my body is not a ******* billboard for you to stare
at my hips were not made for your enjoyment the feeling
of your eyes drilling holes into the back of my
head do not make me feel beautiful your catcalls
are not a compliment no I am not starved for attention
let's get one thing straight: I wear dresses because I want to
******* wear dresses not for you but for me
I'm not a ***** if I say no and I'm not a **** if I say yes
you are not the king stop putting yourself on a pedestal
I am not required to bow down to you and I never will
I know who I am I am confident enough to not care what you
think of me; my standard in beauty is not how many guys
want to **** me it is not measured by how many boys
whisper about me to their friends you do not
have any influence on my self worth I do not wear makeup
to prove to you that I am pretty do not assume anything
about me I am your history textbook you know nothing
about me and if you did it wouldn't matter because all you
care about is how pretty I look and not who I actually
am and that makes all the difference

(h.l.)

you lit a match on my heart
told me your name was trouble from the start
and yet you made me believe that you were wrong about yourself
i still wonder what i would be like if i had known what
would happen from the start after all

darling, you taught me love was like a game of cards and
once you lose you should never play twice

the ironic part is that you've never made a bet and
yet you gamble with desire

and maybe we still would've made it,
after all you always did have a good poker face
oh but what a shame sweetheart you were nothing
but a mirage and hid everything behind a facade
and even though this game of hearts is long over; it ended like
a blaze leaving nothing but ashes in it's wake
i still think about how well you played and if it was all a lie
after all after a pack of cigarettes in and a bottle of gin
you never really had a good poker face maybe
if the tables were turned i would've won but i guess we'll
never know because you taught me that love was
a game of cards and once you lose you should never play twice

(h.l.)

my limbs are broken and beaten and battered and my body
has been used as a wall you punch to release anger time and time
again. my mother says i wear too much makeup and it makes her
cough when i'm around, i do not bother saying what i think--
that if she saw me without makeup she would feel much worse
you apologize after, every time you say it will be the last and i just nod
numbly and pretend it is true because that is what you need,
you need me to tell you that you aren't a monster that you will get
better that this is just a phase even though it isn't
your friends ask me why i haven't left you yet, they aren't fooled by
your terrible excuses of me accidentally falling down the stairs,
and i tell them that i stay because if i don't then who will love me?
you with all your flaws still tell me i'm pretty even when i say something
wrong and you kiss the wounds you inflicted with lips so soft
i wonder if what happened before was just a sick, twisted nightmare
because how can someone as sweet as cheap wine hurt me?
but then i look into your eyes and behind the love you have for me
there is a bitter resentment towards yourself and i am reminded yet
again what you are capable of. then again, it's not as if i won't be reminded
the next time something bad happens.

(h.l.)

you called me last night, you were crying and drunk
and you said that you regretted everything, that you
were ever so sorry, and i almost let myself slip for a
moment, i almost said it was okay, that i forgave you
but i kept my guard up and just forced myself to go to sleep
until you called me again later that night,
by then i couldn't help it, i told you i loved you back
and you just hung up the phone

(h.l.)

the sad part of it all was that he still saw
it, he could picture it in his mind, all of it
the flames, the burning of it all; the screaming
the shouts of leave right now, run, they're coming
he could see his mother escaping into the
painful abyss of death as she was shot, he could
remember her cries, her plead to leave her
alone, he could see it all and he could feel it too
he could feel chubby and familiar fingers
grabbing his and he could feel the ache of his legs
from running too hard and his lungs
felt like collapsing, he could feel the sense of chaos,
he could feel the weight of death pressing against him,
wanting him to give up, willing him to stop
but he couldn't because he could still see his seven
year old brother pulling him, he could still see
her even though she was five and he was just six,
he could see her as clear as the very image
of the burning, of everything and it willed him to fight, to
keep going, and so he did

(h.l.)

he loves the way i drink my shots of whisky,
i love the way he stares at me in bed
the scent of cigarette love in the air and baby
this is just the beginning of the end
||
they say he's too cool to know me
i say i'm too young to care
because the way he drives all through
the night makes me stop and stare
||
he doesn't give a **** and his excuse is
he's young and so am i,
we're too reckless to live by the rules
and too hopeless to care about getting caught
||
he calls me bonnie i call him clyde
we love money and getting high
and if i die tonight
then give my money to my mother
and my regards to my father,
tell him i slit his throat in this dream i had
||
imagine our children,
how ****** would they be?
mommy's a ******,
daddy lives in a dream
there's nothing wrong with dreaming
though, it's the waking up that kills people
it's the waking up
that killed me

(h.l.)

he smokes paper. he snorts sugar. he injects needles
into his veins and disappointment onto his hips. he laughs
loudly and talks softly and throws money away onto girls
who pretend they are women and dance for love. when he
sells rocks to the fallen angels on the playground, he pretends
they are dreams. the first time his mother found it in his sock
drawer she told her to throw it out. the second time she told
him to give her some. his smile is the biggest drug his
girlfriend's ever seen and she is in love with a boy
who serves requiem for a dream.
what a nightmare.

