“Remember
Remember
The fifth of November...”

Opportunity grew
Like a dandelion in a cracked
Sidewalk.
I had no idea how life would go on,
But ***** dishes continued
Getting washed,
Wind kept blowing,
And cups of tea
Still were made.

It’s only a couple of days shy
Of a year
Since I tried to
Take my own life.

It’s been the best year of my life.

There are still parts of that night
I don’t remember...
I do remember the days following.
How every
Single
Part
If my body
Just ached,
Like nothing I had ever felt before.
And it felt as if
Nothing would ever
Get better,
That I could never be
Better.

“Remember
Remember
The fifth of November,
The gun powder treason
And plot.”

But it did.

The feeling of being in way over my head
Has hardly ever gone away,
Yet things still keep being okay.

The world changed,
And I changed right along side it.

I woke up the morning after,
And I woke up a little more
Each morning following that one.

The decision had been so
Matter of fact...
“I am going to **** myself later tonight.”
I walked down the street through the crunching leaves.
“I have to remember to hug everyone when I say goodbye,
Because I am going to **** myself tonight.”
And the thought had been such a relief.
Imagining letting go,
Was such a relief.

And deciding to take my
Second chance
Was also
So natural,
And obvious.

I built a life
I like.

I made myself
Someone I wanted to be.

I took what I wanted to be an end,
And made it a new beginning.

“I can think of no reason
The gun powder treason
Should ever
Be forgot.”

I remember,
Yes,
I remember,
The fifth of November.

I used to be afraid
Of being honest.
I used to let people’s reactions
Completely rule me.
If it upset someone I loved,
Then I rearranged myself
To fit their needs.

But no more.

You, my love,
Taught me the difference
Between consideration
And fear.
You taught me how to see
The logical fallacies.
You gave me room to breath,
And you never accept,
Anything less than
Brutal
Truth.

I see the difference.
I’ve become the difference.
You showed me love
In a way
I never knew existed.

And the best part?
I get to share it
With you.

Every time
I am angry,
Every time
I yell,
I feel like I am failing.

I want to talk to the world,
And have it hear me.
I want to whisper,
And have it matter.

But I don’t matter
Unless I make myself matter.
You can’t hear me
Unless I make you.

You listen when I’m angry,
But every time I am angry
I feel like I’m failing.
Every time I yell,
I feel the crazy
Buried underneath
Surfacing,
And I punish myself
For days.

I want to matter to you,
In my silence,
I want to matter,
When I’m calm.

I want to stop failing.

I want you to hear me.

“It looks deep,”
I said, face turned up to the sky
Looking so high
I thought I would float away.
You held my hand,
And paced up and down the driveway
Trying to see every star and planet
Above us.
You were giddy in that way you get
When curiosity
Has taken over
Your body.

Two falling stars
Faded into the darkness
Like a deep sigh,
I pointed them out to you
Moments too late.

Two wishes,
All to myself.

And both of them were
Something beautiful and secret
About you.

I remember
When people looked at me
As if I
Were beautiful.

Today I needed to remember her,
The wild parts of who I used to be.

I needed to remember the self destructive taste
Of cigarettes and chocolate bars,
The feeling of body positivity,
Sexuality,
And funky fashion.

I needed to remember that I am angry,
Because I needed to remember why I am moving forward.

I let myself remember her today,
The wild parts
Of who I used to be.

The first sip of wine,
The first and last
Sentence
Of a book.

The ending and beginning note of a song.
Last words,
First words,
Gravestones and last meals,
Vows meant to last forever,
And whatever song
Is running through your mind
At two AM.

And your smile,
When you feel listened to.

When I drive,
And you get excited
About what you see out side,
Because you can let your mind wander.

When you put your fingers
Inside
The rips
In my predistressed jeans.

When you show me
A movie,
And watch me
With hopeful anticipation,
To see if I like it.

When you get all dressed up
In your favorite
Hawaiian shirt
Or flannel.
And that spring in your step
When you wear your black converse.

