I want to catch my daydreams as they try and flee, and tie them around my wrists so I can carry them with me.

I will tie them with the pink thread from the dress you loved to watch me twirl in after church, in the basement.
It will be a relief to watch the wind hold those memories rather than holding them in that part of my brain we don't talk about.
It will look pretty, and light.
Maybe I will feel pretty, and light.

Either way these things I see running through my head are stuck with me as long as I keep the threat tied tight,
I will look past that pink string and into the thought of living a life where I am the bird on my arm and the child inside me.

We fly together and we are free.

Somehow you have managed to grow into this body that is made up of all of these small things that fit together in the most distracting way. When you sit close to me I can feel the static from your skin and I always brace myself for the shock, but for some reason you just absorb it or something and I'm left with my shoulders tense and this weird, phantom pain in whatever spot you were closest to. Sometimes when I think about you I get this random heartbeat that comes from a spot inside me that really shouldn't have a heartbeat. It's like you scrambled me inside and out and head to toe, but it still totally works and somehow my organs keep me alive like they haven't moved from their original spot. Sometimes I just can't wrap my head around how you feel so light and it's so constant that my brain just goes into this overmedicated kind of fog and I have to blame it on some conspiracy theory like, this is the Truman Show and I've just been conditioned since birth to end up here, that it's just a script. Love can be so easily created and that means I never have to lose this.

I wonder if you ever feel this about me.

I think I could be this for you too, you know. I am really likeable I think and I'm not scared to jump off the cliff if that's what comes next.

I'll meet you at the bottom.

I often take the time to write out something that feels like the old me
Who is sad and kind of cracked.
The one who made the wrong decisions because that's what she knew to do.
Because feeling sad is what I grew with most of my life.
Feeling a little hollow was supposed to be permanent and sometimes
When I look at how my life is so warm now, and every part of me that used to be empty is now filled with flowers and roots and so much green.
It's nice to breathe in a little of the cold I used to feel day after day.
Maybe I still do it to know that if
All of this falls apart like I often expect it to,
I could go back there and it would be as if nothing happened.

I'm the easiest to read,
My eyes hide nothing.
You can look through each of my ramblings in the form of a poem
And you'll always come to the same conclusion.
I am nothing but well carved out puzzle pieces of the past, filled with bodies and shattered hearts, faked *******, memories of hands, pictures of how to let go and finding a strangers strand of hair wrapped around my fingers and tucked into my clothes.
So I never forget.

I think about it all the time.
What is it like to see me through someone else's mouth?
Do you ever smell something that brings an image of me to the front of your mind,
And it takes you days to shake it off?
Do I feel familiar, ever?
Sometimes it's nice to think about it like that and feel sure of your ability to connect with people.
Your intuition is strong.
You know when the feelings are there and when they aren't.
Also so,
So,
Good at following someone else's lead.
I'm the prettiest mirror
I always smell soft
And when you say "Lets"
I say "Yes".

I wonder if all the people I ever touched think of me
And I wonder if those thoughts ever actually resemble who I am.
Do I even know what that is?
Not really.
I've set hearts on fire
And breathed air into so many lungs
And I wonder if the way they live their life now is at all attached to even a small memory of what I felt like.

Why am I so obsessed with making sure I disappear into whatever I can find out there.

I don't even like you.

Sometimes I forget in the moment that at the end of the day when I've spent every spare minute trying to distract myself with another human, I will feel the most empty I've ever felt, even more than the day before.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living in groundhog day,
But not the one with the warm kiss at the end where the people leave connected and have learned how to love again.

It's always the one where I just end up smaller than I used to be, and I can never make enough noise so that the person next to me actually hears it.

I wake up every morning saying there is worth here somewhere in this body and it takes only hours for me to have fully rejected that ridiculous notion that somehow I could have ever been of value.

I like to take my time studying your face whenever you forget I'm around.
The way you push your hair back sometimes out of frustration
And the way your shoulders tense up when you can tell I'm watching you again.

I think the whole point of the way I pour myself into your body until there's nothing left,
Is just to escape for a bit.
If all of me is inside of someone else,
I don't have to feel the feelings or be overwhelmed by the weight of whatever obsession has burrowed its way inside my head that day.

I like to feel nothing.
And you like to feel everything.

We are made for eachother.

I could offer you both my arms and a leg and you would still ask me for my lungs.

I often wonder when you'll have enough pieces of me, so I can start to feel whole somewhere.

When everyone she loves most is in bed fast asleep,
She silently opens the door and walks softly down her steps
Until she reaches the end of the concrete.
She breathes in,
And it's crisp and clean
As it fills her lungs.