(h.l.)

we used to jaywalk on the streets and
play hide and seek in the rain
we would laugh about first kisses in
Central Park
and mimic people as they walked by
and the entire time it was you

I know that I am not beautiful
I know that when other people see me
they see the girl with the thin-and-very-awkward frame with
glasses that always seem to fall
I had just somehow convinced myself that
you saw more than that

When people ask me about you
I like to say that I don't know about you and that
it had been awhile since we talked
because it had
and
when they ask me if I'm okay
I smile and say of course
because I am
I should be
I'm not

tell me
am I now apart of your forgotten club
that is shoved to the back of you mind
will you tell your new friends about me
and will you say that you miss me and
will you make it seem inevitable

will you create a blank canvas of loneliness for
the next girl to find and try to paint on
will you whisper my name to her as if talking about
a shadow that shouldn't have existed

sometimes I find myself wondering if you were just some cruel
nightmare that my mind had conjured up to torture me but then I remember that
my imagination isn't creative nor beautiful enough to create someone like you

and now it rains like hurricanes but when I hide, I don't try to find myself, it's better that way

"do you have anything to say to me?"

why don't you love me?

why aren't i good enough for you?

what did i do to you?

why did you abandon me?

you've never actually loved me like you loved him

was there ever a time i didn't disappoint you?

i wish i didn't need you but i do

i love you

i wish you knew how much you mean to me

why do you want to fix me so **** badly?

sometimes i feel like a stranger in this house

i know you regret me
i regret me

i don't know if i can forgive you
i hope i can

will i ever feel like when i was eight
when you'd give me piggy-back rides and smiles?

i miss you

i'm sorry i'm not the daughter you want,
nor will i probably ever be

why don't you ever let me explain myself?

why is everything my fault?

will this barrier between us ever break?

"no."

(h.l.)

she is a hostage to her own emotions she is a trainwreck that
causes traffic she is missing in action she is relentless she is insomnia
she is depression she is a 10 paged project that you wait
last minute to start her skin spells out different words that no
one can pronounce, but they ryhme with insecurity and
anorexia her favorite color is a mix between lilac and gray
her favorite flowers are nonexistent because she is the
type of girl to grow flowers where only weeds grow
she is unknown to everyone she meets she is a whisper
among violent storms she is a catastrophe among smiling faces
she is not a metaphor she is not a simile she cannot
be put into words she cannot be broken down into language
if you cut her she will not bleed instead she will cover it up
with a sad smile and the same phrase she always uses: I'm fine
(h.l.)

real; the unscabbed scars on my knuckles and arms remind
me of rough trees and the grimy surface of soil stomped
on, you compare them to wildflowers but i know that this is
only because you are the type of person to enter a restaurant
with a sign that reads caution and order something anyway,
simply because you are too nice and hate to think of businesses
shutting down and of people failing, maybe this is why
you love me, i still have not figured it out yet

real; walking into school makes me feel like a deflated balloon
and everyone that says hello to me is blowing me up
again with methane i am slowly becoming too big to be tied
down with a ribbon called responsibility and fear,
the anxiety that enters my mind when i am forced to stand in
front of strangers with judgemental eyes and fake smiles
becomes mind numbingly painful and it makes me question
whether or not i am still alive. i still have not figured out
why i am yet.

real; your smile lights up the lights on the lamposts by the
train station where we met it transforms phantoms into people
paper planes into reality and nightmares into dreams
your touch leaves nothing but good intentions and blissful hope
and it leaves my cold unbeating heart yearning for warmth. i
still have not figured out if i like it or not.

not real; you love me. you kiss my wrist because you care
about me not what i went through. you love talking to me, you
wonder about how stars could ever die because you
think i am a walking sun. you keep your promises and tell me that
you care every night. i'm a good person. i have aspirations.
those pills on my bedside are not mine. the mirror is shaking.
i never meant to hurt myself. i'm sorry for all the things i've done.
i have potential to be better. i am beautiful.
not real not real not ******* real

(h.l.)

on your very first birthday, you will hear many things
you will not be able to decipher them yet but
they will echo in your ear until you go to sleep,
you will hear about how big you've grown and how
beautiful you are or how beautiful you're going to be
and the highlight of your day will be when finally you
get to cut into that delicious chocolate cake that your
aunt made you and you will run around the yard
and laugh as you trip endlessly and the big kids won't play
with you but that's okay because you're one and you
don't really understand that strange feeling in your heart
when they say that you're too little to join in on their game
of tag and everything is so confusing because
your grandmother said that you were a big girl now but
somehow you are not big enough and you won't be for
awhile but you don't really care because in that moment you
are one and everything is an adventure for you;
from the wet grass in the backyard to the weird kisses your
older brother and the girl across the street exchange
but that just makes everything ten times more interesting
and you are still protesting even though it is futile that you
don't want to go to bed and even though you are still
forced to go to bed earlier than you want, you are happy
because today you turned one years old and you are big
enough to cut the cake with some help from your
mom but still too small to play tag with the big kids and the
concept is confusing but exhilarating and you cannot wait
for the next day and as your breathing becomes more
even you succumb to the dark and fall asleep and everything
is okay because you are one and you do not know yet
that when you are five your mother will stop making time for
you or that when you are ten everyone will stop caring about
your existence and that when you are thirteen the boy in your
school that you really really like will tell you that you are ugly
and everyone else will follow and when you get to be
seventeen you will be so desperate to leave this misery called
life that you will try and force yourself to go into a
different type of sleep, the more permanent kind and your father
will say you're being an attention ***** and your
mother will start to wonder where she went wrong
and your older brother won't care because he won't find
out that you are depressed or sad until the day of your
funeral, when you are nineteen and finally asleep,
although this time; you don't try to fight it
instead you go willingly and succumb to the darkness
much like you did when you were younger and
unaware that life is not a great adventure, it
is more like a never ending hell that will make
you wish that you were one

(h.l.)

my meds are missing my pills are gone the
windows are closed the curtains cover them and i cannot
see the lightning but i can feel in in my bones,
i cannot feel my heart beating instead i see you in my soul
and i was supposed to go to sleep a long time ago
but the silence pumps my blood it feeds my insomnia and
gives it hope i wish i could stop thinking i wish i
could stop thinking thinking about your smile and the
way you laugh when you fall and the windows are closed
this room is soundproof but that doesn't stop me
from hearing thunder because it reminds me of you and
i'm still scared of storms and the color grey
but i'm finding out that loving you comes with the price
of living in shades of grey; the flowers in my brain they died
the day you said you loved me and stopped meaning it
(when did you stop meaning it?) so i live my
life in shades of blue each one darker than the last and
everything is blue; my tears, your ink, even the walls of my
room look like they've had their heart broken by you
and my meds are missing, my pills are gone the windows
are still closed although it doesn't matter because i
can still hear the thunder in my head, it is almost as loud
as the silence that fills my room instead

