In one hundred days
I have come close
to thinking poorly
of myself.

but in one hundred days
I have thought of myself as good
and worthy of love.

it is one hundred days
and counting
of liking myself
and being loved,
if not by me,
then for some portion,
my Bluebird.

I cannot wait
to continue to be loved
by my Bluebird,
and to continue to like
who I am.

the counting will stop.
but I will remember
how far I've come
and I will try
to continue
to go farther.

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.

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.

"Breathe,"
They call to me.

"Stay calm."
They whisper softly.

I can hear their tears
As they say,
"Remember to pray."*

And we should be angry.
We shouldn't be offering our sympathy
To the one that stole,
To the one that offered up his soul
For the taste of iron and gunpowder
For the taste of blood,
For the sake of leaving innocents
Six feet under tear-stained mud.

It isn't our weapons.
No, with the right morals and the right lessons,
It wouldn't be a problem.

It wasn't mental illness.
Trust me, please,
I know.
This is more than my business.

I know about trauma, I know about pain.
I know how it feels to have a curse become your name.

But we all have a choice,
We all make that decision,
For whether it will be our light or our dark that we choose to imprison.

He chose to use his pain,
To blend with his hatred.
He became his own darkness,
And that can never be forgiven.

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 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.

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 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.

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 have spent years
Looking into the mirror
And calling myself broken,
Damaged,
No good.

I have spent my life,
Looking into that ****** mirror,
And fully comprehending
Why people give up on me,
Why people see me as broken
Damaged
No good.

I have spent the last
One hundred and two days,
Seeing myself as
Good,
Whole,
And somewhat decent.

I have spent
The last one hundred and two days
Defending and arguing and
Contesting
Those who dare say otherwise.

I am vividly aware of my flaws,
But I am slowly becoming
Somewhat vaguely aware
Of my virtues.

And finally,
I hope one day
I can see in me
Whatever type of light it is
That you see in me.

Allow me
To find my honest parts
And show you the cracked shards.
Allow me
To dig up my heart,
As shards of broken glass.
Be careful,
The edges are sharp.

Allow me
To show you
That I am whole,
Within my scars and missing parts.

And with all your light,
I hope one day you see
Why you give me so much hope.
I hope one day you can see
The good in you
As I strive
So hard
To show you.

And please,
Allow me to ask of you,
Do not go,

For I am whole
On my own,
But the best version of me
Is with you
At my side.

The thing about being a poet,
Is that I drink so my thoughts become whole,
Not fruitless worries
And anxious ramblings.

The thing about being a poet,
Is that I find beauty in the most gruesome
Of circumstance.

The thing about being a poet,
Is that I'm most likely unstable,
And my emotions are extremely unsound.

I have an addiction to feeling, to rmotion, the way other artists are addicted to drugs, or alcohol,  or ***.

I crave love and I crave honesty. Admiration and trust. Loyalty and stimulation.  Dedication and, of course, the aching pain that reminds me I am alive.

I need to know I am alive.

So, the thing about being a poet,
Is that I write
So I may
Live.

I'm having trouble
Eating while I sit on my break at work.
I worry a little too much
Excite a little too easily.

I'm a little eccentric
My foster parents used to say
I was a walking thesaurus.

My bio mom comes to me
when she finds science articles she thinks I'd like.

I'm dangerously slow to trust,
And much too quick to love.

But I've begrudgingly given my heart away,
And yeah
Yeah
Yeah
I know.

Red flags and sirens all around
Warning this Storm Siren
that she's falling
and falling hard.

But darling no,
No don't worry.
For once I am not falling.

I am no longer just a Storm Siren.
I am a Hummingbird,
to a Bluebird.

And I'm flying.

A sensation
Of cold air
Shivering
Chattering teeth.

I'm back sitting by the chain link fence,
Waiting for them to pick teams for dodgeball,
Or basketball,
Or what was it?
"Fred" ball?

I remember looking for you.
Wondering where you'd gone.

It was overcast,
I could smell the rain coming in.
First time I realized,
It was late in fall that I remembered,
Snow had a smell.

And dragons and dogs and animals filled our days at school,
We played games, different name, same game of tag over and over
When at home I'd go back to the screaming,
To the cold,
To the hunger.
A girl and her dog,
Wondering what her friends were up to.

Black outs and ****** paper clips
Turned to livid men and bruised abdomens and hips.

