Once upon a time,
I was okay.
I was well.
I was happy.
I was hopeful.
I was full of life.
And a ball of fire.
Scorching in flames.
With eyes that burns.
A gaze that helds such
unyielding intensity.
Drilling holes into your soul,
like amber.
I used to talk
with sizzling wonder.
And I loved to listen
to your hearty confessions.
Often in the dark,
you cried and I cooed.
I was your shoulder to lean on.
I used to love it too.

Now I'm just breaking.
Pieces by pieces.
You may not know
how I wish you wouldn't.
I asked for oblivion.
I am
cloaked in the dark knowing
I have
sipped into the shadows.
I've succumbed to my fate.
Condemned and stuck
yet no longer scared.
Enclosed by the voices
in my bitter sweet prison.

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to write.
Something about words and books mesmerized me and captured my heart.
You would always find children playing with the sand at the beach building sand castles and their dreams but me, I’d always find myself looking for a shade away from the noise to read my favorite fairytale. My mother always thought that I didn’t like other children and their company. I liked other children but I liked myself more and enjoyed being alone with my fairytales and daydreams. I was raised as an only child. I’ve always seen little boys and girls playing around and I secretly wanted to be with them, to play aloud and laugh so innocently but I couldn’t so I would just smile at them and walk away. I was too shy. Even as a little girl people always said that there’s something different about me, too quite and polite. My mother used to take great pride in that. She had the quite girl with the angelic smile. Yes, I used to smile a lot even to strangers. I never remember why though. I loved her with all my life even though she wasn’t always there, my mother was.. I don’t remember what she was like but they all told me that no matter what, she always loved me. I remember sneaking into her bed when I was afraid, but I don’t remember what used to frighten me. I know that I wasn’t afraid of the dark; in fact I loved the dark. I couldn’t sleep with a single dim light on. My nanny used to tell me a bedtime story every night before I go to sleep.  I remember that I couldn’t sleep without holding her hand and hugging her. Can you believe it? I couldn’t sleep without having my nanny holding me. She was the love of my life. I loved her more than my own mother I am afraid. She loved me like I was her own. And every time she travels to visit her family, I would cry myself to sleep. Remembering her smile, her bedtime stories and every time she held my small hands. My mother used to come check on me in bed and I used to hide beneath my blanket because I never wanted her to see my tears. Every time she tries to read me a bedtime story it never felt the same. I used to write about how I miss my nanny and how it never felt the same with my mother. I used to write about a lot of things when I was younger. I used to love the smell of a new notebook or a book. I would read a book then write about how I enjoyed it. I used to have a lot of pens and pencils I loved pens because they made my handwriting look pretty and pencils because they would let me erase my mistakes. I never chose between them so I found myself writing with both of them in every page.
As a child I had so many scattered thoughts, whenever I start writing I find myself end up drawing on the same notebook.  I loved drawing as well. I used to buy all the different pencils because colors were too much for me. I loved seeing them but I never liked using colors. I loved every shade of grey there was. And I loved my pens and pencils the most of all.

To love me is a complicated task, trust me I know,
for not even I can stand:
the endless bitterness and depression,
the constant PMSing and aggression,
the insecurities and lack of affection,
and don't even get me started about the brutally honest confessions.

To love me is a complicated task, I know it is true,
because for the longest time,
I struggled with that task too.

To love me is a complicated task, so sweetheart don't even try,
unless you are willing to compromise with me, whereby,
the only deed you must achieve
is become my best friend,
a person I can fully trust and love till the end.

I FOR ONE CANNOT CONFRONT PEOPLE
BECAUSE I'M SCARED
I CANNOT DEFEND MYSELF
WITHOUT SHAKING TO THE CORE
I CANNOT TELL PEOPLE THAT WHAT THEY DID TO ME IS WRONG
BECAUSE I..AM.. anxious
ANXIETY RUNS THROUGH MY SOUL AND MY VEINS ALL AT ONCE
BUT " YOU AREN'T YOUR DISORDER ".CORRECT?
OH, BUT I AM BECAUSE
I AM ANXIOUS
THEREFORE I AM  ANXIETY

I ALSO CANNOT PROTECT MYSELF BECAUSE " I " MIGHT HURT SOMEONE
AND " I" MIGHT BE AT FAULT
BECAUSE PROTECTING MYSELF WOULD MEAN SOMETHING/SOMEONE IS ATTACKING ME  
AND THAT OF COURSE, IS MY FAULT

THE THING ABOUT ANXIETY IS, WHEN SOMETHING IS ATTACKING YOU, YOU ATTACK YOURSELF
BECAUSE YOU TRY TO FIGHT ANXIETY BUT
ANXIETY IS YOU
                          -a.a.e

I think it's time to admit some things.

