You get high off your perceived power over my well being,
And I'm left shaking in rage.

You whisper tones of hatred and negativity,
And I allow it to crawl under my skin
Like the parasite your words are.

"I'll never give her a wedding"

You told my little brothers about me.

And it doesn't even matter,
I don't want your ***** money,
Or to acknowledge that you hurt me.
I never should have trusted you,
I was a fool in that.
At least you gave my brothers a normal life,
But you could never take sufficient blame for what you've done.

It's not your nature.

And it's a head rush,
A blood rush,
Cold air on my skin,
The room is spinning and I'm reeling
And this is why I don't get angry anymore.

My head is spinning,
I don't want any part of you
Or to owe you at all.
You blame me for things
I never did nor intended to do,
And you refuse to tell me at all
Where your hurt roots from,
You giant child.

I don't want your ***** money,
Your witches brew,
Because I'm a witch
Just
Like
You.

The Storm Siren Theory is thus:
There are persons whose very presence can bring forth the storm within your soul, their own hearts constructed and built from lightning bolts, that blue gray that can only be described as eerie and deathly and beautiful, and humid winds that make your coat billow behind you as though it'll take you far, far away from that mindset that's slowly destroying you.

And even in the darkest depths of your mind or your calm,
They'll call upon the rains within your veins
And they'll touch parts of you that you've long buried and long forgotten.

They come as destructive tsunamis
That destroy you entirely and force you rebuild yourself into some halfhearted something,

Or they come as necessary hurricanes,
That blow through and show you things you've never known,
Whether it be through destruction or rebirth.

It is up to you to be thirsty ground,
Anxiously awaiting your chance to be given a glimpse at this way of life,
Or to be prepared for what chaos it will bring.

I never said I'd be calm/able
I only ever said I'd be here/stable
And I trust you to make me love the rain again,
Because I'll open up to you the parts
That were burned into ashes at the hands of others,
And maybe something better will grow out of my vulnerability
Than ever grew out of being cold and standoffish.

I don't want to love a storm-chaser,
But somehow you found it in you
To love the siren behind the churning clouds.

It's hard to be lighthearted
When you hold the strings to pull
Your entire world down,
In hands that shake with tremors from too many medications
Too many years ago.

But still,
I prevail when I see your smile
Over the storm clouds
That loom over my head
Daily.

They call it an illness,
A sickness,
Some that you can "catch" or develop,
And some that you're just born with.

People call it being broken.
That's why people act different.
No, don't take it back.
It's okay.
I don't want you to.
It hurts, but that's the truth.

Humans have a tendency
To be able to sense danger,
And those with hearts
Can almost smell the blood that stained your hands,
From a wound that's long been closed up.

And every now and again
It itches and I scratch at it,
And it tears back open.
Keeps the scar fresh,
With big, bold, iron scented "DON'T TOUCH" red warning letters,
I guess.

And I have these dreams,
Not so much anymore,
But I used to,
Where the world was on fire,
And I caused the burning.

I had these dreams,
Now not so much,
Where I was fall into nothingness
And swamp water
And the last thing I saw
Before my descent into madness
Were electric eyes,
Constructed of galaxies and bits of expired universes.

And I felt this hatred,
This deep burning rage,
Because I had no idea
Whose they were,
And why.
And I hated that they made me feel vulnerable,
And safe.
I've never felt that way outside of a dream
Before you.

I am slowly getting better.

I am slowly becoming more sure and more certain that I am safe with you.

logically I know I am, it's convincing myself of it.

I feel like a kitten
with my belly exposed.
you could choose to rake your claws over my stomach, puncturing through to the inside,
or you could carefully lift me up beside you,
with warm pets and hushed cooing.

but with every crashing noise
and sounds that are much too familiar,
I can feel myself flinching away
and towards a feral mindset.

you have to understand,
I'm used to being attacked,
to always being on the defensive.

the fact that you're willing
to calm my storm of a soul
is astounding.
the fact that you want to,
astounds me more.

I'm used to being controlled,
made to feel bad for feeling and wanting.
I am still adjusting
to being understood.

I hope you can understand,
this is all very new to me,
being treated with kindness
and respect.

Within a dream I call to electric eyes
do my bidding, my voice is a sweet honey,
and his milk toned skin shudders,
because everyone thought it was
he who was bad news,
but I was the darkness all along.

I used to dream of protection.
of someone swooping in
and saving me from them, from the bruises, from myself and the scars.

I never thought anyone would actually show up.

I like to think I'm strong on my own,
but the power the galaxies within your eyes hold over me
scares me
and I crave to defy it,
but at what cost?

I reject all control,
in my fearful bout of defiance,
but it injures all good I have built between us.

and I fear telling you that I see the deepest
depths of the wounds
you might bare,
but I've been unaware
for so long
that I've no clue where they've come from.

I might be reserved and thoughtful,
but the monster in my chest
shouts cries of rebellion.
too good for too long.

as if the flashbacks
weren't enough,
fear of control over me
has me back peddling.

I just want
to be sane.

I just want
to be good enough
for you.

