"It's raining."

My tears shed for you to stay
Only bounced off you, raining down on me in ricochet.
Now you hate me for not chasing you,
But what was I supposed to do?
I was too busy trying to wade through
All the blood
You let flood
My lungs,
And no matter how many times
My punctured heart begged for a bandage,
You just managed
To blame it on my damage,
And I believed you,
And that's what gave me the will to leave you.

"It's raining."

You always have a way of coming back,
My apologies as I let you back in becoming our soundtrack.

"It's raining."

What would you say?
What would you see?
If I told you "Don't stay,"
If I lied through my teeth:
"You meant nothing to me."

"It's raining."

Sometimes I worry about you,
Living this life without you,
And even though I don't believe the same,
I clasp my hands together, and speak His name.
I desperately call out to your God,
"Even if it's from abroad,
Keep her safe."
And the words rub into my bones,
Your words grate
My bones.
I'm not coming home,
So don't wait up,
Tricking me back with some apology you just made up.

"It's raining."

I sit up at night, hiding behind a paperback,
Greeting the night sky as an insomniac.
I never meant to hurt you,
But I'm never coming back.

"It's raining."

You hurt me,
But then he heard me.
And urged me
To love my injuries
Back to sanity,
And he turned me
Back to the me
You took without mercy,
Despite my desperate pleas.
But he held my hand and squeezed,
Told me I'm not a disease,
That it's safe now, I can come back to me.

"It's raining"

Instead, I came back to him,
Whoever I was when I was yours becoming a mere psuedonym.

"It's raining."

He brings me home from the other side,
Holding my hand through the longs nights,
While I learn to become our light.
He reminds me to stay alive,

It's raining.

Dad, you always told me
"Don't open that door."
You would say the same words to my brother,
But they didn't mean the same thing.
When you said them to him,
They were a warning.
When you said them to me,
They were a threat.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the problem.
Like I am the reason things got bad.
That I asked for this,
All of this.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the reason mom got sick,
Like I was the reason you couldn't keep a job,
Like I was the reason we lost every house, every apartment, and every picture that reminded us that there was a time when things were good.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the poison,
Not the ***** in your coffee mug,
Not the bugs crawling out of the floorboards,
Not the choices you made.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the reason big brother won't come home.
Like I was the reason your family got torn apart.
But we were never a family, dad. Not really.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like if it wasn't for me
Mom would be so much more alive
Than she is right now.
Like if it wasn't for me,
Your youngest son, my youngest brother,
Wouldn't have spent that Christmas in the hospital,
And we'd still have that apartment.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I carried everything bad about you
On my shoulders, and that was my own fault.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I could have closed the door at anytime.
Like I purposely wandered into that room.
Like I meant to be this way.
Like I wanted this.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like it was my own fault
That I was born with the door ripped off its hinges
And that I entered the room of my own volition,
When we both know that was where I was born.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was a waste of potential.
Like me being alive
Was your punishment
For all the bad things you've done.

Dad, mom always tells me
How much I look like you.
How I have all your good traits.

Dad, mom always looks at me
Like I could save us.
Like I could bring back the light.
Like I just only need a chance.

Dad, you always told me
That the only person you'd listen to
About your drinking and cruelty
Was me.

Dad, you never listened.

Dad, every time I told you
That I didn't feel safe,
That I was scared,
That I didn't want to be alive,
You always looked at me
Like you didn't understand why I thought you would care.

Dad, when I was little,
You looked at me like
I held stars in my palms.
Like I could do anything.
Like I was worth everything.

Dad, I didn't mean it.
Dad, I really tried to make it go away.

Dad, I'm sorry.

You lay in bed
Melting your mind
With video games.

Video games that you use too often
As an outlet
Video games that you pay more attention to than you do me,
Even during our designated "let's actually spend time together" time.

Electronics are SOOO
Much more important.
Whether it be your phone mid-conversation with me,
Making you have to ask me to repeat myself (for the third time in five minutes) because you were distracted.
Or whether it be your video games,
That you focus so intently on,
With so much more focus than you have
EVER given me.

But interupting things is rude, right?
My asking for your full attention while you play your ******* games
Is so rude, right?

Go **** yourself.

I am not a hobby,
I am not a book,
I am not a toy.

You cannot just pick me up and put me back when you're bored with me.

I am human and I am alive and I need to be more than just a passing glance or an after thought.

These games,
They are hobbies.

You seem to be confused.

Today,
I woke up,
And for the first time since March,
I have contemplated the pros and cons
Of ending my life.

Today,
I woke up,
And realized that there are parts of this world,
People in this world,
That would have been and would still be
Better off without me.

Today,
I woke up,
And no snoring puppy,
No purring cat,
No cawing crow
Could penetrate the deafening silence
That has taken my soul hostage.

Today,
I woke up,
And I realized that there are things you've never seen
That I wish I had never seen.

Today,
I woke up,
And thought of all the ways
I am not enough.

Today,
I woke up,
And gave names to all my failures and faults.

Today,
I woke up,
And saw how far I still have to go.

But

Today,
I woke up,
And for the first time in my life I realized
That I am worth something.
That I don't deserve to feel this way.
That there is no sin I have commited that is so great
To earn the ire of a world that never loved me.

Today,
I woke up,
And realized that there are people whose hands I will never hold again,
But the shade of their eyes
And the spark in their smile,
Will forever be held in my heart,
Wherever they may be,
Whoever's hands they may be holding
Or whoever sparks their smile next.

Today,
I woke up,
And I forced myself to move
And I forced myself to shower
And I forced myself to take my pills and drink some water
And start my day.
I forced myself to listen to music that doesn't make me want to rip my heart out.

Today,
I woke up,
And I knew in my bones that
I am more than my past,
And I am more than my pain,
And I am more than anyone ever expected me to become.

Today,
I woke up,
And looked deep into my brown eyes,
And counted every streak of yellow, every flare of red, every speck of black.
I took in a deep breath and reminded myself
That I am a work in progress,
But I am coming along so beautifully.

Today,
I woke up,
And remembered that the most important thing
About being strong,
Is surviving.
I remembered that I have crossed through hell and high water
And back again
And my skin is still mine,
And my bones are still mine,
No matter who has tried to take me from myself,
That I am still my own, if nothing else.

I remembered that the strongest and most important thing I can do
Is walk right by death,
And look my demons straight in the eye and say:

*"Today, I woke up."

Sometimes,
Usually at the worst times,
It becomes painfully obvious,
How very different we are.

You're never going to love me
The way I love you.
And I'm never going to be the
Type of sane, the type of stable
That you want.

It isn't that we're not compatible.
It isn't that we don't love each other.

It is simply that
We are very, very different.

I realized this last night.

From our interactions.
From you barely showing affection.
Ftom you only kissing my lips five times since you got home.
From your reluctancy to provide me comfort.

From how the words "I love you" and "I need you" and "I want you around"
Kept getting caught in my throat
And instead came out
As mangled "I'm sorry"'s.

