Dry skin,
****** nose,
cracked lip,
bruised knuckles.

Shattered vase,
empty bottle,
hair ties,
leather belt.

Closed eyes,
stinging palm,
sore cheek,
***** breath.

One word,
one thought,
one plea:
*Stop.

My writing used to mean something.
I promise.
But now I try to write
and then the keyboard is wet
and my eyes are burning
and the words don't come out right
I swear it used to mean something
but I don't know how to be eloquent
and I've forgotten how to articulate
and why
*why can't I find the same meaning?

Let me hear a lie,
to ease the bitter taste
the truth has left behind.
Lies taste so sweet,
sickly and sticky and sweet.
Tell me everything will be okay.
Tell me it gets better.
Let me hear a lie.

Two hours of sleep
Nightmare.
A piece of cheese and a *******
for lunch
Close the curtains
I hate the sunlight
three blankets
sweaty but safe
go home
stay home
leave me alone
Did you eat?
enough
You're worrying me.
Empty words, cold replies
go back to sleep

I'm so sick of being called cold.
I know.
I know.
I'm not like you.
Not anymore.
I know I'm distant.

But... I'm tired and empty
and I don't have the energy
to pretend anymore.

So go ahead,
Go ahead and call me a
Frigid *****
I did nothing to you but keep my distance,
But go ahead.

I know,
**I know I'm cold.

I don't believe in destiny,
in some grand plan for me.
My achievements are my own,
As are my failures, my mistakes,
My miscomings and misdeeds.
The things I've experienced,
Who could have planned those?
If someone had planned for
the terrible things I've known,
All I can say is
*it must be a cruel god indeed.

Will you teach me
how to be brave?
How to hold myself
together when all
the my pieces are
shattered on the floor?
Do you know how to be strong?
Does anyone?

We need some light.
The morning sun,
the breaking dawn.
Midday warmth
and basking in the sun.
The setting sun,
the dying light.
We need some light
to see the truth.

I'm not one for theatrics.
I just... I wanted to say goodbye,
or at least explain myself.
My name is Liz and I like to think I can write.
Things have been really tough for me lately, writing and drawing has been what's holding me together. But one can only hold themselves together for so long before things start to shift and slide. Strings cannot hold together the shattered vase like glue can. We all know how hard it can be to find all the pieces and put the vase back together.

Now, I'm not some fragile ceramic object, but i've been feeling a bit shattered lately, a lot shattered, actually. There's no halfway shattered, is there? Anyways, back to the subject at hand, I'm not happy. I know so many people who are so unhappy and so hopeless. It's sad, these shells of people walking around all grey and empty. They look like ghosts. I feel like them.

Yet, no one seems to see the world the way I do. I guess i've always looked at things differently, somehow managing to be the most optimistic pessimist and the most pessimistic optimist at the same time. The way I see things, it's like the world is this grey place, yet there are still splotches of color every once in a while, and they're all the more beautiful for being surrounded by so much grey. I don't know.  I just feel so alone.

I've been feeling like this for a while. Alone, empty, not good enough. Something is lacking and i just cannot find it in my heart to write. So, i'm putting the pen down. I only hope I won't drown without my life preserver. It just isn't the same anymore.

It's been so lovely getting to know you all and reading your poetry. Thank you for sharing those tiny pieces of your souls for everyone. Jan, I tried. To the one who called herself Wicked, I wish I would have spoken to you more.

Hello poetry, and goodbye.

We don't talk about it.
When someone brings up
their body, your imperfections,
the way her eyes don't light up,
the scars on my wrists,
We brush it off and turn away.
We cannot talk about it.

I try not to think about
how much I hate myself.

Self hatred is taboo.
Unhappiness isn't permitted.
But we're all so miserable.
Wouldn't it be better if
we didn't feel so alone?

I always loved the idea of a muse by my side, gifting me with inspiration. Maybe it made me feel less alone. Maybe that is why I feel so lonely and empty when I can't write.
Psychology tells me that authors and artists are commonly more unhappy than those whose jobs rely on logical black and white thinking.
But would we have it any other way?
What beauty is there in a world made of only black and white?
Where would we be without our words and pictures and our inspired sessions at four am when the thunder brings to mind an image that you mustn't forget?
The scrawled poems on napkins and foggy bathroom mirrors and the doodles of nightmares in the margins of my calculus notes,
I would be lost without it. I am lost without it.
So if a muse is what I'm lacking, please come back, muse.

This palace is made of glass
and I can see every wicked lie
and every injustice
as clear as day.

Think you can hide behind walls and a door?
Perhaps you shouldn't make them out of glass.

I had a nightmare
where I had the wings
of which I'd always dreamed,
But they claimed it broke laws
so they tore my freedom
from my back
and I swear that
I could feel
The tendons stretch and snap
And the delicate bones shatter.
And it was agony
as they ripped my limbs
and stole my freedom.

Someone protected me once...
It was a nice feeling.
Not lust, not fear, not hatred,
There was anger,
But it wasn't directed at me.
He looked at me with care,
Like I was a real person, and not a shell.
I felt like I mattered for once.
To have someone step in front of you,
To gaze up at their back as they defend you.
I could have sworn he had wings,
Like a guardian angel.

Lucifer, the one that shines,
the morning star,
God's favorite,
cast from heaven for his sins.
And by that sin fell the angels.

but do you really believe that the devil is a monster?
That he, who was an angel, is grotesque?
No, he is beautiful and tempting,
an angel dwelling on earth,
and, god, he knows how to play a person.

Lucifer just wanted to be more like God,
is that so wrong for him to desire?
Thrown from paradise for
wanting to be like his father.
How sickening.

You keep talking,
but all you ever say
means *nothing.

