I scream into the void,
I guess I do that a little too often.

But I still scream,
Just like I have a million times:
"BREAK ME. SEE IF YOU CAN DO IT."

I taunt.

I laugh, and continue, "I answer to no man or god, and both have tried to break me. I cannot be broken for long."

And I feel heat.
Fire seizing my feet,
My legs,
My torso and arms,
Engulfing my eyes.

I am burnt to ash,
Burnt to nothing,
Just an ember shimmering and glimmering
In nothingness.

But there is no song sweeter
To bring forth life again,
Than that of a bluebird's.

And as the soft sound of chirping
Fills the nothingness with a bed of grass,
And a tree for my Bluebird to perch,
My embers still shiver and shimmer and glow.

When the light goes out within my embers,
My Bluebird dives down from his perch,
And pecks at my embers curiously.

"Give her time," Whispers the wind,
The rustling of leaves in the trees,
The soft caress of the grass.

My Bluebird sits and waits,
bringing the embers cupped flowers filled with sweet water,
And shiny rocks that I might've taken a liking to,
If I were not ash.

And in time,
Under the constellations that dance within his eyes,
And the galaxies that play within his heart,
Painted across the sky for the wind, the grass, and that lovely little tree,
To see,

I am pulled from golden starlight and grey ashes,
Dark soil and green grasses.

A very high chirping is heard,
And fluttering and hovering, is a Hummingbird.

And though I am still a little damp,
And still dusted with grey ash,
I float and hover towards my Bluebird,
And though I once never answered to man or god,
I am happy to flutter and fly together.

And as he, a Bluebird, and myself, a Hummingbird, flew and floated and spiraled ever higher,
The darkness of the void
Began to grow saplings and blossoming flowers.

Nothing is broken for long.

Falling is easy,
Especially when infatuated.
Infatuation causes a false sense of trust.
So you allow yourself to fall,
Thinking that someone of interest
Would catch you.

But they expect you to catch them.

And sooner or later,
The weight of each other is too much.

They weren't actually ready to care for someone else,
You cared too much.

You were a means to an end to them.
Whether it be you were good for their ego,
Or you were an ****** just waiting to happen,
You didn't actually matter.

Don't worry.
I get it.
I've been there, too.

Falling is easy.

But flying is harder.

Flying is a choice.
It is making the conscious decision to let go,
To jump that cliff.
It's having enough control not to tense up
Every muscle in your body,
And brace for the inevitable impact.

Here's a secret, though:
The impact isn't inevitable.

Because when you fly, you're carrying your own weight.
And when you feel yourself faltering, you have someone who is flying with you,
Who will make sure you don't hit the ground,
And you'll do the same for them.

Because you care so much,
And even though you know the pain of losing them would be mostly temporary,
You also know it would permanently damage parts of you.

But, surprise, surprise!
They feel the same way.

You're more than hormones and pheromones and all kinds of other types of moans.
You make them a better person,
By being their best friend and so much more.

And trust me,
Flying is harder than falling.
You have to weather through storm after storm,
And cloudy days,
And lightning and thunder,
And lots of rain.

But you can do it,
For yourself.
For them.
For both of you, together.

Because, I guess the whole point is:

Falling is infatuation.

Flying is love.

And while falling is easy,
Flying is much better.

I burnt myself making dinner again.

This time it was my arm, not my hand.

I want to be better.
I have to be better.

I know I have to be patient,
But it hurts me when I see that sliver
Of... whatever it is, in your eyes.

Maybe it's disappointment.
Maybe it's fear.

I know I have to get worse before I get better,

But I don't want to lose you.

I'm floundering
Here in darkness.

I aspire to be perfect.
But I'll never reach it.

You used to call me perfect,
And I knew then too
That it was just a syrupy sweet lie,
Whether you knew it or not.
It was comforting nonetheless.

I spent all day
Crying
Or cleaning.

I know I'm technically sick,
But the guilt I feel
Doesn't want to leave my side.

I wish you were here instead.

You have ever right to hate me.

And even still,
You don't.

This will always confuse me.

Why?

Why do you stay?
When all I do is try
To push you away?

Why?

Why are you here?
When every outburst I have
Is rooted in fear?

Why?

I ask,
Why?

"Because I love you."

And though it shuts me up,
Another lump in my throat passes
And I choke out,

**But how?

I've been in worse places before,
And I can feel myself tugging on the ropes
To pull me out of it.

I feel alone,
Even when you're here.

The weeks seem longer,
The days seem like two at once,
I just want you to touch me,
Remind me that this is real.

But you're distant,
And I'm trying too hard.

I try not to cry,
And I try to be cute,
And I try to be sociable,
And I try to be smart.

But all I do is cry.

