i sit with my legs uncrossing on the toilet seat, 7th period
smells of puberty
of wasted ambition and scathing regret of everything
of whispered secrets and sore thighs, ***** dripping out between your lips into the bowl
of tortured angst, of pulling your skin taut and drawing the blade against you over and over, for trusting someone like him
of hope that the next day will be better than today (it isn't)
of high school.

I was pushed into somewhere I didn’t want to be
I had no where to go but in there
There where it was nothing but shadows,
The screams of terror were silent to ones who could hear
The tears of the pain were the happiness of ones face
The scars on their arms were teased
The hand that wrote that beautiful song and brought joy into people
Were the same ones that held that blade in sadness
And you shook it


I was lost with
No heart
No emotion
No care
Not even love
Crying because I thought there was something to be
You meant everything to me
You knew that
You knew that I cared
And you let me go

You put me though something I didn’t even know existed
You like playing games
Games that leave me with nothing but pain and sadness
I hate you
But I love you
I don’t want anything to do with you
But I want you to come back
You coming back would make me happy
But you don’t care

I’ve spent days at a time thinking about you
And the type of love you give to people
You make me sick
And I will never respect you
But I still love you somehow

Even if you
can not hear
my voice,
I'll be right
beside you

I wrote a note today, how I felt. I was finally honest, even if only with a piece of paper. I loved that note, the comfort it gave me. It didn't cry or shame when it heard my pain. But like scars, it was visible. It could be seen. So I had to shred my honesty, piece by piece to make sure no eyes would see my insides. My words were not for anyone but myself. The graphite on my fingers is easier hidden than the blood on my skin. So tonight I wash my hands, so I can write again tomorrow.

Once it started opening up,
Like a wound, the pearl sheen of skin
deepening into a red
As rare as the perfect rose
And just as treasured.

Bones dense around my heart
And lock themselves in place.
Stifling the voice - two beats -
The third one silent.

The fourth,
The fifth,
The third.

You are my arms outreached but selfish,
Hands open but stiff,
Palms red.