three years ago, I was broken
to say the absolute least.
I was torn between the walls
of my flesh
fighting battles between my breaths
arguing within myself,
out of myself,
for myself, and
against.
you'll notice that I'm not as quick with my words
metaphoric with my phrases
not nearly as expressionate and passionate and
let's just say it
dramatic
as I once was.
I am not the person I was then
I think that a new introduction is needed.
Hello, my name is J
I'm 21 years old, 160 or so pounds,
and I don't care what pronouns you call me.
I have a loving common-law husband
and an almost two-year-old daughter.
I have been clean from cutting for nearly three years now
on October 12th.
No drugs in three years on New Year's.
I. Am. Okay.
I cry less often and sit and stare less.
I clean and cook and learn every single day.
I'm still not too sure what it is that I'm doing
because I never thought that I would make it this far
but by god, I am DOING it.
I have BPD.
so if you knew me then, maybe all of my ramblings
FINALLY
makes a little more sense.
They do to me.
I don't write
not nearly as often
and maybe that's my most obvious sign that
I'm better than I was
three years ago.

here we are again,
sitting alone in a bed
sheets pulled off the mattress,
i've been too depressed to put them back like i usually do.
something so ******* simple, and yet it seems so ******* impossible to do.
my room is a mess
of discarded, disregarded food
that I could never bring myself to eat
much less finish
my fish cries out for food, but how
how can i move, how can i sit, how can i feed
i can't even take care of myself, Cornelius.
I never should have bought you
i told myself i was saving you
I can't even save myself, can I?
my clothes are *****
i've been wearing the same pants for the last week
I wake up, I go to work, I come home, I sleep
I have no time to think
and yet it's all that i can ever do.
I miss the person who used to care
i miss being obvious when i cared
now i can't feel anything
"I love you's" are empty
kisses are soulless, every breath comes without air.
I'm gasping,
but I still smoke
it doesn't burn,
it just jolts me into another reality, i suppose
everything is blurry, i barely remember today
i barely remember starting this.
I'm so good at pretending
i'm so ******* good at it that even I almost believe it.
i'm so hungry
if i eat, i'll puke
those pills look promising.
why am i alive?

Trigger Warning: Involves cutting and attempted suicide as well as an abusive relationship*

J knew better than to be doing this again, especially after last time, but they couldn't help the sense of pure joy that they got when they pulled the slick razor blade from its package. Strangely enough, the sight of the unrusted, sharp, seductive blade made J smile, proving that they gave no other thought to how they shouldn't be doing this. The date was set, now. There was only one thing to do when they got this far along in the process.

They thought to themself, "It's just a few cuts, nothing to it, no reason to worry," though the truth was they knew that they weren't going to stop. Even with everything that they had finally gotten through, even with all the hardships that they fought against, the only thing they couldn't seem to get over was the act of splitting of their skin by their own hands.

They perched themself on the edge of the bathtub and glanced up to check that the door was locked, eyes darting back down after confirming that there was no way someone could walk in on them. They peered down at the barcode of an arm they had, smiling softly to themself as they took the blade into their mouth to hold while they rubbed their now free fingers up and down the bumps protruding from their skin.                                                  

'Not enough,' J thought to themself, shaking their head to get rid of the little voice in the back of their mind screaming, "Don't, J, he'll be mad! J you'll be punished!"

"He only cares because he owns me," J barked back aloud, voice rough and unforgiving. "If he didn't own a part of me, do you really think he'd care? Of course not. This is my rebellion. I don't want to be a part of this world anymore. I don't want to be some part of his sick entertainment."

Each of the bumps along their arm basically begged to be pulled open again, and with their fingers slipping up to their lips to retrieve the blade, they happily obliged. Every slice made upon their skin made J throw their head back, laughing at the sensation of the little pinch followed by the warmth of their blood.

"You know, for a second I thought you'd stop, little bird, but of course, you never listen to reasoning."

"*******, and **** your so-called reasoning, Bear."

Bear stood up straighter now, eyes piercing with malintent.

"You will not talk to me in such a manner, J, have you forgotten your place?"

"My place will never be under you, Bear."

"All humans like yourself belong at our feet. You've made a mistake, J, and now you will atone." He reached towards them, attempting to pull the blade away from their now half-opened arm, but J screamed and kicked away, jumping into the bathtub with their back against the wall, glaring up at Bear with the same glint in their eyes. "What are you doing, J? You cannot run from me. not here, and definitely not anywhere else."

"Don't you dare ******* touch me."