Because I am sorry.
I'm sorry I have loved you for so long.
I am sorry that I desire a love and affection from you
That it seems you cannot give.
That, at the very least, you cannot give to me.

I am sorry for trying to force my way through your walls.
I am sorry for trying to make you love me
The way I love you.
That was too much to ask.

I am sorry for relying on you.
I am sorry for trying to make you care for me
More than anyone really should.

I am sorry about all the problems I've given you.
All the pain I've caused.

I am sorry.

I can assure you, it will not happen again.

It seems every day,
In some way,
I become more like my father.

I remember telling you I was never gonna be like him.
I remember you telling me that you'd never be like yours.
And I remember thinking
"But your father isn't so bad at all."

I remember that, at the time, I felt ridiculously guilty for thinking that.

I don't feel so bad anymore.

I am becoming more like my father,
Because it feels like I'm constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
That I would keep them.
Because I am constantly breaking promises
To people who were stupid enough to think
I'd always love them.

The reason I am not like my father,
Is because I was stupid too.
It's because I was also stupid enough
To think that I could keep those promises.
I was stupid enough
To think I'd be able to love those people forever.

But, the problem is,
I am horrible at forgiving,
And I'm even worse at forgetting.

I remember one of the promises I made to you.
It was that I would always think fondly of you, no matter what.
Even if we stayed friends.
Even if we drifted apart.
Even if we never ever spoke again.

Today, I remembered how very much I hate you.

And today I also thought, verbatim,
"At least I don't look like an unfortunately pear-shaped crypt keeper like her."

I like to pretend that I didn't start hating you until a little towards the end of last year,
When I started dating the boy I've loved for more than a decade.

I like to try to convince myself of that.
I like to pretend that if that's how it happened, then I can act like I was a good friend, a good person, for a little longer than I was.

But the truth is,
I remember the day I started to hate you.

I remember when one of our mutual friends asked
If I still had a crush on "that guy from fifth grade".
I tried to tell her I didn't,
But that was a lie
And everyone involved in that conversation
Could tell
From how red I was turning.

I remember how deeply she frowned.
I remember her telling me
That you liked him too.

I remember how angry I was.
I remember almost throwing up.
I remember trying to convince myself
That it wasn't true.

I remember asking you.
I was laughing.
I was trying to act like I didn't believe it.

I remember you telling me it was true.
I also remember you telling me that you weren't going to act on it
Because of your "daddy issues" and your "trust issues"
And that even though you liked him a whole lot,
And lots of people had told you that he liked you too,
That you didn't really trust him.
"Besides," I remember how sweetly you smiled when you said this,
"It won't last long. And I kinda like watching him squirm."

You were trying to joke around,
You thought it would make me laugh,
Becquse at that point
I was kind of known for my dark sense of humor
And violent tendencies.

I remember how angry I was at you.
I remember wanting to scream at you.
I remember how hot my tears were.
I remember exactly what I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell you that there was no way you could possibly ever love him the way I did.
I remember wanting to tell you that I didn't care how close you two were, how well you knew him.
That I didn't care if he loved you or whatever.
I wanted to tell you that you could never ever possibly even imagine to care as much as I did.

You were too dishonest.
You were too fake.
You were too normal,
And I wanted to say that there was no way a ******* normal person
Could even fathom possessing
More love than I did.

But all I said to you,
After being too quiet for too long, was
"I have to go."

I remember rushing into the bathroom.
I remember throwing up.
I remembering sobbing on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes,
And when I went back to my class,
My teacher set me to the guidance counselor.
I sat in there for an hour and a half.
I refused to talk the entire time.
She ended up calling my dad,
And telling him that I needed some type of professional therapy
And that I should probably see a psychiatrist too.

What I remember that I didn't tell you,
Or anyone else, for that matter,
Was that I was sure that I would lose this.

Because you were, at this time, prettier than me.
And I was so sure he would fall head over heels for you.
And I remember thinking "How could he not?"
Because you were smart
And confident
And funny
And friendly
And charming
And nice,
And wore normal clothes
Like a normal person
And liked normal things
And had a normal family
And a normal house
And a normal life.

And isn't that all anyone would want?
Someone normal?

Because I sure as hell wasn't normal.
I was morbid
And spazzy
And I only ever wore black
Or dark red
Or dark purple.
And I carried around stuffed animals and dolls
And hid them in my locker or backpack
So people wouldn't think I was a complete basketcase.
And my mother was dying,
And my father was an alcoholic,
And my older brother was violent and angry
And I was the one raising my little brothers
And I always had bruises and cuts and scars
And I would only pretend to eat.
I didn't always have a house to live in
Or a bed to sleep in.
I even slept in the park
Across from the movie theatre
A few times.

And I was so sure,
That if you didn't already,
That you would absolutely love him.
I mean, how could you not?
He's sweet
And handsome
And kind
And smart
And polite
And (usually) gentle
And funny
And compassionate.

Before I had met him,
I didn't realize how drastically a person's eyes change in shade
When they care about someone
And that someone is hurt.

I didn't realize
How powerful a person's voice could be.
How a smile laced between words could make you feel like flying,
Or how being able to actually hear someone out up their walls
From how they're talking to you,
Can make you feel like you're dying.

I quickly learned what it felt like to love someone,
And to lose them,
Without even ever really having them.

Sometimes, I miss you.
Or, I miss who I thought you were.
Who you pretended to be.

I look at him,
And my heart bursts with color.

I think about you using him,
And I am drowning in inky, black rage.

I think about how he loved you,
And it kills me.
If the bravado you put on
Had really been who you were,
There would have been no way
That he would love me.

But that wasn't who you were.

You and I are very similar.
I mean, there has to be a reason he loved you then,
And me now.

Neither of us know how to successfully create bonds between ourselves and other people.
We don't know how to become a part of someone else.

The difference is,
You pretend to.
You create bonds,
So you can use people
To meet the ends
You so desire.

While I,
I tell them how badly it could go.
How I might not ever be able to entirely accept or believe that they love me.

The difference is,
You don't know how to create bonds.
So you make them for the sole purpose of using people
As though they are objects.
As though they are a means to an end.

And while I do not know how to make bonds,
I want to.
I desperately want to.
I don't want to love the people I love from a distance.
I want to love them up-close,
In real-time.

I want to help them.
I want to nurture them.
I want to make them smile.

The difference is,
I admit I'm a monster.
But at least I have a heart.

While you,
You are a monster that is pretending to be a person.

She paced back and forth,
The three inch block heels of her scuffed black boots
Clacking against the unfinished hardwood floor.

Some would say that she looked distraught.
Others would call it confidence, or "walking with a purpose."

But they never looked at her eyes.

Almond shaped and wide, fluttering and glossing across every detail of the room repeatedly,
Until she had it memorized.
Her usually, sunset-esque, yellowy-oak colored eyes scanned the room. She looked out from beneath thick, long black eyelashes. Her iris's glistened black.

