People always equate jealousy to
A little green monster who rides
Piggyback throughout your life.
They’re wrong though.

Jealousy is a tiny, beautiful, parasitic seed.
It plants itself in the newly formed
Fissures of your self worth.

It fights its way through your aching veins
Before finally laying roots in your broken heart.

As it grows, you’re veins are slowly replaced
by brilliant green foliage.  

Your heart begins to bloom
The petals so breathtaking that it lures in
Every inch of your soul until
The only thing left is an empty shell
Of who you once were.

Jealousy isn’t a monster.
It’s irresistible flora
That feeds on your inadequacy
In order to feed its opulence.

Shh baby girl, it'll be okay

On the cold wooden floor she lies,
Her small body trembling with fear,
Three nights before Christmas.

Her eyes clenched in terror,
As a rough hand moves down her body.
Her silent sobs cannot be heard.

With her mother in the next room,
A  4 year old girl's innocence is taken,
Just in time for Christmas.

Shh baby girl, it'll be okay

A 6 year old girl alone with a friend,
Locked in an old dark shed.
Unfamiliar touches cross her body again.

A friend whose touch in no longer kind,
One little girl who is trapped inside her mind.
Another set of sobs that are forever silenced.

A little girl who was discarded,
A broken toy.
This little girl was nothing but used.

Shh baby girl, it'll be okay

A young teen speaks the truth,
She sits in a chair
Before judgmental eyes.

She speaks of a man
From many years ago,
And of the friend she used to know.

The eyes just narrow tightly and scold,
It's the little girl's fault,
She should have yelled out.

These eyes don't care that the man was armed.
These eyes don't care that the girl was strong.

These eyes defend their son,
The one who is in jail for molesting his sister,
But as his cousin, *I don't count.

These eyes defend their daughter,
The one who was violated herself.
They said I was overreacting,
It is I who was the bad judge of character.

To this day, there is a little girl,
Trapped and trembling,
Scarred and scared.
Trapped forever inside her adult body.

*Shh baby girl, it'll be okay

Everyday I wear a smile,
Paint on a happy face,
And slip on a coat of confidence
That only I know doesn't really exist.

I pretend to remember the good times,
Ignore the bad times if need be,
And wash my hands of all the pain
That constantly eats away at my reserves.

Only I can see the tears that were cried,
The blood that was spilled,
And the lesions that had formed
From the cuts on my battered soul,
But I can't afford to let others
See the aching inside of me
Because if there's one thing I can't take,
It's the pity of those who've suffered greater.

Then I meet those who haven't known a single trial.
Who go through life oblivious to the hurt
That haunts me everyday.
I long to be naive and innocent,
But its one thing that I cannot
And never will be able to obtain.

So I wear my facade,
Determined not to let it show,
And when the wounds I hide,
Manage to ooze past the walls that I have built,
I **** it back in and pretend it never happened
And everyone goes back to their regular routine.

Every day of my life is a lie,
Because I refuse to let anyone see how much I hurt.
They wouldn't understand,
Nor would they truly care about it.

So I just wear a smile,
Paint on a happy face,
And slip on a coat of confidence
That I know will never really be mine.

Thirteen is a lucky number,
Right?
Or maybe its cursed.

Works in my favor either way really.
Thirteen round little pills,
Shaking in my palm.

Maybe I'll live?
Hopefully I won't.

Thirteen little pills lined up in a row.
Should I take them fast?
Or should I take them slow?

one
two
three

Do I really want this?

four
five
six

I want to sleep forever.

eight
nine
ten

Sweet dream world...

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       v
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Just because you are addicted to drugs,
Doesn't mean I wasn't 4.
Doesn't mean she wasn't 2.
But it does mean that I was forced to be a mother.

Because you weren't around,
Meant I had no mother.
Meant I was a terrified little girl.
Meant, at 4 years old, I was her mommy.

Just because you are here now,
Doesn't mean that i love you anymore.
Doesn't mean that you deserve her love.
Doesn't mean that you are a mother to me.

But out of all these things that have happened,
you have proven to me one thing.

*"Your'e no daughter of mine, just a wanna be trying to take my place."

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry you’ve made me out
To be the menacing creature
Lurking under your bed.

I’m sorry that my truth
Spread like poison in your veins
Too quick for you to be saved.

I’m sorry that my happiness
Has left a cavern in your heart
Only to be filled with hatred and revenge.

I’m sorry that in order for you
To be the damsel in distress
I had to be your dragon.

She’s happy.

Her eyes are as bright as
Sunrise on the morning dew so
You can’t see the sorrow
They hide.

Her voice is as gentle as
A new mother’s careful touch so
You can’t hear the pain
She cries at night.

Her heart is as generous as
A dying man’s final wish so
You can’t tell it’s hand stitched back together
With threads of disappointment.

She’s happy...
But only so you can’t see
That all she really is
Is numb.

Why am I never enough?

The ones who are older than I always say I’m trying to hard to grow up.
They say I’m good at pretending to be an adult, good at pretending to be successful, good at pretending to have my **** together.
They also say that it’s all fake.