(h.l.)

his hands twitch and he starts to blink and attempts
to calm down, because it's okay, people
get nervous and this is what happens when people
get nervous but his hands won't stop twitching and it's
the one imperfect thing in this entire room, the walls
are white the people are silent the floor is
polished the chairs don't squeak and why the hell
is his hand still twitching; he starts to panic because
he can feel the bile rising in his throat, he can feel
goosebumps on his arms he can feel the anxiety
radiating like a furnace he can feel it all and he doesn't
blink, he just tries to focus on his breathing but he
can't he can't he can't he can't all he can do
is look at the boy with the twitching hands and hope that
he stops because it was ruining everything all he
wanted him to do was stop stop stop stop but
he wouldn't, he would never stop it never
stops no matter how many pills he takes no matter
how many therapy sessions he attends, there is
still that boy in the back of his mind and his hands
are constantly twitching and they don't stop they only
become distracted by the ceiling fan or the tiles on
the floor or the hanging thread on her dress or
the on and off switch and having to turn it
on and off on and off on and off on and off
four times before it feels right
nothing ever feels right anymore, it is all a matter
of becoming distracted and trying to focus
******* anything else but the boy with the twitching hands

(h.l.)

it feels like the feather of a bird;
so light and airy like
when you're walking down the street
and someone bumps into you
you praise every higher power out there that
you didn't collapse because
you're just so small and everyone
else tells you that you're so pretty
but you don't feel pretty you just want
to go back to the old you but
that's impossible because the feeling of swallowing
something scorches your throat as if there's acid
in it and the feeling of substance in your stomach
scars more than any stretch mark ever could
and big sweaters become your best friends because they
cam hide your weight and when you're tired of everything
you just swing by park and engulf yourself with a big
sweater even though you wish it could be human touch but
you haven't let anyone touch you in 3 months because then
they'd see how hollow you are and somewhere in
the back of your mind you know this is a problem but you
don't want to admit you have another problem,
so instead you let big sweaters swallow you whole;
and you keeping cursing every time that guy on the
street comes around because if he bumps into you with
that basketball you might shatter
and you've already done so much,
and everyone thinks you look so pretty
that's all you ever wanted to be, pretty

*do you feel pretty now?

call it fate. call it destiny. whatever it is, the traces of his finger tips
stain my body like a temporary tattoo that won't ever fade,
the sound of his voice still sends shivers down my spine and i
cannot deny that in this moment, we are beautiful. the sky
is low the smoke is blinding i am coughing
because i have lost my inhaler somewhere in my bag but we
are beautiful. he says that he doesn't need anyone to survive and i
do not respond because the words are lost to him anyway, i
cannot try to reignite a fire that has already been put out but i can
continue to get burned off of second hand cigarettes that have been
accidentally lit. when i told you i was clean you didn't believe me.
when you told me you were through with her i didn't believe you.
faith is a five letter word that is non-existent and useless in our
relationship. we binge drink we chain smoke we laugh loudly and try
to pretend that happiness is attainable through joints as big as
king kong's fingers. if your mother were here she'd smile and look
the other way. if mine were her she'd pretend she didn't know
my name. we're so ****** up babe, the other day you told me that
the worst thing in the world was to be dead, said that i brought
you back to life. you could call it fate, call it destiny, call it whatever
you want; i call it resurrection.

(h.l.)

you asked me the other day what depression felt like
and i told you that it was like drowning but
you could see everyone else around you breathing;
you stared at me then, pity in you eyes
but also wonder almost as if you were seeing
an artifact in a museum, you looked at me
that way because i had not told you the rest
i didn't tell you how close i came every night to
giving in to the voices in my head or how
whenever i was scared i would run a knife along my arm;
not to cut myself with it but to feel the cool against my skin
i did not tell you that my life became a movie flashing
before my eyes that night i accidentally drowned and
how it took six months of Death knocking at my door
for me to stop and to realize that this was a problem
i didn't tell you any of that because then i knew your eyes would
widen when you realized that the same sweater paws
you would tease me about were there for a reason and then
you would look at me, with understanding in your eyes and
sadness too because then you would realize
that i wasn't an artifact in a museum or a war veteran
i was just a girl with large sweater paws and a tight lipped smile

so maybe it is better for you to believe that i am an artifact
because maybe then i could still wear sweater paws
without you questioning me too much

(h.l.)

you always said your favorite color was blue
Like the sky crashing into an ocean at midnight
your room, it was painted blue like easter eggs we used to make and then end up throwing them at each other
the walls that you put up around you, I liked to think of them as blue
but not like the sky crashing into the ocean or the easter eggs
your walls I liked to think of them as a shade of blue that was so dark it was almost black
my favorite color was always black, go figure, our friends they would call us
black and blue
like the bruises I would get when you were drunk and it was late and you couldn't control yourself
you would always apologize with brownies, a lopsided smile, and a white letter laced with the early horizon blue

that was always my favorite shade of blue

when you had left me you had left me a card that was black laced with blue and it said that you couldn't stand to hurt me any longer
I understand why you did it but what you don't know is that I am still black and blue it's just on the inside now and after everything, what you don't know is that I would've preferred your version of black and blue
because in the morning I would get brownies, your lopsided smile, and a card with my favorite shade of blue
and now my mornings are filled with bitter disappointment, ashes of my gray heart, and and cards that are only black in the back of my mind