When you start falling asleep,
And your body twitches.
Then when you bury your face into my shoulder.

Hell,
You’re so cute,
I feel it in my gut.
It’s been a little while,
And you’re so precious to me.

I read pages and pages
Of my life from years ago,
And the realization
That was so alone
Was so loud.

Two years later,
Some things have changed...
But tonight,
Hell...
Tonight I shouldn’t have been alone,
But I am again.

The sky is a beautiful blue
Above this field of dandelions
Gone to seed.
I laid down in them,
And the soft puffy seeds flew around me,
I breathed them in
And they filled my lungs.
Now I can’t breathe
I’m suffocating,
And it’s so beautiful.

I built the dam holding back my crazy
With the only thing I could find at the time.
There’s a wall of twigs holding back the storming ocean inside me,
And they’re snapping in two.

***, when I wanted to wait.
SNAP.

“How can you eat that?”
SNAP.

“I cut you off because you don’t always have the best views, and I didn’t want you giving him the wrong idea...”
SNAP.

“Well the problem is black people...”
SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.

“It’ll be good for us to be apart more.”
SNAP.

“That’s you, shouting at the world because no one is listening.”
SNAP.

“I don’t know how you two are supposed to have kids when neither of you can accomplish more than one thing in a day.”
SNAP.

“I rearranged your bathroom counter.”
SNAP.

“Well I don’t want you to think this is okay when we’re married someday...”
SNAP.

I’m barely holding on.

I’ve become too used to you.
You can’t be my life,
You’re only a person.

My life is my own,
It’s not made of your love.

I must somehow face being alone
And be okay with it.
I have to embrace the nights that you aren’t here.

I have to remember
That when I cry on the bathroom floor
Until I make myself sick
No
One
Is coming.
No
One
Can
Hear
Me.

You told me once,
It was in the middle of winter
And we were driving home
In the truck that belonged to your grandfather
He had just died...
You told me that I was your resting place.
I told you that you are mine.

I don’t know exactly what I’ve become lately,
But it isn’t a resting place any longer.
I take up too much space.

I’ve been terrified of that
since I was a child.
Never having enough space to take up,
Being too much,
Or too little...
I can’t really find an in between.

You can’t be my life,
It isn’t fair.
I have to learn how to be alone again.
How to love my time by myself so much
I don’t want to leave again.

But I tasted what it was to not be lonely.
And I crave it.

That dark thought is always
In my head.
Like an air bag ready to go off,
A “just in case.”

It’s the words that function
As padding in a cell
I’ve trapped myself in.

“If it gets too hard, I don’t have to be here.”

I give up a little piece of me
In my moments of anxiety.
Then take comfort in the idea
Of murky dark nothingness
To take the edge off of the pressure.

I close my eyes,
And succumb to the darkness,
Letting myself
Float above my body,
And away from worry.
Or, as the experts call it,
A depression nap.

People keep telling me they’re worried about me,
But they don’t actually try and do anything about it.
Saying it to me makes them feel better,
And we’re all so incredibly selfish,
That’s all they’re after.
So they worry at me,
And I nod, saying something polite...
And they feel better.

I’m not completely oblivious,
I know the signs
When I’m emotionally crashing.
I understand when I can hear the constant background sound of a
car wreck
Inside my head
That there’s something
Wrong.
I know I’m crashing right now.

Every time I try to dig myself out
I find a new reason.

Wake up,
Brush teeth,
Don’t act to sad or it becomes the discussion of the day,
Go home to an empty house that’s filled with holes meant for people who are gone now,
Brush teeth,
Go to sleep,
Rinse and repeat.

Stop making decisions
You know are bad.

Every fiber of me cried out
In that moment,
“You don’t want to drive away,
You just don’t want to hurt him with the dark thought that took up your headspace last night.”
But that only made me cry harder,
And drive faster.

I want to fly away
On wings of disassociation.

