Wayside

Does the good things I've done out do the bad things I've done?

My deeds have been watercolors and rainbows mixed with shit shows and blood.

Deception and lies, grey skies, family values, family ties,

Self deceit, nothing to eat, my home the street, or in a box of concrete.

I just wanted to be loved. 

But doesn't everyone?..........

Salvation in words, a poetic release. Or maybe just the only way a mad woman can make sense of her madness, the overflowing sadness, and the bubbling gladness. As if the words can somehow starve the pain and make it go away, or stir up something when there is nothing inside.

I'm just another human geyser, spewing so much raw emotion as I let it build up inside. All the love I hide, and the sadness internally cried, all the anger from pride, and all the madness in me that I wish had just died but am continually crucified for

Has brought me to this wayside.