No amber streaks.
No red accents.
No infatuated gold.
No comforting, warm, oak brown.

Her eyes were black.
Dark.
Cold.
Hungry.

Like a predator.

Her shoulders tensed and she began to slow her pacing,
Her steps slowly becoming lighter and lighter,
Until they could not be heard
Aside from the soft beat of vibrational frequency through the floorboards.

She finished scanning the room,
Shifting her eyes from every exit or entrance or place to hide and cower,
Taking note of it all.

Her eyes focused, her pacing coming to a sudden and abrupt stop.
Her body became rigid.
Every elegant curve and smooth, soft
Length of utterly feminine and maternal skin she had
Suddenly became very, very sharp.
Rough.
Dangerous.

Her stance was similar to that of a defensive wildcat.
Tail low.
Hackles raised.
Claws unsheathed.
Lips curling ever so subtly
That at any moment her canines could press and sink into her prey's
Soft flesh,
And draw blood.

Her eyes locked on her prey.

All talking in the slightly crowded, dimly lit, room came to a sudden halt.
A cold chill blew through the room.
The hair along the necks of each and every guest stood on end.
Even as humans,
Who are so very proud of not relying on instinct,
Understood what this meant.

Danger.

She was still, rigid.
You could not see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

There was no noise,
Aside from the faint bassline from the speakers.

Judging by the voice spitting out lyrics,
She guessed the song was either by The Offspring, or maybe Say Anything.

One guest flipped off the speakers.

The buzz of static.
Then the buzz of a moth flying repeatedly into one of the faded lightbulbs.
Then, silence.

They stared at her,
But she did not see them.
Her eyes remained focused,
Trained on her slowly-growing-more-nervous-each-passing-second prey.

There was a low, guttural growl rumbling from her throat.

Her prey looked up.

Their eyes locked.

Before the other girl could make out a single syllable,
She pulled her lips back into a snarl.

"How dare you?"

The prey only blinked in response.

"Who do you think you are?"

The prey furrowed her eyebrows, trying to play dumb.

"Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?!" She coiled her muscles like a spring. Her body pulled tight together.

"What?"

"He meant nothing to you." She pounced into the crowd, slamming into her prey. A flurry of black and white.

"And you mean nothing to me."

She sunk her long, pointed teeth and sharp molars into the flesh of her prey's throat.

Vile blood filled her mouth.
Pushing past the urge to gag,
She bit down harder.

Then,
She heard a cracking noise.
And then, a snap.

She stood,
Dropping her prey's limp body onto the floor
As she unclenched her jaw and opened her mouth.

The girl dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

The predator opened her mouth,
Feeling the toxic, bitter blood dribble out her mouth and drip from her lips and chin.

The crowd of people were panicked.

They looked like they were screaming.

She could not hear them.

She looked ahead and stared into the mirrors along the wall.

Her hair was black and matted and wild. A mane of knotted kitten fur and hummingbird feathers.
Her eyes were black, dark as midnight. No light reflected in, no emotion shined out. The whites of her eyes were just barely visible.

Her skin was pale, so white it was an almost sickly yellow-grey. She could see the veins beneath her cold, unfeeling complexion.
Her lips were red. With blood. Hers and that of her prey.
Her fingers were longer, mangled into claws.
She stood hunched, ready to attack at any moment.

Her face was twisted and contorted into a snarling look of pain.

She hated when she got like this.
When she lost all her humanity,
In order to serve her righteous cause,
Whatever it maybe at the time.

But there were certain sacrifices you need to make for the people you love.

And if it meant protecting them,
If it meant their happiness,
If it meant their comfort,
She would give it all.

Her whole heart.

Her whole soul.

You don't think I see it.
And, honestly,
I didn't recognize it at first.

I've never been on the receiving end of that look.

But, as they hook me up
With wires and sensors
For an EKG,
I can see it.

The way you look at me.

That fire in your eyes,
Always so resilient,
So passionate.
Like you could do anything
As long as you really wanted it.

But it looked like that fire,
Just now,
Was eating you alive.
The flames licking at the fragments
Of your heart.

It looked like pain.
Like loss.
Like the world is falling down all around you,
And there is nothing you can do to stop it.

I recognize that look, now.
I've seen it in my own reflection,
Staring back at me,
Venomous tears threatening to burn through my skin
If I were to let them fall.
A sandy lump in my throat,
When I finally understood.

You can love someone with every part of you,
With your whole heart.
You can love someone
Through lifetimes.
Through centuries.
You can love someone to the very end of the universe,
And back again.

But you cannot love someone's broken pieces back together.

But,
Sometimes,
When all I feel is searing pain,
I think of the pain in your eyes,
The very depth of it,
The intensity,
When you even entertain the thought of losing me.

And it suddenly occurs to me,
That you love me.
And as long as you love me,
As long as you're mine,
I'm not done here. No, not yet.

So I stand up.
I brush myself off,
And look directly into the void,
And wait for it to blink first.

I growl through gritted teeth,
****** from a split lip,
While clutching the lace hem
Of my pink sundress.
*"I am not done here. No, not yet."

They call me.

Waving to me from the up-turned leaves
On the trees lining the street
Before a storm settles in.

They call me.

Humming softly after sunset,
Ushering in the blue of dusk.

They call me.

Whispering along the howling wind
That rustles the grass and bangs the shutters.

They call me.

Coming down on me like a firing squad
The rain pummeling into my back
As I desperately try to remember.
As I desperately try to forget.

They call me.

You were the one who warned us.
You were the one who taught us.
We were shown everything.
Told everything.
How to protect ourselves.
How to fight back.
What your weaknesses were,
Because you thought they were ours too.

You were wrong.

They call me.

You didn't realize who we were.
You didn't know what we were,
Or why.

We never meant any harm.
We didn't choose this.
We never got a choice.

To us, choice is nothing but a fairytale
That we've become too old to believe in.

They call me.

The songs of the Old Religion
Rumble towards me
Within the fog.

**"We are the granddaughters  of the witches you weren't able to burn."

You have ice in your veins.

You are the same
As the world is
When I wake up at 2:35 AM on a week night
And there's clumps of snow dropping from the pink-violet night sky,
And then sticking to the cold, unfeeling ground.

You are the same
Because you make me feel the same way.

Watching a blizzard's slow and gentle beginning at odd hours in the morning,
Is one of my favorite feelings.
I feel calm.
I feel content.
I feel, finally, at peace.

I'm not sure
If I've ever known peace
Anywhere
Aside from watching snow fall to the earth at 2:35 AM
And aside from the rare moments your laugh touches my heart,
Or your smile greets my soul,
And washes her clean.

You have ice in your veins.

You are all too familiar with the tranquil melancholy
That comes along with
Snowy winters.

You are familiar
With the peaceful, but lonesome, silence.

You are comfortable in it,
For it is your home.
For your walls
Are built from ice,
And no summer has ever been hot enough to melt them,
At least not for long.