And every other month,
During September and January,
I wondered what would have happened if I had
Given you that valentine I threw away.

I want to tell you so many things,
But how do I tell you,
How do I tell you
I care more than
I knew.

I was shivering when I got home,
Teeth clattering,
Bad day,
Tears in my eyes.

I put on my nightgown,
Your sweatshirt,
And wrapped myself in a blanket,
Wanting to hear back from you.

Is it odd
That I don't know how to say
You've made my day.
I hope you know
I was okay without you,
But part of me is a little (a lot)
More whole by your side.

And sometimes I think of your laugh,
Then and now,
And I remember
The butterflies then,
And the warmth now.

And it's just ******* crazy,
Because I was a little bird,
With a broken wing.
Who was convinced I couldn't fly.

You were the bluebird of peace,
I had been searching for
For so long.

And I could listen
To your voice
Your heartbeat
Your words
All day.

I don't know what this means,
But it's easier by your side,
Than any place I've ever lived,
Any halfway house I've ever been.

I've always wanted to belong,
And finally I can see
The problem wasn't me.
It was a me without a you.

Tonight I want to dream
Of spiraling sunset red and soft oranges
Draped over a background of
The most beautiful seafoam blues and greens
I've ever come to know.

And every time I blink
My right eye aches a little.

I think it's because it doesn't want to shut,
As it,
Just like I,
Can't get enough of you.

It's a little past midnight,
And I'm a little past tired.
And my chest is burning,
With the bile I keep spitting back up.

These pain killers
Are destroying the flesh of my stomach,
Leaving me writhing and shaking my head
In cold sweats
Wanting not to,
But vomiting anyway.

I brush my teeth,
The mint burns the back of my throat,
And I feel it cooling my esophagus.

And I go change in my room,
Peeling off a sweat drenched tank top
And black shorts,
I put on your hoodie
And a pair of jean shorts
That maybe are a little cleaner.

I'm sitting in front of my laptop,
Debating sitting under a blanket,
But this sickness has me frozen,
And this infection is something
I can't sweat out fast enough.

Closing my eyes,
And all I seem to find
Are things I don't want to see.
Rest won't seem to find me tonight,
And that's alright I guess, it's all I can do to see straight.

Almost but never quite there.
Love lasts but rarely long enough to hold a stare.
Over and over the wheels turn over.
Never ever quite getting it.
Even though you tried, it just wasn't good enough.

ANXIETY

The alarm starts to go off,
You think you know the code
But when you enter it in
The alarm gets louder.
And then you can feel it
Inside your head
Thrumming against your eardrums
It leaks into your heart
And and it's squeezing your lungs
And you can't breathe
So you begin to collapse into the fetal position,
But then it stops.
It stops and a voice asks if you're okay.
They then ask for your name and the verbal password.
You give your name, and explain that you don't have the password and why.
They disconnect
The alarm continues for what seems like an eternity,
But it's only ten minutes.

You fight with yourself
Not to start crying.

You don't go outside until your roommate gets home.

You drive to bring your husband his cellphone.
You get lost for the third time today,
And when you call the line he called you on, to tell him that you finally made it,
They say he went away, back to where he was.
You sit in the car and cry, because he could have at least told you
He could have called to tell you so you wouldn't keep getting lost.
Besides the fact that his absence is taking more of a toll on you than you thought it would,
This breaks your carefully constructed but flimsy
Front of strength.
Then you get a call.
Same number.
You answer.
It's him.
He'll be outside.
He comes to the car,
Comforts you,
Even though you can't properly explain what's wrong
Without the fear of sounding
Immature
Or
Needy
Or
Clingy
Or
Helpless.

You drive home.

You don't want to go drive again tomorrow,
But you want to see him
And you want to be there for him.
So you'll go,
But you have to wear his sweatshirt to bed,
And you have to make sure to fluff his pillow
And you have to make sure all his clothes are neat and folded.
Because if none of that happens,
You're a terrible wife
And he won't come home.

Even though he will come home,
But what if he doesn't?

The what-if's flood your brain,
And you can't stop shaking.

I listen to our song
When nobody's home.
I play it loud
And sing every word
Until I feel better.
Until I don't miss you so much.

I threw on your hoodie
This morning
After washing my hair
In cold sink water.
It smelled like fire.
Now it just smells like you.