"I own you, J. I own your hands, I own your thoughts, I own your soul. I will touch you whenever I please. And you? You will obey me." J made another deep cut along their wrist, exposing the vein, the blue fading into the red as J bled out. "You think suicide will take you from me? How idiotic you must be, J. You'll just be easier for me to torture."

At this moment in time, J started sobbing, causing Bear's smile to widen as he leaned in closer, brushing the hair back from J's eyes before wrapping a hand around their throat. J didn't flinch, already used to such treatment from their past, but kept eye contact as they smiled through the streams running down their face.

"**** me," they gasped from behind the force of Bear's hand, but he only tsked at them, pulling away.

"I wouldn't give you the honor," he laughed through a sneer, now standing with his arms crossed as he looked down at J's shaking body; obviously they were fighting back against screaming again. "Now, give me the blade, J."

"W-Why," J asked through shaky breaths, letting their arm fall to their side, the blood pooling down into the tub, staining J's leg with the crimson color, emptying out down the drain. "You don't care, no one cares, let me do it, then I can be all yours to **** with, right?"

"J. Give me the blade."

"Why? Why does it matter? If I'm gone, it'll be easier to **** with me, won't it? So, just let me do it, you don't care, right, Bear? So why?"

Bear was clearly fed up with the dramatics here and leaned down once more to ****** the blade with little resistance from J, who let themselves go enough to hide their face and scream into their bare knees, still coated with blood, as each knee rose to J's chest.

"You'll be punished for this, J. You lied. You said you'd stop. You said you'd throw them away. And you know I despise liars."

"Oh, great, what is it this time? More sleepless nights?" J sniffled, breath hitching in their throat. "Do it, ******, do whatever. I don't care anymore."

"So dramatic, little bird. You know better than to call me names, don't you? And besides, doing anything to you wouldn't affect you, you're too used to it. I'll punish my little princess in your place, and maybe even Nicky as well."

J looked up then, frozen in fear. A weakness, their worst one, was the hurting of their friends.

"Please," they whimpered, uncovering their face enough to get on their knees, crawling out of the bathtub to sob at Bear's feet. "Not them."

"Bad girls get punished, little bird. You know that," he cooed with a smile, reaching down to pet J's head. They looked up at him, ****** arm soaking Bear's lower half as they clung to him. They offered a final, soft "please," but Bear was already gone, leaving J to fall onto the floor, curling against themselves into a small ball, screaming out their friend's names.

people act like it's something to romanticize, yknow, being this way. "oh I'm sad" and then everyone suddenly cares, that's what people expect to happen, but see, the sad truth is "oh I'm sad" is usually returned with "well, just stop being sad," or "yeah, me too," or "why? nothing's even happening to you." see that's the ******' thing about depression. even if your day is wonderful, even if you spend the day laughing, when you're alone, or even right in the middle of laughing, you'll be nothing. or at least that's how it is for me. you know I try, I really do, I try for meds, and even with them, it feels like nothing is really working. I'll try with these ******* stupid *** techniques I'll find online, I'll try to get my **** together. and for a time, yknow, for a little bit it seems to actually work. but then the smallest thing goes wrong and I'm back in my hole of self-loathing. maybe death isn't the answer, but life doesn't seem to be it either. I'm constantly manic these days, but all that I can do is sit here and go off inside myself like a ticking bomb until I explode, tear myself open, and start all over again. i. feel. worthless. like I'm nothing, nothing but some spec on the infinite cosmos. and that doesn't bother me much, you know, thinking about how small I am compared to literally everything else.  I know how small I am, I'm finally okay with that, but feeling like this black hole? this is different. because not only am I small, I'm entirely forgotten. but it's not like there's much to remember about me, right?
J.
J was.. J was something, weren't they? If they weren't joking about everything, they were overthinking everything. Sure, J was sweet, but was J really anything we can remember? Do you remember much about J? Cause I sure don't. Let's see. J. J Novella Scott. 5'1, 135 pounds of pure mania and psychotic tendencies. 18 years old when they died, lost themselves to the battle with suicide, found with their blood seeping out of slits they made with the razorblades, aka their lovers. messy dark brown hair on top of hazel eyes, freckles in all the wrong places, eyes unmatched in symmetry. J was abnormally dull.
J.
J loved poetry, witchcraft, and art of all sorts, but they also had a crippling dependency on attention. Regardless of who it was from, they wanted it. A guy with an interest in ******* them, perfect, that's everything they could have wanted, forget anyone that only wanted to hold them in their arms and tell J that they were something incredible, **** all the past boyfriends and girlfriends that wanted J to see how great they were to them, oh yes, **** those that showed some ounce of humanity, because the truth is J just wanted to be used. They've been used all their life, this shouldn't have been anything new. To quote J, "we accept the love we think we deserve." Too bad J only accepted trash men who think with their second head. See, J, they were crazy. Not the crazy that would push a pillow to your face when you were sleeping, or at least they hadn't actually done it, just thought about it, no, J was the type of crazy to meet someone, read that person, discover what they truly wanted, and then J gave it to them. Wanted a **** for a pet? J was your them. Wanted someone to bash in and destroy mentally, J spreaded their metaphoric brain legs, and allowed the headfuck to begin. J was what we call a mirrorer, they can turn into whoever you want them to be just by reading you for mere seconds. They might not have acted like it, but they had a head on their shoulders, it just wasn't used properly.
J.
J was something new, yet not something good enough to be called special. They did normal things, and they did the abnormal. one of their favorite past times was rolling up their sleeves and carving the person who they loved the most's name in their arm. See, J got attached way too easily, and that was one of their many many many many flaws. And when they got attached, it wasn't for a month or a year, that sort of thing was eternal, whether they wanted it to be or not. J wasn't a great person, but they tried to be.
J.
J was nothing to muse at. their features weren't something to be described in a great love novel, they were basic in everything on the outside, and on the inside J was nothing but someone to be afraid of and afraid for. J would say they deserved this sort of death, something by their own hands. J wanted to go for years, and the thing is I'd bet they were just too much of a ***** to do it sooner. Maybe they were waiting for someone to come around and make them second guess it, or maybe they just wanted to be a thorn in the foot of the world for as long as they could. Whatever kept them here, it kept them for too long. See, J, as I've said before, wasn't very special, but somehow they did enough right in the world to make people actually like them, maybe even care for them, despite what J thinks. so in conclusion, J was ******, and J ruined everything they got involved with, may they rest knowing that in the end, they were right about everything that included themself.   J was something weren't they? Or maybe, know, the truth is, they weren't really anything.
J.
J?
J, they were nothing. and the world moves on.