Dunk my head under sunlit water,
With my eyes wide open,
Breathe in the perfect blue water
And watch the shimmering colorful fish
As I lose consciousness.

I want to float into the sky,
Have the sun turn my skin pink
As I float higher
And higher
And
Higher
Up into the stars,
Until I reach the blank black space beyond,
And can no longer fill my lungs.

I want to lay on the mossy
Forest floor
And feel vines wrap around me,
Plants take root inside my carcass,
And moss cover my skin,
As the plants claim me.

Most of all,
I want to tell someone,
But I don’t want to admit it.

I have a workshop,
With a circus of colors
To preform and entertain.
Sheets of stained glass
In every color
Only limited by my imagination.

I cut the pieces in curly shapes
And faces,
Into smiles and frowns,
Into leaves or flowers.
Slowly
Arrange
The perfect picture,
Then stand back to look at my masterpiece.

I can never take my eyes away...
Sunlight bringing it to life,
Lighting the reds
On fire,
The blue turns to water,
The faces are are angelically glowing,
And I can’t stop looking,
I’m so lost in the picture...

I can’t see the world through it...
I forget there’s a world through
It,
It’s so beautiful,
Everything I ever wanted...

CRASH.

A hailstorm crashes through,
Shattering the glass,
And the hell storm
Out side blows where the beautiful
Manufactured image once stood.

I find myself a home,
And I fill it with stained glass.
I refuse to see anything around me
Except the picture I’ve dreamed into my reality.

And then the true reality crashes through,
It always does
Eventually.
Destroying almost, if not all, the wonderful things I’ve been so focused on.

I’ve found myself a home,
And I don’t remember building windows,
But the real world outside
Looks beautiful.
It’s full of flowers and leaves,
Sunshine and rain,
Faces with smiles,
And tears,
But no hell storm.

I know in the pit of my stomach,
That it’s going to be shattered,
And I don’t want to be caught off guard this time...
I want to catch it in my hands,
All the awful things,
And hold them like a struggling scared animal
So they can’t surprise me this time,
So I don’t feel like the stupid one
This time.

I’m wandering around
With a rock in my hand,
Going from beautiful thing,
To beautiful thing,
And trying to hit it with the rock,
Trying to break the illusion
Before I love it too much.
I may not remember,
But I must have built the image
In my wondrous workshop,
And tricked myself again.

But no windows are breaking,
And I’m shaking.

What’s wrong?
Why can’t I escape the illusion?

Because I haven’t realized,
Maybe it’s just a plain old boring window,
Not stained glass,
But reality.

It used to give me a sinking feeling inside,
A fear.
I would be happy, and my first thought would be that
Something
Bad
Was going to happen.

But not this time.

This time I know,
Something bad will happen,
And then that bad thing will end,
And then something good will happen again.
But it’s not the external events
I can’t control
That make me content,
It’s me.

And I’ve decided to be content.

I don’t envy the task
Set before you,
My love.
You’ve set out to love
An angry woman.

I’m never just angry with you.
I’m angry with the four men
Who’ve come before you.

I’m afraid you’ll leave because I’ve been left.
I’m afraid you’ll hurt my body
Because I’ve been hurt.
I’m afraid you’ll lie to me,
Because I’ve been lied to.

I have the fury
Of a daughter abused,
A high school lover
*****,
A recovering girl
Abandoned,
A runaway
Too drunk
To say no.

When I’m angry with you
Half of the anger
Was already there.

I don’t understand why
You choose to love me like this,
All I know is I’m grateful you do.
For that,
I will try my best
To forgive the men who
Have wronged me before you,
So that I can let go.

Two nights in a row
I came home to the panicked
Flapping of wings
In the garage.

A bird,
Crying and flying
Circling the garage ceiling,
With the door
Wide
Open.

I picked up a mop
Hanging on the wall,
Brandished it like a saber,
And ran in circles around the car
Trying to convince
The sparrow
That there was
A way of escape.