I'm bundled in our blankets,
Holding your bathrobe close in my arms.
Because being away from you
Is much more painful
And much more emotional
Than I had thought.

I'm fixing dinner
And it feels lonely
Only cooking for one person.
It feels sad
Only making enough soup
For myself.

I listen to our song
On repeat as I drift off to sleep.
I play it loud,
And hum every word
Until I feel better.
Until I don't miss you so much.

I still miss you
So much.

Put ice on your wrists,
Or wherever the scars usually appear,
And hold it for five to ten minutes,
The urge should disappear,
Along with the sensation in your veins
The signals to you
That you're about to black out.

If you don't have ice,
Apply pressure with your hands.
Bonus points if they're cold.

Don't allow yourself to become too aware
Of the blood in your veins.

Breathing exercises help too,
And while you're at it try grounding yourself.

Count how many things you can see up to five.
Then count four things you can hear.
Three you can touch,
Two you can smell,
And one you can taste.

Make a list of what calms you,
Make a list of what gives you bliss,
See how many things go between each.

Talk  yourself down,
Remind yourself you can't do this.
Remind yourself you have to remember.

Don't focus on the trigger.
Forget it,
Quickly.

Distract yourself.
Something you can hear-- Music.
Something you can taste-- Gum.
Something you can feel-- Your lion.
Something you can smell-- His sweatshirt.
But what do you focus on?

You can't seem to find a fixed point to keep your eyes on,
And the threat of a black out is receding,
But why did it start?

You can't even remember what set you off.

Your hands are soaked.
The ice cubes melted on your wrists.

The storm rolled through.
The lightning lit up the night sky.
Thunder crashed against my
Too-sensitive ears,
Making my too-skittish frame
Flinch closer to the corner of the wall.

The rain poured.

The world fell apart.

The clouds fell from the heavens.

Fire sprouted from the ground,
Consuming all in its path.

And I loved you.
And I loved you.
And I loved you.
And I loved you.

The shadows scuttled across the floorboards.
The deepest depths splattered their inky muck across my wounded flesh.
I was held to the ground,
Venom poured into my open veins,
My blood steaming and my pride screaming.

And you loved me.
And you loved me.
And you loved me.
And you loved me.

The sun came out,
The trees grew back.
The grass was greener than before.
The sky, all the bluer.
Your words, all the true-er.

My scars healed over.
I painted over them,
Though the venom courses through me, even still.

You hold me close when it heats my blood,
When my skin grows cold and pale.

You whisper as I beg for peace,
Your hand running through my hair,
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you."

And I know it is true
After all.

She rolls her eyes,
"All lives matter."

I roll up my sleeves,
"Yeah, but you're not dead."

All lives matter,
Yeah sure whatever.
Your life didn't matter as much to me,
When we thought my mom was dying,
When the coma happened,
When the car crash happened.

This isn't your tragedy,
Feel empathy
Feel sympathy,
But don't talk to me
About your vapid apathy.

All lives matter.
******* *******,
You just want to be included.

My life didn't matter,
When I was on the brink or the edge or when I craved to walk towards a light,
Because you were having mommy issues.

Do not tell me that
Anything matters to you.

We cannot fix this
Dilemma
This atrocity
With violence.
We can fix it
With powerful words
And small solutions
That over time will benefit
My children,
And yours.
And their children.
And their children's children's children's children.
It will take years,
Or decades
But it will be worth it.

I will not raise a fist,
I will not raise my voice.
As you slash and slash and fire and fire
And scream in my face,
Yelling over my words.

You're screaming:
"ALL LIVES MATTER, WE NEED TO BE INCLUDED. INCLUDE EVERYONE. AN EYE FOR AN EYE. A HAND FOR A HAND."

And all I whisper while you scream,
Your wretched saliva staining my cheeks where tears used to stream, but will no longer.
"We wanted peace, so we stand together."

We're called the United States
For a reason.

Buy a dictionary.
It might help you out.

You took to the air
As though you were born to fly.
I have trouble staying airborne,
Probably because I was born to run,
Seeing as I've got running away
Running through my veins.
But I'd like nothing more,
Than to stay.

Tears.

Confessions of a mindset.

Tears.

Relating to that mindset.

Tears.

Making it better.

More tears.

"Are you only wanting a relationship with me, or a life with me?"

"Bluebird, I want a life with you. I thought my hinting at that was fairly strong."

