I’ve told you the stories. The nightmares come real. You’ve met some of the people who hurt me. You have stood next to me when my whole body was shaking.

You have held me in the night when my anxiety arises and I begin to question you, me, us.
You have held me in the night when I wake up from the nightmares.
You let me cry, share excitement, and yell.

After everything I’ve been through you look at me and still manage to make me believe what you tell me.
Despite your knowledge of my depression and anxiety you make me feel weightless around you.

You have always accepted me as I am. No push for me to change. You tell me I’m beautiful, smart, talented. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable in my own skin.

Sometimes
We realize that despite our best intentions,
We are not made for some things.
More often than we'd like to admit,
We realize this to late.

The neighbors and family flow into our mediocre house and you greet them all smileing and joking. Voices saying congratulations fill the air with the intended target of me but before they even finish leaving the lips of gusts, you accept them and move on to the next group. Once everyone has settled down and is meandering to see people they "haven't seen in ages" you begin bragging about how proud you are of my accomplishments.  Everybody awes as you take your time showing baby pictures and explaining how it is all your doing that I've made it this far and done so much. You begin pushing for everyone to leave the house, grab food from the porch area, and go outside into the hot sticky air to conversate. As soon as they are gone you close the door and I am snapped back into reality. You start gritting your teeth and yelling at me as quiet as possible so no one hears. First going off about how I was to quiet, so I was a stupid *****. Then what I said made me sound stupid, so I was dumb. And after a few other things came out you grabbed at my shirt and yanked down, finishing my yelling at with a comment of how im to fat and I need lose weight.  

"But mommy, don't you love me?"
"Of course sweetheart. You'll always be my little baby girl."

As soon as the guests leave you have a hold of my arm, tight, white knuckles, instant bruising. You scream and spit into my face that I am worthless without you. I realize you're right. You control everything in my life.

"Mommy?
Mommy?
Where are you?
Mommy why won't you help me?
Mom?"

That was the night I realized that I didn't want to live anymore.
I walked up to you and asked you if you loved me yesturday. You turned to me without hesitation and said, "No, maybe if you acted right I would, but not today."
So mom, when you find this, if you ever do, please understand that I don't love you either, but I love myself just enoughenough to know that I can't keep fighting for your love.
Sincerely,
Your worthless, dumb, fat, stupid ***** daughter.

You asked me what made me like you and I lied by telling you I wasn't sure. I remember exactly when I realized it. I remember what I was doing, I remember what you were doing. I remember the small details like the girl sitting between us had brown hair, and wouldn't talk despite our best efforts to make conversation. I remember how the conductor got impatient with us because I kept turning around to talk to you and our other friend. I remember the exact second I realized that I liked you. After 2 years of not letting myself feel, you made me start to feel, so for months leading up to it I made myself tell me that I didn't have feeling. But darling, I remember the moment I realized I had fallen to hard for you. The way your hair had fallen without your hat. I remember the weird smile you had made at me to make me laugh when I got mad at the other girl in my section. I remember the way other people had told me on the side they were jealous of the love we had because they thought we were already together. They said you looked at me like I was secretly special. Eventually I opened up, layed everything out infront of you and you told me it was mutual. But we only lasted a little over a month because you weren't happy. I knew it and when I asked you told me everything was fine and not to worry. I believed you too. That was my mistake. I should have stopped you and told you that I knew somwthing was wrong. As soon as I found out you weren't happy I left you. You asked for my advice about why I would end it so quickly so I sat you down and explained it to you. How every detail was a memory I had, and that if you aren't happy, you should never draw things out longer than they need to be. So here I am, drunk, lost, lonely, and thinking about how im shutting my emotions down again. But you're happy, and all I've wanted is for you to be happy.

Please, understand I did not mean for this to happen
I did not want to leave you
I did not want to lose you
But I was mad
I was crying
I had the music as loud as it would go
I was driving as fast as I could
I was screaming his name
I was holding my stomach
I was remembering that night
The force of him pushing me down
His voice echoing in my head
His voice growing louder as he got mad at me
The pain
Forcing myself to go numb from the inside out
Forcing myself to ignore his request
I remembered the bruises on my body
The way everything changed me
And how you didn't believe me
When I told you
And now I flash to the moment
The rain coming down hard
The sound of the music conflicting with the tires on the pavement
And then, no sound of the tires on the pavement
Wind rushing past me
The impact like a wall
And then nothing.
The tests after the autopsy showed it was his
And it's funny how now, and only now, you believe me
But it's to late
Please, understand I didn't mean for this to happen

You tried to help
Took my broken pieces,
My bleeding wounds,
Heart strings,
And tried to glue them together.
I knew you would leave one day, but
Never thought it would be like this. Our
Want uncovers our honesty, and
It breaks my heart to see you go
Back. Back to the place under the tree where we hid,
Until the sun came up and exposed us in the graveyard.
Now, I visit your eternal bed under that tree.
I ask what you think of the new woman to hold my heart, and
Hope that you see her as I do, I hope
You'll know that she is the only one to take your place, please
Understand.

