is final

In this one sided hell.


Give up




Under my strong grasp

Never may you have any room to thrash.


Read More »

nothings changed

nothings changed


nothings changed



self loathing

significant other


fight picking


that they always

called you


nothings changed

when you still

want to pick fights

still want to



still want



i’m addicted




The Last Nice Thing

The Last Nice Thing


If you don’t stay

I’ll –

kill myself.


You’ll have pushed me

off the edge.

It’ll be your fault

if you don’t



So this will be

the last nice thing

I ever do for you.


“Hey… this is his –

now ex

I guess.

I’m not expecting anything

[since you’ll probably take his side]

but he did threaten,

to go off the deep end.”


“I’d hate to see him do that to himself”

“So don’t let him”





“Take these pills,

Once a day.”

He says.


“Take these pills

Once a day,

And you’ll be okay.”

He says.


Looking around the office

It’s white


Bright shiny objects-


Used to tell me what he’d told me too.


“Once a day,

When you get out of bed.”

“Don’t forget them.”

“This is all in your head!”


The pill bottle has a

White cap

“Twist here” “Childproof”

And an orange body.

“To be taken orally” “500 mg”


“You need medicated!”



I take the bottle in hand

From the drug store pharmacy down the street.

I’m not crazy.

Not in my belief.


Read More »








I’m into all of that.





Oh my god

Me too!


You like that actor?

Then I can too.

That’s your favorite movie?

I’ll Google it to be able to talk to you.


Then I can suck it up.


I guess I can watch things of the such.



Because I’ll be anything

You want me to be.

What ever it is

I’ll be sure to agree.


So long as you tell me first,

What your interests are.


Let me introduce you to the

Shape Shifter




Whatever you have to offer

Allow me to come in and take.


Read More »

King of the DS

King of the DS

You once told me you didn’t like piercings.

You once told me you didn’t like tattoos.

And that you didn’t like painted hair and nails.

You once told me I shouldn’t wear makeup even for myself.


You once accused me of having double standards,

but what the fuck happened there?


Dear King of the DS,

I should kick your ass.


Tell me the difference,

That she brought to break that which you once told me.

Tell me, please.

I’m all out of analyses.


You’re the one that’s tattooed.

And her gauges are larger than mine.

Her face is caked in a nice thick layer…

Who the fuck is this new little faker?


She made it to your profile picture,

A hell of a lot more than you did for me.

Even when I asked you,

There were double standards instead to work through.


Fuck you,

Dearest King of the DS.


Flaunting double standards as if they’re a show.

You’re gonna get caught one day,

And I’m gonna laugh as I turn to go.


No more accusations there will be on that day,

As your harem of whores dissipates.

And I’ll be glad I don’t have a part when that all goes askew.

Boy, that will really suck for you.


And all thanks to your fucking double standards,

King of the DS.

Grasping three months I’d like to repossess.


Speak of the devil,

It’s as if as soon as I speak your name,

Speak of the devil,

Another message came.


It doesn’t matter if I don’t answer,

Despite the response I’d like to send.

There’s still your blinking message there.

You’d think it would know that I don’t care.


It used to be okay when you never answered me.

So why’s not okay now when I do the same damn thing?


Dear King of the Double Standard,

of the DS.

You sure are the fucking king.

And a least now you’ve got your whore of a queen.

“What did you do?”

“What did you do?”

I gave you kisses.

I gave you hugs.

I played with your hair.

I paid for dinner.

I invited you over.

I went where I’d later tell you I didn’t want to go.

What did you ever do?


I paid seven hundred dollars up front when you went and crashed my mom’s car.

I went and took the blame for your disrespectful mistakes so far.

I went and lied to protect you even if we still got caught.

I paid an extra two hundred dollars when you cared naught.

I paid thirty-six dollars each weekend to see you, arriving on the train at one.

I paid with money when both of us had none.

I was the one who left my home.

I was the one that did the traveling alone.


I gave you back rubs.

I gave you a protein shake.

I never gave you gas money,

But I made up for it with “love”.


I gave up my comfort.

I lived weekends out of a suitcase.

I put up with traveling migraines and backaches.

And all in a strange place.


I gave you dinner (three weeks old).

I gave you kisses and affection.

Seriously, “What did you ever do?”


I put up with other girls coming around.

I put off my trust issues like you’d asked with a frown.

You’d never travel the distance, never offer an apology.

And I put up with your drunk-ass mother in her name calling of me.

I put up with tattooed and gauged double standards from you.

I put up with fights beginning anew.

I put up with it when you yelled you didn’t want to come out.

Acting as though I’d forced you somehow.


And I put up with you blaming me.

For fights.

For squabbles.

For your inability to time manage work and school and practice.

A call isn’t a lot to ask for. And I put up with complaints about that too.

I put up with sleepless nights.

I put up with two and three am phone calls.

I put up with you not wanting to fix it so you’d stall.

I had to put up with your demand to approve my wishes of activities to do.

I had to put up with your other suitors coming around you.


You weren’t the only one getting no sleep.

You weren’t the only one who had a bank account to watch closely.

You weren’t the one watching a reenactment of the same wreckage.

You weren’t the one dreading the next morning’s message.


So you never knew the paradox that occurred when I was relieved to not get an angry message that morning,

But only because I hadn’t gotten a text at all that day.
As if you’d somehow forgotten.


I had put up with another relationship I’d tried to avoid a second time.

I put up with pressures desired in only your mind.

I put up with your nasty habits,

I put up with your wanting a break.

“You’re either with me or your not,”

And I put up with it when you disapproved of that thought.

I put up with it when you wanted me back.

“I tried to get over you”

As if that was a plea?

How many chicks have you fucked to try and get over me?


And you’ll retaliate.

She lied. She hated. And now she’s writing this.

But Social Media has even more proof of your disrespect for me.


I emptied my bank account.

I emptied a previously broken heart.

I emptied salted tears.

I emptied three valuable months but it felt like years.

And you’re upset because I wasn’t affectionate in the midst of our fights?

When instead I emptied every bit of waking strength I had into a relationship that would end with a vice.

I emptied three months of work,

I emptied three months of travel.

I emptied one month of fighting.

And I poured out a liquefying me,

Exhausted from your sick reality.


So I know exactly what I did for you, and I’ll ask:

“What the hell did you do?”