Panicking,
Crying,
Flying
In circles,
And all you have to do
Is leave.

This is a message
To the me
That has been left
Switched to “on”
For what feels like
Too long.

The me
Who’s held a lot in lately,
And is afraid to release.

The me
With the noisy engine
Left running.

The me
Who is frustrated and tired,
But tries not to show it.

To the me
With the circuits whirring,
And the fan buzzing,
Yet still too hot to the touch
From being “on”
For longer than ever before.

The me,
Who’s head and heart
Are heavy,
Who sometimes feels ready
To give up.
But doesn’t.

The version of myself
Who’s smiled more
Than she wanted to,
And made more small talk
Than she thought
She could stand.

The me
Who doesn’t know
What she’s doing,
But is trying to keep
From looking too bothered by it.

To the me
Who’s been “on”
For what what feels like
too long,
Who’s batteries are drained
And doesn’t know how
To recharge.

You’re doing okay,
And I’m proud of you
Even if you’re tired.

People do talk,
And when they talk,
They ask me why I bother with you.

Because it stings
When I walk away.

My siblings,
Looking so far
Down their noses
The rest of us
Look small and insignificant.

I learned a very important
Lesson
When I almost succeeded
In committing suicide.

Suicide wasn’t about how I felt,
It was about how terribly uncomfortable
The attempt made everyone else.
How utterly inconvenient.

I lack finesse
And social grace,
I’m not particularly smart,
Or pretty
Or interesting,
And that makes me
Uncomfortable
For them.

I looked in the mirror
Last night
And made a detailed list
Of all the things I wanted to yell
At each
And every one
Of them.

Then it occurred to me,
Something amazing,
Fantastic even...
Something I should’ve understood
When I tried to tell people
I had been *****.

They
Don’t
Care.

I will destroy myself
In a million ways
To take care of people
Who won’t care about me.

I can throw love,
Money,
Everything
At them,
But nothing matters.

I told people I would’ve cut myself open for
That I tried to **** myself.

Not a call,
Or a text,
Or anything.
Nothing.
Radio silence
Fuzzy in my ears.

Because I don’t matter.
I’m not one of the important ones.

When I was just a girl,
And my face was being freshly painted
By puberty,
They each
Took a knife
And carved their names
Into the bottoms of my feet,
So it would always hurt
When I tried to walk away.

I made my own medicine,
Found the antidote
To the poison.
I’m wrapping my wounds
In bandages,
And I
Am walking
Away.

You were my dream
When I was sixteen,
And my nightmare
Three years later.
Every time I think
I’m starting to forget you
I wake up from a nightmare
Facing your
Cold
Blue
Eyes,
And
Hot
Hot
Breath,
And I know I can never forget.

A full stomach
Feels like giving up.

I finally figured it out.
Put my finger on the rotting tooth
That’s been causing me pain.
I’m all cut up inside
Because I’ll never be enough for them.

I’m a rain cloud today,
Low hanging,
Dark,
Heavy.
Full
And trying to release.

The hot water
Wrinkles my fingertips
And stretches my hair
Down my back
In a red waterfall.

My knees are tucked
Up against
My chest.
The water
Turned to the hottest setting
So it’s still warm
When it reaches me
Down on the floor.

I close my eyes
And pretend
It’s washing off
Everything.

Every painful bruise
From my high school sweetheart.

Every time Dillon
Pushed my head down his body.

The hard grip
On my hand
That Matt had
As he placed my hand
On his *******.

The sloppy kisses
Eddy gave me
On his sunshine soaked
Bed.

The kiss on my neck
James left
Without warning
In a public place
Where I felt like I couldn’t
Be angry.

Rob’s hands
Never
Leaving
Me
Alone.

But most off all,
The body
Of the love of my life.
If that
Could wash off
I could pretend
I never
Risked him
For a moment of release.

The water
Drips down my forehead,
And my closed eyes,
Catching in my eyelashes.

I want to be clean.