You look at me and i'm rambling
and I think to myself "cool your jets."

and I think of love in a way
with words like neat, nifty, and snazzy.
cute and short and unique and older than I am.

and sometimes I think of when I loved you first,
oh, I don't think you'll ever quite get how I loved you first and longer
than you've ever loved me.
I don't even know if you recall
the valentine I never put in your box,
or the many times I tried so hard not to cry in front of you,
but it would have been so easy.

and those years apart,
drifting in and out of being so lonesome and
being in the wrong crowd
I tried so hard to be normal,
to be like everyone else,
but you can't force yourself to love someone
especially when you hate them.
you can only fake it.

and to say I was a liar
would be an understatement.

five years of my life,
I spent faking everything
from smiles to laughs to obedience
to bravery.

and lost within my vulnerability there were friends
that I would gain
and I would lose
at their attempts at "blackmail"
and my attempts at protecting them.

and for a year, there would be people
that would use and destroy
the bits that were left of me.

and upon coming to,
I guess I really never saw
what love was.
I knew how to treat kindly,
and with love.
but I never knew it's face
towards me
until you.

and maybe I'm not the best person
to judge relationships,
but I do know when someone treats
another person wrong.
because it strikes me in all
the most painful places.

and I get uppity and brash
from time to time,
I can only hope
you understand
that it's mostly a defensive measure
against fear.

so I will sit in silence,
and bask in the warmth of your gaze,
if it were to find me
in the blue of the shadows,
and the red of my heart.

Things are tough sometimes.

keep going.

the path will be dangerous sometimes.

keep walking.

your feet will ache. Your hands will shake. Your stomach will hurt. Your eyes will itch from all the grime and dirt.

keep moving forward.

people will be cruel. They'll want you to fail. You'll be able to see it in their eyes.

don't listen to them, don't look at them.

you'll get scared, of everything. Of people and places that you consider home.

don't let it happen.

you'll want to curl up and lay in a ball until you're shaking enough that you don't know how to stop.

do it. But not for too long. Breathe. Get back up. Keep walking.

you'll feel fear at your back and in your head. It'll try eating you alive, and you might even want to let it.

you can't do that. You're better than that, stronger than that.

you'll have enough scars that you lose count.

keep counting them.

you'll lose your appetite from the fear, from the hatred, from the regret, the guilt.

keep trying to eat. Even if it's just a little bit. (a wise Bluebird once told me that.)

remember, the night is always darkest before dawn.

All this fear and discontent and outcry
makes me think of
nobody the dead man.

and if the notion were made
that I should cease breathing
I'd laugh bitterly in the face of
the adversary calling
"go **** yourself"
a mantra I've had chanted at me
many times.

because, don't you know?
it has taken me years to love myself,
and really only within the past seven months
have I started.

it takes more
than meaningless defeat
to bring me down.

but within the cries of sheer terror
I hear my peers falling into despair
and I can only look on helplessly,
for what solace can I give
with burns on their backs,
and wringing marks on their necks?

and I have been assaulted
more times
and by more people
than I care to admit,
but i will never know the fear you feel
for something as simple
as your skin
or bone structure.

I only know it
from my gender,
and my demeanor.

there is nothing I can do,
but continue forward,
and help as I am asked.

do not,
darling,
cry out in fear of death.

cry out in rage.

we are built to be by the people and for the people.

you are the people.

do not react in violence or hatred. Educate. Demonstrate. Make them understand. Give examples. You are the future, and you will make this world better, not a fat cat in an office, it would be the same no matter the figure head.

fight.

and when you feel like laying down your arms and no longer bringing forth peace, that is when you continue forward and keep going.

There is a shadow,
there is a whisper
there is the hint
of something else.

the nighttime screams
in my eardrums
repeating songs
where I came undone.

and who I used to be
just isn't me
and everything is changing,
and maybe that's good.

I am glad to be
part of you
I am glad to be
yours

but I live in the space between
meant to be
and reality
so find me
buried in old songs
and the broken spine
of your favorite book.

I am the sweetest, warmest sip
of your tea,
and I am the the best bite
of your favorite food.

I am simple human pleasures
like the smell of the rain,
or vague, stretching pain.

I am looking deep within your eyes
and finding golden ore
among churning blue skies.

you are the lightning that fills my veins
and I am the light
growing at the end of your tunnel.

Cascading puddle of brown and red and gold
I lay in the sunlight beside you
until the clouds take the sun away.

you seem to be far away,
and that's okay.
I'm rarely here, anyway.
I tend to never let myself
be fully present
our of fear of the impermanence.

I crave your flesh against mine,
and soft loving words
and warm breaths and even warmer kisses.

but I'm honestly afraid
that I am too broken
to be of any use in that sense.

I want to feel the blood pulsing beneath the surface of your skin,
so I know you find me less of an annoyance
and more of a blessing.

but how do I know this?
honestly I don't.
you don't tell me these things,
and I have trouble knowing if I am worth anything at all.

I wonder if you know
how I love you so.

if you're aware of how I so desire
your eyes filled with fire
or the way you fill my heart so rapidly
everytime you smile or look at me.

but I wish I could explain properly
all the ways I am not okay,
like how I cannot just ask for food or things or say what I would like to do.

like how I feel guilty
when you pay for anything for me,
or how I feel bad
when I can't quite keep up with
or pay attention to your video games.

but if I could melt into the sunlight,
and guide upon the path winding,
I would if it meant your peace of mind

It's hard to shake off the self hatred and loathing that comes
post-panic attack,
and it's hard to work with what remains
of your brain
when you're trying to fight off the flashback.

and it's hard to keep yourself
from thinking about it too much,
and it's hard to get yourself
to socialize.

but on a lazy Friday afternoon,
you're playing video games,
and I'm menstruating and craving
affection
skin to skin contact
mental stimulation
and various candies.

and I'd be a little more content
if my stomach wasn't growling in furious rage
at that.

but your focused eyes
and my appreciation for your
everything
is giving me a kind of hope
that I can be the kind of better
that you want.