She looks straight ahead,
At the home that's been built out of her bones she had to put back in place and the hair she lost when she grew those babies inside of her,
and the blood she drained out of her veins to sign the paper that suggested there was another way of life
Somewhere deep inside the center of her journey to her earth.
To the core.
When she had already signed 30 other contracts,
Swam across 30 oceans and sank every boat.
Flew over deserts, dropping petals into the sand so she could find her way back but they never seemed to stick around.
Walked across the empty highways always hoping to run into real life but instead found sticks and stones, and broken bones.

And she weeps.
Into her hands.

Because this was never supposed to be hers, but it turns out that no one ever knew what they were talking about,

And sometimes
Future is choice.

Sometimes I take the time to crawl up into the attic and help my brain clean up the clutter.
But going through the piles and piles
Of these sentences full of big feelings,
It's like I am reading someone else's diary and I end up feeling...
Connected.
It scares me a little.

My teeth are sharp but I don't know how to use them for revenge.
So all they do is cut up my mouth and it's getting to the point where I can't even talk, because all that comes out is a whisper and blood.
You just look away
Put your hands over your ears
And I'm left standing there
Naked for the entire world to see
Looking like I just lost a battle.
Am I fixable at this point?
Or do I just continue this routine that was written for me where I am going from empty to angry to desperate to nothing.

I secretly love that who I am includes more than one personality.
My passion is undeniable
And my heart will feel
Every. Single. Thing.
I love that I am fragile
And also bold,
Ready to speak up before my brain can argue that it's what I should do.
It's messy and even when it's quiet
It's really hard to pull yourself away
Because you're thinking at any minute
A new thing will happen.
And the new thing might not be exciting or even pleasant.
But it will always make you feel something.
Sometimes I will set my glass heart on a shelf that is missing a ***** or two,
Or balance it on a ledge
Just to see if fate is paying attention
And give myself the thrill of not knowing if I am going to break today.
I think I like the excitement and the pain of putting myself back together,
Because everytime it comes out a little different.
When I die I can tell the people in my life that I have loved them as many different people and that it is more powerful than anyone else who will give them that emotion.
My love is magic, excessive, everywhere and expressed in different ways depending on what skin I was wearing then.
And that makes me feel strong,
And special.

If I eat the edges of the toast first and then the middle then there's no way I will feel sick after.
If I wake up and wash my hands and then eat a muffin that I've carefully separated the top from, and start with the bottom first then my day will be successful and I will have to make good choices.
And if I make the kids lunches the night before, then make sure I put them in their bags by 8:15 their days will be uncomplicated and safe.

Aren't these rules that everyone knows?

I like when it gets dark and it's quieter in the hallways, you can hear your neighbors TV softly drowning out the creaks and the groans and the whispers of your body as you slowly relax.
I'm not sure if my mind moves faster or if I can just hear it better because everything around me is moving slower as the minutes go by.
Either way the speed of the thoughts isn't what makes me feel unsteady,
It's the fact that they start in one spot and up back at you.
I don't even fight it anymore.
They move across my brain like it's routine now.
It makes me forget how to breathe in a  normal pattern
And makes my stomach feel like it's filling up with cotton.
Somehow I always end up back at the beginning and I say good night.
Goodnight heart.
Goodnight memories.
Then I turn off the light and close my eyes to get enough rest so that I can do the routine again tomorrow.

I don't want you to "like" me
I want to invade you, so you can't think of anything else but the way my mouth looks when I speak.
I'm warm, soft and my eyes say "come closer".
Feels familiar, almost, right?

Most people when they are asked what they want to do for a living will respond with things that are painfully normal and expected.
But for some reason I always knew that I'd spend my adulthood going from body to body, from heart to heart, making sure that each one gives me a piece of them that will change how they live the rest of their life.

I'm meant to do this, you know.
I'm your dream girl
I like metal and I want a white picket fence and let's start a business together, partners right?
Yeah totally I like that podcast I listen to it all the time. ​
I know how you take your coffee,
And that you don't like it when people don't tip their servers.
I indulge every detail of your core.
I'm your girl. I am you.
We are the same.

I'm the keeper of your secrets and I speak your body's language in a way that sends you into another world.
Pleasure never existed before me.

You let go and you will never notice that sometimes when you are laughing or enjoying my body or talking about something you love,
I peek out from behind the wall and secretly wish that you'd notice.

Everything about this body is wrong.
It hurts underneath my teeth
And my skin is someone else's.
I feel trapped and no one hears me.
Why do I feel like I am speaking an entirely different language than you?
If you could just be still for a little while maybe I could remember which direction I drove here in and actually make my way out.

