it was panic, it was silence, it was machine gunfire ringing in the insides of my ears.
it was sheer destruction, it was pain, it was so much blood spilled in so many years.
the sky turned black, heavy droplets landed on top of my skull,
begging to wash away the manipulation, but they never could.
it was hurt, it was unapologetic, it was of malicious intent.
it was brutal, it was barbaric, it was all stored in the back of my head.
the fire burned ravenously, chewing bones, teeth, and leftover fragments of me,
charring parts of my flesh that bandages can’t cover up.
i tried to make it stop with my own two busted hands, but repairing doesn’t come overnight like closure.  
it lingers like a wildfire in the winds thousands of miles north,
and most of the time, the repair was in vain or couldn’t be held in a forest fire’s limp hand.
ashes settle, but you still smell the smoke.
it was twisted, it was calamitous, it took a piece of my remaining soul.
it was blinding, it was irrevocable, it was constantly taking a toll
even after the ‘sorry’s’ and ‘can i make it up to you’s?’
i still grew maggots all over my skin where they placed their bitter fingertips,
where they designed the monster embedded in me.
i breathe fire, i inhale smoke, i exhale ashes from my bleeding throat.
it was mistakes, it was casualties, it was shattered narratives and sovereignty.
it was vicious, it was surreptitious, it was trauma and warped realities.
suffering came like waves from the most caliginous seas.
i tried buying myself safety, eternity, and apologies,
but nothing ever seemed to work in my favor.
i have been trying for so long, for so many years, for so many lifetimes, for so many ages.
i hope it’s soon time for me to be laid to rest,
with no panic attacks, no strangers, and no reason to hurt anyone.
i was once the enemy of the world, but i don’t wanna be him anymore.

can’t remember the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
i miss when i didn’t know half of all the words that exist.
i regret ever ignoring my best friend.
i hate anxiety and the burden it makes me feel like i am.
i miss being able to look in the mirror and see someone worth while.
i miss being loved.
i miss being myself.
i miss everything.

i don’t care what she did
i don’t care what she does
she’s my friend, after all

my sister told me she’s full of red flags
she hasn’t texted me in over a month
she’s grounded, i’m guessing
(i’m low key glad we haven’t texted much)
(she can be kinda overwhelming)
i feel like a horrible friend for saying that

my brain hurts because she was always
so kind to me
she accepted me for doing nothing
i never had to prove myself when
she was around
yes, she may be problematic, but aren’t we all?

my sister told me to stop hanging out with her
and being friends with her
why would i break off a good friendship?
we’ve never done anything bad together

she tried running away with her boyfriend
his name is andrew and he’s much
older than her
in june, she told me he was good for her
and i was happy that she was happy
was i wrong for that?

now she’s reckless and crazy
(not that she was never before)
she’s only friends with ****
addicts and skateboarders
i’m the only exception
i’m the only normal stable (kinda) one

i hate getting confronted about my friends
i’m a good girl and i’m not a doormat
i know when things get sketchy
and when you should run away

i’m starting to rant, but i don’t
think it’s unhealthy  
who knows what will happen next
at least i get writing material out of this

(it’s just an innocent friendship)

i hear the
soft murmur of
distant firearms
loading and
reloading
backup called
i hear it from
inside my cozy
apartment walls

i dreamed in silhouettes
sold my heart for
a dozen dimes
the old women
on the street
kicking my joints
with their polished
high heels
pantyhose in
their wrinkly hands

i woke up when
the flood water
came in through
the windows
and broke
my slumber
and catapulted
me out of
my dreams

i remember
the news channel
buzzing with
kelly- or some
other generic
radio host name

her laughs
were loud and
evil and
had not even
a trace
of remorse

her pretty
face was reserved
for the microphone
poor gorgeous girl
it must be awful
to be stopped on
the street
because you’re so
incredibly attractive

they’ll tell you
a man doesn’t make
you a woman
but i’ve been the
**** of a joke
for never having
a boyfriend
to hold
what happened
to letting young
women be
independent?

some stuffed socks
down my throat
and told me
to inhale

i dreamed that
the bridge
in my small town
burned
to the ground
like the london one

i felt the heat
climb up
into the clouds
the atmosphere
coughing
while they
shopped at
the most luxurious
retail stores
in the
gigantic city

they poured
the children’s’ blood
down into
the gutters
of their
hampton estates
and they
just shrugged

she told me
my clothes
were too
poor-looking
i get that
you got a
brand new
toyota for
your sixteenth
birthday and
i’m pretty sure
you were driving
with your crush
or whatever
kind of
relationship you
have that i
couldn’t care
less about
it might have
been your “vicious”
parents car in
that instance

girls don’t
support girls
they stab them
and call them basic
i would know
cause i do
i’m awful
to my age
demographic

and the streets
are still littered
with rusty nails
and stale black
nail polish
with trash bags
no matter what
length your
haircut is

and the oceans
are still polluted
with makeup products
and coffee shop cups

and my heart
is still battered
and sore
from underneath
the sole of her
stilettos

letting go is
simple, yet
you still need
me to spell it
out for you

perhaps now
you know why
i was always
so good at spelling