I like to think blue is still your favorite color and that wherever you are you know that black is still mine

we would throw pennies in the fountain
but never make any wishes and
our last goodbye felt like the sinking feeling i'd imagine the pennies felt          
when we threw them because it was so useless
you told me that you loved me even though
you and i both knew
it was a lie
I always knew it was
your love it was like a drug that was bound to break; a rubber band
that had been stretched and used far too many times
yet it was that same rubber band that I had around my wrist
and I never took it off because
even with all the lies and the excuses
all the drunken nights and
worthless apologies;
i loved you

in the songs that you would write the day after we had a fight
you would compare me to bottle caps;
the ones that you would so easily pop
but when you would write your songs you would compare me to
the bottle caps that reminded you of innocence
of your childhood
you told me that I reminded you of the bottle caps you collected
from the farmers market across the street
the same farmers market where we stained our teeth with stolen cherries
you compared me to the bottle caps that brought you happiness

i wish i could say the same

*i threw a penny today into the fountain
and made a wish;
to forget the sight of your smile when
it was stained with cherries

it was michael's sixth birthday and he had on a suit
and a spiderman tie, his mom had gushed
over how handsome he was, but he didn't feel handsome
he felt so much pressure with the suit on and
he didn't like it at all
//
today michael was 13 and he stared at himself
in the mirror, questioning his reflection
he had stolen his older sister's skirt because he thought
she looked pretty in it, and he wanted to look pretty
too, and he does; he thinks he looks beautiful
the wonderful moment in ruined however by the
squeak of the door and the utter shock on his mother's face
//
michael's sixteen and biting his lip he had never felt more pretty
in his entire life, he had bought a dress with the excuse it was
for his "girlfriend" and he has tried it on and it fit like
a glove and michael cried suddenly because
he knew that this was the last time he would ever wear a dress
and feel special
//
at michael's funeral he is dressed in a black and white suit
with a blue tie, and all anyone could think
was what a shame, of course if michael were alive
he'd be thinking that he would probably look prettier
with a skirt on, and if only people would've accepted that
then he probably would've been there to say it

(h.l.)

i know that you live for loving things that will never
love you back i know that you were never afraid of swimming
because you could drown, you were always afraid of
swimming because you didn't want to float and i know that
you do not live for loving people who will love you back
and that in a month's time i'll be walking down your
street and saying i don't care and the city lights and car
sirens will be enough to drown out the truth: i love you and
i don't know if i will ever stop

(h.l.)

i've been 4 months clean or whatever they're definition
of clean is but i still crave you arms around my waist
and your whisper in my ear because what they never tell you
is that once your clean you also become cold
because you never want to risk falling in love and taking
the chance of becoming addicted;
it's so easy to become addicted
and so now i live in a world of black and white
with only bent polaroids and broken memories
to prove you ever existed
and maybe it shouldn't hurt this badly, maybe the consequence
of falling in love with you shouldn't pain me so but it does because
you had taken the same ink that you write poems with and
injected it into my veins and i've never been the same
since last july when you said that you loved me
and actually meant it,
i wonder; when did you stop meaning it?
was it the day you told me that you could never love
anyone or was it the day i told you that i didn't care

when people talk about falling in love, they always
make emphasis on the feeling, so i will say this:
falling in love with you felt like
injecting whiskey into your flesh and you like the
rush but you also feel the burn and you know
this will leave scars but you don't care because
*no one ever thinks about rehab

one, he has rosy red cheeks and doesn't
speak yet, he is too shy but his mother loves
him and his father already has dreams of a
baseball player in mind
three, his soft brown curls are becoming uncontrollable
and his aunts coddle him and sing praises about
his long eyelashes and he speaks with a stutter that his
mom thinks is adorable
five, he has a big birthday celebration and his father
buys him a puppy and the neighbors come over and all
of a sudden he is best friends with a boy named andy
who likes to play with red toy trucks and loves to watch sports
seven, his two front teeth have fallen out and he thinks
he looks awfully strange and his older sister makes fun
of him for it but it's okay because andy has a little
sister, she is six, and she thinks he looks perfect
ten, he is going to middle school and his father is already
practicing with him because he wants to join the baseball
team (he doesn't, not really, but his father wants him to so
he does it)
twelve, andy is the most popular boy at school and he still
hasn't made the baseball team and everyone makes
fun of him for it, but it's okay because andy's little sister
isn't looking so little anymore and she says he's better than
any boy at that school
14, high school has just started and he still has that slight
lisp from when he was younger but that's fine, he doesn't
talk to any one that much except her, hannah, who isn't just
andy's little sister to him anymore
15, he's in love with hannah and he doesn't think there's
anything more beautiful than her ballet routines and the
way she shakes her hips ever so slightly and everything in his
life is a mess because he's failing science and his older sister
comes home drunk every night and his father has started coming
to his room at night and he doesn't know what to do about
it but it's okay because he has her to make everything
better, his miracle was her
16, he finds out that she doesn't think she's as perfect as
he does and she complains about how ugly she is
and no amount of light kisses to her cheek make up for it
16, he sees the scars on her thighs one day and he asks
her what it means because he refuses to believe she would
do this and he beats up andy because he knew the entire
time and didn't care
16, he finally tells his mother about his father coming to
his room at night and she cries for her husband and her son,
for both seem dead now
16, hannah goes to therapy and she's finally getting better,
he thinks she's finally getting better
16, she's not
16, he attends his first funeral two months later, the girl he loves
being buried six feet underground and her brother isn't there,
he's at a party getting drunk and trying to forget her but he won't
16, he thinks about following in her footsteps
16, he tries
16, he can't
17, he does. he finds the rope his father used
when they would go climbing together and he wrapped
it around his neck and lit himself on fire, but no matter
how many times he screamed, it didn't matter because his mother
was in connecticut, knitting with her friends, and andy was
smoking and his older sister was at college and in the
end no one cared for the boy interrupted for he
was walking on an unfinished bridge his entire life and he was
bound to end up six feet under eventually,
all the good things in life were
(h.l.)