Maybe you won't be so distant
Forever,
But it sure hurts
Right now.

I could fade into dust
Within your arms,
And be glad that my last sight
Was you.

But I don't want to fade to dust.
Because I don't want to experience
A life (or afterlife)
Without you.

And while I will gladly wait,
I just want to feel you beside me.

And maybe I was out of luck,
Until I fell for you,
But trust me,
I fell hard enough
That I would know
If you were worth falling for.

And you're more than worth it.

But upon my falling,
You pulled me up with you,
And showed me how to fly.

I used to think that blue eyes were pretentious. I used to think that everyone with blue eyes somehow thought they were better than plain old me, with brown eyes and brown hair.

Shallow, right?

And then I met you, and for some reason, blue eyes were much less pretentious, and blue became my favorite color. Blue felt like home when mine was breaking. Blue felt like home when I didn't have one.

Hopeless, right?

But I've always been shy, and when I went through a phase of questioning myself and who I was, I didn't dare risk reaching out to you, out of fear you wouldn't really care. I ended up in a lot of bad situations, all of which I survived. I have the scars to prove it.

Foolish, right?

And I guess, in a vulnerable state in which I was afraid to be alone, I made another bad decision, and this decision was, just like before, a person. He brought out the worst in me, and I him. I thought his blue eyes could be a nice home too. Not the same way yours were. The way a desperate person takes shelter in a storm. But he was the storm, and I was collateral damage. I guess I thought I could make a home out of shrapnel.

Naïve, right?

I used to believe in meant to be. I used to believe in destiny, and true love, and red strings of fate. I stopped believing in that, for awhile. I went on various dates, with men who were nice and friendly. But upon telling them I couldn't go on dates with them anymore, because I wasn't ready to be with anyone, in any capacity, they stopped talking to me. It was foolish of me to think I was more than a chance at getting laid to them.

Gross, right?

And then we started talking again. And honestly, I didn't trust you at first. I wanted to, but I was scared. But when we met in person again, for the first time in seven years, I, slowly, started to believe again. And when you weren't paying attention, I'd steal glances at you, and even though I'd written off blue eyes, seeing the noon-sky and golden-sun within your iris's was almost too much. I felt at home, once more. And whether that was platonic or not didn't really matter. Because when you hugged me goodbye after I asked, I realized I loved you. And maybe I'd never really stopped.

Romantic, right?

I used to think blue eyes were overrated. I used to think I wasn't meant to be with anyone. I used to not believe in true love. It's funny, because now we've been married since November. And now I can't imagine going a day without watching the smile on your lips touch your eyes. And now I can't imagine being with anyone else. And maybe fate isn't a thing. And maybe neither is destiny. And maybe there are no red strings of fate. But I know true love is real, because I love you more than I've loved anyone else, of any kind of love. And you're the person I'm going to love forever, the person I have loved forever.

But now I do believe that fate only brings us to do the things we would do anyway.

Because if I had to choose between fate and loving you, then I guess I don't have any guidance besides the blue of your eyes.

Corny, right?

I allow myself
To be vulnerable
Around you.

Because love is mostly
About trust,
And I trust that you
Will love the
More fragile parts of me
And treat them with care.

I am only strong
When I need to be.
Otherwise
It's a waste of effort.

My skin longs to be touched by you.
A sort of skin starvation,
Where short, sweet kisses
Only wet my appetite.

I allow myself to feel this love for you,
To let it make me honest.
To let it make me vulnerable.
I am willingly and forcibly dropping my guard and my walls.
I have been doing so for eight months.

And I will let you see all of me
For eternity,
Only asking that,
In turn,
I may see you.

I'm sure one day you'll see me.
One day you'll appreciate that I stuck around.
One day you'll realize that this is give and take,
And that I've given more than my fair share,
(But I'm okay with that.)

One day you'll understand that I can't read minds,
And one day you'll articulate that you care,
And one day you'll verbalize how much I mean to you.

One day you'll hear me,
Without words.
And one day you'll see me
With your heart.

But until then,
I'll keep guessing and hoping
That maybe I am enough for you.
And maybe there are just words you haven't said,
Maybe there are actions left to be done.

One day I'll be healthy.
One day I'll be better.
One day I'll be what you subconsciously want me to be,
Because maybe that's the problem.

But until that day,
I sit here with misty eyes,
Choking on whimpers and sobs.

I just want you to show that you care.

Enough,
I scream to the sort of opposite of my conscience.
Enough..
I whisper as the cruelty of my mind recedes,
But only for a moment.

I want to be more valuable than material goods,
And monetary means.

I want to be better, and stronger,
And someone you're terrified of losing.