You told me you admired me for my ability to ready poetry with such emotion, but you didn't know I was using it to tell my story. You told me cancer was a ***** and for me to read about it to hundreds so I could win a medal was inspirational. I accepted your commentary as though it were coming from god himself. But the truth is, I didn't and don't have the heart to tell you the truth. I don't want your pity stare. I don't want you to know you're losing me. I want to spend the last of my days with you as you are and I promise not to say I love you because I don't want you to say it back, only to be forced to let me go. All I can say now, is that i'm sorry. When you find this, please forgive me.
Love,
   Marie

But darling, it's not about me. It's about every day dream you've ever had in which you kissed the curves of her spine, and her fingertips, her nose. You loved her before you loved me. So when you seem worried about my heart breaking, understand that I only want what makes you happy. I can pick up my pieces and hide them from you. Just please, be happy.

Honey, I am not a book you can pick up and read at your convenience. I am not like a bookmark in the way that I will not keep you where you wanna be. I am not in control of anything you do, but when faced with the choice of me or her, I know you will choose her. She is your adventure story, and I am part of your past. Please be careful on your trips. I will always be in your hindsight cheering you on.

I am the kind of broken you cant fix with super glue. I am not held together with a hot glue gun. I am just unsaveable. Unable to be salvaged, you must toss me away in the trash. I am like a old lamp you hit when secretly playing ball in the house. You never told your mom about me despite how often I was there or missing. You took a broom and dust pan and swept the big pieces into the trash, but as you found the little pieces, you kept them. You kept the small broken bits if me hoping they would aid you in the healing you were doing but honey, all it did was break me down more. You were the erosion that ruined me. The stream that carved out so much of my center I collapsed in on myself. I became a sink hole within myself. It wasn't by choice. I wanted to stand strong. I wanted to prove that I was what you wanted, that I could shelter you. I wanted you. I wanted you whether it was under me on a Saturday night or next to me in the lords house on a Sunday morning, I wanted you. All of you. But you only wanted little pieces of me. And that's okay. I'll just be here with my chips and bruises, smiling at you in your entirety.

you watched me break
you let her break me
you watched me break
you watched her break me
you watched me break
you watched her torture me
you let her wrap her hand in yours
you let her look right as me as she did all of this
you let her say spit venomous words at me
you let her break me
and all you did was watch

It wasn't that the joke was funny, it was the fact that my heart was so broken. I never wanted anyone to feel how I feel how I did. So I laughed a whole hearted fake laugh, and everyone believed it. At that moment I realized I was not born to be a musician, I was a natural born actor with the ability to act okay at all times despite the ease that came with being my broken self. This facade was my life, and I had to keep dragging it along.

If you could see my mind, you would believe it to be from a horror movie.
Bloodstains mark the walls from the deaths of all the previous dreams and ideas i've had.
No sunlight is shining through the blinds because the windows are boarded up.
It's not by choice.
If you want to know why my mind is this way, talk to my brain or my heart.
They know the real reasons.

When I walked up and asked how she got her scars, she explained "I tried to cut myself to fit other peoples puzzles....heads up kid, It never worked." and turned away to keep puffing on a cigarette. Its been 3 years since I heard this and I still question what would **** me faster. Inhaling her second hand smoke that day, or her voice on repeat every time I add new cuts to my skin.

We make our judgements through ***** windows. We make our promises behind the suns back. We break eachothers hearts and use the pieces to make tree branches reach for the sky. We don't just fall apart, we wreck ourselves to make art in hopes that someone will like our pictures eventually. I don't know about you, but I don't think I want to live like this anymore.

I stand before you wishing I could suffocate myself, but instead i'm picking flowers from a field of dead men.

I want to love myself, but you can't love something that you've hated for so long. I can't just flip a switch and decide that I am good enough. I sit by myself overthinking and wondering if I still want to live. I've hated myself for so long that when my name rolled off his lips in the same sentence as beautiful, I cried laughing. Beautiful was a word to describe his eyes, or the sunsets and sunrises he watched, or all the things he ever did because it made him happy. He was my definition of beautiful. But as my name and that word were put in the same sentence I remember what I wanted to forget. I remembered all my imperfections and how much I hated myself for having them. I remembered the bullies that made me want to die. I remembered the notes left in my locker with instructions to **** myself, I remember the bleach bottle left in my car, the box cutter in my instrument case. I remember all of it. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't pretty. It was gruesome. It was red and dark. But it was okay. Because as my name and the word beautiful left his lips, I didn't hate myself.

