There goes the neighborhood...
I try so freakin' hard, but nothing works right. I let go and let God, and things work out just long enough for me to get excited that things are working out, then CRASH!
Please: by Clair Fox
I have a noose around my neck
Yet somehow I cannot pull.
I have a knife in my hand
But I can't quite draw blood.
I am staring at my pills
Because my throat refuses to swallow.
I was used all my life
By friends and family both
I was misled by those I trusted
And left fagged and alone
I was raped by he whom I respected
I am now worthless to men.
I just want a reason.
A yes or a no.
I just want a hug.
I want to be ok.
Please...
I bet you didn't know I was a poet. Or so screwed up. I was planning a trip home in March for a friend's wedding, but apparently my issues and problems insist I go deeper into debt. There goes my hope of getting caught up again. I hate my life. I really truely hate my life. I love my God, my friends, and my family, but I suck at life. I should take Drew's advice and just quit. But I don't want to. I am being torn in so many pieces, I wonder how many of them I will be able to gather and glue back together. I feel like silly puddy, you know how when you stretch it it looses its form, and sometimes it even snaps. Please just pray for me, or something. I don't know what I need. Please... I want a Joseph hug, but I don't think he wants to give one. I really want a Judson hug, and a night of mindless games and movies, but that's not going to happen either. *sigh* Back to work. I hate pharmacy. I wish I had balls. I used to. I think the hospital must have castrated me while I was in my drugged stupor. F**kings doctors. They're bastards, all of them. Oh, and Judson, feel free to use my work as an example of some bad poetry. Maybe I can help you out that way.
Please: by Clair Fox
I have a noose around my neck
Yet somehow I cannot pull.
I have a knife in my hand
But I can't quite draw blood.
I am staring at my pills
Because my throat refuses to swallow.
I was used all my life
By friends and family both
I was misled by those I trusted
And left fagged and alone
I was raped by he whom I respected
I am now worthless to men.
I just want a reason.
A yes or a no.
I just want a hug.
I want to be ok.
Please...
I bet you didn't know I was a poet. Or so screwed up. I was planning a trip home in March for a friend's wedding, but apparently my issues and problems insist I go deeper into debt. There goes my hope of getting caught up again. I hate my life. I really truely hate my life. I love my God, my friends, and my family, but I suck at life. I should take Drew's advice and just quit. But I don't want to. I am being torn in so many pieces, I wonder how many of them I will be able to gather and glue back together. I feel like silly puddy, you know how when you stretch it it looses its form, and sometimes it even snaps. Please just pray for me, or something. I don't know what I need. Please... I want a Joseph hug, but I don't think he wants to give one. I really want a Judson hug, and a night of mindless games and movies, but that's not going to happen either. *sigh* Back to work. I hate pharmacy. I wish I had balls. I used to. I think the hospital must have castrated me while I was in my drugged stupor. F**kings doctors. They're bastards, all of them. Oh, and Judson, feel free to use my work as an example of some bad poetry. Maybe I can help you out that way.