Ranting writing?

BOOM BABY
I wrote a poem that will make you smile.
I wrote a song that will make you cry.
I wrote a movie that will make you want to die, but also,
I wrote a DIFFERENCE in a LIFE, and I made someone want to live
and I made someone feel things.
I wrote an emotion, usually the current one.
I wrote a scene in a book, a romance under the stars, maybe?
I wrote a moment, my moment, yours?
I wrote the sky and the sun, and also the moon, the things that make the world go round.
I wrote the universe and I made you frown
I wrote my LOVE, and I wrote my HEART down.
I wrote the way I think though sometimes insane
I wrote the way I see you, so fragile and frayed
I wrote the way you see me, beautiful I hope.
I wrote the way he sees us, jealousy and want combined into one spiral of confusion
I wrote the way she sees us, jealousy and regret for letting you go.
she was a bitch anyway.
I wrote a lullaby, let me sing it for you!
I wrote a speech, one that will CHANGE the WORLD and ALL that EXISTS.
I wrote an obituary, not yours, mine.
I wrote your death too, so perfectly timed, just after mine, I'm losing my mind, and
I wrote your FUTURE!
I wrote a rant. Here it is.

I can

I can ride my bike with no handlebars
no really, I can.
I can write poetry like it's no big deal,
my record is 10 in one hour.
I can end a conversation with one word,
and that word is bitch.
I can make my own dinner,
proving my womanhood, right?
I can make judgments all I want about people
as long as I get to know them afterward.
I can crank out text after text after text
and not hurt my thumbs.
I can comfort any human being
with just a few words and a hug.
I can make you feel loved
even when you're totally numb.
I can memorize the entire prologue of a book,
after I've heard it only 5 times.
I can make you squirm in your chair
with just a look.
I can make you hurt,
without even trying.
I can make you fall in love with me,
no matter who you are.
I can sit here and brag all day
but that's not how I roll.
I can't write a novel even though I want to.
I can't write happy things, not as often as I'd like.
I can't remember the simple things.
I can't spell supercali...whatever.
I can't keep up with the drama.
I can't keep myself out of trouble.
I can't stay calm cool and collected all the time.
I can't remember the names of songs.
I can't remember the lyrics.
I can't stop hurting people.
I can't stop being a sadistic bitch.
I can't stop hating myself.
But guess what.
I can ride my bike with no handlebars.
Suck on that.

Running

Running out of love
running out of time
running out of things we need
and running out of rhymes.
Running from the nightmares
running from the dark
running from the things we said
and the drama that it sparked.
Running to the cliff
running to the sea
running to the peaceful sleep
running back to me.

This is what was going through my head a couple minutes ago. I tried writing it out but it didn't work too well. Ugh failure.

How does it taste, knowing you're all mine
You're completely under my spell
my power
hypnotized without a question of why
and not complaining either,
because there's no where for you to go without me,
no, nowhere to go without me.
My dear you're all mine
you can't escape the way I act
or the way I sound when I whisper your name,
because
I am everything to you and there's nothing you can do about it.
Like I said before
and will always say after
hypnotized without a question of why
and not complaining either.

Dream (My image poem)

Eyes close
heart slows
shallow breath
freeze to death
new scene
bright green
flashing light
smooth flight
black wings
earth sings
cool air
wide stare
face fears
wipe tears
falling fast
won't last
broken back
impact.
Face down
hard ground
bleed out
no doubt
brain pops
heart stops
no breath
my death.

Ink.

I am a writer.
I am doomed to stitched lips
without a pen in my hand.
The pen? He speaks for me.
Sharing my thoughts,
my dreams and wishes,
and all the other secrets that are locked away
inside my head.
I am a writer.
I think not before I speak,
but afterward.
My words are unbridled by pure memories
my mouth unhinged with the slightest provocation.
I am a writer.
I life my life through paper
through the dull scratching of a pen
and enveloped
in the world of script,
with a poem wrapped around my throat.
I am a writer.
Welcome to my mind.

Child's Play

He always said
I promise
to always be there with you
and catch you when you fall.
Then it was
Pinky swear
that I will never hurt you,
or be the one to rip you down.
After that?
Cross my heart
You will always be my first priority,
even when I have a billion other things on my mind.
He told me
hope to die
should I ever turn out like them
and find I break your heart.
Stick a needle in my eye,
when all is lost
and I hurt you.
My reply? Liar liar
heart on fire
ring around the rosy
you look warm and cozy
ashes ashes
you let me down.

To a Piece of Paper

Here is the number thirteen,
pounded into the wooden door.
Here is the hangman's noose,
where the world spits on the demons of Creation.
Here is the leather, worn out book.
Here is the cuff that chains me to the wall.
Here is the dark, come to take me,
Where I, the unknown, want to live.