You are the snowy winter.

But I am the pink summer.

I am the peak
Of colorful and pesky
Wildflowers.
I am the sunset
At nine o'clock at night.
I am the breath of sweet, fresh air
That stirs all your hormones together,
Making you feel warm and happy and excited and giddy and alive
But most of all
Free.

I am the smell of gasoline
And charcoal.
I am sunshine storms
And the warm rain they bring.
I am bonfires
And bugspray
And camping trips
And awkward-but-memorable-outdoor-***
In a teeny little tent,
That almost always ends in giggle fits,
And feeling so entirely, and finally, whole.

I am heat exhaustion
And hurricanes
And itty-bitty green inchworms venturing away from their
Leafy trees
For the very first time.

I am passion.
I am feeling something with your whole heart.
I am bravery.
Meaning, I am being absolutely terrified, but doing the thing anyway.
I am feeling so much of one emotion at a time that it is the only thing you can feel.
I am the butterflies in your stomach,
If they were ever there at all.

I am warm
And free
And wild
And loving
And always, always there.
In some way,
Even if just a memory.

I am always fleeting.

I am summer.

You are winter.

You are hot apple cider,
And cocoa with too-big-marshmallows,
And flannel pajamas
And surprises
And christmas tree ornaments that I love for no other reason other than that I love them and I always have and always will.

You are cold winds
And painful, but important, memories.

You are the feeling of stability.
You are finally having some type of normalcy,
Away from the chaos.

We are polar opposites.
So much so,
That it makes us the same.

I know why summer is your favorite season.

But did I ever tell you how much I love winter?

Storm clouds.
Grey.
Black.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5--
Rumbling thunder.
It chills your bones.
Shouting.
Yelling.
A man's voice.
A child's soft, muffled cry.
Cold skin.
Chills
Spidering up and down my spine
Over and over and over.
A woman sobbing softly.
Flashing lightning.
1. 2. 3--
Rumbling thunder.
Cold wind.
Rain.
It falls in sheets.
Feels like little blades of ice
Piercing my skin.
Screaming.
Slamming doors.
Cars driving away.
Gravel.
A child wailing.
It fades into a soft, distant whimper.
There aren't enough tissues for all their tears.
The wind picks up.
It howls.
Trees bend to its' will.
Some threaten to fall.
The rain comes down harder,
Faster.
Like sheets of bullets.
They're so cold,
I almost don't feel them.
I almost feel nothing.
And nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing and nothing

And then: You.

And then there was you.

Sunlight,
Straining through Autumn clouds.
Yellow and red and orange leaves.
Birds building nests,
Chirping back and forth.
Squirrels foraging for food for the coming Winter,
Scurrying up and down trees.
Warm spiced apple cider.
Silence,
Except for the soft, colder breeze.
Except for the purring of a cat,
The slight kneading of their drowsy paws.
Except for the soft snoring of a dog,
His occasional half-asleep woof.
Except for pages turning,
A pen gliding its' ink across thick parchment.
Typewriter keys clacking.
Silence.
Except for your footsteps coming through the front door
And down the hall.

Nothing.

And then there was you.

There never was anyone else.

You're that type of person
Who I try to be grumpy
And angry around.
But you make me so happy,
It's so hard to stay that way.
I'm not used to smiling and laughing
All the time,
The way I do with you.

But I am just so in love with you.

I sabotage things.
Never on purpose.
But I'm not really a "permanent"
Kind of person.
"Sticking around" isn't really my thing.

But, with you, I want a family.
I've never had a real family before.
I've never really been part of one.

But I want it,
Because I am just so in love with you.

And you
Are the kind of person
Who makes my heart flutter against the bones
That make up my ribcage,
And I could only imagine
That the beauty of the sound it makes
Is only half as beautiful
As your voice.

And I am just so in love with you.

And you
Are the kind of person
Who leaves a trail of stardust
Everytime you walk away from my arms,
So that I may always find you again,
So that I may always come back home.

And your heart
Is stitched from the purest golden thread and platinum ore.
And your soul
Is weaved out of the feathers
Of songbirds and the smell of burning gasoline or charcoal.
Your voice smells like pumpkin bread and tastes like strawberry red tea with just a little too much sugar.
Your hand in mine feels like a fire that will never go out.
Your arms around me feel like a warm meal that I'm allowed to eat, not just prepare.
Your voice in my ear sounds like I am finally, without a doubt, free from the shackles that made me who I am, scars and all.

I have never been free before.

Your lips, as you kiss me, taste like home. They taste like safety.

I am just so in love with you.

Didn't anybody
Ever stop to tell you.
Star's are known to collapse,
So they can be reborn.

A star can't belong to anyone.
Something that dangerous, that wild.
It cannot be tamed.

Something that dark, that light,
Can not be held and confined within a human heart,
Or the heart will shatter
And the star will collapse.

And he has collapsed. And that's okay.
Because he has been reborn
As my Bluebird.
And I love my Bluebird
More than forever.
More than always.
More than the moon and stars.

Close your eyes.

It doesn't hurt at all, I promise.

If you get scared, you can squeeze my hand. I don't mind.

I know it looks bad, but it's okay. It's all okay.

You don't need to be afraid.

I promise.

But when I open my eyes,
I find rather quickly
That there's no one else here.
I was talking to myself.
Reassuring myself.

The room is blank.
Grey.
The light that comes from
The only window
Is dull and grey.
Overcast.

It's the only thing that's comforting here.

It's too quiet. Too empty.
Too hollow.

The silence is deafening.
My chest feels heavy.

If I close my eyes,
For a second,
I can remember another place.
A place with color.
A place with you.

For a second,
I can imagine it.
I can pretend I'm there.

I can almost feel you there,
For a second.

But it doesn't last nearly long enough,
And then you're gone.

The problem is,
This room doesn't exist.
It's a metaphor.

Because the moments in time that I feel (almost) normal,
Where I am (almost) passing for neurotypical,
That's when I see you.
I'm there.
I can almost reach you,
Touch you.
I can almost be like you.
I can almost...
Almost.

I can only ever almost.
And almost has never been enough.

And I can tap my hands against yours,
Or rub my scars,
Or hold my doll closer to me,
Or bounce up and down,
But all the stimming in the world
Won't keep me calm forever
And it won't make me better.

And I just want to be better.
I don't want to be sick.
I'm so sick of being sick.

I've tried accepting it all as part of me.
As it being me.

But I can't.

Because I see the way you look at me.
It's the same way everyone looks at me
When they think I don't notice.
I know that look.
It's the same look that teachers gice their students when they just can't help them with their problem.
The only good thing as that you don't
Use the voice that everyone else does.
I know that voice, too.
It's the same voice people use when talking to a scared animal that might become hostile.

I am not an animal.

I am not a lost cause!

But I see the way you look at me.
I know that look.
Everyone gives me that look,
Once they figure it out.

