A Shield.
That's what it is.
A secret invisible force
that lets me hide.
It helps mask the
pain and sorrow
and anger and
regret and remorse
woven into my soul
piece by piece.
It helps me face
my peers,
my parents,
my friends,
my goals,
my dreams,
myself.
And even I
cannot see past it.

I need
to lay
curled
around
each
other
during
every
hour of
the night.

I am not your priority.
You do not make time for me.
And because of that,
I have to leave.
If you wanted me to stay,
You’d do something to keep me.
But you’re not-
I’m not your priority,
And so I’m done making you mine.

Sometimes I feel as if you stole a part of me away with you.
You took the very essence of my soul with you when you left.
I didn’t think it was a permanent ending, of course, neither of us ever did.
Each time we parted, it was never the end.
And now it is, and I no longer have air to breathe.
The fire that once sparked us both and lit up our the passionate flames of our souls belongs only to you now.

Be passionate for me, even if it is not with me.

It hurts-
When they find someone new,
and I realize I was only there
for character development.
And now he’s with her,
and I’m with a different face every night.
But I’m the one who struggled through
the lows and the highs.
I cried myself to sleep every night.
Not her.
But I’m the one who’s alone.
Because while he’s marriage material,
I’m simply another body for men to use.
I’m pretty enough to ****,
but I’m no one’s dream girl-
just a means to pass the time.
And so I silently cry in this empty room,
thinking about those memories of you-
and the pain that you and I went through.

Lovely colors
are dripping
from the
vivid black
canvas.

How do I tell my brain to stop?
I get in these moods when I should be happy.
So much is good right now,
but that one comment keeps sticking.
My dumb brain won’t stop fixating.

I'm slipping into an ocean
filled with doubts
and i'm mentally unwell.
These thoughts eat at me,
like fish in a feeding frenzy.
I keep getting bitten-
each chunk leaves and
I'm slowly forgetting
who I am and who I want to be.
Someone just reach out and save me.
I can only do so much on my own.
I'm swimming but what use is that
when I'm in the middle of a sea.
I have no assistance.
No boats, not even a floatie.
I just need some sort of release
from treading endlessly.
So please help me to save me.
I can't keep this up.
I'm becoming hopelessly exhausted.
I'm going to sink,
and when I do,
just promise you'll remember me.

I just want to move on, but it’s so hard.
Because we facetime so often
And you still call me babe.

i used to always be too much.
i talk too much. i laugh too much.
but somehow i was also always too little-
i wasn’t trying hard enough.
however, truly i was never the problem at all.
i gave everything i could.
i changed for you.
and i am so happy to finally say-
the real me isn’t dead.
without you around i have started to see me.
i goof around with reckless abandon and
i hype myself up.
i am cocky instead of self conscious- who knew cockiness would ever be a positive?
i am so incredibly happy. and im proud.
i am so proud of me- because i’m me and i’m not you.

With anger there comes clarity.
Not during it, no.
After- when you can see past the hurt.
And you can see you’re not at fault
for the pain they intentionally cause.

I would love
to fill my
lungs with water.

I met this boy when the pandemic began.
My mind was swimming in dark seas,
but this boy- he made me happy,
even if it were only bits and pieces so rare.
I met this boy and my tears disappeared,
laughter filled and echoed around me,
and I finally smiled regularly.
I grew fond of this boy in record speed,
but I was not the only one whose mind swam.
His mind was deep- submerged completely,
and it could be so hard to reach.
I tried, but I could only do so much-
and the water consumed and devoured me.
Even now, I’m slowly sinking-
a prisoner of this vicious, unrelenting sea.

“A new start,” that’s what I told myself.
“I just need a change.”
It’s happening again- like always.
Regardless of what or where or when,
I end up alone.
People drop off like flies-
while it may seem irrelevant to them,
It’s the only thing I can think of.
If I look back on the photos,
I’m never there.

Lately I’ve been having trouble breathing.
Everything around me closes in;
it swells up leaving no room.
It gets so tight that no air
could possibly squeeze through.
And then I pass out.
Only it doesn’t stop.
I keep waking,
endlessly struggling for air-
only to pass out in a panic.

Accept me.
Let me be me.
Stop forcing yourself on me.
I am my own person.
Just ******* accept me.
Just care about me.
Just support me.
I am me, not you.
So please,
Just accept me.

sometimes when i think of you
i don’t know how to breathe.
not because of a fondness for you, no.
but because you ripped open the seams that i had worked so diligently to upkeep.
you’re an animal.
one by one you plucked at every string I had tied to me.
you took away my confidence, self esteem, and beliefs;
leaving me only with anxiety and a constant fear
that i would never be me again.
because the line drawn between what was me and what was you had been so faint.
every day i question if i think right or if i’m breathing correctly.
and then i panic and forget how to breathe.