sometimes,
when music isn't blasting in my head
and the ground is covered with snow,
i allow myself to think about you
and those days;
when nothing is particularly annoying and
when i feel honest-to-god happy
are the absolute best days
because on those days i eat vanilla ice cream
and it's tasteless to me now because
all it does is remind me of the snowballs you would throw at
me and it's the kind of bittersweet memory that
you laugh at to keep from crying
and sitting there--
wrapped up in my white blanket, mindlessly
watching something on my laptop whilst eating tasteless ice
cream, is the happiest i will ever be
because that's when i allow myself to think of you-
of how rosy your cheeks get in the winter, and
how much you enjoy hot chocolate from starbucks
somewhere along the lines, of course, i will get caught
in a whirling spiral of nostalgia that will make me hate myself
for the next couple of weeks
but in the end-
it is all worth it
because thinking of you, is the happiest i will ever be,
and the saddest

it's the type of terrible, bittersweet skinny love
that makes even vanilla ice cream taste like nothing
because it reminds you of funny snowball fights
and rosy red cheeks

(h.l.)

i am not pretty i am not beautiful i am not
poetry i am not music i am not inspiration i am
not good luck i am not strong i am not lucky i am
not smart i am not a relationship i am never looking back
i am mondays i am not fridays i am not red or blue or
gray or black i am not a disaster i am not a tornado
i am not a hurricane i have no eye in me
i am not captivation i am procrastination i am a constant
dark sky there is no light in me i am not honesty
i am a bundle of never ending lies i am insomnia i
am a biting insect called insecurity i am not a butterfly
i am not a night owl i am more like a tree that never grows
i am not sunshine i am not the moon i am not a star i
am an asteroid i am a college workload i am an infinite
amount of excuses and insults loving me will not
be like falling into a cocoon of warmth it will be
more like being tied to a rock in the middle of the ocean
i am not a model type skinny i am instead a bag of twigs
i am not a calm swim i am drowning i am your last shot of
***** that turns into 20 i am the penny stuck to the bottom
of a jar i am lost money i am scalding hot chocolate
i am times square i am letters i am gigantic words that you
can't pronounce i am late night studying i am your favorite
coffee shop that closes early i am not the girl that
you will spend the rest of your life happily with i am the
key to a motel door and a night you will regret i am the
one night stand you wish you could stop thinking about
i am auto correct that is never right i am the phone number you
cannot forget i am reliable i like to think about running away
but i never will spending your life with me will not be happy but
it will also never be sad because i cannot stand to see
people sad even though sometimes i am and i use big
words and if you can't pronounce them then i'll teach
you how to and i procrastinate all the time but i'll help you
be organized and i'll wake you up early so that you can
get to your favorite coffee shop and i'll warn you that the
hot chocolate is scalding hot i'll cut you off after your
last shot of ***** and i'll write you bad poetry that'll make
you laugh to make up for it and we'll spend the
entire night watching bad romance movies and cursing
love so that you can try and forget that one night stand and
because i never learned how to swim i always stick by the
life guard so i'll save you if you drown and i am not
perfect but i am also not broken; instead i am a never ending
cycle of both regret and loneliness and so much more
but i'll make sure that you'll never have to suffer any of that
because i am your july thirty first thoughts, and you are mine

(h.l.)

and when you run your hands over
the concave of my stomach
and feel my ribs poking out, like unwanted monsters
please do not question it, please pretend like
it is not there; ignore the feel of my thighs and my
bony legs are nothing to worry about
i'm okay, darling you worry too much
i'm just a little underweight
i wish you knew, that i am okay, there's nothing wrong
with me trust me, i know that you think that i'm light but
that's because you can't see what i do, you don't see what i
do, you don't see that i am a mess, an imperfect
unworthy creature next to your angel like stance
and i wish you could see it, i really do because
maybe then you'd understand why i am who i am and you're
beautiful sweetheart, you are and all i want to do
is catch up, i want to be that person you deserve and
i will be soon, don't worry
i'm just a little underweight that's all,
a little underweight

they said that everyone else but me could see the light
that held faith, and love, and hope
and i told them
*then consider me blind

"hi uh um I'm glad that you didn't pick up actually
because I didn't want to waste your time it's just that
we haven't really talked in awhile and I just wanted to
see how you are, that's all. how long has it been
since you left? a month yeah I think it's a month I mean I uh
I guess it's been a month and uh. um. well how are you?
are you okay? your mother said that you had met
someone like me over there and uh I'm not going to lie
that hurt. why did it hurt. why did it hurt. I don't know I--
I really don't know I guess I just wasn't ready for you to
leave and I know I'm a mess and I'm annoying and boring
and you want to get away from me already
but I uh, I just I don't know what to do anymore you know
it's like I'm so invisible to everyone and it's so frustrating
because I want to talk for the first time about things and I
want to feel I really really want to feel I'm trying really
hard I swear I am, just I don't know how to and please don't
give up on me. oh god I've turned this entire thing about me
again, ****. I didn't mean to I swear I didn't it just happened
I'm so selfish no wonder you don't want to be around me I'm
sorry. I really am. but it's 2:35 a.m. and I tried to sleep but
I can't and I need someone, I need you to be here somehow but
you're not and I just, I guess what I'm saying is,
please don't leave. not yet.