Nothing brings me joy anymore
I sit and I draw or I write
and nothing, there's nothing there
I want to cry, desperately I do
But I just can't
I feel empty and numb, but I was doing so well earlier.
I'm alone
with these thoughts and these nonexistent yet overwhelming emotions
I want to curl up and sob
but I can't
so how do I know that this feeling is even as bad as I make it out to be
If I can't cry?
What am I doing?

I am alone.
The only sound is the vibrations from my air conditioner breathing into the empty space filled with clutter that is my room, and the background of the television in the living room of a child playing Fortnite.
I sit, legs crossed, on my bed with my computer tilted back slightly so I don't have to move as I type up something meaningless to put into the world in hopes that someone, anyone, will get what I'm really trying to say behind these words.
I stare around my room, desperately searching for a way to make anything feel surreal, I don't look at the keyboard; I don't need to, and I am content yet disappointed with everything and nothing all at once.
I turn towards my basil plant, he's been growing in my room for a few months now, but I wonder if he wishes and longs for the outside the way my body does when it rains.
My phone does a small alarm, and at first, I'm thinking "SHE WANTS TO CALL SHE WANTS TO CALL SHE WANTS TO CALL" in a manner of a second before I recognize it as an Instagram notification, not one from messenger.
I recall, suddenly, how you always make me out to be some one-dimension person without depth, and I wonder if that's who I really am.
Am I nothing behind these words, just someone who types and waits for the real souls to make something out of it, is that all I am? Without true thought, just words without meaning, just sound without a voice, just a paintbrush without the paint.
I'm nothing until someone reads this, and suddenly I'm some sort of attention seeker, right? I assume so, have you even read my other poetry?
Every other one is about cutting or death or depression.
Like, we get it, J, you wanna die.
do it already.
but I won't
and despite what you think, it's not because I'm afraid of the afterlife, or the absence of such, or the possibility. I'm not afraid of death, I'm not afraid of being nothing, of being bones and decay, of being sent to hell, of being part of the universe as my atoms spread, I just don't mind.
you told me that I just thought about what's in front of me, rather than thinking of the beyond, but you're mistaken. I think about it often, I just don't mind. Because I've wanted death for a good portion of my existence, I'm unbothered with any theories of what happens, I'll be dead in some way, and that's all that I really want.
but then I have this little thing called hope
so I don't cut too deep, I don't hang myself, I don't completely decapitate my head from my shoulders.
because what if.
What if there's a life waiting for me
a life with a wife who holds me close during the day and closer at night
a life with three kids who call me dad, who love both me and their mother
what if there's a life where I don't constantly feel this weight pressing down on me?
I'm not afraid, I can say this without a doubt, I'm not afraid of death or what happens when I leave this existence, I just don't mind it.
The air conditioner has gotten too loud and my mouth suddenly feels dry.
I set my tea on my altar, but my legs feel like they want to cry so I don't want to get up.
I haven't cut, mind you, I think I've just sat like this for a little too long.
I turn towards my plant
and I wonder if he, too, wishes and longs for the outside the way my body does when it rains.