I have friends who have gotten hot coffee thrown at their backs
for only half of their heritage.

and I have friends who have been told to hang themselves
with things they only wear on special occasions.

and I have friends who know nothing of these fears and these events,
because their privilege is as dominant as their
race
sexuality
gender
and they're as seemingly neurotypical
as it comes.

but still,
they empathize.
they understand.
and I'm certain if they were asked,
they would fight alongside
us too.

there is hope within this darkness,
there is warmth within this storm,
we will fight until the end of days,
and then we will fight further on.
please just stay strong.

it would be easy to give in,
it would be easy to give up,
it would be easy to let this be the end,
to sigh and wrap our time up.

but this is just the beginning,
and we know nothing of the end.
so stand against us as our enemies,
or rise with us as our friends.

You can do everything.

all the breathing exercises, all the mind calming techniques, all the grounding rituals, take all your meds at the appropriate times and with food, go to therapy, do the worksheets, make the changes, but you'll still falter sometimes.

and it could be anything, and you could see it coming and not even know you're seeing it.

it could be a song, a word, a noise, an action, anything.

for me it's the sound of rain on roofs.

and you'll fall back into the darkness and the hatred where you think no one can find you or pull you out again. You'll slip under the raging black sea, and let it consume you entirely
as black water
fills your lung
like rapids

and it burns but you let it happen.

because it was too quick, too sudden, for you to stop the water from drowning you.
you try to stand but you can't find your footing because there are no sandbars for you to stand on
only water.

and you thrash but sooner or later you're dizzy and your throat burns and everything is spotty and you can't think

and you're gone.

replaced by a shaking shell of the memory
of not being able to move your arms
and the thunder and rain drowning out your screams
and each blow to your head making it harder to make any noise at all
(and people wonder why you have memory issues)

and finally, when it's over
you're shaking and shivering and your sobs are so violent that they don't make any noise
you can't eat for weeks and when you do you just throw it right back up.
you can't look at your brother
or hug your father
and the disassociating gets so much worse that your arms bleed and ache almost constantly.

your "friends" worry, but not enough to do anything.
your teachers worry, but not enough to ask why.

no one ever asks, so you never tell.

and while you shake and shiver in the car
because you remember it all so well
and you just want it to stop
but you can't get enough air
and you're an absolute wreck,
there's light drifting down to you
through the murky black water.
it's bright and blue and warm
and suddenly you're on dry land
and can breathe
but you're looking into eyes made of galaxies and storms
and you're afraid if they see you this way that they'll leave,
because you're such a mess
but you can't pull it together.
but he found you, in that deep, dark water.
and he pulled you from it,
and helped you breathe again.

and you wish you could show some type of gratitude,
but you know that even if you said thank you a thousand times over,
you'd need a better word than that.

and you sooner or later smile,
and it's like the water and tar never took hold of you.

so maybe you can be better, with a little help.

On the nights i can't sleep,
I lay awake thinking of you
and if you deserve better
and if I can really be better the way you think I can.

I'm damaged goods, no ones ever denied that, at least to my face.

I know I'll heal and grow and get little bits of better in time
but until then I wonder if the slow of my progress
strikes fear in parts of you you've long forgotten.

and I wonder if you understand
the thought of losing you
fighting with you
hurting you
strikes me breathless out of fear
and pain.
it's like the wind gets knocked out of me
at the idea that I could ever be a source of hurt for you.

and I'm not that smart
and I'm not that funny,
but **** it all if I don't try to learn
or if I don't try to make you laugh.

I get too excited
and I shout
or too angry
and my voice shakes or gets louder.

I'm an empath and I feel too much,
see too much, love too much.

I talk too much.

I laugh too much.

I cry way too much.

but at least I'm trying.

I lay awake at night sometimes,
wondering if I can get better the way you think I can.

I have scars etched across my skin
like raindrops that drizzled down and stained
the yellowing pages of your notebook.

I don't like talking about the black outs,
where my mind goes,
what's left of me.

I don't like talking about what triggers them,
or who I am after I come to.

but these scars are physical reminders
of memories I never got to remember.

and every time you kiss them
I think to myself
"maybe even that part of me,
whoever she is,
deserves to be loved too."

and I wonder if looking
at my hands and arms
makes you sad,
or if feeling the raised skin
makes you uneasy
but either way

I love when you kiss my scars
and make me whole.

Your eyes are
gold like my heart
but blue like the sky
and if I could fathom why
they'd be the last thing I'd see
before the world dies.

you are the warmth of the sun
with all the ambition of the moon,

and if you were to leave
the day after forever,
it would be too soon.

I am not the sunlight
I am the faint glowing kiss of the moon.

I am not loud nor bright nor do I demand your attention.
I go unnoticed most nights.
but upon the nights of which
eyes of storm blue laced with heart gold
see me (finally)
I am quite the sight to behold.

I am not breathtaking
but i am soul snatching and heart stopping.
I bring tears to the eyes of mortal men,
if only they choose to look with their hearts
and truly see rightly.

I am not what the day has to offer.
but if it is the stars and moon that you choose
to love freely,
it is me that is yours.

I'm a lunatic,
Driven mad by the phases of the moon.
As the moon grows to full
I find myself manic,
As it grows to new,
I find myself becoming dysphoric.

