i think at this point i'm okay with being broken.
it's not that i want it,
i just feel like if you're always a dissapointment, you have nothing to lose.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
i don't feel anymore.
i don't feel the things i should be feeling,
like the sadness of grief
or the benign sense of self when you're passionate about something.
i don't feel grounded, i'm watching from the back seat
while my body makes mistakes my mind would never stand for.
******* up relationships,
******* up school,
******* up the little life i have left,
and i don't feel anything about it.
i want to feel, and so my fist slams into cement,
a dull throbbing in my joints arises,
adrenaline and anger are all that's there now,
if not only for a moment,
a second.
and i f e e l.
so i do it again,
and again,
and again,
again
again
again
A G A I N.
**** feelings.
why should i bother with these messy characters
making friends with my emotions
if i can't picture staying with them?
a girl who can't imagine making it through college
shouldn't be making connections that won't last.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 7:50 PM UTC
i always associated the colour scarlett with a brightness.
the love of valentines day or the blush filling one's cheeks on a chilly saturday.
scarlett meant life to me,
and i never thought it'd represent opposite.
scarlett was love.
scarlett was a heart shaped box of chocolates,
the sparkle of fireworks,
a can of cranberry sauce on thanksgiving day.
scarlett was optimism.
scarlett was a thank you card,
a bright balloon at a birthday celebration,
or the painted lips of a woman on a first date.
scarlett was never meant to be pain.
scarlett wasn't meant to be a sharp bracelet of numbness,
a sleeve of anger that melted into the floor,
or the cold emptiness that accompanied silver.
scarlett wasn never meant to be anger.
scarlett wasn't meant to be the screaming i hear in my head at night,
the holes in the door,
or the deep stain of aggression falling against my knuckles.
the first syllable seems to fit too well nowadays.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 2:18 PM UTC
stay.
four letters that can't take away the pain.
i am nothing but a voice aside from the ones in your head,
the ones telling you how small you are,
whispers in your ear,
they tell you you are worthless,
i tell you you are beautiful.
only you can choose who to believe.
stay.
the day you leave, your best friend will sit alone at the lunch table,
turning to the spot you once sat,
and their eyes will become wells of emptiness
a quiet sadness filling the place that you once were.
your best friend will start fading away, breaking into fragments,
and you have the nerve to leave them alone?
you say, the earth will keep turning,
but your best friend's world is crumbling more every day,
and soon it will fall apart completely.
because of you.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
when i was younger,
my mom would turn the mirror to me with bright eyes.
"look at my beautiful girl!"
she'd say.
her truth was the only one that mattered,
and so i'd smile,
crooked teeth and disheveled hair
because, well,
if she thought i was beautiful,
surely i was.
i'm sixteen, it's been ten years.
time has worn my confidence thin.
i can't look in the mirror anymore.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
its hard to write when your mind is empty,
like your brain can't put together the words right.
every time i glance at the blank page
i catch my breath,
and my eyes trail in and out of focus.
i don't know if it's out of frustration,
or whatever else,
but its like my head sinks below the water for a minute,
whenever i pick up a pen.
writing shouldn't feel like drowning, yea?
so why does it feel like drowning?
its hard to write when your hand isn't steady,
like its trying to run away from the words.
an unsteady hand is the enemy of poetry,
so i guess i can say that,
when people ask me
why i can't do the things i love anymore.
why my days are spent inside,
shades drawn.
maybe i can say that i can't see the notebook,
that's why i haven't been writing.
what i don't say
is that i don't
want
to see it.
these days, words weigh on my mind like cement.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
the scars on my knuckles.
the scars on my knuckles,
pink and raw and sometimes holding little white mountains,
in which the fingers of my left hand like to climb.
at each crevice a river of deceit forms,
a new story i create.
you see-
the scars on my knuckles were made,
in a battle with a sleek white polar bear.
we faced off on an arena of ice, bearing nothing but hands as weapons.
definitely.
my palms held hurricanes,
they destroyed everything in their path.
i won, of course, but not without struggle.
plenty of struggle...
the scars on my knuckles appeared,
after having fallen into a thorn bush.
furious needles scraped away my skin and left their mark.
it was a journey to rescue a soccer ball.
clearly i was a hero,
and well-
i had used my hands... as a shield to my face.
totally did that.
a wall has formed along the border of my mind,
keeping thoughts and reality at a distance for fear of war...
of scaring them.
knuckles holding a pink sadness,
a vulnerability,
introduced to me on a red night in november.
a clenched fist sang as it rammed its sorry skin into cement.
sea foam scrubs holding me to the ground,
restraint.
a jail cell made up of kind words and soft hands.
i'm sorry.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
if i took my life,
the clouds would continue to form,
and the earth would still spin like it always has.
every day,
millions of children would take millions of buses to millions of schools,
and no one would know my name or my story.
no one would care enough to try to learn it.
if i took my life,
they'd light a candle or two in memory,
but only for a day.
girls with fake tears would claim they cared about me.
i had never talked to them before.
still, they'd lie.
if i took my life,
every flower would continue to grow,
every tree would still stand tall.
every child would look up into their mother's eyes, just the same as always.
the world wouldn't change because of another death, another loss.
and i'd be happier.
happier than i am now, at least.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
if you’re on drugs for a while,
you start to forget how you started.
now, when the doc asks me how the meds are,
i always say “fine.”
"i'm losing myself, but i'm fine."
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
her face reminded me of winter,
beautiful and serene one moment,
cold and unforgiving the next.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 9:54 AM UTC