you are not delicate.
when your flesh bruises, when your bones break, when your head aches, when your lover leaves, you will carry on.
there is a reason tears do not burn skin.
your muscles were made to lift your heavy heart and leaden legs.
you were made to carry on.
so when he tells you "i don't love you anymore," your bones will not allow you to collapse, your muscles will carry you forward. there is a reason your eyes are in the front of your head. don't look back.
you will not break.
you are not a cheap manufactured toy.
you are an exquisite human being hand-crafted by the likes of god.
your weak joints cannot be snapped.
you are made of blood, sweat, and tears and you are resilient.
your heart will not break. the average human heart heart has over 2 billion beats in it. until you are old and wrinkled, your heart will be there, ba-thum, ba-thum, reminding you that yes, you are alive, you are so alive.
your bones don't break on a nightly basis.
a force of 1,700 pounds per square inch is required to fracture a femur, and yes, i know his words felt like punches, but your ribs are quite alright.
i know that your past sits on your shoulders, i promise that you were made to bear its weight.
your heart strings are made of solid steel and though you may not have an iron grip, you learn to catch the curveballs. i promise.
so no, you will not break.
you are not delicate. you are strong, you are beautiful, you are unique.
you will not break.
you will endure
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
I just can't ever explain why
Every time i'm with them, I cry
But these aren't tears of fear or sadness
They represent my happiness
Tears of joy if I may say so
I can't even imagine them as a foe
When i'm with them
I feel so alive
Wont even use my revive
I can't afford to lose them
I just want to be with them
They fill my laughter with glee
I'd be so sad if they ever flee
Please stay
I don't want to be left at bay
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Onetime I let a boy inside my ribcage
I warned him upon entry that the path to the space between my lungs was a oneway ticket
that I had never smoked a cigarette,
but the walls inside me were tar-filled
and sick
that sometimes my heart failed to beat with my brain and instead fell into
perfect
uneven
synchrony with the faucet
where I threw-up cherry red the other night.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife inside my ribcage
and I had seen the knife
and I didn't care
he climbed inside me so gently
like he belonged there and was just taking his place
like a missing *****
he made me his home
reassembled my insides
vital pieces of me now resting on his body,
depending on his body
one hand on my heart
the other on my throat.
Onetime I let a boy with a knife and a bottle of bourbon live inside my ribcage
he cleaned the tar off the walls
but didn't cure the sickness
I think he liked the smell of it.
One night he carved his name everywhere
spine
clavicle
esophagus
and I pretended to sleep
cut
nick
slash
he tried to claim me
he tried to clean me
but lost souls can't be claimed
and I'll never be clean enough
my heart follows faucets
not boys
and that scared the boy
so one night he poured the bourbon down the throat he held
and I didn't stop him
and I almost drowned
gulp, gulp, gulp
slash, slash, slash
cursive illegible sorry's
over every spot he had once cut his name into
and he kissed the wounds
and I woke up heavy.
Organs are worthless without their host but
Onetime I watched a boy tear his way out of my ribcage.
Knife and empty bottle in his place,
nothing's been working right in there since.
I haven't let anyone in there since.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC