trouble poem

If I could catch a rainbow, I would do it just for you, and share with you it’s beauty, on the days you’re feeling blue. If I could build a mountain, you call your very own, a place to find serenity, a place to be alone. If I could take your troubles, I would toss them in the sea, but all these things I’m finding, are impossible for me. I cannot build a mountain, or catch a rainbow fair, but let me be what I know best, a friend that’s always there.
—  If I Could Catch A Rainbow 

Hello, I’ve done this times before and always hate and loathe it; but I am trying again because I do need help, and this time I guess I must be more vulnerable and give up my privacy for a moment. I will not say where I live in the United States because I can’t let those that know me get into my private affairs. My story is that I am from the South. Currently I live with my mother and sister, I’m working part-time at a pet store and I go full time as a college student. My mother is emotionally and verbally abusive, so my day to day consists of being called worthless or a burden. Most of my family is the same, drug addicted and alcoholics. I do not have a wide range of friends so I can not seek shelter else where. I do not make enough to move out on my own, and the reason I have stayed so long in this place is so I can take care of my sister and protect her. But, she is about to be a senior and as much as it hurts she knows I have to let her go in that regard; and begin to focus on my own well being.
In these past few years my depression and anxiety has gotten progressively worse, getting to points of suicidal thoughts; and I am on medication, but have not the means to have consistent counseling. For me there is a light in all this, the plan to move to Utah with my partner. I am not out to my family and can’t run the risk of doing so. Having to hide and dodge and conceal has taken its toll on me in all aspects. It has been slowly rotting me away inside, and I fear my health is at a point that I don’t know if I can make it much longer. I have not a community to call my own, or people that I can really reach out to; so those factors make things all the more difficult. In these last few years I began posting poetry to this blog, and have even tried to make a living off of it. Which may be the futility of it all, but I am trying to make it with these writing
What I am asking is not for pity, I don’t want to be seen as someone who is trying to get a sad story. My life is miserable in a very real sense, and to list my day to day life would be encumbering for me; and I do not wish to paint myself as this victim. The act of writing this at this moment does honestly make me ill, it makes me feel sick in the depths of my stomach and intestines. But, my options are very limited; and I must swallow my pride and try to block it out. What I ask is if you can, try to consider buying my book, because with enough purchases and reviews I have a shot of maybe getting somewhere with the writing.
But if you don’t feel like buying the book, then just sharing this post will help me immensely; it can give me a chance, and that’s all I’ve ever asked for. Is just a fucking chance to be happier and pull myself out of this, to be with my partner and marry them and spend our lives together. That’s all I want, that’s all I care about.
If you’d like to help with just a few dollars, that would be most appreciated. I don’t really have a set financial goal, at least 700 dollars so I can begin to plan to move my things out to Utah to my fiance. I have a paypal at
If you took the time to read this, thank you really, and to the others that just glance over this; I don’t blame you. People have to ultimately focus on themselves and I’m just a stranger. And a lot will see me as an e-beggar from this, and I guess that comes with the price of asking for help in this type of forum. But, thank you truly. My sister thanks you, my fiance thanks you, and I thank you.
Please take care

Wakened by nothing
but the cold and empty air around her,
she cries and I stumble through
the darkened hall to reach her.
Now she is nightlight lit and restless in my arms
as we sway in this not quite silent rocking chair.
The room is filled with the sound of
artificial rain, meant for her,
but it drags my eyelids down too
and I fight to keep them up,
stay alert,
for this nightly, bittersweet
2am ritual

anonymous asked:

In 11th grade, my English teacher told everyone I had a brain tumor. I do not have a brain tumor. Years later, she was fired for coming to school drunk. In 12th grade, I got in trouble for plagiarizing a poem that I wrote because it was too good??


Magic of the Moonshine Bar

Perhaps the
magic of the
moonshine bar is
the great tragedy
of those who
stay and sing.

There was an
old Australian
denying his age,
and he sang
“breaking the law”
with gusto of
youth long past.

There was
an American
lady who looked
lonely and unsure
of who she was;
with half-pity,
half contempt, for
Elizabeth who was
quite out of her mind.

So Elizabeth was
a Japanese woman
who had hair like
a man, and she sang
or tried to sing in
English and even French;
and you should have
heard her
bursts of shouting;
and see the bartender
offering water
instead of wine.

Then Brian the bartender,
had tattoos all over
his skin, and
drank glass after
glass of anything;
at times
he pretended to
play a guitar and
we guessed he
was part of a band.
Whatever happened
we don’t know
but he said,
“I’m dying, I know.”

So the moonshine bar
was quite a spectacle
of troubled ones,
and no one could
seek solace in any
other who
stayed on in this
moonshine bar.

These girls born in the 90’s are dangerous
They wear dark lipstick and drink coffee like its water
They serenade you by the sound of their voice
Bringing you closer until you can’t leave
Their eyes are like tinted windows
They can see out, but you cant see in
These girls born in the 90’s are dangerous because girls like them were born in a storm.

These girls born in the 90′s 


I go down to the shore in the morning/ and depending on the hour the waves/ are rolling in or moving out,/ and I say, oh, I am miserable,/ what shall—/ what should I do? And the sea says/ in its lovely voice/ Excuse me, I have work to do.
—  Mary Oliver, “I Go Down to the Shore” from A Thousand Mornings
achilles sleeps, and the world rests with him.
achilles breathes, and the world remains alive.
as does patroclus.
(achilles, great and high and mighty, you are your own god.)
apollo wakes, and the world wakes with him.
apollo fumes, and the world is plagued.
as is icarus. 
(apollo, mercurial and exuberant and beautiful, you are your own salvation.)
and, too, their lovers rest, their lovers wake.
patroclus and icarus: 
soaring to the beat of their beloveds’ hearts, strong and just and lost.
much like their heroes. 
(oh, my dear lovers, drunk and high and kind, you are your own destruction.)
—  in the end, all will fall. // d.c