Because I'm so scared of losing you,
That it strangles my vocal chords,
And sits on my chest,
Attempting to puncture my lungs.

I am tired.
Tired of fighting it,
The voice in my head that coos and growls,
You're not good enough.
You'll never be enough.
Everyone finds someone better,

And I'm sick of thrashing violently against it's hold.
I'm sick of writhing beneath it's grasp on me,
Because my heart screams that I deny it,
My heart shouts that I have to fight back.

But I'm the only one doing the fighting here.

And I'm so, so tired.
I'm tired of not being enough.
Whether it be good enough
Or enough to make someone want to stay.

All I can do,
Is tell that voice:
ENOUGH!**
With all the fire left in me.
Because I've had enough
Of beating myself down.

But even that shout,
That strong-willed show of disobedience,
Just isn't enough.

What are you supposed to do
When your worst fears
Begin to come true?

I don't mean to sound self-loathing,
But I warned you.
This is what you get
For loving the sick girl.

Please don't be surprised
Or confused.
I warned you,
And I tried, before, to give you multiple outs.
Whether it be by pushing you away,
Or explicitly explaining
How I am, and what usually happens.

I can't make this feeling of worthlessness
Go away just because I want it to.

I can't pretend I'm confident when
There are just so many things
I'm terrible at.

And I can't just be better,
Stop being anxious,
Stop being depressed,
Stop not focusing,
Stop being manic or dysphoric.

It takes more than wanting to be better.

It takes a lot of work.

And while I know I can't do it on my own,
I understand if you don't want to help.
Or if you can't.

But this is what you signed up for
When you started loving the sick girl.

Right when I think
I might be maybe getting better,
I mess up again.

I have to be better.
Stronger.
And I need to do it now.

No more being gentle with myself,
I don't have time for patience.

I don't mean to be so afraid,
To cry so very often.

But I will stop.

I spent five years
Not showing fear or emotion,
Giving in to what punishment
He thought I deserved.

And I spent one year
Being berated and scolded
For showing any and all emotion
Besides endless appreciation.

I can manage not crying.

I can be better.

I just have to keep telling myself that.

"Why can't I just be more confident?"

Let me get straight to the point.

I'm not confident.

I might not always think I'm worthwhile,
But I'm getting there.

I know I'm not terrible looking,
But that is never enough.
I have to be thinner,
My eyes can't be brown,
I need to have clearer skin,
My waist needs to be smaller,
My stomach needs to be flatter.
My hair needs to be softer and have more volume.
Maybe even curl a little.

All these thoughts that I would fight tooth and nail against my friends if they dared to think this negatively about themselves.

I'm a hypocrite, what can I say?

Though I have been conditioned
From the day I could voice my own opinions, from the day I didn't want my mother dressing me up,
To believe I have no value other than my appearance.
To believe that I have no worth as anything but a pretty little doll, and having even that revoked.

My parents would call me "pretty" and "precious",
But when I stood up for myself when they would lash out at me
I was "ugly" and "rude".

They're still like that.
Voicing my opinions around them
Never goes well.

Manipulative friendships and two ex's later,
I'm this way.

I am unsure of everything. Every compliment could be revoked at any second.

Same with any type of love.

The only reason I know I'm better than those who have hurt you,
Is because the only thing I'm arrogant about
Is the empathy and vicious protectiveness in my heart.

But I'll never be
Super confident,
Like the women who reel men in like fish,
Devour their hearts,
And throw them back into the water.

But I know I am strong.
Stronger than you know.
I've been told it's incredible
That I can still be so soft and sincere
And caring
After going through
My own little hell.

And maybe that is my strength.
I still have a heart,
After refusing to sell my soul to Death.

I am confident in at least that much.

I can't finish my coffee.
And the caffeine hasn't kicked in,
But I think the meds are starting to.

I'm barely hungry.
Well, right now I'm not even a little bit.

I know I don't exude confidence,
But I'll get there, I promise.
I am sure of my abilities,
My intelligence (sometimes)
And my determination.

I am sure that I am good, and kind, and forgiving.

I just need to work on liking my outside self.

I'm getting there. I promise.

I'm going to pour the coffee down the drain,
And introspect for an hour or two.

Maybe I'll come to an epiphany
That I'm not entirely terrible,
And that I am enough, if not more than.

I long to feel your hands pressed into my back,
In an embrace that goes from kissing to much more.

I long to hear your laugh,
And to bathe in the light of your smile.

I want to feel your fingers running through my hair.
Whether you're gently gripping or lulling me to sleep.

I want to be held within your arms, safe and sound from the cruelty of the past, the harsh cold of the present, and the frightening void of the future.

I want to run my fingers along your spine,
Allowing you to let down some, if not all, of your walls.