Nah. Y'all are always romanticizing depression and bipolarity but yall for real don't ******* understand the struggle until you've been without your pills and suddenly you get them back and they lowered the dosage when you needed higher ones. I'm sobbing right now because I cant seem to get up to being even halfway normal. And yeah, normal doesn't exist, but you know what **** sure isn't normal? Struggling not to **** yourself every single day, struggling not to switch your moods because that **** is impossible, and sometimes you don't even realize it until you're being yelled at right-back, then you get your feelings hurt because you feel like everyone's against you because WOW welcome to mental illness. I can't help being so ******* impulsive and scared and ****. You know, this **** feels like ******* trash. You feel insecurity on steroids and you can't keep a ******* relationship of any sort stable. **** *****. One moment it's like I love someone so intensely that ill die with them, and the next they could just disappear and I wouldn't give a ****. I feel like everyone's against me when I don't have my meds and then they go and lower the dosage???? Do you have any idea how long I went undiagnosed andunfuckingtreated? That **** almost killed me. I get a chance of being just ******* okay. Just content and this **** happens. Am I being overdramatic? Yeah. Guess what. It happens with BPD and bipolarity. The paranoia that's stress-based. Loss of contact with reality. Suicidal threats or behavior or self-harm are usually in response to separation or rejection, and like I said I already feel like everyone's against me cause of this ****. And then on top of that, there's my depression and anxiety. Let me ******* tell you, this **** is torture. I want just a day. Just one where I can feel like I'm okay. But go ahead keep romanticizing depression and anxiety and bipolarity and BPD, but you don't ******* get how much this kills you inside and out. I'm done with my rant. I feel better. Getting through life one day at a time. I just needed to get this off my chest.

I wish that I could be like you
go through the day and handle minor inconveniences as what they are
rather than breaking down because you dropped a paintbrush
I wish that I could be like you
laying down in bed, closing your eyes, and going to sleep without trouble
rather than struggling to be able to close your eyes
I wish that I was like you
drinking because it's fun or something new to try
rather than it being an escape from reality and a new addiction
I wish that I was like you
able to go through life without needing something to numb it down
rather than using every blade, drink, drug, or person that you can.
I wish that I was normal
rather than this mess of a person that can't get up
to take a shower most of the days
but you say normal is overrated
maybe to you, as you're so used to it
but for a freak like me, god, for a freak like me
that's paradise.

you're probably sleeping
maybe you've developed a normal sleeping habit since we fell apart
regardless, I know you're somewhere
peacefully existing
and here I am, likely to stay up until four in the morning
struggling not to cut, probably losing the battle
but hey, I took a shower today
that's got to count for something, right?
****.
You're probably sleeping
maybe you're out with friends having a blast getting blasted
regardless, I'm sitting here listening to music
doubting my own existence
and there you are, unlikely to call me until I've finally gone to bed
easily getting through the hours, not minding the time between us
but hey, we called for a little today
that's got to count for something, right?
****

I just. I don't know. I can't talk to you without my ******* feelings getting in the way because for some ******* joke of the universe, you looked over Emily's shoulder at the right time. I can't ******* do **** without being reminded of you every ******* second of every day.
I can never sleep right, knowing I hurt you. I don't deserve you. I should have curved you, I know I'm the worst boo.
I can't listen to my favorite songs by my favorite artists because there the ******* are, just right there, sitting next to me in that ****** car, with my sweaty ******* hands lovingly in yours
I miss that
I miss knowing without a doubt that you loved me
and here I am typing this **** up because I can't seem to find the courage to tell you to your face
stop lying with your I love you *******. you stopped a long time ago, that much is obvious.
I can't paint without thinking of how you used to paint, and I always thought they were so beautiful but like everything else about you, you could never see the truth about how incredible you were to me
I loved you
I love you still
and it ***** because I know it doesn't change, you're not just gonna pick up the phone anymore

I'm slipping back into nothing
so familiar
yet it never ceases to be as terrifying
i'm tired of pretending like i'm okay
but there's no possible way that i can tell you the truth
i'm back and forth like that one rollercoaster that
just keeps on going
it's not as fun as i like to make it out to be.
I hate this place