Day* faded to *night
while I wasn't watching.

You were always too good for me
and **** it, I'm not good enough.

I wanted to see the sunset, but
when I remembered, the sun was a memory.

You called me a a sunset kind of girl
and I didn't have a clue what that meant
but I liked the way it sounded on your lips.

Stop that,  this has to be unrequited,
it's better for you, for me, too.
I'm not good enough for you.

*Just leave it to be worthless.

You made me promise
that I wouldn't fall apart
when you were gone.
You made me promise
to eat when I needed to,
to draw like I always did,
and not to cry too much.

But the spiderweb cracks
only lead to shattering
far worse than a simple break.
I guess I broke my promise
because I can't breathe
without your scent in my lungs.

I know I promised to stay whole,
but this is one promise
that I cannot keep.

I could tell by the way
that she ran her hands
across her own skin
that she hated herself.

The way she stared
sadly into the empty space
That girl would never
love herself enough.

But she never gave herself
time to learn how to love.
Dead by her eighteenth birthday,
no one ever claimed her.

Whether it was the drugs
and alcohol and sickness
or her own hatred that killed her,
I will never know.

So we beat on, boats against the current,
     borne back ceaselessly into the past.
I hope she is a fool, a beautiful little fool.
Absolutely real, pages and everything.
The loneliest moment in someone's life is when
       they are watching their world fall apart
       and all they can do it stare blankly.
And I sat there brooding in the old and unknown world.
You can't repeat the past.
You can't repeat the past? Of course you can.
They're a rotten crowd, I stated,
         You're worth more than the whole **** lot of them.
When you feel like criticizing, remember not everyone
          has had the advantages you've had.
I thought of Gatsby's wonder.
So we beat on, boats against the current,
          borne back ceaselessly into the past.

I don't want to write about
Love and the way you taste,
The gentle way your hands feel
when tangled in the curls of my hair.

I don't want to write about
The rain and the way it smells,
The calming pitter patter
beating against the window.

I don't want to write about
The monsters I know,
The way they haunt me
with their inescapable whispers.

I don't want to write about it.
I can't write about it.

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

The coldest thing
I could have heard
on that day
was what you said.

It was a bad day,
A hot day
full of my burning fear
and your scorching desire.

But what you said was so cold
So cruel
So utterly and completely terrifying
and absolutely humiliating.

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

Go to sleep before you dream.*
I've come to enjoy dreaming
far more than waking;
so much so, that I forget
to remember that I am awake.
Drifting mind and drifting eyes,
I swear, I want to be somewhere else.

I hope heaven is real,
because I know you'll be happy
for the first time.
If there is a paradise,
I hope you're there.

They leave a bad taste,
Bitter on the tongue;
The words I never said.

They fluttered around,
Desperate to escape,
But I swallowed them whole.

I love you,
I hate you,
Please don't go.

I swallowed them,
but it sickened me
to keep them contained.

Sometimes,
I don't feel much.
Cold and emotionless,
Unsympathetic.

But other times,
I feel every last drop of emotion.
Like my body is on fire,
Too much.

Everything is so frightening.
Tip the scales...
and let me
*balance

When there are storms,
and the rains beats relentless
against the cool glass panes,
and the rumbles of thunder
shake the walls i've built;
I curl up in bed
with a favorite book
and a steaming,
fragrant cup of tea
and think, perhaps,
*It is almost a good life.

I'm trying so hard to
keep my head above water.
Everything is closing in
and the darkness is settling.
The very process of drowning
makes it harder and harder
not to drown.
He wrapped his hand
around my ankle
and told me that he would
never go down alone.

Who decides what we deserve?
Did he deserve her?
Did she deserve you?
Did I deserve that?
What do I deserve?
because I don't think
anyone deserves to
feel afraid every day.
It isn't fair that one person
gets to intimidate and hurt us.

I'm very aware that my writing is... lacking.
But so am I.
So keep your thoughts to yourself.

....please.

I keep my beautiful memories
encased in clear glass jars.
They glow so warmly,
Isn't it lovely to look at the past?
We can look, but we can't touch.
I can only hope the museum
doesn't catch fire in the night.

Can someone please tell me
what it is like to be a first choice?
To be wanted?
To feel approval?
To have some one look at you,
like you're worth something?

It's one of those days
where stay in bed
and hide under the covers
because the world is
too cold to face today.

It's one of those days
where you hand pick
your play list to be
all the sad songs you own.

It's one of those days
where all you eat is
a cup of tea and a carrot,
because you'll throw up
if you eat anything else.

It's one of those days
where you can't listen
to the silence but
you aren't actually listening.

It's just one of those days.

I once wanted to be a doctor.
A surgeon, to be exact.
Blood never bothered me,
and I wanted to save people.
But, you see, I couldn't be that.
Surgery requires precision,
And my hands shake
when I need them to be still.

I wanted to save lives,
To heal the sick,
To revive the dying.
I thought I could be
that godlike figure,
Defying death and
Stealing its victims.

But I cannot,
Simply because my hands shake
With the weight of the past.

If I spoke louder,
Would you listen?
If I raised my voice,
Would you hear?

I know you only yelled
because you wanted to
make it more clear,
because I couldn't understand
that I was only hurting myself.
But please don't be so loud,
It makes you sound like him.

Silence is so ******* loud
And I cannot stand the
oppression of the voices
Screaming in my mind.
At least when there's sound,
I don't have to listen to
My mind criticizing myself.

It was all too easy,
The way you smiled,
Like a ray of light
breaking through the trees.

You brought shadows into light,
but it's just me again down here.
I wanted to give you glory,
but there was nothing you could do.

It was all too easy
to make you smile
that beautiful smile
and melt the ice in my heart.