I heard the scratching on the wall behind me and I fled scared for my life. Then I looked behind and only saw my reflection torn, hurt and broken, staring at me and asking me why I ran away from my own self, when I should have been the one to hold my broken pieces and make myself feel okay again.

Different percpectives of the same coin. You see the heads while i see the tales and maybe a little different but we both are a moiety of a whole so broken that each part doesn't recognize another.

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

And it was 1 am when i was clinging to myself and holding on my heart as tears streamed down my face and traced a path i had always known to be normal. For hurt was normal and this was just a 1 am tradition.

she climbed her golden throne and sat with power clinging at the tips of her fingers and anger pouring out of her sight. She took a breathe and you could see from the way she was moving that she was an embodiment of strength and that the roses that covered her kingdom were just beautiful thorns hidden behind a diversity of colors. And she was a reflection of those roses, fierce but hidden behind her miscellany of beauty.