Nicky was my friend,
and yes, Nicky.
Because they were never a she
they were just lead into believing they were
because people here, at this ******* funeral,
would never open their ******* mind
and certainly not their ******* eyes.
Nicky was MY friend.
Nicky was my best friend.
and I remember never knowing if I would see them again.
They've been fighting this battle for years,
and no one stepped in to help
because you ******* people were so obsessed
with the thought
of them
being perfect.
More perfect than they already were.
Their name was Nick,
Nicky,
not anything else
Nickelodeon, maybe, if you wanted to be formal
but it was hard to be formal around Nicky,
because they weren't someone that took things harshly
they saw beauty in skulls and death
and they saw the horror in the world around them
I'm reading this now because they once told me
that they were feeling suicidal in an AEP room
and they wrote this letter to me
about writing them a poem
at first, I didn't want to do it
because they only said it because
they wanted it read aloud at their funeral
I wanted to say no
because the thought of their death was unbearable
but not impossible.
I should have done more
but instead, I told them that I would
and I started typing.
There was nothing wrong with Nicky.
Not to me. Not to their friends
Nicky was perfect.
Maybe not your version of perfect:
a girl who will sit and do her nails
cross her legs
do everything so easily
but Nicky was never a she
Nicky was and is always a them.
Nicky had no childhood, despite what most of you think
They grew up the moment they were born
into a much too cruel world
with a much too cruel man.
They saw the world as what it really was
and despite what you think, they're not going to heaven
there was never heaven, and they knew this
but no one knew this, did they?
Because did anyone listen?
No. Never. Why would they?
Because what?
Nick was just a person?
Nick was just another person?
NO!
No.
Nick was never just a person.
Nick was an experience that all of you were too
naive to notice or think about, much less see.
Nicky suffered all of their life, and they saw something in this pain
they saw the beauty that most were too busy crying to realize
Nick saw the realism in hurting
Nick was a real person
who never was really alive
just someone who was surviving.
because there's a difference, in case you didn't know.
With Nicky, they took the color from the world
they became a black void, ******* all the happiness possible
maybe now people will see how realistic this is.
Like a willow tree, they fell silent as they crashed against
the ocean of green on the floor
they gave in to the rotting the world puts us through
you would call it growth
but Nicky knew it wasn't growth
it was a chainsaw.
and now, they're gone.
I miss the way they laughed at all of my jokes
I miss the way their hand felt in mine
I miss being with them, even if we were just sitting
in silence
with music, deafening.
Nicky was my friend, and yes, Nick
because they were never a she,
but you wouldn't know that would you?
Are you listening now?

back
from a failed attempt at finding myself
and a failed attempt at losing myself.
i'm here to say that it hasn't gotten better
even with all the pills
and all the support
i'm here to tell you, with sadness in every letter,
that there is no hope for me
so what i'll do instead, is tell myself
and tell the people that read
that you decide whether or not you come back
you have to choose for yourself
no one else will do it for you
i chose to figure myself out
and i chose to ignore the obvious
we are human with mistakes etched into every fraction of who we are
we are mistakes.
and we are meaningful ones at that
like when you write one thing
and it's blurred or smeared into art
we are the ink still fresh on paper
we are beautiful problems
and we choose our form

You said take the violin that you hang on your wall
Stick it under your bed before it crumbles and falls
Just don't open your eyes before counting to ten
I can hardly remember, just the smell of your hands
As they danced on my body, running over my pores
With the force of steering wheel crushing my bones
I said you smell like the devil but you feel like the lord
And when i think of perfection you know i'm thinking of your
Voice when you tell me you don't call him your baby
Because that was the name that you rightfully gave me
And it's foolish to share with someone else
And my heart goes
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
But you admit that you're lonely, you're as cold as a statue
Pleading '**** me' on the marble that was used to create you
I can't stand that you're talking when you shouldn't be living
I didn't dodge all your bullets i just denied that they hit me
So when my body is bleeding i won't admit that this hurts
Because admitting isn't fixing so then what is it worth
So to say you're unhappy is like saying you're sorry
Its nothing that i care to hear
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
So, now the tears in your jeans are the holes in your armor
You're the thoughts that i feared, you're the mountain i've conquered
If i told you i loved you would you reach out and touch me
You taste like the ocean and your body's disgusting
The only reason you breathe is to sleep through the night
The only reason you speak is to tell me i'm fine
The only reason you breathe is to sleep through the night
The only reason you speak is to state that you're mine
And my heart goes *** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
Bumbum *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***
*** *** *** *** ***