I can feel facade
Slipping
I can feel the veil
Ripping

They say to fear those whose eyes
Grow dark like pools of midnight,
And to cower from those
Who have no fear for fire.

Understand my midnight eyes
Have never once feared a flame.

And though it was a fumble of my tongue,
I once told a priest during confession,
"Forgive me father, for I am sin."
And never have accidental words been so true.

Drive me insane by the moonlight,
And I'll love and live in eternal night.

The thing I like most about November,
It's that it's easier to let go than to remember.

But if I've learned anything from October,
It's that even relentless things can be over.

And if I know anything about September,
It's that love is an ever burning ember.

Or if I know anything about August,
It's that your eyes are flawless.

Yet if I know a thing or two about July,
It's that true love never dies.

And if I know about June,
It's that things can never start up too soon.

If there's anything I know of May,
It's that the cruel shall perish and pay.

If I know of April,
It's that people can grow to be hateful.

If there were something I knew of March,
It's that death's scythe claims a cruel arch.

But if I know of February,
It's that frost kisses my heart like butterflies kiss fairies.

And if I know a thing or two about January,
It's that I fear no fire, and that should make you wary.

And I know anything at all about December,
It's that the smallest memory will make your heart dismembered.

Though what I love most about November,
It's that I'm so glad you remember.

And whether you be near to me,
Or far is where you have to be,
I am here to stay,
Because even if there's a thousand miles between us,
I'm looking your way.

I'm all yellowing pages, ink stained fingers, and daffodil bouquets, and wrath.
You're all broken book spines, gears, and wires, and pride.
I'm all hair falling in my face, cold hands, and a blush peppering my features.
You're all eyebrows furrowed in concentration, warm arms, and focused aqua eyes.

I'm a hummingbird's fluttering wings, bouncing left and right with self-righteous hope and faith.
You're a bluebird's soft song, soaring and diving into resolution and problem solving.

I'm a flurry of thoughts spinning too fast too fast too many colors too much passion too much fire too much noise too much touching not again not again all the while making the best speech I'll ever regret.
You're calculated and cold, knowing what nerve to strike and when, but holding yourself from doing so because you're better than that.

I'm withdrawn and frigid and bubbling over with warmth and love to give,
You're acutely aware of your virtues and flaws.

I am too smart for my own good,
And you're too smart for yours.

I'm all small stature with big words,
You're all the things I want to be able to say.

I used to love crows and blackbirds,
But since loving you,
I'd rather hear a bluebird sing
Than a raven caw.

I am shy,
I am timid.
I am loving,
I am compassionate.

I am all delicate features,
Curves,
And dramatic lines to define them.

I am meek,
I am sweet,
And I will rip your throat out with my teeth.

I don't pick up on cues
So please just tell me if you want me or not
In whichever way you might be feeling at the moment.
Because now I'm dizzy from my mood swings
And I'm gonna *****.

No one's really ever proud of you
Until you do exactly what they say.
So no one will ever be proud of me,
But I'm okay with that.

I'm proud of me.

And I'm proud of you too.

Life is tough,
Life is hard,
And if I could punch my mental illness in the throat,
I'd do it.

And if I could stitch together all the shaky parts of you,
I would.
But if they didn't quiver from time to time,
They'd lose their character,
And I like that you have character.

Everyone has some type of insecurity,
I just happen to be a pistol and fire away at mine.

And when everyone's getting you down,
Listen above the crowd.
Hear above the noise,
Remember that I'm proud of you.

I am proud of your smile,
I am proud of your effort,
I am proud of your big victories
And your small victories.

And I know it probably doesn't mean much,
Coming from someone like me
(Meek, shy, and timid most of the time)
But I'm proud of you each and every day.

It's cold tonight,
And I should be too.

It's cold tonight,
And ***** this and ***** you.

It's cold tonight,
And why should I care?

It's cold tonight
And I'm shivering
And I'm shaking
And I just can't breathe ******* it.

It's cold tonight
And I just want to be alone and freeze,
Because the only person I want to be warm around
Is four hundred ******* miles away.

And when your words distance themselves
From your heart
It hurts to not be reassured
When all you wanna hear is that they'll stay,
That it's gonna be a-o-******'-kay.

But you don't even know.

It's cold tonight,
And so am I.

It's cold tonight,
And cut me open,
I won't bleed, I swear,
I'll shatter.

It's cold tonight,
And I'm angry for no reason,
Throwing a ******* tantrum,
Because my heart hurts and
You're distant.

And I know I'm immature
I know I have no reason to be upset,
But I am and I can't pinpoint why and
**** it.

Whatever,
Forget it.
I can't even make sense
To myself.

It's cold tonight,
And so am I.

I fell in love with you
The way baby birds learn to fly.
I took the risk, anxiously and terrified,
And jumped
And I soared.

I fell in love with you
The way a hurricane rains.
Slowly, slowly, surely, and then suddenly all at once and everywhere and so much that you can't even hear yourself think.

I fell in love with you
The way a wild animal learns to trust.
Sporadically and fearfully, and then wholly and entirely.

I fell in love with you,
And I will forever be loving you.

You blamed me
You pained me,
And then you just plain ol' left me.

I know all your secrets,
And you know all of mine.
I was cool with you hurting me,
But not again, not another time.

Maybe I used you as a "punching bag",
But let's not forget how you "*******".
Lots a vile words, lots of venom,
Every ounce of you filled with hate.