It had been so long, since these thoughts had occurred.
I thought they had vanished, guess that's absurd.
They yearn to tear me apart,
piece by piece, slowly and agonizingly.
These hateful, spiteful, horrid thoughts aimed solely at myself.
I need to feel something other than this all consuming rage.
I need the pain to take over me, the same way it used to.
Burning, cutting, destroying myself.
I need it. I crave it.
These thoughts rarely ever truly go away.
Its on repeat.
I finally take some steps forward, before I'm pushed.
Pushed over the edge into that monotone oblivion.
The oblivion where you don't think
or sleep,
or see the world around you.
It vanishes, and you're put on autopilot.
Maybe acting like a machine is the real me.
Maybe after this time I won't ever return to how I used to be.

i left the other day.
i packed my bags and moved out.
and that is when I realized
that home isn’t a place.
it’s you.
it’s our walks through the park
and our talks through the night.
it’s getting in trouble together
and getting out of trouble together.
home is us. home is our friendship.
I have no idea how to be at home when you’re not here.

I cut myself shaving,
it brought back those memories.
Just a tiny twinge of pain,
and my hand begins to shake.
I throw the razor away,
tears begin streaming down my face.
But as much as I falter,
I want to slide the blade down my wrist again
and feel that familiar ache.
I want my emotions to come pouring out,
Because they’ve been hidden away.
I want to be entranced by seeping blood,
as it soothes and brings me peace.
I cut myself shaving,
and I went back to that place.

I cut myself shaving today
And instead of throwing the blade away-
I made rivers of red artwork-
first my thigh,
and then my wrist.
And I left myself a reminder-
because I should just be happy.
Instead of being depressed.
So now that word “happy”
is engraved in my skin.
because maybe my dumb brain
just needs a shove to remember
that depressed isn’t pretty,
and if I just go to the gym I’ll be happy.

I just cut my wrists up,
And I’m so mad,
Because I can’t even ******* **** myself right.

I say the words “I love you.”
I say them because I mean them.
It’s not something reserved for dating.
It’s not something reserved for family.
I say them because I mean them.
We don’t have to be in a relationship.
So why when I say those three words,
do you reply “that’s nice?”
Any other time you’d say them back.
But because we’re not in a relationship
you say, “that’s nice.”

I can’t breathe.
I can’t see anything.
I have these little flashes of light-
and tight, frantic gasps for air.
I’m left with my thoughts-
and in these panicked times they feel slow.
They’re drawn out.
I’m given all the time to think about-
How terrible a human I am.
How I’m incapable of genuine love.
How alone I am and will always be.
How I can’t even fake my own happiness.
I’m drowning,
And somehow, I’m taking everyone with me.

I feel unneeded.
And that’s so different from unwanted.
I feel as though I serve no purpose for others.
The ones I love simply don’t need me.
I feel as though I only hinder-
I’m in the way.
They’re indifferent.
I’m not unwanted,
I’m simply unneeded.

Sometimes I wonder
If a knife to the
stomach would
make everything
disappear into
a painless
oblivion.

I’m not the right flavor for you.
My love is shown a particular way-
I give you reassurance,
you consider it babying you.
I ask about your day-
tell me I’m simping.
I want to call-
and you say I’m annoying.

But then-
I change those habits,
And now I’m a walking red flag.
You molded me how you wanted me,
But now you want the original again?
I’m sorry, but you don’t get that choice.

I want to hang
from the ceiling
so that maybe
I can learn
how to see
life from a
different
perspective
instead of
this dark
gray, agonizingly
painful one.

If I were to try again-
I would change a few things.
The first being my silence as a child-
when He molested and ***** me.
The second being my maturing-
I was forced to grow up too quick.
The last being my habits-
If I had never self harmed,
I never would have become addicted to it.
That’s it. That’s all.

Every time a man gets too close
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He touched me.
A mere 12 years old,
lying asleep in bed.
So scared to utter a word,
too terrified to tell mommy.

Every time another woman confides in me,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He hid in the walls.
Watching a little girl change,
thinking of what He'd do later.
Too selfish and perverted
to realize the impact He'd have on her.

Every time a boy gets too close,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of when He had touched me.
When He had gotten too close; too handsy.
I cannot unfeel what he did,
Not even after 5 years.
The scar is forever sealed under my skin.

Every time I see that car,
I'm brought back to those memories.
Memories of Him and His Molestation.
And I cannot help but to wish
that somehow, some way, He had been arrested.
But instead, the man walks free.
And now He lives in a house of little girls,
and the blame rests on me.