My life had got colder, seeping itself into numbness.
Coping wasn't possible or needed
because if I just slept or drank or took some sort of drug
I was okay
I thought we were both going to get stronger.
And a huge part of me bets I wasn't missed
when we pretended the other didn't exist.
I don't exist.
I wanted to feel something and at the same time
I was grateful that I couldn't.
  I couldn't stand to be here
wishing you'd make another account to talk to me
seeing if you'd just try a little harder
to keep me
or to get me back
but you told me that if we argued and I left the room
You'd just let me go.
I should have kept that in mind then
you said you loved me
And I wonder what love means
I always assumed it meant the will of risking all for one another
without the need to
I lost it and threw myself
to the ground
for the tears to pour
or at least trickle
and I couldn't even make the expression.
I left because of my own attitude mixing with yours
and I was too clingy.
Codependency is a ***** I think.
Not fair like Karma.
I left because I couldn't take the feeling of not being loved
I was so used to you loving me completely
I left because I didn't think you cared
and after Justin, I thought I knew better.
Even if I didn't show it
it killed me
and it's still killing me inside and out.
Istillloveyou.
Just know I'd still take you back
I just can't stop writing
without mentioning you.
but since it's poetry, I can do whatever I want
so I'm weaving you into every word
every space
every sound and meaning
Sydney Sydney Sydney

I shed a skin
a simple man's skin
with freckles kissed onto tan skin
full of codependency
lust
unhealthy obsessions.
I parted ways with my girlfriend
I didn't deserve the things that she made me feel
I didn't deserve to hurt that way that she made me hurt
I thought about suicide,
Almost attempted a few times
Got into the habit of vaping
of smoking
Wrote on bathroom walls about suicide,
got caught,
the mental hospital was threatened three times, and
I should have gone
but it's senior year,
I need to be able to get through this year
and then it will all be better
right?
Band contest, Prom, Senior trip, graduation.
I have to go.
So
Now I'm taking medicine for my depression/anxiety, bpd/bipolarity, and insomnia
I'm going to get better, I'm going to get through this.
I'm going to be happy.
I'm going to be better.

blaring down at me
sinking me with fired density
the Sun
against watercolored galaxies
I lift a hand
to keep me afloat?
To block out the rays.
I stare up into the cup of my fingers
the background makes it as though I
somehow
left fingerprint molds into the view
I lower my hand to admire the work
but it is not my hand, only birds
scattering in uniform
soft raven and charcoal against ripped blue paper
broad of daylight, I
stand in the middle of the world
every inch of skin
goosebumps rise
to greet the warmth with a kiss.

I've had
****.
Not ***
Not love-making
Not consensually.
I've been
******.
*****.
abused.
taken advantage of.
whatever it is you want to call it
I've had it done.
I've been kissed
Fingered
choked
hit
spit on
spit in
I've been held,
hostage
with knives against my throat
guns to my head,
in my mouth
drugs down my throat
barely conscious I've been
******.
I've been in love
I've been heartbroken
I've been touched
consensually,
let me tell you about the consensually.
I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting
her
up against the wall
laughing when our teeth brushed against
one another's
hands fumbling up a skirt
around a throat
fingers tangled in wavy hair.
I've been touched sitting in her lap
outside on a hot day
wearing her hoodie
around children
freshmen year.
I've been touched
multiple times
by him
in band rooms, away from prying eyes
secrets to be kept and wooed over
laying in a dress
during a concert event
head in the lap of my best friend
underwear brushed to the side
fingers thrusting in
and yes, this was consentually.
I've been touched
in the school hallways
every day after school or in between classes
tasted and tasted
he tasted me
I tasted myself.
And in the living room of our best friend's house
even though I told him no
I told him the safe word
he continued.
I say it was consensual because in the end,
I said I loved it.
Don't argue about it.
I wanted it.
and I've been touched
in her pool
heated ever so lovingly
LED lights danced us into the temptation
as did the alcohol on my part
with her lips against my chest
desperate to mark, yet not to show
i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic
though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to.
We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap
water licking up my sides,
sending chills to *******
goosebumps
and her fingers hesitating
not daring to touch.
"i'm going to need a yes."
finally.
Finally asked.
I nodded eagerly
and she treated me like a piano
perfect notes
though brief I know that I was
drenched in all ways
the chlorine water yes
and of course the obvious.
you see, we were going to do something that night
we had the chance to
I wanted to
she wanted to
In the end,
she took something for her headache
though it was a sort of
similar thing to Nyquil
We were going to.
But we laid in bed
and we molded against each other
and sailed asleep.
I've slept with one person.
Her
Sydney
My Muse.
But Still, A ******
am I