Blaming it on nature?
Or, dearest little thing,
That's not nature, you're just nasty,
And only bad things you will bring.

I tried to be forgiving,
I tried to stitch up myself,
But all you do is lie and hurt,
And you could use a little help.

No, you were kind of right,
But I'm kind of insane.
Trust me when I say
You'll never get my trust again.

He left me on my best friend's front porch step
Six months and thirty two days ago.
And looking back,
I couldn't be happier.

And they say that breaking up is kind of like a competition,
Who can lose more weight, be in a better mindset, accomplish more,
Within the span of time that they are single and if it continues through not being single.

And being with him,
I lost twenty pounds from not eating
Because I felt afraid to leave the room
Or the house
And I felt afraid
Of him.

I went to the hospital weighing
110 lbs.

I am now at a healthy weight again,
But my dresses still don't fit right,
They're a little too loose in the waist,
But I'm still full in my hips
And full in my chest.

It was like a divorce,
And he got custody of all our friends
And my toaster.
But they weren't real friends
If they chose him and him alone.

Blind as bats, and just as crazy.

I was a mess when he left, I'm being honest.
And before that, I was a mess too.

But I'm better now.

I'm better and I'm stronger and I can stand on my own two feet
And not let a vapid, controlling, womanizer
Get me down.

I am better than I ever was
Before I met him,
And I am better, a thousand times more
Than I was when he left me.

And I am so thankful,
So grateful,
That he left the way he did
And that he left at all.

I was a shell of a human,
But I am better now.
Small accomplishments and pride in my work and myself.

He's dating the poor thing he cheated on me with.

And I couldn't be happier for them.

I have love in my heart I had held onto for so long,
And I can finally give it to you, because I know you deserve it,
And I can stand with you against the world
As a united front against whatever may come.

Because I am strong, resilient, and ethereal.

Because I am braver now, stronger now, better now.

It's all in the cards,
So let's shuffle our deck,
And see what say our hearts.

Shuffle your deck,
Lay out the cards
And we'll find within the symbolism
Whether we're fleeting
Or meant to be.

And I be a liar if I said I trust cards
More than people,
But I definitely trust the books that hold stories of them
Infinitely more.

But these books,
They're my home.
I got to the library, the bookstore,
And please understand, that's my church.
Within those walls and these papers,
I find my truth and my guidance.
My gospel is To **** a Mockingbird,
My old testament is the complete works of Charles Dickens,
And my new testament is J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey.

I find prayer within Lord Byron,
And I seek guidance from Richard Bach.

So maybe it is all in the cards,
But if I could read the cards
As well as I read Edgar Allen Poe,
I'd be the most profound clairvoyant
In the history of history.

But I bet you
That when I seek prayer within Brent Weeks and Oscar Wilde,
Know that I'll find every reason to be with you
And none other,
And I'll see the beauty
Of our future
Together.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're only worth as much as you are useful,
And you're just not useful for that long?

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're great and all,
But if something better comes along
It's into the garbage you'll go?

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like you're wonderful and all that jazz,
But if the old thing starts working again,
Losing you is no great loss.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Like every person before has thrown you away
Because you were lost, or just stopped working the way they wanted you to.
You weren't useful anymore, you weren't doing the thing they wanted you to do anymore.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because I have.
When every person that came before you
Threw me away like a broken toy,
Because they were spoiled frustrated children,
Throwing people away because they didn't work how they wanted them to.
Because I was a toy, I was not human.
And because I have feel disposable,
That means I'm afraid that at any second you could throw me away,
Even though you're not them, and they're not you,
And you're not like that at all.
Because when you look at me,
You see me as human.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because that means you've felt the fear that the person you love most will leave,
For one reason or another.
Whether it be entirely irrational or completely unfounded,
It means that every second that passes between the text message you've sent asking them "Are you leaving me?" and their response, feels like a knife to wrists,
Draining you of every drop of blood you could possible have or create
And you get cold, and the cold makes your joints stiff, and then the stiffness makes you ache and you're not only crying out of the fear and unnecessary anxiety, but you're crying because dear God, it hurts and you can't breathe because if you breath you'll sob and only cry harder.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because if you have you know that wearing his hoodie makes you feel wrong, because at any second he could decide to leave and if he leaves you'll never want to take it off because it's the closest thing to a hug from him you'll ever get again.

Have you ever felt disposable?
Because after being disposed of, you start thinking all these terrible things because it's what you're used to.

Have you ever felt disposable?

I laugh a lot,
I cry a lot,
And I yell a lot.

But I'm okay.

I don't sleep as much as I should,
And I don't eat as often as I probably should.
And I'm not great at offering up information.

But if you can handle that,
If you can handle me,
I see no reason as to why
We should not try.

Because I love you the way cats love sunbathing,
And I'll reach for you the way flowers reach for the sky.
And I love you the way the moon loves the tides,
And I'll search for you the way we search for stars.

Maybe I'm not everything you wanted me to be,
Maybe I'm not what you thought I was.
Preconceptions ruin these type of things.

And I'm not asking
Anybody to be perfect,
No, see, that takes the fun out of these things.

But I miss you and your smile,
So please, sit and talk with me for awhile.

My insomnia devours me whole,
And I float in the abyss of
"Why the hell?"
For eternity--
Or until morning comes,
Or whichever so happens to come first.

And when I interact,
There are shackles chained to my wrists
And my ankles,
And they won't be removed
Until I kiss you
Again.

