THE EXCUSE USED WAS THAT I HAD
WRITER'S BLOCK.

UNTIL I STARTED BEING HONEST
WITH MYSELF,

AND ADMITTED I WAS TERRIFIED
OF CREATING SOMETHING THAT
PEOPLE WOULDN'T LIKE.

I WAS TERRIFIED OF NOT BEING ENOUGH,

EVEN FOR MYSELF.

the girl who's wrists shoutout appreciation to her sleeves, never quite knows what to say when they fall down her arms.

but.

but.

but.

just tell me you're not just a little bit proud to wear your scars like badges displayed on the surface of your skin.

.

I don't write
poetry,
I write little pieces
of my heart,
hoping
they will
*touch yours

letting go is love too

He was my 911.
It was like, my heartbeat would speed up whenever he calls out for me.
I would always be ready,
ready to run toward him,
read to fall,
ready to plunge into danger,
ready to dive into deep waters
to get to him, to save him.
And in the end he'd always say with a smile,
"I knew you'd come."