Why do I continue to pour from my empty cup when everyone has warned me not to.
If someone asked me to jump off a bridge would I do it?
Maybe.
If someone dangles some temporary validation in front of me
I break out into an instant jog.
I am a tool used to boost egos
And heal wounds.
No one notices I'm just taking them and wearing them as my own.

And I am so tired.

The bones are breaking.

Sometimes when I'm all alone
And my heart has quieted to a whisper
You can hear them creak and groan
Like an old ship
That's carrying too much
And has crashed one too many times

It's okay to let your mess pour out over the loosely drawn walls you've placed around yourself,
An attempt to be safe feels good for the heart.
And even though it feels as if
The entire world is looking at what exposed itself,
It's not even true.
The only people who can see it
Are the ones who love you
And can clean it up everytime this happens.
Mess isn't shameful.
Mess is human

It hurts when she screams for attention
Because her reason is always
Something that I spend my time
Trying to run from.
Her sweet face.
How does she hold all that hurt behind it and not give it away.
What a smart girl.
A smart, clever
Loved
Beautiful girl.
Don't worry my baby.
You can rest with me for awhile

I was set on fire.
I don't really understand how
A memory is so powerful still.
How many more years does it need?
I daydream about being a person
Who can enjoy every touch
And not have to be prepared
For what reaction might
Escape my body.
I've read all I can about this
And still when it happens
Every thought and affirmation
Is blurry and reading it is impossible.
And even after writing this out
It still burns too ******* much
And all I can think is
Run
Run from yourself
And this body
And the memories it holds
And the poison it injects into your veins
Everytime you think you're well and
This time the sensation of being touched won't feel like you're killing yourself

There's something inside of you that screams my name so constantly it's all that's in my head lately.
A Call for connection, maybe.
A connection that sits in the front of our brains begging to be focused on 24 hours of the day, greedy attention seeking touch starved intensity that you feel so deeply inside of you it's as if your body turns into a soft current of electricity that brings our bones to life. The bones we never knew wanted to move that much. The bones that we thought were forever still and told us settling was comfort.
Comfort is the speed of which my heart leaps into your mouth saying devour me.
Comfort is your skin becoming my skin.
Comfort is nothing else but what we can never tell others, because explaining it would be so lacking in the actual feelings that it would be like the faintest breeze of wind. They would never see it. And it would change nothing for them.

A look and I breathe heavier. A touch and I melt down into dirt. Lips meet and I lose my place in reality. Anything more is just the most complicated song ever written. And we can follow along.

I was 10.
It's not my fault that when
My doctor compliments my hair
It send a tingle down my spine
And makes me feel on edge,
Alert and wondering if all men
Smell like him.

I was 13.
It's not my fault that my gym teacher
Likes to sit in the change room
With me while I try to skip class.
And he tells me I need to eat more to
Fill out my figure.
That I'll grow into a
"Beautiful young lady"

I'm 15.
It's not my fault the 23 yr old man
Looks at me and wonders what
I taste like.

I'm 17
It's not my fault that my friends dad
Tells her to invite me on every trip
And that one time I went too far
Into the lake and he had to come save me by holding on tight and grazing parts of me that made me feel small and quiet.
And wish I had drowned instead.

I know its wrong.
But it fulfills the
Need.

With every word that comes out of that sweet pink mouth I feel my body shrink, and shrink. Before I know it my vision is blurred, and my chest is just an open, bottomless pit.

And I want more. Do it more.
Let's move backwards in time
Until I don't exist.

I want to drown in a bucket of the pretty things I tell you to convince you that you mean something.
I want you to see that I'm so committed to your ego that I'm willing to get lost in it. And when you realize I've gone quiet it'll be too late.
Then you can sit there wondering where all those open wounds came from.

And realize it meant nothing.

My bones are melting into my skin and disappearing as every inside thought exists less and less. Every hope and effort I put into becoming more for you is leaving me and I don't understand how this is something I'm expected to cope with. I can feel my joints start to tingle and they turn into sinewy strands barely keeping what's left of me together. I want to feel again.

She sets sail in her sailboat hoping that these winds will take her to a new ocean where someone will look at her and say "oh. We are the same"

I am drowning in other people and none of them will throw me a rope.

The girl in the mirror looks like someone I met in another lifetime,
I forget almost everything about her.

I am a haunted house
Buried deep, in the thickest of forests
Hoping that no one will ever discover me.

I can feel the sun here.
It warms every broken wall,
Every dusty, moss covered corner.

It doesnt matter what words I tell you in that moment, trying to show you what you're missing while simultaneously trying to fill this bottomless ******* pit of emptiness in my chest -
It doesn't matter.
You don't know me
And I hate everything about you.
This is nothing but a way for me to prove two things:
I am everything they told me I was.
You are everything Ive ever known
In a man.