I feel too deeply
And while they can be aggravating,
I also love with all that I am
Or more.

"Do not judge them,"
She whispered softly,
"You may be old,
But you have yet to live as well."

And they stared at her,
For the first time in decades,
With eyes wide with wonder.
"But I have seen so many things,
I am certain I know more."

"No,"
Smiled the crone,
Orange eyes twinkling like starlight.
"You know what you know for yourself,
And yourself alone. Your wisdom is yours."

"Shouldn't I make my wisdom theirs as well?"
Cried the playwright.
"They're making too many mistakes, I have to fix it."

And still, the crone continued to smile.
"Their mistakes are theirs to make."
She reached out and placed a hand upon the playwrights' paper.
"Just as your wisdom is yours, their experiences are theirs, and just as valid as yours."
She took the quill from the playwright, and tucked the crow's feather in her hair.
"Allow them to grow without your bias."

"But I don't approve--"
The crone gave the playwright a bright smile,
Though her eyes were dark,
Which ultimately shut them up.

"Your place is not to judge. It is to nurture. It is to guide."
She said softly, though her tone was much more assertive.

"Then let me guide,"
The playwright began.

"There is a vast divide between guidance and control."
The vision of her shimmered, and she took a step back.

"I don't understand."
The playwright held their head in their hands, knuckles white while gripped onto curls.

"And you will not understand until you yourself live."
The old crone cooed, before her image blew away in soft red wind.

And there the playwright was left,
A half written letter filled with judgment and smudged ink,
And no quill to finish it with.
They fell back into their chair,
Glaring at their writing desk.

Whether or not the crone was right or wrong,
They still didn't get their quill back.

I was ten years old when I had my first crush.
I didn't think much of it. I just sort of assumed
That you should care for your best friend enough
That they were the person you wanted to reach for
When no one else was there.

I assumed that love was the type of thing
That you give freely and kindly.

But when he was lost to me,
Due to moves and my own issues,
I held on tight to those feelings,
And attempted time and time again to let go.

But I never felt anything
Since then.
No spark of affection,
No desire to get to know another
In that sense

And I faked a lot of things I shouldn't have.
I faked affection and I faked caring.

I faked being a normal teenager,
Because normal teenagers have crushes and think people are cute,
And recognize attraction and flirtation and actually want to go to dances
And hope that the cute boy will kiss them.

I faked it all.
Because I never felt a "crush", nor did I find anyone cute,
I didn't recognize attraction or flirtation, and I would have rather died than go to a dance.
And kissing I found to be disgusting, I would have rather chewed on rocks.

I thought I was broken. That I wasn't quite normal.
That there was something wrong with me for being so utterly repulsed
By *** and the like.

And in a vulnerable, broken state,
I mistook a bravado of kindness that hid selfish intentions,
For a chance to normalize myself again.
And I broke further,
Through every time I was yelled at,
Berated,
Controlled.
Told not to feel,
Not to react
Not to respond.

For so long, I thought I was broken
Because I cannot look at someone and find them anything more than
Somewhat aesthetically pleasing (if even that).
I cannot look at someone and see any potential
Sexually.

And upon being with you,
And clicking with the conversation,
And that first hug,
I realized I was not broken.
Rather I was a lock,
That needed the correct key,
But the key had been there
All along.

You'd cry only enough to get attention.
You'd mourn in ways I'd disapprove of.
You'd fabricate details of my life
That I'd adamantly demand you to
Take back.

You would say that you knew what was best for me,
But you hardly know what's best for yourself.
And my heart pounds out of my chest with excitement
At the thought of finally escaping you.

I don't want to die,
But I'm sure you'd use that opportunity
To be as self serving as ever.

You talk and talk and talk
Of betrayal.
Of me never being part of the family again,
And I hope you know,
I knew all this before.

The worst betrayal I did to you
Was walk away from you
When you were hurting me.

The more you try to tell me
What is right
And what is wrong,
What I should do
And what I should not,
The more you make me
Want to face-plant
Into a wood chipper.

And yet,
You continue to speak.

And what if I told you that
When you kiss me
Time stands still?

What if I told you that
When you hold me
I can see every fragment
Of space?

What if I told you
That I could reach nirvana
Just by holding your hand?

I am so at peace
Just by hearing your voice,
And holding you within my heart.

There is no strife
To fight against
When your heart is mine.

I have never felt more alone
Than the times in which I have dared
To think what losing you would feel like.

And I would rather watch
The bravado fall to pieces
Than risk losing you.

And if investing my heart within yours
Is wrong,
Then take me to confession,
Because my list of sins is long.

You clipped my wings
For years.
Subduing me through medications
That now I take to help me.

You clipped my wings,
And for what?
To watch a downward spiral
Of regret and turmoil,
And you'll never be proud of me
Unless I turn out just like you.

You clipped my wings,
But I've grown brand new feathers:
I'm flying and I'm soaring.
This life I have just proves
That your judgment and scorn is boring.

You used to clip my wings,
But you don't have a hold on me anymore,
And I know it's driving you absolutely mad
Watching me soar.

You used to clip my wings,
And I'm so glad that you're not in charge,
Because this is my life,
And I know that drives you crazy.

You used to
And still are trying to
Clip my wings.
But you can't,
I won't let you.
I'm just who I have to be.

You can't clip my wings anymore.

It's time to let birds of a feather
Flock together.

Humans change,
We grow
We learn.