the seas of pain hurt before dawn,
before returning itself to the ocean,
escaping from the light it turns to blue anemones,
to be lost in a wave or waves of the memories,
discord turns in stillness,
the thought of ourselves hurt long before
and still after the first death,
men
women
dressed in the color of the soul breathe under
cover(s),
the children of our imagination laugh like a
bird of freedom dipping its wings into the sun
some of the winds of words sleep after the hurricane

there are secrets that I
have trouble admitting even for myself.
and less yet more than myself
admitting to others.
I can spill some dark secrets
some entirely perverse
damaging
degrading
killing
secrets and
yet there are some that I cannot
I cannot
even talk or think about
or imagine
and therefore I will not speak
you will not know.

I feel like a
toffee rose petal
with touches of the snapdragon blush
brushing into burnt umber
somehow and barely
holding the weight of water droplets
that have built up, piled on, drowned me
from years and years of thunderstorms

acting is a lot easier than people let you believe.
First you pick a person,
some sort of simple, easy, fun-loving personality
some range of phrases for said personality
mixed in with reactions of course, and
BAM
you got the gist.
my character is funny in the way that they're sort of me.
I'm very fake.
I've got this habit, you see, this habit of smiling and laughing.
"it's fine, it's funny we're laughing."
I'm the therapist, they come to me, I help.
I collect shards and paste them together
abandoning my own flayed pieces,
ignoring my own shattered self.
But that's okay!
See that's okay!!
Because J!
J!
J doesn't mind being stepped on!
OH ** **!
J DOESN'T MIND BEING USED AND TORMENTED!
NO NO CONTINUE PLEASE!
J doesn't MIND only being talked to when others need something!
Please, go ON!
Because J!
J WILL LET YOU?
and why?
maybe it's the separation anxiety
or abandonment issues
or the fear of being alone in a general way
or a fear of being hated
maybe it's because J is so ****** use to being treated like a
******* DOORMAT!
that it doesn't even phase them anymore
it doesn't even matter anymore
it's part of the normal world
day-to-day life!
. . .
I smile a lot.
I laugh a lot.
More than most.
More than I should.
Some would argue that it's simply too much
am I trying too hard with it?
is it somehow obvious?
. . .
I left my first period to the bathroom. and proceeded to
sit down on the hate this word
and yet i couldn't cry?
WHY?
someone else was in the bathroom.
I wanted NEEDED some sort of a break
and yet J
and yet I
I could not give myself leniency.
Even alone
even if the person there didn't matter.
So when she left, a shed I still could not cry
and i split skin instead.
I had planned it for a while
nowhere near deep enough of course
couldn't be caught bleeding all around the school.
I had my blades in the bag,
I tucked them into my pocket.
some of the juice splattered itself onto tile floor
onto blue jeans
onto hate this word paper
wrapping itself around my arms,
pleading with me to please, please stop.
but who the **** cares
because
. . .
I smile a lot.

If I write,
I don't exist.
I'm simple code in a simple form
I am the words your brain will scan
I'm part of the machine.
Someone told me once
that I kept the relationship together.
Said that if I didn't text first,
that if I didn't put the effort to communicate
we'd be nothing
I'm tired of being the one that does it
I'm so tired of caring so much for people that
would never care
in a fractioned metaphor
of my feelings
Maybe like leaves
you'll slowly drop from me
bits and pieces,
slowly but surely
and I'll be left bare.
Perhaps in the slow form, it'll be easier to handle
I'll know its coming
I'll let go before you release.
BUT IT'S JUST ONE DAY, J
no
nononononono.
No, it is not
It's every day.
You don't care.
I think that it's time for me to do the same
WHAT AM I DOING?
I'll ask again
what? am I doing?
I can't remember.
I had a plan for this, I had to have had a plan for this
it had a story
the ending wouldn't just cut off.
I must keep going.
help
If I down a few more melatonin,
I'll fall asleep eventually.
BUT WHAT IF YOU RESPOND DURING THAT TIME?
I DONT CARE I DONT CARE
The latter is the convincer
I'm much too manic to listen
much less understand.
I think that I'm severely depressed.
These episodes need to stop.
I wish that I could smell things.
I wish more than anything that I could smell things.
that way I'd find some comfort in her jackets.
they're physical.
here, they cradle my body
and though it is my movements
they rock me to existence.
I wish I could smell
so that I could find some sort of security in describing to you
exactly what it means to smell you.
Given that I can't talk
Given that I can't smell too
It all feels pointless.
I miss things that I never get the chance to comprehend.
I miss whatever it feels like to realize you love me
I miss waking up in your arms, too
but I know what that's like
I miss it a lot.
I don't get hugged a lot or touched a lot
at least not in a good, loving way
I don't get told I'm beautiful even if my hair is a mess
and my morning breath burns away wills to live
I don't curl up in peoples arms and trust them with my being
I don't wake up without nightmares flooding an already drowning mind
until you
until those nights with you
and being away from that was torture.
I have hated every night since then.
I'm overflowing with these ANTAGONIZING
wants to be back against you.
the sleepy arm misses compression
half-awake eyes miss the blurry form your good mornings kiss into me.
I love you.
I love you
and I'm okay-
I'm better now writing that. I'll be fine eventually.
but I can't just keep holding up the world
the relationship
in hopes you'll give me a hand when you feel like it.
So goodnight.
Because you still haven't responded.
and at this point?
I'm not surprised.
I'm just
...