Ive complained about the material this blanket, that I stitched together, is made out of - without realizing it was my choice all along.

Limb by limb, she swallows me whole.
Its quick, and I feel nothing.
The only peace I find is when Im being devoured.

I thought it would be cold and dark in here, but its the only place I manage to feel some warmth.

Which really, doesnt make sense. All she ever says to me is
"Better off dead"

Everywhere they touched me and branded me with their hurt,
You take your hands and pour them onto every inch of me
Saying the "Im sorry" they will
Never give me.
The "I love you" with meaning
And the warmth without the burn.

Summer rain and the first few drops that hit the hot pavement, thats been begging for a drink all day.
The sun and the way it hits my veins as we are driving through the city, windows down and trees above us.
Afternoon naps with just a sheet and skin.
Coming inside after a day out in the pool, smelling like chlorine and sunscreen. Rolling down that bathing suit, and climbing into bed wrapped up in a towel.


These things make me whole.

I often stare at whatever food I have infront of me and think to myself,
Why do people say we need to be fed when feeding myself makes me feel so weak and invisible.
When my insides feel empty is when I feel strongest.
The sounds that escape my belly are my war cry.
When she screams, she feels nothing.

You're it.

And I dont know if thats just my inner child talking or if its my real heart. Thats where it gets so confused. All of the time. So confused.
Am I just living out this deja vu script my family wrote out for me even before I was born.

Or is it love.

I always said love was freedom but that was the first thing I gave you and now Im left with nothing.

Love plus love doesnt seem to equal love, somehow.

I was never good at math.

I am not here to be your
Manic pixie dream girl.
Im here to live
And love you.
Im not an object for you
To pour your affection
And ego into.
Im here to learn
And thrive.
I dont know how to be
Your perfect woman.
I know how to be me.

My batteries have run dry and every store I go into tells me they're sold out.
I dont know what else makes this brain and body continue on living.

We were loud, flourescent and my heart never wants to let go of the good memories. Even when the bad ones sneak up and remind me that nostalgia is heartbreak all over again.

I never asked to be the person our family dysfunction ended with.
I dont want to be in charge of
"Ending the cycle"

Someone else should do it.

Im tired and worn down,
Losing layers of my own skin
Over all of your hurt
Is too much.

Theres a girl who lives inside my head
Who tells me what I should do
And when I should do it.
She managed to sew thread into all my joints without me noticing for years.

Now its too late,
Im all set up for the show.
Theres never an audience,
Just us.

Sometimes she puts down the wires
& we sit, she tells me all these things about what will make me feel better, and what will help her feel quiet.

And its true. She gets quiet.
But her actions get louder.

This skin and these insides squeeze too tight sometimes and I cant breathe anything but shallow breaths, that never seem to satisfy my lungs need for air.
These eyes and this heart seem to be sad all the time lately, and cant find a spot to sit comfortably to see out the window we used to spend hours living through.

Im tired. This body doesnt serve the purpose it used to, anymore.

Little k, you sweet precious being. I will tell you everyday till we die, how your worth is infinite and not determined by other peoples insecurities. Everyday you wake up and decide to continue, you win. Your heart has been broken and glued back together so many times, and Ive never seen anything more beautiful.

I have gone through these 30 years of life trying my hardest to seek out whatever destruction will push me down the farthest into absolute darkness.

And then there was you.

The mandatory coffee break that the law makers of love and heartache and stars floating around my eyes created so we can know what it feels like to float through galaxies and release the pressure of living.

The ache is familiar and terrifying,
All at once.

The emptiness is softer & more inviting than any bright, chaos free
Life I could possibly build.
Its not fair how they got to choose
What kind of life I could live before I even knew how to speak the words I needed, to convince them otherwise.

Its not warm anymore without it.
The steady drip
Always felt like a
Soft, repetitive musical note
Singing me into the clouds.

Sometimes when all of my memories and thoughts about you build up, my tongue feels like its too big for my mouth and the wind feels like needles. My brain feels like cotton and all I can smell is that very specific, heart beating too fast, stomach in my throat kind of scent of you. I hate it.

I cant find joy anymore.
I have looked under every rock,
And behind every tree.
Ive searched through fields.

I dont know when she left,
I just remember waking up one morning feeling a little emptier
And a little more lost.

Its been cloudy every day since.

I am simply a vessel for you
To feel
Important,
Controlled.
Strong.

My saviour.

Fear spills into me, and soaks through every ***** like ink makes its way through paper. So effortless. Without hesitating.
I wonder if healing will ever feel less like dying.
Ive inhaled so much poison my lungs are nothing but corrupted flesh, Ive set fire to my stomach hoping that it will **** whatever is in there, eating me from the inside out.
None of it works.