I was a flower. A beautiful blossoming flower, you made me blossom more. My petals were at their peak. You left and my petals withered away just like my innocence and self love did.

I will make the same mistake to let someone plant my seeds again, let me blossom, let me love, and let me fall apart so you can have a flower crown.

When you pushed me onto the bed, your hands roaming, reaching a goal, breath twisted with alcohol, shivered in pain, stood up, tried to breathe, tried to leave, kissed my innocence and left me feeling at blame. Scared in the school hallways, rumours ran towards me and away from you, police questioned me and watched you walk to class while I walked into an interview. “Did you say no?” Did I? No. You can’t talk when you can’t breathe.

The air is warm like the sand on the beach we walk on, my hand is rough intertwined with yours, like the words you speak to me, your smile is bright, like the light in my eyes when I look forth to see you, August evenings, January dinning, I’m in love with you and I hear you crying, let me hold on, let me keep these August evenings in my heart, don’t break my whole life apart, but if need be, leave me and break my soul into pieces of shattered glass, as long as these August evenings will so last.

It’s not just the song that kills me, it’s the way I listened to the lyrics while talking to you.

It’s not just the song that kills me, it’s the way I smiled when I heard it. When I heard it my brain turned those lyrics into your beautiful face.

It’s not just the song that kills me, it’s the way it reminds me of the pain you caused me. The heartbreak, the embarrassment, the pure anger.

It’s not just the song that kills me, it’s you.

You call me puppy because “I’m pouty and adorable.” But you say you’ll discipline me if I need it. Deep in my stomach your words always give me butterflies, I love you. -your puppy.

I remind myself of a flower.

I constantly grow, getting stronger, much stronger but then my faith and hope withers away. You were my water. I needed you or I felt sick, I dried up and died without you, but my seeds will be planted once again, just to die again.

If you had never met me, you would have never loved me, if I had never met you, I would have never loved you. If you never showed me those feelings of overwhelming joy, excitement, happiness and pure love, I wouldn’t be longing for you, I wouldn’t be longing for that feeling. I wouldn’t have known real love and so I regret, the love, the pain, and you.

Dad, you took you’re own life, because of your sadness, but like a disease your sadness will only get passed on, it doesn’t end, are you even gone? Are you talking to me when the lights flicker at 12 am? Is that you making me feel safe in the cold night, walking me home in the cold winter? You are not gone.

I am not bipolar and yet I am. I carry it with me everywhere. I am at the top of the slide, the breeze hitting my face along with happiness, whipping my hair around, lacing my whole being with joy and pure euphoria.

I slip, I slip so hard and fast, it hurts, everything hurts and I’m at the very bottom, too weak to move, everything is pointless.

I climb, more like fly to the top, it’s unexpected, more like I blasted there, maybe im stable but consequences are always definite.

Yes, I am fifteen, yes I’m young, but the pain? She’s old. The pain is old in a new soul, tossed through bodies of my family tree. I’m young and I’m old, my soul is fresh my agony is deep and withering within the depths of my mind. I will take every last bit of pain till the water is clean and my seeds are pure. I will take it all away so that you my future dear will never have to live this way.

I’m not going to make some ******* up and say that you haven’t hurt me more times than you’ve loved me. Instead I’ll tell myself how you really made me feel.
You your stupid smirk made me feel like a small child on Christmas Eve, it made me feel giddy and anticipation. Those types of feelings are the ones that I loved, I loved when you’d lay your head on my shoulder, during parties you’d stick right with me throughout the night, held me close. I loved those moments but those moments that you called me down, called me names and made me feel worthless, those are the moments that I would go crazy for just to have one more good memory. I fell for the guy that picked me up after you pushed me down, I fell for the guy that told me things nobody else will ever know, I fell for the guy that begged for my affection and attention as if I was a queen. You played tug-of-war with my feelings, my heart. You pulled me down then right back up. You made me feel alive and full, you made me feel rebellious, but now you make me feel empty, please come fill me again.

Is it bad that all of my poems are about the way you hurt me?

Is it bad that now you want me again?

Is it bad that I never not wanted you?

Is it bad that even though you caused me so much pain, I’m willing to throw away all the progress and countless hours of picking the broken pieces of my heart up?

Is it bad that im willing to let you come back to your place in my heart even, when I know you’ll leave it empty again?

Do you ever just think about death? Like it can happen anytime anywhere and you don’t have any control over it but yet you do?

I am a tree, I am planted, trapped, stuck, but my leaves are swaying, leaving, dying.

My leaves are my happiness. My leaves are my loved ones. My leaves are my true identity and they are drifting and I am planted stuck.