It was stealing glances at first, quick glances so you wouldn't see my olive eyes wandering. Then it became a pastime. I swore it was the last time but I went back to you over and over again. I didn't fall. Falling makes it sound like an accident. No, I walked right in. I knew what could happen and I went in anyways. You became my habit.

You shouldn't be so easy to love, I'm afraid everyone is going to fall in love with you and you'll fall out of love with me.

Vines crawl out of the cuts on my arm
Stretching up to the sky,
My brain's blaring with alarm
A piece of me wants you to pry
As I frantically cover my upper arm.

I choke out sunflower petals
Swallowing them down and pushing them back
Waiting and waiting as the panic settles
I can't make it through another anxiety attack

The petals of the flowers you gave me
Are still in my heart
I fear I'm losing my sanity
The memory of happiness is far and torn apart
The room through my tears is blurry.

Rose thorns scratch and tug at my skin,
Blood drips down onto my notebook
The melancholy air of midnight starts to set in
I'm almost too scared nowadays to look.

11:30 The poetry hour

12:00 I begin to cower

12:30 I start to lose my power

1:00 It's been an hour and all I do is stare at the dead wedding flowers

1:30 The noises in my head get louder and louder

2:00 I'm drowning out the voices that reek of gunpowder

2:30 Voices circle me, shouting about how it's all because I allowed her

3:00 The blade in my dresser knew what was about to occur

3:30 So sick of washing blood off of steel, thinking about what we were

4:00 I'm laying in bed again, trying to focus my eyes when all I see is a blur

4:30 The scars on my arms beg me to deter

5:00 The voices are silenced by a cat's steady purr

5:30 Christmas lights dance behind my eyes, lining a snowy Douglas fir

6:00 Delusional with a mind full of ferns and larkspur

7:00 Wake up for school

When I was 5
You destroyed me,
A small child
So innocent,
So fragile,
Like glass.

Now,
I am older.

I am not fragile like glass.

I'm fragile like a bomb.

I am a story. An unfinished novel, if you will. I'm full of half-forgotten bedtime stories of faraway lands, dry sugar cookies that are still my favourites, brown and green eyes, constant piano playing, seeing my siblings' art hung up on the wall - covering up my own. I'm drowning in teapots, unorthodox backyard camping, off-brand root beer, and sneaking out of windows to dance in the rain.

I'm a torn up piece of paper with the words 'hold on' scribbled in different colors of pen covering every surface.

I'm a bullied, neglected, broken, half of a story. I'm experiencing the second act first. The part where everything's ******.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, until it gets better. Somebody let me know when I can come out from underneath the blankets.

"I'm not hungry"
I say as I gulp back pain,
my stomach growls and
I cover it up with a sneeze.

"I'm not hungry"
I hide in the bathroom and
hug my stomach in pain.

"I'm not hungry"
I wave them away
as I struggle to think correctly.

"I'm not hungry"
I say as the room
blurs and spins.

"I'm not hungry"
I say as I delete my search history
filled with articles
on eating disorders.

"I'm not hungry"
I say as hunger aches
and claws
and tears
at my stomach like an animal
begging to be fed.

"I'm not hungry"
I type out as tears
fall down my face,
reminders
that I'm hungry
when I tell everyone
I'm not.

"Please, I'm so hungry"
I beg myself,
curled up in bed,
wrapped in blankets,
shivering and groaning.