We like to think that it's
Only us as individuals,
But it's not.

We all change,
For better or for worse,
We all grow
And we all learn.

And even if it sometimes hurts,
Changing and growing is an important part
Of being human.
When we stop changing,
When we stop growing,
When we stop learning,
We cease being alive.

I spent all week afraid
Of something that would never happen,
And it kept me up all night,
This fear,
And my ridiculous inability to block out thoughts or noises.

And you told me that you love me,
And nothing has really changed because,
Well, why would it?
I was being ridiculous.

And now that I know that,
I can finally
(hopefully)
Sleep.

My father used to pour me
Blood from the steak he was cooking
So that way I'd grow up strong,
And I'd grow up passionate.
He regrets it, I know it.

My mother used to
Fill up pouches made of lambskin
With wilted flowers and salt
And paint angels on them
And hang them from my doorknob.
It was for protection but I don't quite understand it.

I'd write about what my older brother
Used to do,
But I'm just not in the mood
To cry.

My little brothers used to
Hold onto the hem of my dress
When something scared them.
They used to come to me
When they were sad,
And sleep on my shoulder
When they were young
And tired.

I used to
Keep rocks from the playground
In a hat box
Under my bunk bed,
Along with letters I never sent.

And I used to have so many stuffed cats and dogs and lions
That all had specific names
And stories
And when I moved time and time again
And when I was scared and alone,
They were the closest things I had to friends.

I used to know
What it was like
To be alone.
I used to be
Okay with living and dying
Without being known.

And I would rather,
Sit in silence with someone I love,
Than sit alone with the noise in my head,
Replaying every horrific and terrible memory
From the last ten years.

And sometimes I think about
How people miss being kids,
And how things were so much "easier" then.
But it wasn't that way for me.
Being an adult is hard.
But while I'll never really grow up,
Growing older is the best thing
I've ever done for myself.

And I wonder if you ever looked back
At the broken, little listless thing I was,
And saw something off, something wrong.
But I still doubt anyone puts that much thought
Into things like that.

All I can say is that I'm thankful
For you and your kindness,
And for the love that you've shown me.

I am glad I have seen
And been through
What I have,
It has made me who I am,
And it has made me the woman
That you love.

I'm a bandit,
Can't you tell?
I take the things I think I deserve,
Whether they be mine to take
Or mine to lose.

And I'm lost without you
Loving me,
But I'm found within me
Loving you.

And I have a lot of choices
I've had to make,
But each and every time,
It's you I'd choose.
No matter what guilty soul
I might lose.

I'm an old soul,
Can't you tell?
I'm the type of person
People come to, to be healed,
But I end up getting used.

And it's not that I mind,
I guess you could say I don't.
I like helping people,
And I grow to love much too easy.

Losing them,
It happens.
People walk away,
Sure it hurts,
But c'est la vie.

I'm an outlier,
Don't you know?
I'm not quite the same,
I'm not quite like the others.
So go ahead and walk out,
Why would you bother?

I push people away,
I fear the future
And myself.
I don't see a point
In people sticking around.

I'm the type of person,
That changes the way you view the world,
But I'm not the type of person
People keep around.
But I am the type of person
That would stay with you forever
If only you asked.

I would hold your heart,
For more than forever,
For more than always,
If given the chance.

Because I'm a bandit,
Can't you tell?
I take the things I think I deserve,
Whether they be mine to take
Or mine to lose.

I miss you,
And I keep trying not to think
About all the reasons I miss you
And all the things I miss about you.
Because if I think about them,
I'll miss you more
And it will hurt more
Until I hear from you again.

I miss you,
And your smile.
And your voice.
And your laugh.
And your arms around me.
And your lips on mine.
And your thoughts,
And your ideas,
And your colors,
And your absolute everything.

I miss the way you
Hold my hand,
I miss the way you
Kiss my scars,
I miss the way you
Look at me and smile.

I miss you,
And I love you.
And it's this odd thing
About how all the missing parts of me
Seem to be found
When I have you around.

I've never had a good relationship with my father.

The moment I started forming opinions of my own,
The moment I started to spit fire and venom,
Instead of smile in a sugary sweet way at every turn,
He decided I wasn't really worth all the effort,
Or any kindness whatsoever.

He thinks I know too much,
Or I know too little.
He thinks I talk too much,
Or I talk too little.

He thinks I'm too cold,
Or foolishly warm.
He thinks I'm too open,
Or much too closed off.

My father cares more about a bottle,
Than he ever cared about me.
And you wonder why I have trouble
Bringing myself to drink.

And the thing I hate most about me,
Is that I prefer the smell of books
Over the smell of flowers,
And that I prefer the typing of a keyboard
Over the notes of a piano.
I'd drink scotch over wine,
Every time.

And that's my father's blood
Running through my veins,
And I hate the person
He's made.

I am cold and I don't trust.
I don't smile and I don't laugh.
I have a hot temper
And I always react.

My father is the type of guy
Who goes on and on about being liberal,
But thinks dancing wrong
Or touching someone the wrong way
Is an invitation
For ***.

And if I disagree,
We fight and we fight,
And he's ashamed of me,
But I don't care anymore.

And you can agree with any point he's made,
But you disagree with one key factor
And you're the enemy,
And you're wrong.

He thinks people who are on medication
Are always wrong.
And he thinks people who don't take meds,
But need them,
Are batshit.

My father doesn't care about
Others feelings
Or the damage he does,
He sometimes only cares about
His pride
And his ******* scotch and *****.