It's time to confess that I don't think I'm beautiful.
Beauty is not just physical.
It's about the mind and soul as well.
I've been told I'm attractive enough to confess it as true.
Yet, beauty I do not see.
I find myself disgusting.
Nobody beautiful could have ever done the things I have.
Could have lost the love of their life.

It's time to confess my sleepless nights are caused by him.
I can't sleep without somebody next to me.
Without pretending that he is holding me as he snores relentlessly.

It's time to confess I've started drinking again.
More like a lot of drinking again.
The alcoholic side of me is raging back out.
Because I can't handle my life.
I prefer the dulled version that burning drink creates.

It's time to confess I do feel emotions.
I feel so much that I am numb.
That I feel like I'm dying I'm so overwhelmed.
Yet it's not your average emotions I feel.

It's time to confess I don't feel affection.
I know I love my friends.
I know I love my family.
But it feels like a fabricated lie when I say it or even think it.
All I feel is pain.
Crushing.
Killing.
Pain.

It's time to confess that he is the only person I can say I love and believe it.

It's time to confess I have no desire for anyone because they're not him.
It's been months and nobody compares.
He is apart of me.
Everyone says I could have better.
Granted couldn't we all?
It's not about having the smartest, richest, hottest, sweetest guy.
It's about having the one who makes your heart melt.
The one who could never break you.

It's time to confess that I don't want to move on.
I have hope he will come back.
He will be him again.
Even if that won't be with me...
I just hope it will.

I confess I'm suffocating without him.
The pain is too much to bear.
I'm losing my ****.  

I confess that I lie to much to my family.
About partying and other not allowed things.
Hide to much from my friends.
Because I'm tired of how tired they are that all my problems revolve back to him.
Though I can't blame them.

I confess I'm still heartbroken over my baby.
And I hate my mom for cheating and divorcing my dad for a guy I only pretend to like.

I confess that I live every moment in the past.
Use my friends as a way to dull the pain I constantly feel.
Use them so I almost feel okay.
Yet I'm still even then stuck.
Being heartbroken by the good memories.
Feeling sick from the bad.

So there you have it.
My confessions of the day.

the scent of you still clings to my sheets
and feelings confuse me
my skype history is a long list of confessions but my biggest secrets are still buried within me
i feel sick
i wish i could purge on self-hatred
i'll dig out these secrets for the sake of this poem, or ramble, or whatever it is
core myself on sharp shards of broken hearts - i have plenty to choose from
more fuel to the fire, my ever-burning hatred for myself
when will it consume me?
i feel sick

confession no.1
i just ate all of the chocolate in the fridge so it wouldn't have to stare me in the face any longer
swallowed it down like its sweetness didn't make me feel bitter
and followed it with a bowl of cereal as a last hoorah for my oncoming diet

confession no.2
i'm **** at this poetry thing
or at least that's how i feel

i can't even be good at something i love
how could anyone expect me to be good at loving?

confession no.3
right now, i feel nothing but resentment and hatred for my mother
her snide comment about my commitment to my therapy made me want to break her neck

confession no.4
i'm incredibly blunt, which is probably why i **** at poetry
i also haven't gotten my anger issues in check
today, on the bus, i imagined shooting this racist woman's head repeatedly and i was angry that i couldn't make her bleed

confession no.5
it's raining outside and i don't feel any calmer
perhaps it's just too mild for me when i feel this stormy
biting back torrential tears like not crying will somehow make me a stronger hurricane
but
i'm still not good enough to blow anybody away

confession no.6
i feel sick in every sense of the word
i kind of want to die