Insecurities and scars, well worn and in need of love.

She says the best thing I can do is have a
Safe space
A place that is just my own, a
Slot in the world where I fit
Safe and cozy like my favorite book,
Reading it until it fell apart.
The best part of the story was when he (all the characters always the same)
Doesn't give up and finds his forever friends, forever home.
I always wanted a forever home,
A place to be me.
The old She said the best thing I can do is
Stop the negative thought cycle.
Okay, let me flip that switch to off,
You know, I don't pay you to state
The obvious, or tell me impossible things.
I left Her.
The new She says to
Have a plan. Hard to do when your life
Is hurtling in 12 thousand directions,
Brains plastered against skulls and walls from the velocity,
Gasping for breath, panic attacks,
Need sleep, need food, neither look good -
But I digress. She says to stop making excuses
And to stop apologizing,
As if I could not express my sympathy to those
Who have to deal with it.
I'm sorry- sorry - not sorry.
And yet...
Some mornings I wake up and it feels so
Good
To not be who I have become.
I, like a miser, hoard the moments that don't
Hurt so much,
Moments of him, moments of me.
Strange, isn't it?
It aches deep down to be me, but I wouldn't
Be anyone else in the universe
I guess that's just life...
She smiles when I tell Her I'm doing okay
It scares me, like She sees that I'm actually
Drowning
In sorrow, in between my breaths
She says to take lots of walks, and I agree,
For once liking the cold bite of November on my face.
My birthday month is awfully dreary, but She seems
To like this time of year,
She says it is good for cleansing the soul,
Not sure I believe Her
She says to trust Her
Not sure I believe Her....

These dead stares across the shopping mall
Wouldn't I care if I could have them all
Fingerpainting these eyes
**** photos: camera shutter sighs

But her breath is morse code
And my words are falling
Her dial tone dilates
As her moans are calling

She fell in love with a filter
And I fell in love with someone's daughter
We took pictures in the summer time
And she threw them into the water

When she lies, her cheeks flush
She swears that she doesn't care much,
as she sits in her underwear
with a light grin and a heavy heart.

She felt her pulse by the bed light
She was sad that she was alright
I watched her paint her dad on fire
while holding infant her.

I heard the window shatter
She never said what was the matter
I found her on the driveway,
broken like a family picture frame

*** a couple times with your hand that
    has one vein popped up over the knuckle. sheets crinkle
    laundry sits in the small humid room.
    smells like roadkill and peppermint,
    like christmas eve with dinner down the toilet.

you've *** four times in an hour,
rubbing at yourself through your underwear.
don't touch skin. it's off limits today.

getting raw means you can feel
how it stings when you cross your legs.
it's not about pleasure. it's the reminder:
   you want to know what you look like,
   what you feel like.

next time you're ******* down some boy you ask him
"how does that feel?" he says "good."
            quick kiss, his ****** is archaic and copper.
            you like how it tastes. now it's your turn:
but of course he won't make you *** unless
you take your hand and rub while he *****,
your hand a barrier between his body and yours.

          "please be quiet," you say out loud
the boy furrows his eyebrows, "i didn't say anything."
you laugh, "no, my stomach."

pretend to *** for a faster exit.
give him a tiny maternal kiss.
let it linger out the room where it's cold but he's still warm.
you don't want a warmth you have to love because it's too much.

the scab on your neck is now a scar
       and you have no make-up for the ones on your forearms, but
       really, most of you by now is star dust and tobacco leaves.

               the sun is in our eyes. i want to know
               what makes a circle go on forever.
i think about ****** a lot.
dreamt two nights ago chris sold me some,
it was in that tiny wax bag with a "king ******" stamp .
when i texted him the next day said "i dreamt
we did some together," he said
                 "that's funny. i've been doing some definitely
                  but not really selling."

     the Chicago cold does something odd enough to you.
it always seemed like you were alive as a kid. well,
were you?

               where is your body? out in the storm.
                are you a ghost? no, it would be nice though:
                    the lack of responsibility of life,
                                    a state of impermanence.
    it would be nice.

When you like someone everything changes, doesn't it?
It's as if the rules don't apply.
Your turn offs fade away and you don't quite understand why.
You start to notice the little things,
Like the way they their eyes squint when they smile.
Or how their hair is always a mess,
Or how beautiful their awkward laugh is.
You see the best in them when everyone else sees the worst.
You look at them with that lust, a desire,
A beating in your heart screaming kiss me.
But until that happens all you can think about is how they're going to taste on your lips,
How your sheets are going to smell once they've left,
And how your heart is gonna skip a beat every time he says your name.
Some would call it an infatuation,
I'd just call it a crush.

There is something so wrong
About a crush. An invasion of privacy,
They never asked to be trapped inside
My skull,
Their name rolling silently on my tongue.