Is it really worth it?
Does loving you out weigh the cons?
You mean everything to me.
But I have these voices in my head
Telling me it's wrong.
These voices make me second guess everything.
I don't know.
What if I'm doing something wrong?
What if you don't really love me?
What if I'm just fooling myself?
...
What if you're just playing with me?
I've had my heart played with before.
What if this is all just set up for heartbreak?
I can't withstand another break up.
What if?
...
These voices keep me up at night.
I can barely sleep.
Sometimes I don't sleep at all.
I just lay awake thinking of all the possibilities.
I can hear the voices telling me that you don't like me.
I can hear them saying things that I know aren't true.
But they make me doubt everything.
I don't know what the truth is anymore.
And that scares me.

Each scar on my wrist has a name, but to keep it secret I’ll list them as letters to avoid giving them the fame:

Q- Quivering lips didn’t keep you from taking my innocence. The horrible sound of my legs clenched and pants unzipped.

D- Depression ruled your life and slowly taught mine the only way to feel is to feel nothing more than unreal.  

Z- Zombified eyes made me realize you only wanted what was between my thighs. Objectified and used, it didn’t matter to you.

R- Robbed my heart of just about everything. Unfaithfulness and lack of loyalty led to my mistrusting.  

A- Aggression isn’t a sign of affection. To pretend is a hard act but to defend is even harder.

These are the five people that led me to scar, and if they read this, they would know exactly who they are.

You can see slightly
through the discolored leaves
That so lazily blow
With the wind
Flowing slowly behind  
Encouraging them to break
Supporting them to make
The sound that they do.
I wonder if you hear it too
From far faraway hidden to most.
The sound that they have given
Echoes past where is safe,
Past where is hidden.
And a girl with curls
Falling down her back
And eyes wide open
Hears the rustling once again
One that she’s swore she’s
Heard sometime before
It’s a quiet continuous rumble
A soft and welcoming mumble.
I appreciate the brief glance
Into the other side that
I was allowed
Though rarely thanked
In the out loud.
A whisper signals an ending.
Bring forth a closure of sorts.
I resolve to bid farewell
To my place amongst this wonder.

she was a flower
not because she was beautiful
although she certainly was
not because she was delicate
although she certainly was
but because she lived quickly
because she died quickly
and once she was gone she was forgotten quickly
and her petals were tossed in the trash
and her stem buried in the ground
and her nectar dried up
and all that was left was her glass house
until that too cracked and crumbled to dust
mother always said that weeds were best
you cared about weeds
you hated them
you remembered them
and mother always said it was better to be hated and remembered
than loved and quickly forgotten
shame then
that I loved a flower
because I can’t even remember her name