you left
you left me open and all alone
broke me and made me pick up the pieces
now everyone looks at me like i’m fragile
and that they have to be careful with me

why?
why did you leave
right when I needed you most?

Like an abandoned dog
I sit here and wait for you to come back
but you never do
and now I don’t know where to turn to
or which way to go
so I wander aimlessly
helplessly lost

and I am not sure what I am more upset about
the fact that you never loved me
or the fact that I can’t seem to remember myself

before you

Momma says to eat your greens
but that spinach looks like something that you could pull out of a shower drain
I never listen

Momma says not to talk to strangers
but I’m too friendly not to talk to the guy who said hi at the grocery store
I never listen

Momma says he’s seems indifferent
but that boy has the sunset trapped in his eyes, and causes my side to cramp with laughter
I never listen

Momma says I should’ve seen it coming
but I actually believed him when he kissed me and held my hand
I never listen

Momma says not to turn to drinking
but this alcohol is a life jacket, and holds me above the waves
I never listen

Momma says not to harm myself
but that blade helps me feel something other than empty
I never listen

Momma says she’s sorry this happened, and that she wished she could take the pain away
but no momma. you warned me

I’m sorry I never listened

You have left me abandoned so many times,

I have the lines on your back memorized

better than the ones on your face

I want to yell and scream and claw myself out of this cage
And tell you what this new girl has done to me
She drowns me in alcohol
And uses my body as her canvas
She likes the way all my muscles contract at once
to expel your memory out of my stomach at 3 am
After trying to forget you at 1 am
It makes me feel alive
And she likes the way her drawings on my skin make me feel less emotion
And more grounded

But every time I go to open my mouth
To plead
To tell you  
She won’t let me
Writing is the only thing she can’t control
So I write and write and write
Words that are mushed together and silly
That pour out of me too fast to catch
I’m trying to tell you, it’s not me, mom.
I wouldn’t do this to me
I’m not me