I yearn to place my lips upon yours, so we may fall into place together.

I love you so, and all I want is to show you
The extent of that love,

So you may never feel inadequate,
So you may never feel left behind.
I want to love you just enough,
And then an infinity more.

Today I felt like more of an outcast
Than I actually am.

But you won't read this.

I have failed you,
And disappointed myself.
And for that my guilt will swallow me whole.

But you won't read this.

I am getting better,
But it's taking me awhile.
I wish you could understand
How hard I'm trying.

But you won't read this,
At least,
Not tonight.

The rain drums like tapping finger nails on my window.

I shiver and I shake.

The sun forces his way through reluctant clouds.

My hands are covered in scars and burns.

Birds sing a melody of soft awakening.

It sounds much too close, so I poke my head out of the doorway. There is nothing.

Flowers begin to bloom while others begin to wilt.

I feel as though I am both wilted and am in the process of becoming.

I shed this skin of shields, and wear my heart on my sleeve.

It is a vulnerable state, for there are predators amongst the pack.

What I fear the most is that I am one of those predators.

The wolf gives a mourning howl, soft and low. Filled with a lonesome, melodramatic sorrow.

The rain threatens to pick up again.

I escape it's hold, for rain is necessary, though I dislike it.

My name has been sullied, blackened. And why not?

The prey only lies.

The wolves are painted as predators because they tell the truth.

So I will leave my sun drenched corner and go headfirst towards the rain.

I will dance with wolves.

I'm not much.
I don't know how much I have to offer.
I cook.
I clean.
I'm always thinking of you,
And things I could do
To make you smile.

Whether it be food to make
(Which always seems to fail)
Or books to give
(At least it gets some reaction)
Or, sadly, ***.

And that one is the one that eats me up inside.

Because I crave ***, but only with you.
And I use it as a tool
To validify myself.
Because I'm not pretty
Or worthwhile
Unless I can serve a purpose.

People say you deserve the love you try ao hard to give to everyone else.

They also say that if you expect the same from people that you give, you'll always be disappointed.

I guess the point is, I am only valued for as long as I am useful.

I'm waiting for your voice,
And I'm waiting for you.
I could wait forever,
But I'm sure I won't have to.

I wish I could ease your worries,
I wish I could calm your mind.
I wish I could love you properly,
But that will come in due time.

I am waiting
For your arms around my waist,
I am waiting
For a closing of this space.

I am getting better.
I am stronger than before.
I know it will take lots of time,
But every day this better grows a little more.

I want to make you proud,
I want to make you smile.
I want to be what makes your heart flutter,
As you've been mine for awhile.

I was always told
As if it were praise,
About how strong I am (emotionally).
About how determined I am,
About how much of a fighter I am.

My mother says: "We're all so proud of you, and anyone who isn't is delusional."

But I don't feel so strong anymore.
I don't feel very brave.
I don't feel like a fighter.

All this bravado I put forth for my mother,
And my siblings when they actually speak to me,
Just isn't enough.
I can't do it in front of you,
Because that front I have
Is such *******.

I'm vulnerable and scared,
And my confidence only comes out
In deflective smart remarks,
That have a tendency of offending
Most people,
And I'm sure sometimes even you.

I just want to be better.
I just want to be stronger.
But I'm nowhere near better,
And I don't feel very strong.

I only break when I know I'm allowed to.

I have to be stronger than this.
I'm too smart for my own good,
And I have a golden heart
With a rebel yell.

I am better than this.

I am stronger than this.

I'll be okay.

In
1, 2, 3.
Out
1, 2, 3, 4.

In
1, 2, 3.
Out
1, 2, 3, 4.

This breathing exercise
Won't change a thing.
But at least
I won't feel so much like
I'm drowning myself.

This distance between us
Is something I've become
Vividly aware of.
Much like my veins,
Much like my faults.

Maybe it's just me,
But I'd get frustrated with me too.
I know because I am me.
I live in my head.

I am ever the curious,
And ever the wondering.
Ever the insecure,
Forever grasping at straws
Hoping that I'd find that one virtue
About me
That will make me worthwhile.

I breathe,
Very aware of the expanding lungs beneath my ribcage,
The pulsating, blood filled heart in my chest.
Beating and beating and beating
Crying and crying and crying out:
Please just love us, we're all trying so hard!
Demanding that I follow it
To the end of time.

In
1, 2, 3.
Out,
1, 2, 3, 4.

I am red with determination.
I refuse to let the darkness,
As I spiral farther into madness,
Consume me whole.

If it may consume me,
It'll at least be stuck with
One hell of a fight.

I am blue with steady hands, steady voice.
I am not one to give in,
And if I've made it this far,
I can make it farther.