I am hot headed
And stubborn.
I am a smart aleck,
And I'm way too sarcastic.

But I am my father's daughter.

And I hate the person he's made.

Lots of people say that
Frankenstein's monster, Adam,
Wasn't that bad.
He wasn't that evil.
He was just lonely
And misunderstood.

But does anyone cry for
Dracula?
Did anyone try to understand that he got turned into a monster,
And spent 200 or so years all by himself,
Slowly being driven mad
From loneliness and heartbreak?

And that he only did what he did,
Because it was the only way he knew how
To make the loneliness stop?
It was a last resort,
He wasn't trying to do anything wrong.
His intentions, though selfish,
Weren't bad.

And does anyone ever pray for Lucifer?
For the one sinner who needed it most?
Maybe if someone would reach out a hand,
Some forgiveness,
And some mercy,
It wouldn't be so bad.
We wouldn't have so much evil,
Because he'd rethink his ways,
After being given the chance
To once more be in a state of grace.

But no.
We can't,
Because we're told
They're evil,
They're wrong,
And they don't deserve
Forgiveness or mercy.

I would like to think
That even the worst
Kinds of people
Can change and be forgiven.
I might be wrong,
But I have a forgiving heart.
So let me forgive those
Who need it.

(You have a confessing heart,
So let me hear what you have to say,
And I promise I will take all that pain,
All that guilt away.)

But if God is all forgiving,
And all powerful,
Shouldn't he be able to forgive
His angel who needs it the most?

My scars keep me up at night,
And what was done has left me
Afraid of visions of the past,
Implementing them now,
Into things they don't belong in.
And I know you're not that way,
You won't just walk out,
You won't leave me
So broken
So beaten
So desolated--
For you won't leave me at all.

But I have been left and used,
Left scarred and bruised,
And I'm so very scared.
But it's all for nothing--
It doesn't mean a thing.

You're here to stay,
And I know that's true.
I just hope I'm not broken to you,
And that I'm not beyond repair.

Storm Siren's don't say much,
We usually observe.
We usually react,
Rather than instigate.
But when a storm siren
Wishes you well--
It would be best that you do well.

Please, may you be as brisk as the wind,
May you be as bold as thunder,
May you be as swift as lightning,
And may you be as calm as the rain.
May you know you are loved more than the rain
Falling to thirsty ground.
May you know you are admired more than the lightning
As it pierces the earth.
May you know your voice is more awe-inspiring than the thunder
As it mutes thoughts.
May you know you are stronger than the wind,
As it cuts through forests.

Storm Sirens call forth
The storms within your soul,
The flash of light and crash of thunder
That mute your thoughts and your inhibitions.

Storm Sirens hate storms,
But when a storm of a person,
With galaxies for eyes and gold for a heart,
Crashes through their senses and
Walls they built brick by brick,

Even the most up in arms
Storm Siren
Will fall to their knees
In awe.

I hope you're well,
I hope you're warm,
I hope you're safe,
I hope you're happy.

'Cause I'm alright,
But I'm cold,
But I'm scared,
But I'm sad.

There's lots of things
I'm worried about.
I'm scared that you'll change your mind,
I'm scared you'll walk out.

And I wonder,
If you're worried too.
If you are,
Then I wish I could
Show you you're wrong.

There's lots of things
I'm scared about.
I'm worried you'll find something better,
I'm worried you'll walk out.

But I remember
Your arms around me,
And I remember
Everything you've told me.

And I wonder if
You're scared too,
Or if you miss me too.

I hope that you're not,
I hope that you don't.

'Cause missing someone
Is the worst feeling to have,
When they're still a week and three days
From your arms.

They'll still paint you black,
When you used to be golden.
So take a breath,
And live in the moment.

Their words are water,
Breaking down your levee.
And with each ugly phrase,
The pressure gets more heavy.

And I know you're feeling
Sick to your stomach.
But this is the truth,
So please don't run from it.

We'll laugh and we'll cry,
We'll love and we'll fight.
The words won't matter,
It's if we live them through life.

The way they left,
It's alright, it's alright.
I know you hate them,
But you know that I'm right.

People tend to be
Cruel and inconsistent.
But my love for you is steady,
And you know that is different.

And I know you're feeling
Sick to your stomach.
But this is the truth,
So please don't run from it.

We'll laugh and we'll cry,
We'll love and we'll fight.
The words won't matter,
It's if we live them through life.

There's lots of things
I have left to say,
But I'll fold them up
And put them away.

So patch up your levee,
And get the doubt from your brain,
We'll burn it up and
Wash the ashes in the rain.

And I know you're feeling
Sick to your stomach.
But this is the truth,
So please don't run from it.

We'll laugh and we'll cry,
We'll love and we'll fight.
The words won't matter,
It's if we live them through life.

I miss you the way the sun misses the sky,
The way the moon misses the tides.

I miss you the way roots miss the ground,
The way those lost miss being found.

I miss you the way a wolf misses it's pack,
The way a performer misses the act.

I miss you the way birds miss flight,
The way a blind synesthete misses sight.

I miss you the way lungs miss air,
The way one's heart misses care.

I miss you the way bees miss plants,
I'd tell you all the ways I miss you,
But I can't.

I long for your hands
In mine to hold,
And I long for your heart beside mine,
As we grow old.

And while fourteen days,
Is all that stands between us--
I know that this love, this life,
Will be more than I've ever dreamed of.