I thought I screamed at you long ago
to stop,
to stop digging your Curare laced fingers
into my heart, and dragging me along by
twisted twine, but I didn’t.
I didn’t because you needed someone,
more than I needed relief and safety,
someone to heal you - not fix you.
Don’t ever try to fix people.
They are not clocks, but beautiful,
marvelous creatures with souls and fears,
and a mother who either loved them
or wished that they never existed.

I love you, I love you, I love you.
I’m sorry that you never learned that
you were never, or will ever be, a demon
trapped in angel’s skin, or that
your father treasured his shot glasses more than you,
or that your friends never loved anything but your wallet.
You are living proof that the world may be evil,
but it’s saturated with good. You are good.
I love you, I love you, I love, you.

I never screamed at you to stop,
not even when your nails threatened
to slice my aorta, because I have been healed
with the strength of a thousand sun-kissed dawns,
with a million drops of dew,
making something freshly new.
These things can heal you too,
but first you have to believe that
I love you, I love you, I love you;
I am a healer and you are good.

“You are just fine.
If you are not, you will be just fine.
He does not miss you.
But your mother does.
It’s okay you ****** the guy
with the eyebrow ring.
You are alive.
You are just fine.

The world spins much too fast,
so even when there’s nothing left
convince yourself the world’s on your side.

The sun woke you up this morning.
The rain washed your car.
The darkness hid your cat
from being chased by the neighbor’s dog.

You don’t have enough money to buy that eyeliner.
No one smiled at you today.
Yes, you did **** the guy with the eyebrow ring.
But you’re just fine.
You will be just fine.”

My mother always told me
that beauty was a blessing,
but it was more of a curse.
I believed her,
and I was careful.
She never told me
anything about boys like you.
I wasn’t careful,
and I’m still not sure
if I mind at all.

You are drenched with the strongest poison,
the ones they use to make hearts stop
mid-beat,
every single pore in your body
seeps hatred and malice,
and it rejects every single
loving and gentle word I slowly ease in.
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care
because I said goodbye to loving anyone else
as soon as you said my name for the first time,
that night under the streetlight,
and I’ll let all the bad parts in.
I know I can’t heal you,
but I can try.

/

I wish I didn’t love you
and I wish your lips
would stop
dripping poison
because I can’t help but touch them,

and I wish your heart was softer
and you learned how to kiss your mother goodnight,
and I wish you didn’t try
to **** yourself last May,
and I wish they’d let you leave this place,
because I’d like to hear your voice
even though I wish I didn’t.
You belong here,
with me,
even though I wish
that I never loved you
and I never let you sleep with your arms around me
or tell me how you think,
how you wished,
and you hoped that one day
you could love me, too.

I wish I knew how to say goodbye,
you can’t love me,
and there’s nothing romantic about that.

You are not
my weakness.

But the thought
of your heart strung to mine is.

That is most definitely my weakness.

I don't think we're friends anymore.
Friends don't kiss like that
and push fire through each other's veins