I am not an animal,
I am not a lost cause.
At least,
That's what I keep trying to tell myself.

But I don't even believe it anymore.

I want to be better.
I want to be better,
But I don't think I can be the better
You want me to be.

I think the reason
Broken people
Are always drawn
To other
Broken people
Is that they
See each other's missing pieces
And they're so aware of their own
Missing pieces.
And they think
"Maybe your pieces can go where mine did,
And mine can go where yours did,
And together
We can be almost whole."

But broken people
Aren't very good at being whole
When they've been broken for so long.
They don't know how to be anything
But broken.

So I end up pushing you away.
I push you far, far away from me.
Because even though I need you around,
And I desperately want you with me,
I don't know how to be whole
anymore.
And that's what you do.
You make me whole.

And I push you and push you and push you
But you don't leave.
Even though you have absolutely
Every reason to leave.
Even though no one would question it.
Everyone would understand it.
Most people would be more than supportive of it.

But instead, you stay.

And I don't know if I make you whole,
But I know that sometimes you push me away too.
Not as far.
You never push me away as far as I push you,

But I am always ready to leave.
Because I've already done the sticking-around-when-no-one-wants-me thing.
And I've learned that there's no chasing people.
If they want to leave,
They will leave,
And you cannot ever stop them.

And everyone leaves, sooner or later.

You can't make a person want you
And you can't make a person choose you.

And someone can want you every second of every day,
But if they don't choose you,
It doesn't matter.

That's what I've learned.

So when you push me away from you,
My instinct is to leave.
I've never really had an actual home
Or an actual family,
So leaving isn't actually hard for me.
As much as I want to stay right here,
In your arms forever,
Leaving is easy.
It's natural for me.
I never knew how to stay.
I've always been a run-away kind of person.
Besides, it never takes anyone long to move on from me.
I leave,
They move on,
Their lives are better.

The hard part isn't leaving, for me.
It's forgetting.
Because I don't forget,
I can't move on.

Everyone I've left,
Everyone that has left me,
I remember.
I remember the hurt.
I remember them.

I'm not afraid to leave
When you push me away
Because I know you'll move on quickly
And I know you'll be better off
When I'm gone.

But when I push you away
I'm always so scared you'll go.
Because I don't want to move on,
And I don't want you to think I'll just forget you.
Because I won't.
Because I can't.

And I know it hurts that I'm so quick to leave,
And I know that knowing that it's only because I'm so used to going
Doesn't make it better.

I'm going to try to stay,
Because you stay.
Because I won't ever forget you,
And I don't want you to forget me.

I used to think
That once you love someone--
And I mean really really
Love them,
With every part of you--
I think once you love someone,
Well...
You never really stop.

I am hyper aware
That my skin is cold
That I am not being touched.
I am uncomfortable
Like my skin is crawling.
It's almost like when I am being touched,
Because I hate when people touch me.
But instead of wanting to rip my skin off my bones,
It's like I don't even have skin to begin with.

I want to be held by you,
Loved by you.
I want your kiss to quench my thirst,
And your hands to hush my growling stomach.

I am skin-starved,
Touch-starved,
And it's making me drift away.
And I don't want to be far away,
But I know that I already am.

I need your love,
Your heart,
To help anchor me back down,
So that I can stay.
So that I don't
Drift away into volatile nothingness.

I've been thinking alot
Lately.

I've been thinking a lot
Especially
About something someone once said to me.

"I just want you to know
That the kind of love you deserve
Is unconditional.
You deserve someone
Who love all of you, every part.
Who doesn't require that
You change somehow.

Because all of these horrible things that happened,
They're a part of you.
They are woven deeply and intricately within your heart.
And this boy, I hope you know that he would absolutely
Take the opportunity to change these parts of you.
I hope you know that he would jump at the chance.
And you deserve so, so much more than that.
You deserve a type of love that is unconditional.
You deserve a type of love that loves and accepts and cherishes every single part of you.
Even the broken parts.
Even the parts that aren't very pretty to look at.
You deserve so much more than anyone would be selfless enough to give."

The last thing I ever said to him was that he was wrong.

I am that person
That is slightly off center

My moral compass
Almost always
Points North,
But I have a tendency
To get lost.

I am told that I am "good".

But please,
Define "good"?

Because there are twisted,
Inky black parts to my heart.

But I will always
Try to be stronger
Than my darkness.

It is hard to pretend
I am solely a creature of Light,
But if I don't,
Then I will cave in
And be consumed by
My own shadow.

"Darkness, real darkness, is more than just a lack of light."

I should have known this was going to happen.

(Because this is what always happens.)

I fall for you. You fall for me. I try to keep myself from getting too attached. You knock down all my walls. I try to warn you (before it's too late) that this is going to happen. I tell you to leave before it's too late. But it's already too late. Because you become attached and I seem like I'm so good, and so willing, and so very desperate to be loved. But I am only one of those things. So I seem like a great option. A great prospect. Trust me, you aren't the first boy who has wanted to marry me in such a short amount of time.

(But you are the only one who actually did.)

But sooner or later, it starts to happen. I start to feel you drifting. I start to feel you pull away. And maybe I'm just imagining things, but then I start to withdraw. I pull away. I try to pull away from you as far as you will let me go.

Because, y'know, I run. That's what I do.

But for some reason, with you, I will only go as far as you are willing to chase me.

I guess it's because some part of me believed you. Some part of me believed that this time was different. That this time, I would have enough love to give to make someone stay. To make you stay.

But I am a hypocrite. Because I believed that you would stay when I have never known how to do that myself. At the very least, though, I am learning, slowly. Because you have taught me.

And even if I was right, and even if I can feel you slipping away like how it feels when you pick up a fist-full of sand, I want you to know that I still believe.

I still believe in this. In you. In us.

And even if I should have known this would happen, it still might not happen.

And even if this is always happens, I still fell for you.
, and that is reason enough to believe.

Sometimes I almost remember
A small village of mostly sheep farms,
And little shops that are run out of people's homes.

And I almost remember
A forest I've been to a thousand times.
And sometimes the leaves are new.
And sometimes sharp icicles reflect light into my eyes.

And I see him.
And there's something about his eyes.
I recognize them.
They're just like mine.

Because something inside him is sad and dark and broken and bleeding.

And you can see it right through his eyes,
Almost.

But there's still a fire in his eyes.
A light.
Something that wasn't supposed to be
A permanent solution
But it stitched up the wound,
And he hasn't tried to do anything else for it since.

But my favorite almost-memory
About this place,
Is the little yellow house
With black shutters
And a second floor veranda,
On the top of a grassy green hill.
The house smells like black tea
And fresh apple pie.

I can almost remember.

But then I don't.

Sometimes I get so scared
That you only spend time with me
Out of obligation.

Sometimes I get so scared
That you only talk to me
Because you feel responsible for me.

I worry that I am no longer fun for you.
That I no longer light that spark in yiur heart.

It scares me so much
The idea that you've gotten sick of me.

