I have this fear.
I live under its control.
I follow its instructions to the letter.
I avoid its anger and shudder at its mere presence.

I want to reach out and grow,
but I am trapped by glass
walls custom-made for me.

Sometimes we wanna make something.
But we really just want to cry.
Maybe creating tears is still creating.

Creating love,
Creating light,
Creating dark,
Creating night.

Maybe what matters more is the fact that
there’s a product rather than what we produce.

Everyone gets tired of me at some point,
Then eventually, they’ll leave. They all do.
Sometimes happy memories hurt the most.
The way you look back and see the hints.
Those little moments that reveal everything.
I constantly feel so ******* unwanted.

Bite my lip, make it bleed.
Not a lover, it’s just me.
Tearing my skin
Bleeding begins.
The blood cries like I do.
On lonely nights,
Blood on my lips.
I start to slip
Into a haze
That lasts for days

New beginnings are in order.
It’s time to start again.
Begin a new chapter.
Make a new friend.
Don’t close the book.
Don’t call it an end.
You are only getting older.
You will not break if you bend.

I’m losing myself every day.
I’m tired of fighting these battles.
I want to be fought for for once.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone
Is glad to have me in their life.
What’s so wrong with me?

‘Love yourself,’ they say.
How can I reach that goal when
I am the monster under my own bed?
I inspire panic and hesitation in myself daily.
How can I love someone I’ve feared for so long?

knowing you are gone
is a blessing from above

because my wide eyes
are not unlike the others

they shimmer with hope
and naivete like a dove

but that hope, your evil
heart only smothers

For you, a hand-made mother’s day card
For you, curiosity about your hobbies and interests
For you, endless forgiveness and grace
For you, tender, loving care during dark moments
For me? Abuse, trauma, and manipulation

Trapped in paper. Printed. Copied.
Repeated for generations to read,
though few will know the words.
Captured on a page. Do they cry?
Do matching tears fall from both
the reader and the read pages?

Pitchforks torment us all silently
Ghosts in their sheets and the devils
Lingering among the Halls
It is full of strangers
A strange emptiness
The bleached white walls
This strange place
Is not
Death

You sometimes think you want to disappear,
but all you really want is to be found.
I wasn’t wanting a specific answer.
What I wanted was to know.
Let me find you.

You have me on a string.
Like a leaf caught in a stream
You drag me along
You are my song
An aria I sing
You have me on a string.

I swear he’s an angel.
His wings bring him
down to Earth slowly.
They spread out,
reaching across the blue sky.
His white feathers create
the silver lining on the horizon.

There’s a reason why I keep it all inside.
Loving you was the most delicious form
Of self-destruction I have ever tasted.
I don’t want to write about you anymore.

What makes a tragedy?
A hero in the wrong story
A child in the wrong household
A man in the wrong marriage
A woman in the wrong family

“We don’t claim this one.”
“Well, then we will! He’ll be one of our own”
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch us! You didn’t want him.”

Beginning are opportunities
For failure.
And flight.
Endings are opportunities
For darkness.
And light.
But you are an opportunity
To set my
heart alight

It’s time to begin something new.
Something small that never grew.
It’s time to bury something old.
A long story far overtold.

Uphill battles may be ahead,
but they are also behind us.
Do not follow Sisyphus’s footsteps.
Reach your goals and be complete.

Your questions
So carefully
Selected

Like bullets
In a gun
You loaded.

Bang bang bang.
They only stop
When I am dead

It’s funny
The way I
Stop breathing

When I see
You. Your face
Beautiful

Not even
A gasp can
Escape me

No bars on the windows.
No locks on the doors.
No reason to stay here.
No way I’m ever leaving.

Surrounded by beads and notions,
she creates with no hesitation.
She is struck, like lighting,
by the fires of creation.

I liked me better when
you hated yourself.
Now that you have found
beauty, I have lost my own.

I’d like a coffee.
Which is strange,
because I don’t like coffee.
I don’t feel like myself today.

My handwriting is poor,
but the words I have to say
are rich with meaning and care.

Profundity is found
in the simple, everyday
occurrences that our
human brains apply
immense meaning to.

Loud head. Silent mouth.
Loud thoughts. Empty words.
Loud pain.
Screaming, deafening pain.
Numbness.

You spoke about constellations.
But you’re just a black hole.
You ripped me to pieces,
And swallowed me whole.
You were all-consuming,
And I was the starless night.
In the end, we now know,
Two voids don’t make a light.