"I just wanted to make sure. But I want a life with you as well."

Tears.

Holy crap,
So many tears.
Do they stop?
If I talk, I'll hiccup.
I can't stop smiling.
But I'm all choked up,
And finally the tears are slowing,
And you feel bad for making me cry,
But they're good tears.

I never thought that
It would be requited.

And my head hurts,
So I'm going to go drink my tea
Or some water. Start preparing dinner.
All that jazz.

I'm not so great under pressure
That isn't life threatening.
And I'm not overtly funny,
Or good at acting,
And I can't sing a **** thing.

But I have some music in my heart,
That can sometimes be expressed through words
And food that tastes pretty alright if you ask me.

And I know things most people don't,
Though I don't know things most people should,
And I'm not great at things like math
Or science,
But I like science,
And math proofs are pretty cool to read too.

My train of thought is run by color,
And the ever changing varieties that appear
And are caused my sound and noise.
Like plates shattering is a translucent blue,
And knives on ceramic are yellow.

The word liar is
Light brown, yellow, pink and orange,
And the word love
Is light brown, green, yellow, and red.
Like a sunset over a forest.
The word forest is brown and blue with a hint of white.

I see the world as ever changing,
Ever turning,
But one thing,
Color,
Will always remain the same.

Bright and vibrant,
And it touches my spirit and my circulation,
Driving me from fiery to ice cold.

I see the vibrant blue of the sky,
And the soft pastel of a budding leaf,
And laugh at the orange of a sunset,
And the red of the sun.

Because nothing compares to the beauty I find
In a Bluebird I call mine.

And to know that random facts
About things that aren't necessarily important
Don't seem to bother
Someone important,
Settles the storm within my soul
Like no other.

Losing the two of you
was like watching the sun die
and the air around me
and in my lungs
burst into flame.

it was being stuck
on a lifeless planet
and watching my home
go careening into oblivion.

and after I lost her,
I almost lost my mom.
it still keeps me up at night
everytime she's sick.
I hate myself
sometimes
for trying to push her away
because I didn't want it to hurt
if she really did die.

and on march 15th of 2015, I lost him,
we all did.
and I remember because this month
in 2014
I almost lost myself.

and I remember
that when one of our
old friends called me
my wrists felt like fire
but my mouth was cold.
my chest wouldn't move
and I could not speak
if it was not to grossly scream and sob.

I let myself fall into toxic people
I was vulnerable
but that was no excuse.

I became toxic myself
and I let myself become bad again.
and I don't know what happens
after death but I have to believe in something
because I can't stand to think
that D and Reese are gone and aren't safe
and that selfishly I won't see them again.

and when they tried to break me
these new toxic people,
I found myself.

I am fiery and strong,
a storm siren.
I do not break
because or due to men.

but I have found
within
the love I have
for a boy I met
when I was at the budding age of ten,
that I am much softer,
much gentler than previously made out to be.

and I recognize this feeling as a genuine sort of care and love
because this is the feeling I had
when I only ever wanted to protect her.

you do not need swords or shields
to fight for someone.

every day I fight my past
so I may remain
flying with my bluebird.

I am a sort of
All or nothing
Type of person.

Either everything and all of me
Goes into everything and all of it
Or none of me does.

I do not
Sort of love people.
I either love them with all that I am and can be
Or I couldn't care less about their existence.

I never claimed it was healthy,
I never claimed it was good,
But it is me
It is all that I am.

So sit across from me
At a glass table,
Have your cards fanned out
Like bird feathers,
Covering your face,
So I cannot read your eyes,
Or see your cards in the light that burns in them.

Stoic and blank,
You draw every card
And I don't know what you have on the table,
But the only reason I look so concerned-- Well,
It has nothing to do with the cards in my hand,
I have no tricks up my sleeve.

It has everything to do
With the fact
That everything is on the table,
And I'm trusting that if I were
To draw your cards
And mine
From a Tarot deck,
That maybe our predictions
Would be the same.

I've never been good,
At card games.
Can't shuffle to save my life,
Can't read palms,
I see too many colors
To make out the lines
In that elegant manner
That you're supposed to have.

I can't read tea leaves,
They just look like faces to me.

But I'm taking a risk,
I'm taking the chance,
It's really all or nothing.

And just maybe
Instead of risking it all
And coming out with nothing,
This time I'll have something
Just something
To win.

I am an
All or nothing
Type of person.