I cannot breathe.

I am an introvert.
I rebuild myself from silence.
I isolate myself when I'm upset.
I recharge all my stores of energy when I'm alone.

But I am also very bad at being an introvert (just like how I am very bad at most things, especially things that make up key parts of who I am).

I do not like being alone.
I cannot successfully live in a quiet house.

I need some type of noise to soothe my constantly-buzzing subconscious.

I have,
For the most part,
Been the truest type of alone
For the majority of my life.


But I can't keep it up.

I am alone all the time.
Pretty much everyday,
And I wouldn't be surprised
If it turned into every night, as well.

I am always by myself.
I always have been.

I don't think I can do this-- any of this-- alone anymore.

But I don't really have much of a choice.

I love you so much.

More than the moon and stars.

I love you so much,
That I would lock myself away forever
If it meant you were finally given some type of peace.

I love you so much,
That I would anxiously give away
All the scars and memories I have
That I'm so twistedly proud of,
If it meant you could be happy.

I love you so much.
You are the air I need to breathe.
But I would gladly
Die of asphyxiation and oxygen deprivation
If it meant you were safe.
If it meant you could be okay.

I love you so, so, so much.

And I know it doesn't mean much,
But I am going to keep my promises,
Even if they're already broken.
I'm going to fix this, us.

I love you so much.
Though I understand if you don't believe me.

I mean, how could you believe that someone
Loves you
When all they seem to do is leave?

I want to tell you that I know that I wouldn't be able to believe that either.

But what you need to know is that I already don't.

And once again,
I'm probably going to end up being
The scared, stupid, naïve little girl
Sitting in the corner of her closet,
Listening to the rain, the wind, and the thunder,
While waiting oh-so-hopefully for the person she loves
To love her back again.

All because she was dumb enough to think there was something in this world that's permanent,
Other than *"Goodbye."

My brain doesn't work right.

Most of the time,
I feel like I'm not real.
Like I don't exist.
But more like I don't consciously exist.
It's a very faded feeling.
It's, I guess, like being a ghost.

It's like everyone else is alive.
Like they're real.
They have real live bodies.
But, in comparison, it's like I'm not physically real.
I'm just a dull flicker of consciousness that occassionally flares into a full word.

I'm sorry, but I don't know what that word is, yet.

My brain doesn't work right.

Sometimes,
I feel too much.
Even though I might only be feeling one emotion or I might only be having one thought,
I feel all of it.
I feel everything.

I've been told that it's part of my illness.

That when people have the same chemical imbalances I have,
We feel things fifty times stronger than most people's.
Our emotions cut deeper.
Things mean more to us.

I guess that's why pretty much every great sentimental artist in history was thought to have some sort of Bipolar Disorder.

I guess, people become great and wise when they have Manic Depression Disorder.

But, I guess, only after they die.

Right now, though,
I can't bring myself to feel anything at all.

I suppose it's because some intuitive, subconscious part of myself knows that I'll be feeling much more than my fair share later.

I am always so scared, these days.
I mean, I've always been afraid of what
Is scaring me so much right now.
But right now it seems somewhat plausible.
And right now, if it happens, it will all be my fault.

Because all it seems I know how to do
Is break people and run away.

People like me,
We were never taught about
How to love,
How to have a home,
How to be stable.

People like me,
We were only ever taught how to survive.

Which means we run, and we push people away, and we handle all our troubles on our own.

And a person can only survive like that for so long, before they stop being an actual person.

People like me,
We were taught how to survive.

No one ever taught us how to live.

The other day,
You told me that you think
We'll always be together.
That even in death,
We will be together in spirit.

I smiled in that sad way I have a habit of,
And I tried to remind you
That you don't believe in any of that stuff.

You were quiet for what felt too long.

And then you said,
"I believe in true love."

Today I checked the mail,
And there was an envelope.
It was addressed to us, as a family.

I have never been part of
A genuine family before.
I have never been part of something
That doesn't deteriorate and fall apart.

Before looking at that envelope,
I had never realized how badly
I wanted that.

And while I still don't know how to stay,
And I'm afraid I never will,
And I'm terrified that I can't,

The idea of leaving is becoming
Much less feasible
And much harder to think about.

I remember how it felt
When I looked at you
Before your eyes met mine,
When I saw you again
After seven (gruesome) years.

It felt very final.
I knew I loved you,
But I kept thinking
All through out lunch,
"This is it. The end all, be all."

The thing is, I knew.
I knew that when I saw you
While I was crossing the street
From the apartment complex to the restaurant, while my heart was exploding
With giddy butterflies, that this was it.
That it was you.
That there wasn't going to be anyone else.
And maybe there never was.

At least, not for me.

I looked at you the same way on Saturday afternoon.
It felt very final.
Even though I felt like there were a thousand sirens going off in my head,
There was one part of my mind that was silent, save for one fact.
That it was you.
That it had always been you.
There never was anyone else.

At least, not for me.

I'm not like you.
We're two very different creatures,
I tried to tell you this after I placed the things
I felt the need to return to you on our bed.
I tried to tell you that you deserve someone like you.
Because you do.
You deserve, at the very least, to be understood.

I am not like you.
I do not have primal, instinctual attraction.
I cannot look at others as though they
Are plausible mates.
I can't do this, because they aren't.
I have you, and only you.

I am not like you.
You, who can set down roots
And make a home out of wherever
Your head rests.

I cannot root myself,
I don't know how to have a home.
I've got wandering in my blood,
My bare feet were made for running away.
I don't know how to make roots.
I don't think I ever knew.

On Saturday (and every day since),
I have looked at you with the same finality that I had when I saw you again for the first time.
The same love.
The same longing to be able to make you my home.
The same remorse and guilt I always feel when I have to get up and leave what I love, because I simply cannot stay.

Because I don't know how to have a home, and it is a fools game to try to make a home out of a person.

I was trying to leave, because people like me don't deserve people like you. People like you, who are good and patient and compassionate, and have hearts made from gold, and souls stitched from clouds. People like you shouldn't spend time on people like me. People like me, who are petty and volatile and selfish, and have broken glass for hearts and souls made out of ash and smoke.

I was trying so hard to do the right thing,
For once.
To be selfless,
For once.
To give you a chance at a better life.

But then, with tears in your eyes,
You asked me to stay.

And I don't know why you would want someone like me to stay. Someone who runs as far as they can, constantly. Someone who can't make the sun come out from behind the clouds.

But when I looked at you,
I hated myself for putting so much dark pain in your bright blue eyes.

So, I looked at you like I've been looking at you. I took in every detail. I took note of every part of your face I had never told you I loved, even though I do. Like the bridge of your nose, or your cheek bones or the way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks when you blink, or how your hair sometimes curls into a swoop on your forehead. Or how your eyebrows are never really all that messed up but you always have at least one hair sticking out of place. Or how your jaw tightens when you're upset and trying to control it, and it makes your chin poke out just a little bit. Or how you flatten your lips into a line when you're thinking, or when you bite them when you're trying not to feel.