Poetry doesn't come to me like it used to.
I used to be able to sit and write about whatever I was feeling.
Now I sit for hours wondering if it was the people that made my mind stop opening up, or if I ******* myself over with how much i've been isolating myself.

After a while, you realize that
Living is all you do.
It took me months, but it became
Very clear that I was struggling.
Every day was a chore.

Because of this,I was consistently
Unable to get out of bed.
Time moved far to slow for me.

Day after day I was told that
Eventually it would get better.
And maybe one day it will.
Dear god do I hope it will.

I wonder if an autopsy can reveal that the person was already dead inside.
If they take a black light to your mind, will they see the bloodstains you tried to hide?
Or will the autopsy file be labeled "suicide" and left to gather dust.

You asked me to tell you what scared me.
As I described my worst fear in detail to you, your eyes went wide.
You even gasped.
But the funny thing, is that you never told me yours.
Which means I must not be part of it.

As I stand on the roof of a wooden bridge, I look down asking myself if the rocks have soft edges or sharp ones.
Then I stare at the water wondering what color the murky green and my blood red would mix to.
And finally, I jump.

If I were to die tonight, would they wrap me in rose petals?
Hoping the softness would bring me back?
If I burn my house down and lock myself inside will they look at my flame kissed skin and question suicide?
What if I swerve to "avoid a deer" but turn to hard into the trees?
Can a deep cut on my thigh give away my secrets?
I guess only the dark side of the moon will ever know.

Memories are murderers
Hidden in the shadows of forever
They are what your worst fears are made of
They are what your demons thrive on
They break you
They make you
They beat you
They heal you
They never leave you
And maybe that is the problem
Because when someone says "she committed suicide"
You instantly think 'she killed herself'
You never wonder if it was her twisted memories that really killed her

I spent all my time trying to memorize his favorite things that I forgot mine.
The only problem with that is that when it ended, I was left to re-learn what I had once loved.

I'll take your hand and ask you to point at my heart.
You might point at my chest and say that it's beating behind the cage of my ribs hidden by flesh.
You might point to my sleeve to show that you know I fell for you, that I like you but you don't feel the same and that is why my time is being wasted when flirting with you.
You may tell me it's everywhere around us because I see you where I see most people whose opinions I care about, so you guys know my heart is out for you.
You might tell me that it's all over the place because I've given pieces of it to the wrong people, and that I will never be whole again.
I'll take your hand and ask you to point at my heart, where you point and what you say are up to you.

It's scary
How someone can go from loving you to hating you in mere seconds
How you can plan a future only for someone to destroy it in seconds
But that is love
It can not be one sided unless you're ready to be hurt
And sometimes when its mutual you are still ripped apart
Fear ruins the moments where love should've been
Leaving its victims screaming for mercy in the dark that took over where the light used to be
And this is where you will find me
I am hiding in the dark because I don't want to risk the light burning me and my heart becoming a deformity within me
So if you fall this low, don't hesitate to come visit me
I'll be here

It's 3am and I'm laying awake thinking about what I'm supposed to forget.
I've destracted myself long enough to forget what I was forgetting till now.
Now my mind thinks of everything because it's 3am and I should be asleep.

I want to write a poem
about you,
But I can't.
You will never accept me,
You will never love me,
You will never want me.
If I could, I would.
But I can't.

I'd live for you is a bigger compliment than I'd die for you
When someone says "I'd live for you," they are telling you that they are willing to wake up and
Face whatever demon is at their bedside
Force their dark thoughts away
Or fight their problems and keep pushing on
They are willing to give up on giving up, for you
Recently I have a friend who has been having some problems
I've contemplated telling him I'd live for him because he helped me out of one of the darkest times of my life and I can never properly thank him, but I don't know if he'd understand that I mean I value his friendship and his wise words
Then again, I may be the only one who thinks "I'd live for you," is a bigger compliment than "I'd die for you."

She killed herself, but only on the inside.
She ripped her mind apart piece by piece and let the pieces fall to bottoms of her feet.
She never loved anyone after that day.
Because love comes once, and she knew she had ****** up.
So she carried around the weight of the misery, and hoped that maybe one day he might love her again.