My body is terrified.
Clenched up
Hunched in on itself,
Terrified.

My fear tells me
To run,
Because if I stay
I’ll make everything worse.

But I can’t.

Because I won’t create a reality
That would make it
Impossible
For me to come back to you.

I may be terrified,
But I won’t saw off
My leg
Because of a fracture.

I won’t ever leave,
Because I will always
Want to come back.

I know the signs
For when I crash.
I know I’m crashing
Right
Now.

It’s time to stop
Pressing my face against mirrors
And judging each and every pore.

It’s time to stop
******* in my pulpy cheeks
Like I did when I was a young teen
To see what my round face would look like
If they shrank.

It’s time to stop
Doing exercises I find
On the Internet
That falsely promise to make
My ******* the same size.

It’s time to stop
Holding my stomach fat
In my hands
And picturing my body without it.

It’s time to stop
Sitting on the edge of my bed
And looking down at my thighs,
And moving them
To watch the disappointing jiggle.

It’s time to stop
Wearing men’s clothes
In order to hide as many curves
In my body
As I can.

It’s time to stop
Trying to change
Because I want to earn love.

It’s time to stop
Hurting myself
Trying to become beautiful,
Because I’m the only person
Who I can count on
To be truly kind to my body.

It’s time to stop
Doing things
I know are bad for me.

I found a piece of you
Stuck to me
Today.
Like a bee sting,
With the poison still inside.
Throbbing and itchy.

I used to walk
Down the street
With a smile on my face,
When I was young,
And foolish.
When the world
Felt safe.

“What if
I go back to who
I was?
What if I’m not as good..?”

You walked in on
The worst moment
Of my life,
While I was lying on a kitchen floor,
With all the pills in the house
Sitting on the counter,
Ready to be taken.
And you chose to walk the path
That led to loving me
Anyway.

If you
Need to be sad,
Or less than yourself
For a while...
If you lose your patience
And need help finding it.
If you get angry,
Or hurt...

I may push you
To be better again,
Just like you’ve pushed me.
But I won’t stop loving you.

I’m not in love
With the perfect version
Of you,
I’m in love with you,
And you have flaws,
And rough days,
Or weeks
Even years.
But I’m here
For the long haul.

As long as
You
Want me,
As long as you love me
More than you love
Your dysfunction,
I will love you too.

His mouth opens slightly
Releasing smoke
From the big cigar
To float away
Silhouetted by the small town lights.
Windows rolled down
We shiver against the winter air
Blasting into the car,
Puffing cigars
And holding hands.

My coffee got cold
as I sat and took
a big scary test,
that I passed all of,
except for the portion I failed.

I sipped the cold sweet latte
for comfort,
and the room temperature
liquid
washed over me.

It was snowing,
and the wet icy flakes
stung my face as I walked
to my favorite used clothing store.

I walked out again
with a luxurious pair
of twelve dollar jeans,
and a few shirts.
I splurged thirty-five
painful
dollars.

My now boyfriend
saw my ex boyfriend
walking the grounds of his college,
a rude text massage
and I knew he was there to stay.

Confirmation of my failed math test
echoed in my ears
as I talked to a very nice lady
on the phone.

Only a few minutes later
and the words of my mother
sound in my ears
telling me she made a mistake
again,
and I have to figure out
an insurance plan
on my own,
and she doesn't know how to advise me
either.

I cried into my salad
that I'm only eating
because
I hate my body,
and I feel like no one
can love me with it.

Cold coffee,
failed tests,
no money,
clothing that should be cheap
and was too expensive for me.
Worry
in every much needed expense.
Hunger in my belly
and hoping it will shrink.

It's just been a bad day.

We all slowly grew up.

Stopped sewing patches of fabric
Into our shirts
To hide our *******,
Replaced the Christian music on our shelves and playlists
With pop, and emo songs,
Or old rock and roll.
Toby Mac was slowly retired to the thrift store,
And some of us stopped going to church.
In some small way,
I’m sure it felt to our parents
As if Jesus had died all over again.