Take my heart
Take my words
Take my memories,
And heed only these warnings:
Handle with care!
Know you will never forget what you've learned.

I never had an urge to dance
Before.

I took ballet classes
As a child,
And after that
I never found myself
Fond of dancing.

And even later on,
There were more reasons as to why it scared me.

But for you,
I will offer you a dance
Under the stars
As often
As you would agree
To one.

I used to believe
That gold can stay.
But now I see
That there is nothing to keep
As all that glitters
Winds up deceased
While I stare into the darkness,
It's 10:00 pm
And I just can't sleep.

You lay beside me
Your breathing rhymic
Though I can tell when you struggle
Like you're not getting enough
Oxygen.

I feel you move beside me
Trying to get comfortable.
Trying to sleep.
Hopefully you can quiet your mind,
Because I sure can't
Quiet mine.

I want you to stay.
Maybe not physically,
I know it's important for you to go away
Occasionally,
But I want you to stay mine,
Because I will always stay yours.

Please just tell me
You'll stay.

Nothing gold can stay.

Maybe that's true.
Maybe it isn't.
I guess we'll find out.

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.

I've read that
The opposite of two
Is "a lonely me, a lonely you."

I'm freezing cold,
Bundled in blankets that can't keep me warm
The way you do.

And I'm not sure
If I'm fire
Or if I'm ice,

All I know is that
Being in your arms
Is really nice.

I'm not entirely sure
If I'm lost
Or if I'm found,

But flying with you
Is so much better
Than being on the ground.

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 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.

The First person I loved, well, really, it was a childhood crush. It shouldn't have meant anything, it shouldn't have mattered. At least that's what I told myself over and over (and over and over and over and over). But at that  time, my life was the brewing, churning clouds before the storm settles in and stays for awhile, painting the sky a putrid yellow-gray, filled with all sorts of worry and dismay. But he  cared, and he was my friend, and I actually mattered to someone. That's what draws you in, isn't it? Mattering? And then you fall for the way they laugh and hold themselves, and the way they interact with others and how they hold their head up and the fire that burns in their eyes. That fire that keeps burning, even when it's raining. Even when you know something is off, something is terrible, but even if you asked, they wouldn't tell.

The Second person I loved, well, I never really loved him at all. Call it a type of Stockholm syndrome. You get ****** into friendship and obsessed with the idea of being normal, so you try it out. And then you don't act right, you don't behave how they want, you don't do what they want you to do, or you just look at them the wrong way or talk to the wrong person. And then it hurts and you try to escape, for two and a half years out of four and half. And it leaves you broken. You're not able to love the same way you thought you were supposed to, you're more guarded. You break down when people touch you, hug you. Another boy tries to kiss you and you immediately burn the bridge. It takes you a year and a half to recover enough to go out with anyone.

The Third person I loved was different. She was different entirely. After being in the midst of a quickly deteriorating abusive relationship, it's easy to cling onto anything that looks like a lifeline. And that's unhealthy. But I loved her nonetheless. And she hurt me, and I hurt her. I will always regret it, and I will always be sorry. I hold no anger towards her, and when I think of her, it's like a phantom-pain. There's nothing there to hurt, but I know it should. And why shouldn't it? She was the type of girl that would leave any man breathless and dying. Everything I wanted to be. She was beautiful and confident and bold. She was smart and interesting and fun. But she was selfish, and she was a liar. And in the end, it was her beauty that destroyed her, and us, whatever type of friends we were. That ended before the Second.

The Fourth person I loved was a foolish decision. A mistake that I made, but I made it, and it's mine to own up to. I was vulnerable and my mind was fragile, but I fell anyway. I needed an escape, so I used love as an excuse. And he broke me. I honestly believe he took pleasure in that. In breaking me in so many ways. He knew about all the different ways I had been hurt and used, and he hurt and used me anyway, in new and "improved" ways. I fell, and he let me fall, trying to "cushion" the blow of my harsh landing back into reality with syrupy sweet lies and rocks with sharpened edges like "You're the only person I want to be about forever," and "You're more beautiful than the sunrise." while simultaneously reminding me constantly how damaged I am and how he doesn't care to help with it. What he didn't know is that the sun always sets. And I'm glad it did.

