When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.

We built
a tower
with hands
that did not know
how to touch.

It rose,
stone by stone.
Each word, a brick.
Each silence,
the mortar.
Promises—
vanishing into air.

We stood
at the bottom,
blaming the height
for our aches—
but the tower
was never
what broke us.

he is not
quiet inside,
or beside
himself in awe.

he's just been
a middle-ground
or a stopping point
on my way out
of my mind.

but he keeps
appearing
while i'm steering down
searing black-heart tar
at a speed too fast.
and yet he remains an ember
only ever having grown into
wet timber -
a spark, but no hint
of a flame.

and maybe he does
smell just like smoke-
but it's still not
the same as
you.

and that's why i just
miss you
instead of letting him
call me "honey".

It's 2 am and I want to know why my hands are still twisting knots in my hair, trying to busy themselves from writing out "I love you, sometimes." I don't know when I don't, but I'm hoping it's in me somewhere because if not, I have no hope to ever say that with any conviction. I mean, maybe if I was a little drunk I could pretend to laugh at you. But, really, you fill up my whole heart. I hate it in the way people hate beautiful things that they can't have, like a kid in a candy store. It is child-like, how I cry over you. And you don't notice, not really. I can see it in the way children pick leaves off trees and let them fall to the ground without second thought after the initial satisfying snap. Every time I see a sunflower, head bowed with the heaviness of its petals, I'll think of you. Snow reminds me of you too. In fact, most things remind me of you. I would say only sometimes, but that's a lie I can't even tell myself.

They swore they’d care, they swore they’d stay, then loved me most, once I decayed.

I got stuck
in a plot
                                        t
w
                              i                    
                                                s
                  t

and it made
me

A) Dizzy
B)  Sick
C) Light-headed
D) Aware

............(Answer)..............

i decided to change my hair,
in denial
that was the beginning
of my spiral.

stroking my long hair,
sitting in a leather chair,
pondering why i’m alive,
she asked me ‘why?’
‘it’s just too much’ was my reply.

and when it was over,
and the apron came off,
the girl cutting my hair
told me she felt
that i had a sweet spirit.

A smile so sweet, a heart so black, they stab your spine, then pat your back.