I am green like the grass,
Green like the trees,
Green like flowers that haven't blossomed yet.

I am lively,
I am strong.
I will not allow
Myself to crumble.

I have come too far
Not to go farther.

I am sick.

I have to keep telling myself that.

It's just a sickness that eats away at your heart,
Making you feel unworthy,
Useless,
Pointless.

And with proper treatment,
It can be lessened,
Though it will never go away.

It's just a sickness that deteriorates
Your self esteem,
Your confidence (if you had any to begin with),
And your relationships with others,
Because you sabotage all of them.

It's a sickness, right?
Because you get so tired of fighting it,
Tired of pretending to be okay,
Tired of being tired.
And dear God, you're so very tired.

And everything hurts,
And your patience is thinning,
Because you feel hopeless,
And the meds aren't working as quickly as you would have liked,
And you're still going through a harsh withdrawl from medications
The doctor told you to stop.

But there's just enough fight left in you,
Where all you want is to feel better
So you can laugh again.
So you don't make him so sad and worried.

It's a sickness, I am sure.
Because I feel so sick of it.

I love in vast amounts.

With all of me.

With my whole being.

How do you "low key" love someone?

How do you not give your all?

How do you not wear yourself thin?

I'm destroying myself
Because I love so much.
Because with the amount of love I give,
I know I'll never be worth half of it.

And maybe it's some kind of cosmic punishment.
For whatever sins against whatever god I may have committed.

Too much of anything is too much.
Even something like love.

My skin is starving for your touch,
And my heart aches for your voice.

I don't think I'll ever get better
And maybe that's why you're so far away
Even when you're right here.

It's the biggest lie I've ever heard.
People only tell it when they become old, and bitter, and jaded.

You must be able to rely on yourself.
You have to be able to pick yourself up
Off the bathroom floor,
When you collapse in a mess of blood and tears,
At three in the morning.

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't rely on others.
That doesn't mean you shouldn't have faith,
Or hope,
And it doesn't mean you should never love.

I was told the opposite by a Catholic deacon.
He said
That when you feel down and out and full of self hatred
That it's okay to lean on those around you.
It's okay to ask them for help and guidance.

I struggled to hide tears, and I told him
"What if you have no one?"
Because at one point, that's exactly what I had.
No one.

He sat with me, and didn't bother hiding his tears.
I still wonder what made him cry, when he spoke to me.
Was it the fact that I was so small and young and yet so broken?
Or the fact that I reminded him of his daughter, and that I had, unlike her, faced much more of the worlds cruelty?

I tried not to let it get to me.

He told me
That if I feel I have no one,
Know that I at least have him in my corner,
And whether or not I still believe (and he understood if I didn't) that he would be praying for me
And a strong, and hopefully swift, recovery.

I like relying on others.
I like when they rely on me.
Humans are pack animals.
We must rely on each other,
It's what we're supposed to do.

And now that I have someone
Who I know I can always rely on,
I realize how bitter and cold and hopeless
A person must feel
To truly believe
You can only ever rely on yourself.

You haunt my dreams,
Egging on the sentiment that my subconscious favors,
The little mantra of
"You're not good enough."
Or
"You're worthless."

And while I should be fired up
Into a frenzied rage
That you would dare treat anyone
As poorly as you treated me,
I am much too tired.

I am much too done.

I am in a lull
Where there is no sound
And no hate-fueled anxiety
Rampaging through my heart.

For my mind is getting the best of me,
It whispers "Are you sure he loves you?"
And before I can respond with logic,
It shuts me up while hissing "Are you sure you're capable of being loved?"

And I try to keep it together,
But I crumble when I'm near him,
When I hear his voice,
Because it's so hard to be strong
In front of someone I only want to be honest with.

Maybe I'm supposed to feel bad
For the way we left things.
Maybe I'm supposed to feel guilt
Inspired by your gaslighting and lies.

But I feel no guilt towards you,
I am punished enough by the dreams where you hurt me,
Again and again and again.

The only guilt I feel
Is that I cannot be better
For him.
At least not yet.
At least not quickly enough.

I have sunset eyes
That see through facades
And every disguise
You could front.

I have midnight eyes,
That create oceans of tears,
Produced from lies,
Yours, theirs, and mine.

I have sunset eyes,
That bring forth life
And revitalize
Those without purpose.

I have midnight eyes,
That pierce through your soul,
And no one really can realize
Until it's too late.

But you have sky blue eyes,
That hold the sun just around your pupils.
And your eyes remind me
That I too can fly.

Your eyes are sky blue,
With a sunny forecast ahead.

I always thought blue eyes were pretentious,
And that brown eyes were boring.