And Again, the last person I'll ever love like this, is the First. I fell in love with the way he smiled and the way he interacts. I took flight and dove headfirst into this love instead of falling when I saw the fire in his eyes. And it was no longer that I mattered to him, to tell you the truth, I still have trouble telling if I matter to him now. As I've said, I just don't love the same way anymore. No, I love the way he is gentle when it's difficult to be, or the way he laughs, or reacts. The way he's not afraid to apologize, but is always honest. I will always love the fire in his eyes, and the way it never goes out.

And I know I am strong
Because I have been far too brave,
For far too long.
And I know I am brave,
Because it was myself
I had to save.
And I know I possess the fury of a storm,
Because there was a blizzard
The winter I was born.
And I know I am loved,
Because his smile rivals
The warmth of light from above.

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.

And I'm alright,
Always getting better.

And I wonder if I'll ever be enough
For the parts of myself to stop berating me.
And I swear to God if you never leave
I'll still be in disbelief.

If I could find you in the depths
Of my soul
I'd never ever leave,
But instead I found you
In the reality of it all,
Where I never thought to look
Because I never thought
You'd love me too.

And I'm alright,
Always getting better.
But I'm never going to stop
Falling in love
With you.
So here's to dreams,
And however
Debauchery tends to sing
And
I'm alright,
Always getting better.

And I guess with each and every turn,
I still got a whole lot to learn,
But hey,
I'm alright,
And always getting better.

Maybe i'm just drunk
But it seems i'm just a bother.
I thought you liked me better
When i'm buzzed
But you won't even speak to me
And why does it always go like this?

I honestly don't care
That you're distracted by your game
And i honestly don't care
That when i try to not pay attention to you
You suddenly want my attention.

It sobers me up
Off that giggly buzz
When you ignore me.

So thanks,
You're a literal buzz ****.

Maybe i'm just drunk,
Or i'm just unappealing.
Maybe i'm just drunk
But you could pay me some mind.

And maybe i'm just drunk,
But i'm not just a fly on the wall.

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.

"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.

Nope.
I'm sorry.
You don't know
This new me.

I'm made up of sunshine storms
And bravery.

With yellow petals
Of daffodils
Stuffed inside a skin
Stitched together with
Ivy vines
Out of inky parchment.

He knows this new me
Because I'm sure he'd see me
Properly
Through the storms
I have weathered,
My stitches
Only fraying
Ever the slightest,
While I scream in pain.

And his eyes shine with admiration
And for the longest time
I realized that I am not only good,
But worthy.

You do not know
This new me.

I am stitched of tarnished shields
And golden opportunity.

Who are you?
I'm afraid I do not know
This new you.

Made of lies, vapid narcissism,
And cruelty.

It does not fit
With the new me.

I keep my mouth shut,
As they praise your lies,
And my truths are demonized.

And it's beautiful,
Because they'll leave you behind soon,
Like you left me with nothing and no hope.

But my faith in the future
And my faith in my friends
Will keep me moving forward,
While you're lost at sea

Without the new me.

Close your eyes.
Put a hand over my heart,
Do you feel the missing part?
Help me take off and fly.

Can you hear the cry?
And I can't stand to be apart,
And this information I must impart
Upon you and I

That I must know
That the love I see is true.
Each day, every day, colors grow,
And so does my love for you,
And to and fro comes the glow
That is my heart's glance upon your eyes (and wings) so blue.

Let me entirely clear,
As clear as crystal,
As clear as the sky
On a summer's day.

It has come to my attention
That I was a fraud,
Just as you were.

I have recently realized,
It was never you I loved.
It was your potential.
Who you could become.
Who I thought you were.

And now going over it all in my head,
I realized I fell for sweet nothings,
And soft tones,
And ginger touches,
And brash conversations
About politics
Where you were just agreeing
To appease me.

And I am still a firm believer
That you can love someone
Because of their flaws,
Not despite them,
Because that is true love in itself.

But I did not love your flaws.
I feared them. All of them.

And in hindsight
I regret
Confessing my soulmate philosophy.
And explaining the red strings of fate,
And telling you of my synesthesia and demisexuality.

Because my being demisexual made you feel special.
You aren't, by the way.

And you used,
Almost constantly,
My synesthesia against me.
Even when I told you
"It is not an ability,
Nor a power.
I cannot read minds."

I also told you
"It is not a party trick."

And you pressured me into using it for the latter
Due to your selfish desire
To use my as a ploy and a conversation piece,
Among other things.