Or how your tears made the blue in your eyes brighter, and it reminded me what it was about rain I used to find so beautiful.

I was looking at you, and have been looking at you,
Like it was the last time.
Because you never know when that will come.

So, I was selfish.

And even though I had caused those tears, you asked me to stay.

And I don't know how to stay.
I don't think I ever did.

But for you, I could learn.

I love each and every part of you,
Piece by piece,
Atom by atom.

I fall deeper into this darkness,
And as it tries to consume my every thought,
I feel your nails digging into my wrist,
Your fingers only tightening your grip.

I'm coming undone,
All the progress I've made,
Slipping through the cracks
In my surface.

Most people can't feel anything
When they get this way.

But I feel everything.

And even though I feel
Burdensome
And
Unwanted,

I also feel
An intense love for you,
Even still.

I just want you to hold me closer,
To hold my hand even when it's over.

These medications let me sleep through the night,
But they also make me want to sleep through the day.
I'm sorry I can't be better
In any way.

But I know you only hold on tighter,
And I know you just want me to get better,
But I'll never be 100%.
I'll never be entirely okay or normal,
Just as close as modern medicine
Can get.

But maybe if I let myself trust you,
Maybe if I open back up,
I can still be the me
That you fell in love with.

Or maybe I'll just fall apart,
Piece by piece,
Atom by atom.

It feels like being swallowed whole by the ocean,
Except the ocean is made of sand and mulch.

It's when I feel like I'm falling apart,
And my subconscious won't let you reach me.

It's when I just don't know what's wrong,
So I'd rather tell you nothing is,
So you stop trying to fix it.

But I feel myself falling apart,
And all I want is to be more
Put together
For you.

But guilt wears me thin,
It keeps going at me
Long after I've given up.

I'm just not okay.

I don't know how to break the news to you,
But I think this has become terminal.

I can't just erase my scars with ointment,
Get a shot,
And pop some pills daily,
And be entirely cured.

The pills keep it at bay,
Farther than it would be.

But I'm a ticking time bomb.
Without the pills,
I would have already gone off.

With them,
It only pushes off the inevitable.

I will be better,
Better than before.
Better than this.
Better, in a respect.

But I will never actually
Get better,
Will I?

I don't know how to break the news to you,
But I think I've become terminal.

It doesn't feel real,
That you love me.
That I'm yours.
That you're mine.
That we've got rings on our fingers.

I look at you,
And it's like a dream.
Not like my usual ones.
It's like pixie dust and fairy glitter.
It's like the morning dew and budding wild flowers.
It's like the taste of honeysuckle and too-strong green tea.

I feel your hand on my hand
Or your hand on my thigh
Or your hands on my hips,
Or your hand running through my hair,
As innocently as possible,
And I feel like I belong.
I belong right there,
Beside you.

And that's why it scares me.

There is a ray of golden sun,
I know there is.
I just have to find it.
It drives me to keep going.
It drives me to be stronger
Than that part of me that screams that I should listen.
That pulls and tugs on my heart-strings
And tells me that no one will miss me when I'm gone.

There is a ray of golden sun.
I know there is.
I've seen it.
It keeps my head above the opaque black water,
It keeps me warm against the pitch dark tundra.
It keeps me whole when I feel bitterly brittle,
And when I'm about to break.

There is a ray of golden sun,
I know there is.
I can feel it.
It's soft unlike my thoughts,
Which are jagged and cruel and splinter painfully into my heart.
It's sturdy unlike my shaking figure,
Shivering from the anxiety and wracked with painful sobs.

There is a ray of golden sun,
I know there is.
I've almost caught it in a jar once.
When I was falling into pieces of storm clouds and dust,
I chased after it, knowing that if I caught it,
I wouldn't need the lightning anymore,

There is a ray of golden sun,
I know there is.
I recognize it in your eyes,
Behind the blue.
I know that's what it is because
It goes away when you're too tired,
Or when you're upset about something.
But it comes back when you're happy,
Or when I make you laugh.

There is a ray of golden sun,
I know there is.

Be the girl who broke the moon.

Be the wind. Be the rain. Be the thunder. Be the lightning. Be the fire that swallows the world.

Be the boy who gave it all.

Be the smell of yellowing pages and black ink. Be the clumps of snow falling on a dark winters night. Be the pink of the coming dawn. Be the sunrise. Be the spring-green leaves on reborn trees. Be the sunset and all the wonders of the night.

Be the person who holds it all in their hands.

Be the tobacco smoke drifting off a corn pipe. Be the smell of fog on a long drive home. Be the storm that rains bullets and stardust on old rooms with black roofs but with no ceiling.

Just be.

Be the blue of the ocean, or the blue of his eyes. Be the call of the siren or the stars in the sky. Be the one that knows the truth. Be the one who speaks it loud. Be the rebel yell. Be the heart of gold. Be the renegade fist. Be pixie dust. Be a silver wish.

Just be.

Be more than you ever imagined. Be better than you were the day before. Be who you wanted to be. Be the person you needed.

Be the girl who broke the moon.

Lying through my teeth was a lot easier
When I could sit back and pray.
But I don't have anyone, or anything
To pray to anymore.
I'm afraid that you taught me that.
I wish and I long and I yearn
But I surely don't pray any longer.
Because no one answered me
Long ago.
When I was more innocent
When I needed it most.
And I need it now,
But just because you need it
Doesn't mean you'll get it.

There are worse things than
Feeling.
There are worse things than
Wanting to feel.
And what's worse is that you tell me
That you still care
And all I hear are the chorus of angels/demons/monsters inside my head
Telling me that you're a liar just like me.
And I cry because **** it,
I swear that I'm honest.
And I cried because **** it,
Honesty never got me anywhere but farther down this hole.

But there is a light
At the end of this forsaken tunnel!

There is light,
In this dark, cold world.
You choose to ignore it. You choose to be unhappy. And I'm sick of letting you run my state of mind.
You had all you wanted right under your thumb, and you squashed it.
Because you want this state of perpetual sad.
But people are out there dying for us,
People are out there wanting what we have.
And they don't get it,
Because selfish, foolish children like you,
Take it for granted.

But ******* it if I don't leave this world happy.
******* it if I don't change my ways.

I'm shivering and shaking
And I'm just here waiting
For the world to go a little slower,
Just a little bit
Just a little bit.

My veins were clearly visible
Beneath my pale, pale skin,
As the hot water fell in what felt like bullets
To my dizzy, spinning head.

And I'm still shivering, and I'm still shaking,
And I'm just waiting
For the world to be a little warmer,
Just a little bit,
Just a little bit.

And my skin is like porcelain,
If porcelain could scar.
If porcelain was olive,
And if porcelain held a grudge against the people who treated it like
Porcelain.

I'm just shivering,
And I'm just shaking,
And I'm just sitting here
Waiting.

Some people are made to break.
Some people are made to last.