But when I first fell in love with you,
I could feel the honesty flowing off you,
And when I touched you that fateful Saturday,
In a friendly hug,
Gentle kindness rolled off of your colors,
And I was finally home.

And now when I look in your eyes,
I am reminded that blue is now my second favorite color,
And when you look at me,
I realize brown isn't so bad
Either.

It feels like my skin is crawling,
Though I know that's just the old medication
Seeping out of my pores.

It feels like the room is spinning,
But that's just me getting used to
It not being in my system,
Because the new medication hasn't kicked in yet.

I'm a mess,
I'm a wreck.

My emotions are splattered on the wall
Like red paint or rust colored blood stains.

I feel myself slipping
But it is a slow decline
From sanity.

I fall into the void,
But the void spits me back up.

And why shouldn't it?
I'm not done here,
No, not yet.

Breathing isn't something that comes to me
With ease.

Breathing is difficult,
And I forget to do it often.

I'm so wrapped up
In awe,
In anxiety,
In wonder,
In despair,
That I forget that breathing
Keeps me here.

I have to force myself to breathe sometimes.

Because other times the air is too thin,
Or too thick,
And it chokes me.

I have a phobia of asphyxiation,
Which is pretty ironic
Seeing as something always
Takes my breath away.

Sometimes you open your eyes
And see nothing.
Sometimes you close your eyes
And it's all right there.

Sometimes my tarot cards all fold,
And my crystal ball fogs over.
Sometimes the runes don't read,
And the lines on your palms are just scars.

Sometimes the pendulum won't swing,
And the birds in the bottletree
Won't sing.

But the sky is violent red,
So maybe the sunlight
Will come again.

So lay your crystals
By the windowsill,
And light your candles
In your circle.

Wish and pray and wish and pray
But in the end
Fate is what you make it,
And no amount of darkness
Can black out my colors.

Nothing is scarier
Than living, breathing people.

I've never had nightmares about corpses,
Because I've never seen one.
All funerals I've been to
Have been the closed-casket kind.

It's a morbid thought
That makes me uneasy.

The scariest monsters
That do the most harm
Are living and breathing.

We only fear the unknown
Because it is unknown to us.
I have no fear for what is already dead.
I seek to bring them peace,
And nothing else.

I am afraid of humans,
The living and breathing kind,
That float around your subconscious at night,
Reminding you how terrible you are.

I am afraid of humans
Because they are dishonest.

Animals are better.
When an animal doesn't like you,
It tries to bite your arm off.
Humans pretend to like you first.

I breathe in,
And the air doesn't flow through my windpipe,
But rather it gets stuck
Like a thick, hot fog
In my throat.

My skin is cold to the touch,
And I'm shivering
But I'm so hot that I couldn't
Stand a blanket being on my body.

My stomach is rebelling,
Throwing back up
Whatever sustenance I decide to give it.
And it hurts.

I am dizzy.
The room spins around me.
My head hurts
And I'm barely keeping water down.

This is my punishment,
I guess,
For having to take medication
To function normally.

Somedays I curse at myself.
I should be better.
I should be making more progress.
I feel stagnant.

I know this step back
Is really just a step forward
But it's driving me insane,
As if I wasn't already there.

Life is short,
But
Hope is violent.

It makes you think,
It makes you see.
It gives you the ability
To move forward.
Motive to keep going.

Life is short,
But
Love is brutal.
True love is kind,
And patient,
And doesn't begrudge you.
True love is honest, whether it hurts or not.

Life is short
But
Laughing is painful.
You smile for too long
And your cheeks start to hurt
And you laugh too hard
And your abdomen starts to ache.


Life is short,
But
Aren't all fun things?

I want to rip your throat out,
I want to bleed you dry.
I want to be comeuppance,
I want to hear your cries.

I want to rip your throat out,
I want to bleed you dry.
My favorite song is Sympathy for the Devil,
And now I remember why.

There's a false sense of superiority
As you enter the scene.
You fuel my fiery rage,
Though it be but a dream.

Your words are nails on chalkboards,
Your eyes beady and unkind.
I want to rip your throat out,
And end the spew of lies.

I may be soft and docile,
But it won't take me very long,
To rip you shred from useless shred
With my storm siren song.

So be wary of the winds,
And be wary of the tide.
Be wary of the rain and thunder,
For the elements are on my side.

I can't see past
The Ocean Blue,
And I can't seem
To see past
You.

I'm stuck here,
In this trap inside my head,
That tells me I'm nothing
Not good enough.

I can't remember who I was,
Who I used to be
Anytime between late 2011
And early 2016.

I'm still building myself back
From being a shell
Of something less.
But hopefully
I won't always be
Such a mess.

It won't take long
But I need to find who I am
Who I was
Again.

Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be:

Do you hear
The caw of the crow?
As ash falls
Like the never-coming snow.

Hush the little angels,
With a mockingbird that sings.
Promise them companionship,
And red-studded rings.

Listen as the raven-bird
Mocks you, nevermore, nevermore.
Bring forth the sunlight,
And stay forevermore, forevermore.

Strange things did happen here,
So no stranger would it be:
If we met below the harvest moon,
And read a spell in three's.

The people that I always tend to be--
Uh, well, to be it lightly--
Better than,
Always assume I'm sheltered.

That I cannot possibly be so kind,
I cannot possibly be so sweet,
I cannot possibly be so, ugh, cute,
And have had something terrible happen to me.

I always love correcting them.
"You're right," I begin.
My voice sweet like honey.
"I have no had something terrible happen to me."
I go on to inform them that it's
"I've had multiple somethings. With an S. Plural."

They usually scoff, and that's when my laugh becomes bitter,
And sly.
Not like dark chocolate,
No, still too sweet.

Bitter like dry swallowing too many pills because the memories won't let up.
Bitter like the glue on the back of the tape that's over your mouth.
Bitter like the smell of sawdust.
Bitter like pain.

They assume they can read me,
Know me.
That I'm this nice, shy girl.

And they're not wrong.

But I'm shy because of my Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
And I'm nice,
Because I refused to let my C-PTSD taint who I am.
I refuse to let it make me cruel.

But these people,
Who have proven by their actions and words
That my occasionally self-loathing, mentally-ill self
Is actually better than,
Love to downplay me.
Love to call me sheltered.

But I guarantee
If they have been through
What I had been through
They wouldn't be half as
Kind
Sweet
And, UGH, cute.

And that in itself
Is a strength.

Hear me,

I am the whisper in the wind,
The faint birdsong with the sunrise.
I am a lull and I am soft.
But if you listen closely,
I am thunderous though sweet.

You are the taste of honeysuckle,
The smell of dandelions.
You taste the way spring feels.
Giddy and exciting,
Finally at peace.

I hear you.

Roses are red,
Poppys are too,
I wonder if you know
How long I've loved you?

Some kittens are black,
And baby snakes can be green,
You are so gentle and kind,
And never try to be mean.

Some cats are orange!
And others are gold.
I want to be with you forever,
And together we will grow old.

Some birds are green and purple,
While my favorite is blue.
It was worth the wait
To fly (not fall) with you.

Lizards are speckled,
But foxes are not.
You always tend to be
Within my thoughts.

My favorite tree is a willow,
And my favorite flower, daffodils,
Are yellow.
So please hold my heart's pieces,
And never let go.

Roses are red,
And I feel just fine.
So please take my hand,
And be my valentine?

My legs are
Criss-crossed,
Sitting with my shoulders slouched
Trying to make waves
With words.

My eyelids are heavy,
The mania makes it so I don't sleep.
I've been manic
For a week.

Tired during the day,
Up to the moon at night.
But I take my pills on time,
So I can keep up the good fight.

I'm trying to be sane
When I'm not.
Trying so hard to be perfect,
Trying not to get caught

B
   R
      E
         A
            K
                I
                  N
                      G

So I'm mixed up but I'm

M
    A
        K
            I
              N
                  G

My way back
To the start.

I just have to find my way
Back to the start.

I was reluctant
To fall in love
I was reluctant
To be
Loved.

But your name is
Embroidered onto my heart
With thread made from vines
And a sewing needle made from stars.

Flower petals rain down in place of
The blood that seeps from the wounds
That I created myself.

Breathe in,
1, 2, 3.
Breathe out,
1, 2, 3, 4.

I was reluctant
To fall in love.
I was reluctant
To let myself
Be loved.

Your voice is etched in stars,
Glowing and gleaming lighter and lighter blues and golds.
It's carved into my heart,
Stitched right here
Into my soul,
With a needle made from brambles,
And thread made from constellations,
They sew me back together,
They stitch me whole.

Pixie dust scatters in the wind
In place of all the blood that should be dripping
From whatever wounds
May be.

Breath in,
1, 2, 3.
Breathe out,
1, 2, 3, 4.

I am reluctant to let you in,
But I'm letting you in,
And it's gonna hurt because I'm scared,
But it's alright, I know it's alright,
From the way you hold me at night,
To the way you hold my hand.

Your name is etched, stitched onto my heart
With thread made from constellations
And a needle made from stars.

You were proud,
You were strong,
You are here,
You are gone.

You were warm sun piercing through grey clouds
You were a soft breeze in light of humidity
You were blades of green, green grass, not harsh enough to cut me open
But cool enough to bring me back to Earth.

You were proud,
You were strong,
You are here,
You are gone.