I never loved you.
No,
I loved who I thought you were.

Because you are not good,
Nor kind,
Nor gentle,
And no where near loyal.

You are selfish
And cruel.

Judgmental glances
And cruel tones,
Harsh words,
And selfish intentions
Made up our relationship.

Your mother wrote
Upon her wall
What love is.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

It was literally written on the wall.

And we weren't any of that for each other.

If they had heard your words,
And if I had seen my own actions,
All would have known from the start
That we were toxic.

So keep fooling the world,
I'm going to be
A better me.

And upon these feelings for a Bluebird
Born under Mercury,
And the light of the star Spica,
I have come to see
The fear I have
For falling for anyone.

But maybe it's a risk
I'll be willing to take,
The closer I get,
The more sure I feel.

I stare in the mirror,
But my brown eyes very pointedly avoid my reflection.
Instead I allow my sunset eyes
To pour into the cracks at the edges of the glass.
Not enough damage to the mirror to consider it broken,
Therefore not enough damage to consider it bad luck.

I stare into the scrapes, cracks, and scratches,
Until I see someone I have always been familiar with.
I may be even more familiar with this person
Than I am with myself.

My eyes lock
With what
Almost
Was.

Yes, the Almost!me.
The Not!me.
The Could-have-been!me.
The Just-Wasn't!me.

I am very familiar with her/him/they.

She is athletic, and only smiles when people are around.
He is talented, and his hands are always covered in a thin-to-moderate layer of graphite.
Their favorite color is spit-fire red, and they've seen too much for their age, but they love even more.

See, there are a lot of differences between me and those versions of me,
Like how she has a cute golden blush to her cheeks,
Or how he has a fondness for sunny days and blue skies,
Or that they always pull their friends in for a warm hug before they say goodbye.

But the one major difference is:

When I look at rain clouds,
I see all the potential that rain has to offer,
Not the destruction of my plans.

When my life takes a turn for the worse,
I see my loved ones as a reason to stick around,
Not as reasons to pack up and leave.

The difference is
When I said that I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had someone who wanted to protect me from myself.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I was give at least five reasons to stay.

The difference is
When I said I didn't want to be alive anymore,
I had people who loved me that had the guts to try to convince me that I might want to rethink that statement.

So I wave goodbye,
I clean off the mirror,
And I turn off the lights to the bathroom as I walk out.

Each time I walk past my reflection for the rest of the day,
I make eye contact with myself,
As a way of saying
"Thank you for staying."
A way of saying
"Thank you for surviving."
A way of saying
"Thank you for trying to live."
and then
"I really needed that today."

See, the big difference between me and all the almost!me's, is that I am here,
Very firmly and very stubbornly above ground,
Despite my past efforts.
And they...
They are not.

The biggest difference between me and the me that wasn't,
Is that they just weren't.
And I am.

I am.

If you love a poet
Let me give you a word of warning:
We trust slowly,
But love swiftly
And fiercely
And with all that we are.

If you love a poet,
She will forget chores
And things on the grocery list
But she will be able to recite
Her favorite quote
And stanza from
T.S. Eliot's the Hollowmen
As though she wrote them herself.

If you love a poet,
She will stumble over words when confessing feelings
And reciting poorly timed jokes (making them all the more unfunny),
But be able to write ten pages at least a day
On how you light up the null void she thought her heart was.

If you love a poet,
She will get choked up
When thinking of all the pain you've endured
And wipe at streaming eyes,
Because her empathy runs too deep and
Too wide.

If you love a poet,
Nothing will be organized
But that receipt you were looking for
Will have some extra ink on the back,
Something-something about birds
Another something about finally being heard.

If you love a poet,
She won't be able to be impressed with her own cooking,
And she'll misplace everything all the time
And it will send her into a panic.
She won't remember where her cellphone went,
And whether or not it was on vibrate or just low,
But she'll remember exact dates and times that music
Came on that made her think of you,
And whether or not you were with her
Or if you were holding her hand.

If you love a poet,
She won't remember names or faces,
Or movie titles of flicks she likes,
But she'll be able to tell you the feel of your lips
Pressed against her skin
In detail that makes her shiver,
And how the feeling of you hand on her knee
Makes her heart skip enough beats
To make her head spin.

If you love a poet
She'll write your rise to the sky a thousand times,
And never once fathom writing your fall.

