It rained and poured, and I drowned
A sunken heart, a suffocated heart
They warned me
But I listened to only your voice
Your soothing voice amid the raging storm
It was bliss, the cigarette I swore I’d never smoke
Alas here I am
the person I have become
A stranger
Broken down,
pitied
Devoured by your past
But a remnant of the ash you discarded

I think
I'm no longer scared of La Llorona
no longer afraid of vast forests
no longer terrified of the dark
no longer wary of dimmed staircases
afterall
I'm not a child anymore






so why does the shadow in my
closet feel so real?

I plan every argument and confession in my head
fantasize about every fleeting crush, every job interview, every friend
yet
I seem to get everything wrong

They say
be the protagonist
but I've never been popular
never been someone to admire
I've just been me
a side-character
an ignored friend
someone to push around, make fun of,
someone who is indisputably lost in their friend's story

That's me now
but
it won't be me forever

I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know

Wanting to cry for a life I've never known.
Wanting to mourn connections I've never had.
Wanting to feel heartache over pain I've never felt.

Why is so much of my life skirting by the edges of human existence?
Wishing for, hoping for, wanting a life like others
So close to feeling fully human
But maybe I am Pinocchio

Almost, but not
Quite.

me.gs

It’s the way my body looks in a mirror
my nose not small, not perfect
stretch marks splattered on my stomach
hips wide, fat on my tummy,
eyes not big, but brown and small,
Eyelashes short and lacking fullness
Never meant to be an Aphrodite

But it hurts more when I look at myself
not in a mirror, not in a photograph,
but more at my mind
the way it fills with anxious thoughts at the sight of men,
the way it constructs doubts and insecurities when I talk,

I’m an open book
But my pages are tinted with messy handwriting and crumbled parchment,
My words are muddled and chaotic and filled with every need to make myself a better person,

When I look into that mirror,
propped on a white wall,
I don’t see potential,
I see a flawed girl
trying always to be anything but herself