They say I’m just a child wearing adult shoes, they tell me I’m not cut out for the responsibilities that I’ve taken on.
They tell me that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

But I would rather choke on my dreams than nibble on their idea of success.

Everyone younger than I am
thinks that I’m wise.
They come to me with advice, they unburden themselves of their problems, only to lay them on my shoulders.

They have taken my extended hand and tied anchors too it.
They don’t understand that the biggest anchor is already tied to my throat, pulling me down deeper than any of theirs could.
They don’t realize that I have my own baggage, and that sometimes I can’t handle everyone else’s too.

Today is one of those days.
My elders are filling me with doubt while the younger ones are angry that I’m too far underwater to carry their weight.

Why am I never enough?

My mind is a war zone.
Memories of you hit like bombs
dropped from B-17s.
Rattling me to my core,
then leaving me with the aftermath.

My blue skies turning to grey,
clouded with the wreckage
you chaotically left in your wake.

My mind is a war zone,
but the soldiers have gone.
I'm alone in a barren land
destroyed by what you called love
and choked with the fear
of what comes next.

Promises, like words
Are thrown about carelessly
Like the grains of rice thrown at newlyweds.

Promises these days
Must be chained by contracts
Stained in ink, etched in stone
To hold any value at all.

I miss the days where all it took
Was a smile and Trust
Wrapping your fingers together
Whispering “pinkie promise” to each other.

I miss the days when
Making a promise to someone
Meant more than that promise
Only suiting yourself.

I miss the days when
“I promise you”
Wasn’t a door that lead to
“I may disappoint you”.

The hardest part of being happy
Is keeping up the charade.

Behind each smile is a sore lip
Bruised with anxious bites
Each time someone looks away.

Behind each laugh is a broken sob
Muffled into silence,
Hidden and saved for a rainy day.

Behind each kind word is a crack
In an already shattered heart,
Taped together with the words
“I’m fine”.

Behind each “I love you” is a desperate cry,
Screaming “Please don’t leave me”
Until their voice is gone.

The hardest thing about being happy
Is you can only play this game
For so long.

Delicate roses the color of
love tinted cheeks.
Decadent sweets that melt
Luxuriously in your mouth.
Brilliant jewels that shine
As if the sun rises within them.

These ostentatious adornments
Are not the equivalent of love.

Love is the silence you savor
When you’re alone with them.

Love is the way you gravitate
Towards each other as if
You’d float away without them.

Love is the “I’m home” texts
The warm soup when you’re sick
The hand you were offered
Before you knew you needed it.

Love is not the gifts or
The big moments.

Love is every moment in between
And every detail we miss.

Wandering around these
Cold cavernous tunnels,
I am searching for the light.

I’ve lost all sense of direction,
Relying solely on instinct
To find a way back to life.

With each turn I search
For the warmth of the sun
Rather than the chill of this
Labyrinth of thoughts.

I pour heart and soul
Into every step,
With hope of finding the light.

As the moon rises I am taken by the clouds,
Wrapped in their infinitely subtle grasp.
As the vapor curls around me,
all my pain is gone.
The buzzing silences, my heart slows,
my mind stops.

So beautifully silent
I bask in the warmth and
Numbness that surrounds me.
I smile as I let the clouds caress my soul.
Healing old wounds in peace.

I am a jigsaw puzzle person.

I am the gift that nobody wants,
Received and then immediately
Pushed to the back of the shelf,
Until there’s nothing better to do.

As time passes my pieces disappear.
With each inadequate void
Comes another sigh of disappointment
Reiterating the fact that I’ll never be enough.

I am only a learning device,
Given to people so they can learn
how pieces fit.
And when they’re done
I am broken down and tossed away
So they can learn how
To start again.

Some days my ocean is calm.
It’s waters are bright and
It’s surface is calm.

Other days, it’s treacherous waters
Search endlessly for
Any sign of light,
Yearning to drag it down to It’s depths,
Never to be seen again.

Over the years, I have become
A skilled sailor and
Have learned to navigate both sides
Of my waters.

But when your ocean
Spills into mine
I’m afraid we will both sink.

I’m eager for the day
When someone looks at me
Like I’m the only person here.

Like I am the brilliant florid orange
That paints the morning sky.

Like I am the billions of stars
That dance in the sky like
Dreams in the wind.

Like I am the sweet scent of wild flowers
Lingering in the fresh spring air.

Like I am someone who isn’t
So easily forgotten.

When I close my eyes I can feel it.

Spotlights of sunshine highlighting
the air as minuscule specks of dust
waltz in the warmth.

The smell of fresh coffee in a warm kitchen
where love is baked into every
delicious morsel of food.

The book cases in the parlor that are filled
with books well worn from generations
of love and emotion.

The laughter of children ringing like
church bells as they run through the garden, their happiness and innocence shining like a beacon.  

When I close my eyes I can feel it.
The home I always wanted but
was never fortunate to have.