If you love a poet
She'll misquote things that make her laugh,
Sending her into a spiral of embarrassed giggles.
She'll be clear enough and pay enough attention
To correct those that are misinformed on a position or stance.
But she'll be zoned out to new inspiration
And writing your praises
Too much
To remember that food is necessary
And that water is helpful.

If you love a poet
She won't be in your world
When writing,
But all her work
Will involve her care for you.

If you love a poet,
She'll go on and on about your colors,
Your bravery,
Your smile
Your laugh
And expect nothing back.

If you love a poet,
You will be there for the darkest nights,
Where she had never let light in before.
For the nightmares
Where her voice is meaningless,
As it had been for the majority of her life.

If you love a poet,
You will see the shadows
Of her fear
Overwhelm her
And feel her nails in your skin
Too hard,
And her fingers squeezing yours
Too tight
Too hot
For someone always so cold.
You will see the fear in her eyes
When things are too loud
Too angry.

If you choose to love a poet,
You will see her lash out at her own devices,
And feel the scars her ire
And poor coping skills
Left her with.

If you choose to love a poet,
You will see
Parts of a troubled mind
No one has ever seen.
You will hear her confession
That imagery doesn't fit
The painting she wishes to make for you
With words
To describe her love for you and all that you are.

If you choose to love a poet,
Know that she is a  fragile thing,
With shaking hands
And quivering knees.
Know that she is brave and strong
Only in the conditions that are familiar.
And she has a "I'll do it myself," mentality,
For that's all she's ever known.
And when she's left injured with fractures all around,
Her first thought is "That didn't go as planned."

If you choose to love a poet,
You will have to deal with metaphors
And similes
And her staring at you in awe.
If you choose to love a poet,
She will scoff at those who have hurt you,
And know that it is because she hates that she cannot protect you.

If a poet loves you,
It was not a choice,
Rather a result of circumstances
That were beautiful and meant to be.

If a poet loves you,
She intends to inform you,
And she intends on staying.

If a poet loves you,
It will be wholly and entirely and until
The end of days.

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.

Break my bones,
Just not my heart!

If I could force myself awake I would,
If I could push away all the nightmares, I would.

But I can't.

And within my sleep
I find no peace
From what was done,
Or who I was.

And I can feel cool, dry air
Rushing through my pores,
And through my nerves into my bones.
As my teeth clatter and my limbs shake
I am become vividly aware
Of the smell and taste of blood
That I can't quite get rid of.

No matter how many times I brush my teeth,
Or how often I prepare baked goods,
It lingers in the back of my head,
A memory that is much too real,
Much too there.

But each time I close my eyes,
I find myself drifting in the ****** ashes
Of bridges I had to burn
To preserve whatever sanity I had left.

And the fear that our bridge may be one
That will be burned in some way, shape, or form
Brings the flashbacks to a halt,
And I wish I could say, within the dream,
That I was demanding and loud
And told you not to.

That I fought tooth and nail
For you to stay.

That I chased you down.

That I begged you not to disappear like everyone else.

I wish I could say that.

But I didn't.

No. Instead I only said,

"Break my bones, just not my heart."*

And into the darkness you receded,
Ignoring my wish,
Just like everybody else.

I apologize
for many things.
but I will never apologize
for how I feel
how I felt
and my attempts to be
better.

I will never
apologize
for doing what it
takes
to be
a better
me.

I call the raccoon
"Theo" for short.

he has a twin brother
named Franklin.

Franklin likes to fly about at night,
while Theo likes to snack on stonefruit and
cold pizza.

they might look
drastically different.

they might be
drastically different

but they're still twins.

whether Theo speaks too softly
or Franklin plays music too loudly,
they're still Theo and Franklin.

it's a funny thing about being attached to someone like that, by namesake.

no matter how different you are from each other,
your names will still roll off people's tongues
together.

and while you think no one sees you as an individual,
know that your counterpart does.

so while he flies around and peers at you from the windowsill,
and you nibble on a plum and watch Netflix too late at night,
know that you know
you're different.

And even in the depths
of the unknown
that I call my mind
there is a light within
that pulls through the fog
the fear
and the pain.

and there's a light in my heart
that I've tried to ***** out.
and there's a light in your eyes
that I desperately seek out.

and I hope you know
that I love you so
and the fire in your eyes
ignites my bones
and so I have found,
within your heart,
my home.

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.