(h.l.)

when you are ten the bones of your skin will start to
become more prominent and your family will put you on a
pedestal for being skinny and the boys in your class will
call you anorexic that word they learned in science
means unhealthy it means ugly it means disgrace it means
not good enough and you will learn to carve those words
into your skeleton with the help of a knife called insecurity and
it means that you do not walk like the other girls in school it
means that your hips aren't big enough it means that your
legs aren't long enough it means that the only thing
you will love about yourself is that you have the same smile
as your mother and the hope that you will grow up to
be as beautiful as her is the only thing that keeps you alive and
all the men on your block hover over her existence now
that your father is gone and you will now begin to measure
beauty on how many boys you think like you how many girls
envy you and how many people wish they were you. when
your little brother starts to follow you around and mimic your
movements you will push him away and watch as his
big doe eyes fill with tears. you don't say what you want to,
that you are not good enough for him to follow, that you
don't want him to be branded as a loser because of
your association that the screaming itch you have to tear yourself
apart is your second biggest fear and that your first is hurting
him. you don't say anything, at ten the words in your mouth
are choked back into a place deep in your throat where no one
can hear them. your mother yells at you to speak, idiota the
hint of her Spanish accent a reminder of the person she used
to be. now she wears higher heels and shorter dresses and doesn't
roll her tongue or give way that she knows anything about
being Hispanic. her culture has now become a flaw and herself
loathing will project on to you so much that it will be
staggering. you still won't say a word and she will leave, her
head hung in disgust while yours lies swimming in the ocean where
Nemo lives, trying desperately to forget who you are because
even at ten you know, you will not amount to anything

(h.l.)

well okay so
apparently you're never going to see these
because you deleted the app off your phone and
so i would like to formally say goodbye to all of our conversations
like i know this is really silly
but just seeing that i was talking to you made me so happy.
it's like you're this constant ray of love in my life
(even though i know you don't love me) and i just always loved reading our old conversations, they make me happy
but now you're off to boarding school and
as much as you might say you'll keep in contact i know you won't;
it's inevitable.  so i figure, why let all of our old conversations lay there
as if they matter that much anymore to you,
why taunt myself with them?
even if they made me happy sometimes it's better to
let go of things before they destroy you. so i will.
and hopefully we can still have more conversations in the future,
when you're signing books in Barnes' and Nobles
and you glance up to ask who to make this out to
(make it out to Heather Leather by the way if you can still remember what it means)  and you see me, maybe then
we'll talk to each other in an old cafe and catch up on life.
although i doubt this will ever happen,
I like to dream about these things;
they make me happy when i feel scared or alone.
but until then, until we meet in barnes' and nobles' and
go to central park for coffee; i guess this is goodbye to all our late-night conversations and endless lines of poems and songs.
i have loved you in a friends-way, in a not-so-friends way and in a i-don't-know-what-this-is-but-it-makes-me-happy kind of way. and while i don't like to talk about loving people in the future, i will say this
if there is one person that has ever aggravated me so much it is you,
and if there's ever a person i will regret not knowing in the future,
it is also you. and if i end up being a good person in the future
(which i hope i will be) know that it is highly possible that
i will love you because you have made me a better person, a better poet, and perhaps most importantly, a happier person.
so i guess this wasn't a goodbye to only our old conversations,
maybe it was also a goodbye to the past you and me,
and while this isn't the last time i will talk to you in a long time
(can't get rid of me that easily)
this will probably be the last time that i
read our old late night conversations about food and poetry
and songs and how much you love Lana del Rey and how i
am obsessed with 5 seconds of summer
and so goodbye to that,
it was good while it lasted,
and hopefully we will create many more late night conversations
but until then, goodbye to the jokes we laughed at,
the homework we cried over, and the music we argued about
yours truly,
heather

p.s. i love you to the moon and back
p.p.s: it was an honor having my heart broken by you

i fell in love with this boy who would paint the
horizon into a stanza, and the moon
into a phrase and he had hazel eyes and
a beautiful smile and i used to count the minutes
until i could see him and feel his warm embrace

you are no longer him

you are no longer him, the boy who wrote me
songs and you rarely write poems anymore and
it's been a while since you've said you loved me
and meant it, and so that i suppose is why i
must let go of you my darling
because i have been craving and loving and
missing someone who i wasn't meant to love,
and in the end i suppose i did only
love you for the words you spoke, the image you
so clearly conveyed, and the memories
that still make me smile to this day

i fell in love with someone who is not you, and i have
spent a long time trying to figure out why i was
so stuck on your love, so attatched to who you were
but then i realized you would never again be
the boy who's poetry i would tattoo on my skin
and who's songs i would scream at the top of my longs
you are no longer him and i am no longer the
carefree, naive innocent girl you fell for either
so i suppose i can forgive you for changing because
i only did the same

forgive me though, because i still dream sometimes
about you and i, and i secretly hope you do too
though perhaps it would be for the best if you didn't
for wilted flowers are better off dead than barely alive

(h.l.)

