i don’t think i could ever process the fact of losing you.
abandonment issues are one thing,
but you’re getting older,
and i’m getting sadder.
i can’t stand the thought of waking up one day without being able to tell you a joke,
or get told to “be safe.”
i can’t stand the thought of not being able to say back “promise.”
we’ve seen each other at our worst,
and maybe that’s because you raised me,
but i feel like it’s more.
i know how you tick,
i know how you work,
i know how you love me.
i could never process the fact of losing you.
not because death scares me,
but because you are everything to me,
and i can never lose that.

i pick at my skin it a desperate attempt to pull the anxiety out.
if it could ooze out every pore and tear,
maybe i wouldn’t be shaking,
fueled with the rage and fear panic attacks hold.

i pick at my body to rip at the insecurity.
scars are a sign of my fragile self image,
makeup is the mask i use to forget.
a thick black line tracing my eyelids;
a heavy layer of powder masking the blushing of my cheeks.

i pick at my mind to understand what this diagnosis means to me.
i pick and i pick and pick at every idea and thought of this hell the universe has placed me in.
i tear and rip at them until my mind is as numb as my skin.
i pick until i can pretend i can understand.

i’m still heartbroken,
lost without the person i turned to when my world was upside down.
but you proved that you stopped caring,
just like everyone else before you.
i know i am difficult,
a mess that’s so broken you kept getting cut on the pieces.
you promised me you would be there through thick and thin,
but now here i am becoming a narcissist writing about the pain you’ve caused.

it’s starting to be just you.

i’m not so tired anymore.

i hope it hurts you,
seeing me with him,
a photo popping up on your snapchat feed.
i know you miss me,
and i know you want to try again,
and maybe i do too,
but i like the power it gives me to make you hurt.

my eyes sparkle in the sun & my presence brings a smile to your face,
i’ve learned to accept that i’m worth so much more than i think.

can it be night again,
where your hand is stumbling through the dark trying to take a grasp of mine,
and even though the dark blinds you,
your fingers lace through mine,
and i feel safe.