Her voice cracked, and you could hear her pain.
You could hear her fighting back tears.
You could hear her heart fall from her sleeve  and shatter at her feet.
You could hear how hard it was for her to talk about him.
You could hear her run out of breath when she told the beautiful stories he burned into her memory.
You could hear her choke on the word love because she still loves him and he just lusts her.
But worst of all, you could see her physically breaking.

Her happiness didn't matter as long as he was happy
That's all she ever wanted

Two words that explain my entire life.
**** up.
My parents were not ready, but they ****** up and here came their first born daughter.
Ever since then there has been some reason I am a **** up.
Whether it's because I say something wrong, I do something wrong, I act wrong.
No matter what it is, I will mess it up.
That is not an opinion,  that is fact.
You can give me a good relationship, and i'll lose it.
Give me a brand new gift, i'll break it.
My **** ups are inevitable.
They never end.

Lonely people don't **** themselves just because they're lonely.
Ask me why my mind is twisted and i'll tell you bedtime stories that will haunt you for years.
But then again,  i'm still alive.
Holding on to the hope that maybe someone will care one day.
Maybe loneliness doesn't last forever.
But I can't hold on to 'maybe' forever.
So if my forever is out there, I pray he's hanging on to 'maybe' too.
Because maybe our paths will cross soon, or maybe they alredy have.
Who really knows?
Who really gives a ****?

You can't keep using your broken parts to fix someone else.
At some point they will be dropped into a jar and chucked at a wall.
They will break, and you will fall apart with them.

About three weeks ago I woke up and sat in my room for about 20 min with different things in each hand.
In my left hand I had a bottle of pills and a glass of water next to it.
In my right I had a small piece of glass.
I sat and contemplated which would hurt less.
At the 20 min mark I had almost made up my mind when I heard a light knock on my bedroom door.
I quickly hid the objects and opened the door.
Outside my door on the old sewing machine table, there was a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Just then the young (10yo) neighbor girl poped up and hugged me.
She told me that she made me pancakes because I looked sad the day before and that pancakes always make her feel better when shes sad.
I don't think I've ever been so greatful for a younger child till that day.

I never tell people how I feel.
I bottle it up and act happy and that is my life in its simplest form.
But truely, i'm breaking inside.
My heart is aching because it's starting to feel again.
His voice and his smerk they make little spots of light in the darkest places.
I can't help but fall for a guy I know nothing about because he makes me feel something.
He makes my heart feel alive again and he doesn't even know it.
I don't tell people my feelings.
So here I sit, wanting him more than anything; here I sit quietly in the background hoping he might like me too someday, but knowing it is highly unlikely.

As I was driving home, I watched the lightning.
I couldn't decide if it was heat lightning or actual storm lightning.
My answer came when it started to rain lightly.
And while I watched the lightning, my mind wandered to some dark places.
As I drove I daydreamed of a young girl standing in this weather.
Her clothes were soaked and stuck to her skin as she too watched the lightning.
Her eyes were transfixed on the crazy lines that broke the sky into pieces and the light that shaded each part.
But her mind, it wasn't paying any attention to the beautiful show before her.
Her mind was only thinking of the blade hiding in her pocket.
She reached her hand in the pocket and pulled out the tiny tool.
As soon as it was in her hand she sat on the wet earth beneath her and kept her eyes focused on the illuminated sky.
She didn't need to look down as she took the blade and made a deep cut from elbow to wrist on both arms.
And as soon as the damage was done, she laid back and let rain fill her veins while her blood watered the grass.
It was at this time that I had finally pulled into my driveway.
It was also at this time that I realized, the girl I was daydreaming about was me.
The girl I daydreamed was doing something I had longed to do but couldn't make myself do.
As I got out of my car, I tried erased those thoughts from my head.
Another long week was almost over, and I wasn't yet dead.

I never understood the concept of a broken heart.
I've always questioned why someone would put their life, dreams, and soul into a glass jar and throw it to another person hopeing that the person wouldn't let the jar slip through their finger tips and fall to the cement below. Just the thought of giving myself to another human and hopeing they want to make sure my glass doesn't crack makes me feel woozy. And if the person lets the jar slip from their fingers, if that person doesn't make sure the glass won't crack, you have to deal with your whole world shattering on the **** cement. I've never understood why people do that, until I met him.
He made me believe there was a protective layer around my glass. That even if my glass was thrown across a room as hard as he could throw it, it wouldn't even crack.
So I handed him my jar and he hung it inches above the floor by a string that was fraying in the middle. He swing it back and forth on a knife blade waiting for the string to break. Now, I've never understood the concept of a broken heart, but the day the string finally broke, I felt my whole being shatter on the ground. I felt chunks of myself being broken into little shards and the small pieces went everywhere. I may not understand the concept of a broken heart, but I now know that I never want to.