Can I **** myself?
I don't know can you?
May I **** myself?
Were you not taught any manners?
May I please **** myself?
Yes dear, go ahead.

sometimes i feel too much
sometimes i feel too little
i wish i could stay in that happy place
that lies right in the middle

when i feel too much
it's a torrent of emotion
a downpour of epic proportion
and i pray for it to end

yet when it does i don't feel enough
i'm numb, frozen, depressed.
I then pray for this to end
and i'd do anything to feel again

so i'm stuck in this happy limbo
never feeling quite right
like goldilocks in the three bear's house
i can't sleep at night

Why can't you hear me
Why won't you listen
Why won't you pay attention to me
Why do you ignore me
Why do you hate me
Why do you despise me
Why do you love me
Why do you care so much
Why do you want me to stay alive
Why do ignore me
Why do you not care enough about me
Why don't you pay attention to me

Why do you go in the water at night doesn't it scare you
Why yes it does
But that's why I love it
It's the one time I'm afraid for a reason other people are too
And along with the fear I feel relief
Relief from wanting to **** myself
Because while I'm in this dark black water with no moonlight
If I were to die it wouldn't be my fault
It wouldn't be because I slit my wrists it wouldn't be my fault
It would be because I drowned on accident
Or a shark came and ate me
Or I died of pneumonia
They wouldn't write in my obituary that I struggled and eventually committed suicide
They would write what an amazing kid I was and that God took their little angel away too soon
Just for a while my death isn't on my shoulders
So yes I am afraid but I'm also liberated

you asked me to draw my past
i drew in red lines and harsh corners with no boundries
red lines because my body is covered in them
harsh corners because the turns my life took often make my neck snap
no boundries because i knew no wrong felt no remorse saw nothing as off limits
you asked me to draw my present
i left the paper blank
i feel nothing
i am nothing
whatever people say to me to help me recover is who i become
i am like a mirror or a blank slate reflecting what the artist wants to see
you ask me to draw my future
i draw triangles and rectangles
because the turns are still sharp but more expected
and i am fitting into society but i'm not a box

twenty seven
twenty seven days without the love of my life
twenty seven days of agonizing pain spent in terribly agony
twenty seven days free from someone whos love had expired long ago
twenty seven days trying to love myself
twenty seven days trying to fight to not call her
twenty seven days in turmoil
twenty seven days of taping my phone to the counter
twenty seven days of spontaneous beach trips
twenty seven days of misery
twenty seven days realizing just how far I had fallen for her mischievous smile and steady gaze
twenty seven of the best worst days of my life