Our vocabularies changed,
The lists of things we wouldn’t do before marriage became shorter
And shorter,
Until to some,
They were non existent.

Alcohol became as regular
As morning coffee,
And ****
A little extra seasoning.

Self destruction
Instead of
Preserving
The purity
Our parents forced on us
From day one.

The door opened,
It flew open.
There’s something about a door being opened
That was closed your entire
Life
That makes you want to go in.

Easter outfits
And gold cross necklaces
Turned into tattoos
And nose rings.
We got out into the world
And discovered
That people who don’t throw
Bible verses around
Like confetti
Aren’t bad,
And the cautionary tales of our youth
Were something we wanted to try.

Red nail polish
Was considered promiscuous,
And now it’s a tame
Contribution to our wardrobes.
Our first tattoos
Made some of our parents cry.

No more
Sending us back to our rooms
To change out of
An outfit
Unfit
For church,
No more warning
About wearing colors
That are too bright.

I study verses
And wonder
What God thinks
Of his people dressing up
His dying son
Like a trick poodle at a circus.
Displaying him proudly
When he does what they want,
Hoping the crowd won’t notice
When he ignores
Their orders.

We all slowly grew up,
And I found my own faith.
A kinder one,
With a loving just God.

That summer
you were jealous
That I had found a yellow sun dress
with tiny blue and white flowers.
Yellow,
your favorite color.
They didn't have one left
in your size,
and you were angry.
Like,
actually angry,
and mostly at me.

I'm folding my laundry,
and a shirt I bought
a few months ago,
back when I still
cared
about your opinion
landed in my hands like a gold finch.
A gold finch
with bright white polka dots.

"I saw her a few weeks ago,
she said she thinks about reaching out
to you
sometimes,
and that you don't seem as if
you're in a good place..."
My old roommate shifted uncomfortably
in his chair across from me
as he said it.

"I'm good."

I am good.

And thinking about it
isn't good enough.
Doing it wouldn't be good enough either.
Because I like myself without you.

The color yellow
used to make me think
of your bubblegum pink hair,
and your taste in music
when you were having a good day.

Now it makes me think
of how seldom
the good days were.
How you picked yourself a part,
as well as anyone who got close to you.

Yellow once made me think
of sunsets and evening dog walks.
Of converse sneakers
and paper cranes.
Yellow made me think of the
best parts
of you.

Now my face falls
as I remember
how angry with me you were
because I had a pretty dress.
The poor girl
who never got anything
she didn't pay for
got a pretty new dress,
and you were angry.

You've lost the privilege
of knowing me enough
to talk about me,
but I know you're still doing it.

Eventually I'll stop writing
brokenhearted poetry,
and maybe you'll stop talking,
but I doubt it.

All talk and no action,
it was one of your worst qualities.
But now I'm grateful for it.

If you think
of sending a glowing text
my way,
remind yourself
of when I told you
I tried to **** myself,
and you hid from my face
behind your phone.
Why change now?

I like myself better
without you.

Something wicked this way waltzes,
Through the clouds of dust
And lazy warm sunlight.
Twisted with your breath
On my cheek,
Tangled up between your whispered
Words
In my ear.

Something wicked in your fingers
Holding mine,
Something dangerous in our closeness,
Something intensely painful
In your "love".

Something wicked in you comes,
So something strong in me
Helps me leave.

I sit, listening to you talk about
our hair brained scheme
to make me a writer.
All you do is support.

Every phase meets your unwavering love.
No fear in my latest poison being forever.
No scolding me
because you worry
I'll never get better.

Instead you proof read,
plan,
love,
and support.

Never do I feel as if my failure
would cause you to be
disappointed
in me.
Never do I worry
any success
would make jealousy burn
between your ears.

Instead you listen,
you love,
you cultivate.

I am not a thing to you,
I am a small sapling
you water,
and trim the dead parts off of.
I am an investment,
you already accept
an unknown ending to.