his name was surprise. as in surprise i could find it
within me to love someone so much that their smile was
engraved into my mind at 3:02 pm when i was mindlessly
staring at a window that reflected a world i did not
find any beauty in. the overwhelming desire i had to not
only love but to be loved was so staggering that it shocked
me; i know because i can still hear my mother's yell as i
dropped a glass plate on the floor when i realized that
i had allowed myself yet again to fall into another person.
my mother said i was lucky that i didn't cut myself with the
glass but all i was thinking of was the contagious laugh i
knew you would utter when i told you this story.
[you did laugh by the way, your chest rumbled and your cheeks
were so red they reminded me of wine on a white dress;
you put your hand over your mouth to cover the slightest gap
you had between your two front teeth and the happiness
on your face set my veins on fire]
i say that i fell into you and not that i fell in love because i
do not believe it is possible to fall into something so
deep and electrifying and morose and survive. i do not believe
it is possible to fall into love as if it were an ocean and it
wouldn't swallow you whole; as if love was some kind creature
that let you swim in the whirlpool it inevitably created. as if
someone could possibly fall into love and not drown as it
mercilessly threw you screaming, begging to be saved. i do not
believe in falling in love because i do not think i could ever be
one of those lucky people who are washed up survivors of
hurricanes so frightening and beautiful you chase it without
knowing why. i am disastrous enough to drop glass plates on
floors to see you smile but not cataclysmic enough to stay while you
try and do the same for me. so when i told you months later that
i was irrevocably captivated by the dimples of your smile and
you furrowed your eyebrows curiously, trying to figure out how to
let me down gently, i already knew the words you were going
to say. we joke about it now, it seems to be an unwritten rule that
you will ignore the wince on my face when you talk about your
new girl and that i will ignore the fact that your favorite of my poems
are the untitled ones written about you. i say that i do not miss your
arms around my waist anymore and it's true, your hugs have become
quick and reluctant so that you do not give me any false hope. but
there isn't any hope left that hasn't been dried by bitter insecutity
and a stubborn need of mine to move on.  i don't miss the way
your endless mood swings affected my day and
i don't miss the way you used to call out my name, joyfully and
excitedly  i have simply forgotten about old conversations
and unfulfilled promises and i have a feeling you have as well.

[forgive me though, your name still slips from the ink of my
pen onto this secondhand journal from time to time. simply for
the sake of writing.]

(h.l.)

first;* there is a pause, there is the questioning
in you heart of if this is real or if it's a mirage
if this is your eyes deceiving you or if it is actually real,
the possibility that this could be real wills you
to move, it wills you to continue and then
there is the embrace, the bear hug and the reassurance
that yes this is real  this is real *this is real and everything
feels like it is moving in fast forward and no you are
not ready to let go you cannot  let go you can't let go
why can't you let go you moved on
you made new friends you've loved new lovers you've gone
a year without these people and yet it feels like it hasn't been
a week because soon you are surrounded by the same laughter,
the same sarcastic jokes that make you feel at home; first
is happiness and disbelief and ecstasy and surreal awkwardness
and catching up on life
//
next; next is judgement, next is meeting the people that
you didn't really miss and having to stand there
as their shaming eyes take you apart piece by piece and
analyze every flaw you've always had and the
ones that you've gained, next is hi I kinda missed you and
wow I'm not trying to be rude or anything but how long
have you been gone? next is boasting and whispered jokes
that you know are about you next is how is it like
being the first dropout next is jokes that are disguised because
they are really insults next is meeting the new girl and
finding out that she likes the same baseball team
you do and she's smarter and they like her and they've
never really liked you and you don't really care because
they're ******* but you actually do and you say goodbye
and walk away biting the inside of your cheek and willing
yourself not to break down next is reliving all the good
times and the bad times and next is internal panic attacks
and fake smiling next is pretending this never happened next
is wishing that you could go back in time and make things
better but knowing that even if you went back
it still wouldn't be better
//
finally; finally is distractedly talking to your friends as
if your insides weren't crawling finally is walking around
as if your heart wasn't shattering with each step you've made
finally is the sound of their voices echoing in your head and
finally is dropout finally is failure finally is you can't
avoid it an longer because it's time that you face the facts' finally
is not eating dinner because your appetite has
been stolen by an insect called insecurity finally is opening your
binder and going through all that you could've done
finally is going to sleep early because you have a headache
finally is trying to explain to your best friend why you
left without saying goodbye finally is knowing that you have to,
that everyone else and it's time to say goodbye too
finally is wanting to freeze everything and
not move forward because the future is a road filled with
surprise and you hate surprises and finally is going to sleep
with tear stains on your pillow, finally is waking up and
not wanting to move and only to sit in silence finally is the
ear shattering sound of your music because you cannot
stand silence finally is that study playlist you can no longer
listen to without having trouble breathing finally is that last letter
that you have lost in a binder somewhere but it
doesn't matter because you have memorized the words
finally is running and never wanting to give up and hoping
that you can run until you turn into the shadow that you are
already becoming finally is not wanting to become a shadow
finally is fighting back against all the odds
finally is becoming content finally is being happy
and finally is a fidget it is that jumpy leg that you have
that won't stop moving because of nervousness
because finally you have accepted that you are not
apart of them and they are slowly not being apart
of you either finally is making new friends and
loving new lovers finally is moving on and
never forgetting but also never reminiscing

(h.l.)

i
am
stuck
in
a
perpetual
state
of
not
wanting
to
care
and
caring
too
much

­(h.l.)

the sun does not rise in the west it rises in the east and it sets in
the west and the concept of becoming and unbecoming every single
day and night still foolishly drives me into finding comfort that
we are both awake and asleep at the exact same time.
there are approximately 266 miles between us four hours in length
and we still both rise and set at the exact same time. but you
are not the sun. i am not the sun. neither of us are stars in the galaxy
we are only people who dare to write each other in the sky as
if the moon had anything to do with true love. you say that star
metaphors and analogies are over rated and i agree. but what else
is there to compare you to when you are as far away as methuselah
and you are as problematic as the north star because no matter
how many times it is explained to me i can never find it. i just know
that it is there. we are not stars in the universe. he is not the sun and
neither am i. but i swear to whatever being out there that when
he told me he loved me i felt as infinite as the milky way and perhaps that
is why i don't want this year to end because stars are born to die
and i fear i am slowly becoming pluto

(h.l.)

they knew what was about to happen--
both of them already knew that this wasn't going
to end well, and maybe in the beginning they had
hope that their love wouldn't dwindle out but
in the end it wasn't enough, they both loved two
different people and it was now time to let each other go
and move on with whatever life would throw at them
they didn't even love each other
so why was this so hard?
why was ever single kiss, every single poem,
every single moment flashing in both of their heads
as if they actually cared about one another?
the silence was overwhelming, and if there was ever a moment
where they wanted to be swallowed whole it was this one
he took a deep breath, and with a shaking voice said the
words that they both knew were true
I think we should break up
and they should, they should because they didn't love each other
anymore and every moment they had with each other just
reopened whatever wound they had on each others' hearts
so, yes, it was time for them to leave each other
*but then why was this so hard?

