Don’t tell me what to do

Don't tell me what to do
Don't tell me what to say
Don't tell me who to be
But show me how I feel
Show me how to feel.

It sucks to have emotions when you don’t understand what they are

My eyes water from behind
The hidden tears tickle the back of my eyeballs
It sucks to have emotions when you don't understand what they are
I want to be sad but there's nothing in my heart to make a "sad"
I want to be angry but all my energy is lost lying on my bedroom floor over-thinking.
I can't feel anything, "Daddy why can I feel love?"
I have no father.
My fists rope in, my knuckles lash out
My heart scrunches up like a sponge, heavy and soaked
Yet I haven't showered for days
My skin is thin, dry and cracked.
I feel frustrated
AM I human?
Am I normal?
A question that has no answer.
The voices are there but they only ask more questions.
My head hurts.
Anger turns to passion.
Stubbornness turns to determination.
What I feel leads to constipation.
I love too fast, I get enraged too late,
I lose faith immediately, I never end up satisfied.
I end up back in the abyss each time
welcomed, greeted
paraded by the only people who seem to know me,
paraded by the only people who seem to notice me,
The individual voices of all my thoughts.


pink clouds
orange skies,
Sunset rays reflecting off 
white buildings turned pale amber.
The air is light, also crisp
I stare at the cityscape caught
in a state of hallucination;
My body is set in place but my mind wanders
Dazzled by the stars I can't immediately see
by the lights of the city I live in.
Civilisation continues another day
Another day without recognising my existence.
How do they do it?
Roaming around carrying their lives in unpacked suitcases,
centred around them and work without me in mind.
They shall know my name one day.
Time will tell.
They will listen.
But for now I sit here looking, dreaming, breathing.
Basked in the honey light of the lowered sun
The second biggest star in our solar system.


Where the fuck are you guys?...

Wet Dreams(Grown up)

I woke up with
Gunk in my eye, sadness in my face
I check my sheets
Cum all over me, cum all over the place.

Wet Dreams

I was with Miss Robinson,
I was in Miss Robinson.
It felt like I pissed inside her
As I finished she was opening her legs wider.
Pretty weird way to see my English teacher,
An 8 year old boy naked, fucking under the bleachers.


I’m wearing yellow and screaming inside.

I'm a hydrogen bomb of colour,
I'm going to explode.
Instead of fire,
It's my emotions that will bring this place down.
I'm drowning in a sea of navy,
Trudging on shades of brown,
Blinded by so many people wearing black.
My camouflage is at home,
My mirror advised for a pop of colour.
The enemy can see me.
Everyone in this room can see me.
I make a move, they watch.
I don't make a move, they watch.
Their alliance of grey, blue and black becomes the voice of my insecurities.
My eyes swallow up into my eye sockets,
Eye contact is the worst possible thing that could happen right now.
My sweats are my tears due to my lack of emotion and self-sympathy.
The end of the world seems upon me,
All I can hope for is for today to be over because
I'm wearing yellow and screaming inside.

Don’t love me.

Don't love me.
Don't love me.
I don't want to need your love so
Don't love me.
Don't love me.
Your love isn't 24/7 so please
Don't love me.
Don't love me.
I can't love you back so
Don't love me.
Don't love me.
Don't come near me, don't call me,
Don't love me.
Don't love me.
If you really love me,
Teach me how to love myself.


He started out with his head down,
an almost-innocent little creature.
Soft rim,
Soft core.
He was capable of more,
You could see it in his veins.
He thought starting out small made him redundant,
but what he didn't realise...
Was that if he chose to,
He could become a force bigger than reality itself;
Something bigger than you and me.
Something only your mother could calm down.
For once he freed himself from the weight of fear and doubt,
he was free to grow into the phenomenon he was meant to be,
beautiful, masculine, characteristic. Avant-garde. 
A profile almost Greek-like,
but fatter.
(And longer).
A totem poll of individuality,
Vomiting creation and progression itself.

Now when at large, he silently roars
with blood rushing through veins.
Muscles twitching. Bulging. 
A structured base as firm as timber.
A head as thicc as the Bible.
With this strength and knowledge he responds to the call of duty,
Knowing in his pulse that
He, is the true hero of his story.
A hero who stands to face every morning
Not because he's a shower but
because he's a grower.
My mother asked me why I don't sleep at night.
I told her the sun is still up,
It's just not with us right now.