Some people are made out of brittle malachite,
And soft, aluminum filigree.

Others are made from obsidian and jade,
Carved agate cameos for hearts.

But you,
You're made from the most refined lapis,
Crystal clear sapphire of all colors,
With steel and platinum filigree and carvings.
Your heart is warm and soft,
Mainly because it's made up of
Constellations and gold.
And your walls are made out of
Steel and platinum, the same. It drizzles and mists too often behind them.
Your eyes take from your heart,
That very same gold struggling to show
Behind waves of blue skies
That yearn to gloss over the fog
Behind those steel and platinum walls.

But I've found a disparity in your defenses,
A sliver of a crack, that's not too big, but enough so that
I may wriggle through.

And despite my attempts,
Successful or otherwise,
To break down your walls,
When I lay before you,
Naked and vulnerable,
It is not steel nor stone I feel against the pale nervousness of my skin.
Instead, I feel the warmth of constellations, and the curious softness of gold.

Your touch is made up of galaxies,
And so I must ask,
Make me your universe.

My mind is foggy
From my depression.
Something I've been diagnosed with.
Something I only notice
When it gets really bad.

I say things.
Things about myself
That if anyone else said them,
I'd be beyond hurt.

But the fog
Makes it okay.

Because the fog twists things,
And words,
And actions,
And expressions.

And my past makes me paranoid.

Like when you're being extra quiet,
And extra thoughtful,
Introspecting,
If you will.
When you use responses like "I will be."
To my question of "Are you okay?"

It rubs me the wrong way.
I can't take things
At face-value.

Everything is deeper.

The fog makes the distance between us
Seem much bigger than it probably is.

But to me,
It goes on for miles.

Distance,
Drifting away
Drifting apart,
It's something I feel deeply,
Something I've felt so often,
That the absence of absence
Makes me feel skittish.

And maybe it's just
Me.

People come
And people go.

They drift in and out of my life
As though I'm a rest stop
For busy travelers
On busy journeys
That I may never
Be a part of.

And though I give them a chance to close
Their strained eyes,
And a chance to rest
Their weary heads,
When they awake
They always expect more comfort.

But I was not made
To make them comfortable.
I was not born
To please.

And when I decide
I would like to start my journey,
They go.
It's too much trouble.

I'm too much trouble.

The absence of absence
Leaves me anxiously pacing,
Panic-stricken,
Ringing my hands together,
Waiting for it to all
Come falling down.

But this absence
Is killing me.

I could easily fake
Being socially acceptable
I could easily accept
Falling into a well-received
Stereotype.

I could be pigeon-holed.

But then I'd be a liar.

And I'll never do that.

I don't fit
Very well
With most people.

I am shy, and sweet.
Strange and terrifying.
Small and delicate.

I am something that
Most people do not know
How to love.

And that's okay.

I don't need their love.

I don't need to fit.

*But, God, do I want to.

I'm tired of letting my high hopes destroy me.

It hurts, but I have to let go sooner or later.

I'm done.

I just wanted you.

That's all.

I wanted your smile,
Your laugh,
Your warmth
And your arms around me.

I just wanted a chance for my heart to glance upon
The galaxies in your eyes.

I wanted to love you,
To show you all that love.

I still want that,
You.

And while I know I have you,
I also know
I might not have all of you.

This is one of the hardest things.

Telling you what's wrong.

About all my insecurities.

And you promise to fix it,
Everytime.

But everytime,
Nothing changes.

You walk on ahead,
With him.
With her.

And I am barely out of the car.

It ***** to tell you I'm hurt.

But biting the bullet and admitting the truth
Is better than letting it fester,
Like the infection it's become

I am not
****
Or hot
Or attractive.

Not in the way other girls are.

My parents used to tell me
That I have the face of an angel,
Which is why I'll never look like the other girls.

I'm not flirty or funny or ****.

Maybe that's why you don't touch me as often.

I don't blame you.

I'm a tear-stained mess.

I'm full of shrapnel and broken glass.
I'm stitched from thorns and vines.
I am not a Goddess
Or anything ethereal.

I am born of the earth and wind,
My compassion is the flowing river,
And my will is a burning inferno,
And I thought it would never go out.

But now,
I am a handful of burning embers.

It's funny
When you're emotionally hurt,
That you can feel your heart
Dropping into your stomach.

She's so much better,
You always smile when she talks to you.

I don't think it's going to become anything,
No.
But it still hurts that I can't make you smile like that.

She's funny and honest, and doesn't know as much as me in the areas I'm well versed in. But she knows about the things you like or know a lot about,
And she's super skinny.

She's much skinnier than me.

So much skinnier.

I'm never eating again.

I've lived my life
In the clutches of hatred.

I'd love to watch parts of the world burn,
But I'm done taking my self-hatred out on
The world
And everyone better than me.

Yeah,
I guess you could say I'm angry.
But I'm angry at myself,
For never being good enough
For anyone.

You like her because she's confident.
You love me because I'm smart and kind.

Her confidence is flirty and self deprecating.

It's not her fault.

It's not your fault.

My confidence is sarcastic, and witty, and viciously venomous.

You wouldn't like me if I were confident, I guarantee that.

But kindness and intelligence and beauty
Do nothing against the allure of confidence.

It's no one's fault but mine.

Sometimes
I still shake
From things
That are over.

Sometimes
I still feel
Sullied.
Blackened.

But sometimes
I put on your sweatshirt,
And I feel safe.

And sometimes
I hear your voice
And the tears no longer
Threaten to fall.

Sometimes
I'm not okay.

And sometimes
I am.

I try not to think about it.
About how "No," (or, more accurately depicted: "NO!")
Wasn't a valid answer.
Or how my first line of defense
Was the 4,000+ page Civil War Encyclopedia
On my nightstand.

I try not to think
Of the ways I've been reduced to an object.
I try not to think of my silent tears,
Or wanting to light my skin on fire.

I try not to think of my older brother's anger,
Or the confusion and passive rage
When I explained what it meant to my little brothers'.

I try not to think of my foster mother,
Who instantly accused me of lying
Because I was too scared to come forward with it sooner.

I try not to think
About how I still kind of hate her for that.

I try not to think
About the male friends who told me to get over it.
About the male friends who didn't believe me until they asked him,
And judged his behavior about it for themselves.
About the male friends who didn't understand what the big deal was.

I try not to think
About the female friends who didn't want to believe me.
About the female friends who left because I became too difficult.
About the female friends who left because they were no longer the center of attention.
About the female friends who didn't want to understand because it was too much trouble.

I try not to think
Of the way it destroyed my relationships, six platonic, three familial, and one romantic.

I try not to think
Of how I want to blame myself,
Even though I'm better off without those people,
All of them.

I try not to think
About how it destroys me
Little by little,
But only on the bad days.

I try not to think
About how I was messed up
Long before that.
About how I was a possession to my father,
So becoming an object to another man
Was really no different.

I try not to think.