when i was young
someone asked
    "what superpower do you wish for?"
no hesitation -
i replied
     "invisibility"

i grew up realising
it came true


*/evjs

it's weird that Brits say "chips" instead of "french fries",
and it's sad that your dad says "you're hopeless" instead of "I love you".
it's weird that the sun pokes up out of the ground at different times everyday,
and it's sad that it hurts more when you poke your finger than when you run the blade down your skin.
it's weird that the sun still shines when it's 3 degrees outside,
and it's sad that 3 am is filled with thoughts of agony and your pillow is stained with the salt water from your eyes.
it's weird that there's 365 days in a year but it dreads on feeling like 1,000,
and it's sad that the pills that are supposed to make you feel better for your depression only make you want to swallow 365 more to make the pain go away.
it's weird that you're forced to go to school with ignorant teenagers that have no idea what they want in life besides getting high,
and it's sad that those teenagers romanticize self harm and depression like it's beautiful to have demons in your mind eating away your sanity.

The first thing I noticed about you was how sad your eyes looked but I could never admit this to anyone because it sounds so Teen Cliche, doesn’t it, and you were sad but you were a million other things -- and my God do I hate it when people become their sadness -- but the honest truth is that your eyes drew me in from across the room and you looked like your heart had been broken and i am like Saint Jude in that when I see a lost cause I want to nurse it back to health. I thought this was one of my better points but looking back, it’s a stupid thing to do. let people be broken, let boys with sad eyes be sad, I tell myself now. It’s better for you. You were an *******, that’s for sure. You made me insane. You made my blood boil. You ******* killed me all the time and I thought I loved you. I was crazy back then, of course I still am and I have a note from a psychiatrist to Prove It, but I was crazy in a different way then and my jealousy was like a fever that ran through me all the ******* time. I had a dream about killing you, did you know? It was the second- or was it third? or fourth? time you cheated on me and flaunted it and I couldn’t sleep for hours but when the sobs finally left my chest I dreamt about ripping the muscles from your bones and plucking your eyes from your sockets and maybe you’d be proud of me because you always were a bit of a sadist. I think everyone has heard this story a thousand times before and I think most people can sympathize but that doesn’t make it one bit easier but I wish it did. When it’s a song everyone knows and can sing along to I actually get kind of mad because hey, no, it’s my story and I want it to myself. I want to feel different and special because i am an entitled teenage girl and that’s all I really want, im a baby and a child and i like being infantalized and i have ******* daddy issues but i don’t like to admit it because i want to be protected but i don’t want to be seen as weak. I know im childish and selfish but I’m allowed to be as long as I keep it to myself and it’s my own little secret because most people just see me with my smiles and empty eyes and there doesn’t seem to be a lot back there. You knew I was insecure and selfish and more like a little kid than a well-adjusted teenager but you said you loved me anyway. I remember now that you also told me a thousand times how much you loved my body and if I count the days since we met that’s like 3 times a day so you’d think i would believe you by now but i don’t because it was all a lie a lie a lie you lied to me about everything you lied to me about ******* megan but you did, you ****** her in a dressing room two days after you said you loved me again and when you told me it felt like having my heart ripped out because i was either in love with you or just ******* obsessed with you and i still can’t tell the difference.

Suddenly,
all the love songs
on the radio
were about him
and then
just as suddenly,
the radio
stopped playing
all those songs
replaced them
with heartbroken ballads
and yet,
they were still about him
he always had to be the center of attention

From your Father,
When I grew up I lived in a small brick house that was cold in the morning no matter how many times your grandfather yelled at the fireplace, the world never let him dream, he had to earn it.
You will never meet him.
You will never be the small reminders and the soft tug on the bottom of my sternum helping me sleep at night, I will give you string and yarn asking you to weave silk and save me from the winter.
Your hands will be overflowing with apologies, the sink will always be filled with water that looks like it is pulsing at an open wound, and the gauze from your mother's gentle throat is never going to stop you from leaking out how sorry you are.
I was not raised to be what you need.
I am not going to love you the right way.
When you are 7 I am going to tell you that the way you carry yourself isn't tall enough, for your 9th birthday I will give you a mustard seed and a pocketknife and will ask you to grow cherry blossom trees throughout our back yard and in all the pastures of the city, and cut each of them down the very next day, and THEN I will tell you how to be a man.
When you are 17 you are going to cry so hard that God mistakes your mouth for the trumpets that were used to tear down Jericho and when your walls come apart I am going to color your heart with footsteps leaving the room.
I will show you how to miss a warm shower, how to pretend so hard your head cracks and your skull looks
like the coldest bowl of tomato soup I ever gave you.
You will not see that this whole time I have been staining your windows to see things in a better light, even if it is not clearer in the afternoon.
This is my blessing.
From your Mother,
I was raised with ***** hands and the only person who I ever looked at in the morning and loved back was the sun.
Your grandfather taught me how to ride a horse, and cover up a bruise, how to scrub blood stains out of my white blouses, and a whiter conscious, and how to grieve.
Oh how he taught me to grieve.
You will never meet him.
When you are 10, I am going to write down all the sins of your father on a piece of paper, slit your throat with it, and tell you that it's just a papercut, I will show you that faith does not move mountains, it simply makes them smaller.
You will stand up, shake the dust off your knees, and learn to clench your fists without worrying who will hear you.
I will try, but I will not love you correctly.
When you are 13 I am going to show you that what you see is not always on your side, you can love someone harder than you can stab them, but people are going to worry about ****** knuckles before they take a second look at a bruised heart, they're going to forget which one is more important.
I am going to tell you to forgive them, and I will never truly mean it.
Maybe I am sorry.
I am going to flirt with death until it blushes so hard that the blood from it's cheeks flows down to it's chest and gives it a heartbeat.
I am going to make you understand that GOD needs you just as much as you need Him, and there is power in prayer, in the way God might not be worth as much when people aren't giving Him their attention.
I am going to help you need less of the world, but a little more from people.
Your words will be full and deep, but never your pockets.
This is my blessing.

if by senior year of high school
you are tired of your life
make mountains out of mole hills
cut ties with your best friend
because your ex nothing
kissed her on new years
blame them both
don't speak until a year later
tell him you made him
he would be nothing without you
fall for your friends
because you know it will never work
be needy
go to prom by yourself
pretend to rock it
then cry in your grandmas minivan before you leave
burn bridges with your friend group
for no good reason
other than
by senior year you are tired with your life
choose your college entirely on a guy
make sure he is boring
mediocre
and smells of trouble and mental illness
spend all summer trying to make him less boring
convince yourself he is perfect
move twelve hours away
because you don't want to know anyone
hate your roommate
but don't ever give her a chance
get way too comfortable with the boring boy
feel superior
because you're smarter
and you've partied more
steal adderall from the party
because that makes you look cool
give him all of you
mind and body
by that I mean
english papers and shower ***
ignore the signs that he's lost interest
force yourself on him anyway
cry to your friends back home when you're drunk
cry because you are twelve hours away
drink because you are twelve hours away
smoke to stop crying
smoke to stop drinking
don't eat anything
always take the stairs
walk the long way to class
never stop moving
******* are not enough to force up your self-pity
three fingers makes it a little easier
don't look at yourself in the mirror
you are still not good enough for the boring boy
take the blame when he snitches on you
do not fight for yourself
sleep with him again anyway
tell yourself "there is no sin too great"
this is what you wanted
because by senior year you were tired of your life