Whiskey kisses my lips,
and tickles the back of my throat
in friendly warmth.

My fingers are cold in the rented room I live in,
typing all feeling left in them into my laptop.

I am writing.
Writing hard about the things
that deprive me of sleep.

I am drinking,
just a nip here
and
there,
To trick my brain
into letting the truth escape.

She used to be the one
who was by my side
through all of my potentially
bad decisions,
but now it's you.

She was there through
bad haircuts,
tattoos.
piercings,
and daring outfits.

But she always held me back,
****** back the chain
and reminded me
that I can't just do things,
I have to be afraid first.

Now you
cheer me on,
and hold me
when it doesn't go to plan.
The decisions I'm making are better,
and I'm less afraid.

It’s a small town,
A Silhouette of an eyelash
On the horizon,
“Sneeze and you’ll miss it.”
It’s home to the bustling store
Where I worked.

He came in with his daughter
Some days,
He gets her on the weekends,
Sharing custody with his almost ex
Wife.
Dave, he’s tall at a telephone pole,
And he tries not to eat sugar,
He hates IPA.

This morning he came in,
And announced that anyone
Who tried to put structure in his life
He ended up leaving.

I like structure.
I like lists,
Things that match,
Objects having a home,
A balanced finances book,
And color coding.

When I was young
I coveted men like this,
"free spirits"
who come and go as they please.

I am still young,
but old enough to know,
I want more.

It’s easy for me
To forget the severity,
Until the tunnel vision,
The shaking,
And the vomiting
Start happening.

It’s easy to brush it off
And call it an old problem,
Just because the triggers
Are becoming fewer and farther
Between.

But they still happen.
They still hurt.
I’m strong,
And I’m fighting to gain control,
But losing it feels like failure sometimes.

I don't know that most people
believe me
when I say I've changed.
I took surviving my suicide attempt
as an opportunity
to try and never get to that point again.

I realized
how lonely
my body was,
with my heart so far away from it.

I crashed back into myself,
and felt the sting in every
nail bitten
finger tip.
Inspected all the sore parts of my body,
touched my temple
and let myself think again.

I've been walking around
as a body
with the rest of me dragging behind,
Because I wanted to hurt less,
but so
much
more
damage was done.

Yet,
it's still better to be back
and feel the pain
than it was to run away.

I tell people I've changed
but they don't know
that crashing back into myself
changed me so much.

I took what could have been an end,
and made it give me new life.

He’s beautiful,
Isn’t he?
And for once in my life
I feel as if
I may be on the right path,
Even if it happened by accident.

He kisses my hand
Every few minutes.
He lets me be
Whatever I need to be,
And he’s always there to open the door,
Or help me close it.

His room is a museum
Of curiosities,
They make me feel at home.
Like something inside him
Matches something inside me.
Every detailed interest,
Every phase of life
So lovingly given a home
And displayed.
I want to run my fingers
Down the spines of his books
For the simple pleasure
Of the feeling.

It’s the first time
I’ve felt calm,
The first time,
I fit in a family,

I’m not afraid of any
Monstrous part of him,
Only praying nervous prayers
That I get to keep him.

He’s my
Good decision,
My happy thoughts.
He’s my love.

Lips that had never been chapped
By liquor,
Or seasoned with smoke.
We had everyone to blame
But ourselves.

You had bubble gum pink hair
And a goody-good attitude
With a hidden mean streak.
I had choppy hair I cut myself
And an in your face attitude
With a hidden kind streak.

I rarely told the whole truth
And you were proud of yourself
Whenever you kept a secret
More than a week.

You told me best friends hold hands
By holding pinkies,
But when we got our first tattoos
We gripped each other’s five whole fingers,
Because if you’re going to make a potentially bad decision
You may as well
Do it wholeheartedly.

We walked dogs
And giggled about boy bands
It was nothing too unusual.