he told me,
with a confident voice and alluring eyes that he loved me
he said that it was me and him and the music against the world
and even though i promised myself it was only
one drink; i knew then and there
that i had sold my soul to the green-eyed boy
who lit a cigarette the first day we met
and my heart next
ii.
sometimes when people tell stories of drugs,
they forget to mention the ones that live
across the street and dress in all black and
roll joints even with their cousins in the car,
“because a good song came on”
no one ever warns you about that type of addiction;
the warring kind that not only messes with your
body but also with you mind
or at least he did to me
iii.
i only wanted to have one drink, i swear
but somehow the lines between one and five were crossed
and even though i don’t remember anything, i
have no regrets because i was happy
we were dancing, the music was loud, the people were fun
and i was so happy; i don’t think i even knew what happiness was
before that, before staring into your eyes at midnight and
knowing that i was your only one
iv.
if i’m telling the truth,
somewhere deep in my heart; I knew that
you were already gone from me,
that you were never going to be the same after that night
and neither was i; because at that point
you were addicted to the feeling of nothing
and i was addicted to you
v.
i was only trying to catch up to you,
that’s all i really wanted to do, catch up
because i knew if i didn't you would find another girl who could
and i couldn't have that
so i drank and i smoked the night away except
this time it didn't feel as good,
it was sickening
but i smiled anyway because you said that i look
pretty when i smile; even though it was fake
vi.
we live in different worlds, you and i,
although at the end of the day it was the same thing
because even though we were addicted to two very different things
i can see myself in you; and it should scare me
but it doesn't because i had already
sold my soul to the green-eyed boy
who lit a cigarette the first day we met
and my heart next

live fast,
die young,
be wild,
and have fun
(it’s not that much fun anymore)*

(h.l.)

beyonce

i still remember the days we would laugh
until our cheeks were red and
tears were streaming down our faces
those days are long gone now; i don't laugh that much anymore
you used to talk to me about how stupid everything was
i would agree of course, still not knowing then that
life was not the color of roses
(i've found out now that it is more the color of violets)

you always told me that you were a mess, a disaster, a ticking time bomb,
something waiting to
explode
i just never thought that i would burn with you
(i still have second-degree scars on my heart, in case you were
wondering)
and i would always tell you that you were a mess, a disaster,
a ticking time bomb
but that if you would ever try to go turn and run,
that i'd go and stop you
(but i ended up crashing next to you after the tornado had passed)

you still tell me you love me more, after we talk but i think
that we should cut the formalities and
try to lessen the fatalities

i always knew, somewhere deep in my heart, that you would crash and
burn
i just never thought that I would want to burn with you

(h.l.)

Your favorite color is green like the color of eyes
not like the color of grass
and you love playing sports but hate the outdoors
and you spent hours one day searching for a lost battery
somewhere in the park and I was there  
as always with you searching for this mysterious battery
already knowing we weren't going to find it
but not caring because it mattered to you
so it mattered to me and when you went home that day
with disappointment at the pit of your stomach
I could only try to find other ways to smile
because my lips has stretched far too much
and I couldn't express happiness the way
I wanted too when you had shown up at my house
at midnight with a deck of cards and a bottle of gin
and we played ******* and I had lost because
for some reason I could lie to everyone else but you

My favorite color is blue like the soft sweater
your aunt knitted for Christmas not like
the color of the ocean and you wouldn't know
because you don't really care and it should bother me
that you don't care but it doesn't;
like the last battery in the park,
I already know our love is one that is not
meant to exist or to be found and it would
only ever prevail on the nights where you come
to my house at midnight and on the
days that you lose batteries at the park

(h.l.)

i don't know why i like boys who rate girls based on their *****
and smoke cigarettes and talk about things that sound meaningful
but aren't, i don't know why i have trouble breathing sometimes
and why counting to ten doesn't work and why i get so angry
at little things that shouldn't bother me but they do,
i don't know why i have such high expectations but such
a low self esteem i don't know why i can see myself somewhere
in ten years but not in the next one i don't know why i lie and say
stupid things i don't know why i say ******* when i never
want anyone to leave because i don't want to be alone with me
i don't know why it bothers me that i'm not pretty or beautiful
i don't even know why that matters i don't know why i'm writing this
i don't know why i'm crying i don't know why my fingers are
shaking or when my house became so quiet i don't know the answers
to so many things i thought i knew him but i didn't i thought i could
handle all of this but i can't i thought i would never break down again
but i am and it hurts like hell i feel like i am being split into two
and someone is pouring gasoline on me and all i want right now
is to be set on fire so that i can burn and dissolve into the air
into a permanent state of nothingness where i don't have to worry
about why my heart feels like it's made of lead and why
i can't finish sentences without adding on other things because
i don't like the idea of anything ever ending

i get intoxicated by the smell of
Sharpies at 2am and the sound of your voice
on the phone and you're so ******* tired but
you refuse to hang up first because of
some line you read in a book

we would be the perfect love story, we really would

because you're the one who laughs at my corny jokes
and you're the one who brings me chocolate when i'm sad
and you're the one who taught me how to write poems in a way
and
i love you so much but you must not see it

i thought it was a phase, i really did
and you probably think i'm over you
(because i told you that)
and sometimes I just wish that all hell would break loose
so that you could see how much you mean to me

*you always did have a thing for disasters;
blinding hurricanes of tears and imperfect tsunamis
of missed opportunities and lost love