I'd give everything to be anything but
Temporary.

You are dedicated
You are loyal.
You are the promise of sunlight
That comes with better days.
You are the honesty that washes over me in waves.

You are proud.
You are strong.
You were here.
You were gone.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of of the way it feels on your tongue,
Whether you're spitting it back at him,
Or swallowing it along with your pride,
When asking for help.

His name isn't important,
Rather it's more of the way it feels on your lips
When they're pulled back into a grin
Or are pursed into a pout.

His name isn't important,
No, it's more of the way it feels in your throat,
A raw sensation on your vocal chords,
When you scream it within a dream,
Terrified of losing him.
Or just as raw, but a thousand times more euphoric
When it's pitched into a moan.

His name isn't important.
No, it isn't.
It's the way your face flushes when you hear his voice,
Or the way your stomach jumps into giddy butterflies when he's coming home,
Or the way your heart frenzies and then settles into a rhythmic beat when he lays his head on your chest.
It's the way he holds you
When you get too bad,
When you didn't mean it,
When you don't know how it happened,
When you just don't remember but it stings,
So he helps you clean yourself off,
He helps you clean it off,
And helps bandage you up
Before you go to bed.

It's the way he doesn't hate you for it.

His name isn't important,
Rather, it's the way he makes you feel like you're flying, and that the air is your home.
It's the way he turns the fan down and the heater on before he leaves, so you don't get cold without him there.
It's the way he eats what you cook, and doesn't tell you it's bad when it's bad, unless you bring it up first.
It's the way you notice the little things about him, like the way he holds you tight before he gets up in the morning,
Or the way he wraps his arms around you,
Or holds your hand
Or brushes the hair out of your face because he wants to see your eyes
Or just the way his silhouette against his colors strikes your heart,
The way his eyes pierce into your very soul.

It's the way you feel like you have to protect him too,
Just like he protects you,
Because he gets defensive when he explains that he wants to do something,
And relaxes when you explain to him that it's okay, of course he can do the thing he wants to do, you would never stop him from doing anything he wants, as long as it doesn't hurt him.
It's the way the worry in his eyes isn't judgmental, instead it's kind and warm and somewhat achy in your bones, like the flu. But it doesn't make your heart drop, like when he gives you bad news.

His name isn't important,
No, it's the way he wants to care for you,
The way he has trouble articulating how he feels about you
Because he's not the poet, you are.
The way he tries to show it through adverbs and actions,
And you notice it occasionally.
It's the way it still feels surreal
That he cares to the extent that he does.

His name isn't important,
No, not at all.
But rather, it's the fact
That it's his.

I do what I need to, in order to survive. That's my purpose. Get out and get out alive. I'm made to keep going, I'm made to persist. It's why I'm here, why I exist.

But you've given me more reason, along with the others. More reason to wait out all these grey seasons. Now don't get me wrong, I am fine on my own, but being with you is so much better, so much better than being alone.

Because there's more to life than surviving, there's a portion of living too. And one of my favorite parts of living, also happens to be loving you.

A life of paper stars,
Folded down into pages torn from notebooks,
Bent and creased into paper planes.

Let the wind take off,
And let them go,
Disappear into the sky.

I hope you find
Each word I wrote for you,
Because I'm letting them go,
Letting them go
So they may find you.

So maybe I'll drift
Off into a better sleep
When my words reach your heart,
And my heart grows whole
By touching your soul.

It's always
One or the other
For my sisters
And my brothers,
It's always one
Or the other,
But not for me,
Standing here with broken wings.

I fly a little awkwardly,
A little off-balance,
And it's a little upsetting
To your matter-of-fact
Way of flight,
But please, oh, please?
Can't you see
My little light?

It is small
And a little fractured
But it bobs to-and-fro
In the shadow.

With you it's always
One or the other.
For my sisters
And my brothers,
Under your thumb,
It's always one or the other.

The only wiggle room
Is meant for you,
But it's high noon,
And I'm done with it too.

Maybe I'm just not
Worth your time anymore,
I've been a disobedient pet--
But if that's how you see me,
Then you really don't know me yet.

With you it's always
One or the other,
So I guess I'll just fall back on another.
Because it's always
One or the other,
Guess I'll find a better
Mother.

I am nothing like
My favorite poets.

I am nothing like
Bukowski,
With his hopeful cynicism
And distaste for most things.

I am nothing like T.S. Eliot,
And his pompous pride and hatred for
All things American (though he was American by birth.)

I am not an addict like Poe,
Nor filled with satirical sass like Oscar Wilde.

I am somewhere lost within the imagery of Emily Dickens
And the love of the world around us like Frost.

Or maybe I am all
Or maybe I am none,
But either way,
The angst always wins out.