But I had a feminist agenda
And you wanted a boy to tell you
What to do.
Your mom always told us
We’d be happy when we have a man
To make the hard decisions,
And I never bought it.
You never objected.

There would be nights
I couldn’t handle
The sound of my phone vibrating
To announce your messages,
and I couldn't handle looking at them,
I worried if I didn't take care of you
that you would fly into a thousand pieces,
your messages were evidence of that.
But sometimes I still needed to sleep,
or breathe,
and I couldn't guarantee those things as your friend.

When the summer turned my nose pink
and brought freckles to the surface of our faces
we shared milkshakes
and giggles about boys.
We wore each other's shoes
and pajama pants,
did each other's makeup,
and wouldn't buy clothes
without checking in
on the other's opinion.

It was all so ordinary,
yet so abnormal
and painful.

In our early twenties
we starting drinking together,
and that quickly became
one of the only things I could do with you.
You didn't want to go out,
or talk,
or anything.
Just go to work,
come home,
drink,
and watch TV.
I had to be a part of that world
if I wanted to be your friend.

I wanted more,
and that's what killed our friendship.
I wanted more than everything
being your way.

I could blame your boyfriend,
because he was more important to you
than I was,
but it isn't his fault.
His only fault was not being able
to handle other people.

If you ever go looking for reasons why,
know I don't hate you.
I remember camping out in tents in your front lawn
and I know that I cannot do anything
but miss some of those memories,
but I needed more,
and less.

More friendship,
less dysfunction.

I didn't know how to rebuild it,
and I tried in all the wrong ways...
but I would've thought
that you'd still be there
if I needed you.

Who would've thought
that I would be the one
to fly apart,
but I did,
and suddenly you weren't there.
You couldn't look me in the eye.
You'd demanded my help for the majority of my life,
but all you could muster the courage to do
was send me a text,
a text that if I read between the lines properly
told me
that I wasn't your problem,
but you wished me well.

I think that's a good way to end it,
you got it right.

You're not my problem anymore,
but I wish you well.

Naked felt good
When my consciousness
Was just a kite
I flew far
Above my head.

The feeling
Of revealing
My darkest secrets
To a crowd of people
In a dimly lit pagan bar
Used to be the things
Fantasies were made of.
Because they didn’t matter.

The darkest parts of myself didn’t matter for a moment
Because I was so far away from the world,
So detached from myself,
That the adrenaline
Almost roused me to wake up
From my daze,
And the feeling was addicting.

I fell down from the sky.
I fell hard.
I came back,
Hardly able to walk
For a few days
It was such an impact,
And suddenly things matter again.

Strangers kissing me in the dark
Doesn’t sooth me,
It hurts to even consider it.
Because I was so lonely,
And it was just a glaring reminder
That I was so
Lonely and dissatisfied.

But you carefully unwrapped me,
Gently tugged at the folds
So not to rip the paper,
And you looked at the bare body inside.
I’m raw.
My skin is pink and burned,
I feel pain even at soft touches.
I left my body behind
For so long
I didn’t even know
The damage that had been done.

You run your hand
Along the curves,
The cuts,
And the bruises.
You kiss the dry
Cracking skin,
And I feel truly
Naked,
Vulnerable,
And released.

‘...You were the only choice.
She was something
I had to get out of the way
First.”

A gold lamp sat on his desk.
The paint had been rubbed off
on the angles and various edges.
When left on for too long,
it became hot,
untouchable.

There are things my mother
kept around,
I don't know why she did,
Such as the cracks in the walls
from being kicked too hard,
her bed frame
she claimed to have been
pushed onto
and then hit by his fists.
Or a lamp
that got too hot,
and needed a firm hand to twist the ****
that turned it off
and on
again.

There are memories of him
I don’t know why
I keep around.
His messy work desk,
His big powerful hands,
His booming voice.

I allow my mother room
To keep pieces of him
Because it’s hard to forget
A husband of over twenty years.

I allow myself room
To not forget him,
Because it’s hard to hate your father
Forever.