I'm fine in the day.
As fine as I can be, anyhow.
Because at least in the light, I'm being watched by the Sun
At least I can pretend someone else has to feel the same way.
I hope no one else ever feels this way.
At night, it's the worst.
At night, I know without a single doubt that I am alone.
the house is quiet, careful with the creaks even
the walls do not turn in their sleep
the nails do not turn on themselves and scrape for some sort of feeling.
the air only shifts when I want it to.
It's worst at night.
Because I have me,
and I have my blades,
and I have some sort of will.
All very contradictory, might I add.
Most times I feel like cutting and burning
is the only thing that makes me
feel real.
Or better.
Only thing that makes me feel.
Addiction is funny like that!
See, you do this thing where you tell yourself
I can stop at any time I want!
Maybe you could
but honestly why would you
It helped
so stopping? STOPPING?
How could stopping possibly be healing?
My scars are not enough.
I need more, I need every inch
I want them purple and searing.
I want them rising like the bumps on the side of the road
they scream
WARNING WARNING WARNING LOSING CONTROL
I wish that I had the strength to get this out.
I want to tell someone, anyone, what the **** is going on in my mind.
Let me try, please for the love of ******* God, let me try.
I am hurting.
hurting in the ways that never let my fingers type fast enough.
Hurting in the ways that I'm only writing because I don't know what else to do
I've lost so much motivation
I've stopped writing as much
GOD GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO
I'm here.
Popping my knuckles makes me nervous.
don't let go don't let go
Touching myself feels like I'm one step closer to doing it
even the simple elbows on my thighs.
Naked thighs.
I traded in the baggy jeans and hoodie for shorts and a muscle shirt
WHY?
Who knows.
Why do I have to feel like this always.
I'm tired.
I'm tired and I think that I just keep getting worse and I can't
I CAN'T
tell you what this feels like
it feels played out
scripted.
each word something to laugh at.
WHY CAN'T EVEN I TAKE MYSELF SERIOUSLY.
I won't accomplish anything.
I'm going to die a failure.
please make me stop feeling so alone
so helpless.
I thought going back to school helped.
Maybe it did for a bit, but not long enough.
I'm tired of putting in an effort for nothing to be returned.
I think I'm going to relapse tonight and I'm scared.
My arm doesn't show the scars
Tough skin layered in the scar tissue.
Nothing like the WARNING WARNING WARNING
Though there's one burn mark.
Maybe I should burn more.
WHAT THE **** IS THIS.
Nothing deep, no rhythm to it
I'm losing whatever talent I sort of had.

They cloud things
like judgment
like thoughts
like the sky.
Bright against muted galaxies
a moth to the silver flames of hell you go.
They brush hardened branched fingertips against your skin
and blame you for the thorns they leave in love's wake.
you are damaged, and that will forever be YOUR fault
because why would they hurt you?
They're there to guide, aren't they?
Alone in the night, they don't make you feel any safer
Watching,
waiting,
predator to meek prey.
They swear sanctuary
They morph to a true shape
Long, dark beings
lunging towards you with
bridged legs and
hooded eyes
crooked smiles they feel are attractive.
You would think that strength means protection
A beam of light in the dark should mean hope
In the Upside Down,
you're not enough to keep yourself warm.
STOP.
Stop and let me go and I won't tell anyone!
But it doesn't matter
he doesn't mind,
because no one can hear you scream
if his hands are down your throat.
we are alone in the dark,
and yet not.
Trust nothing, not even the sun.
They deserve some sort of prize, right?
I mean you owe them.
Pay toll to the streetlights.

my hair will not spit sparks if you brush it
it will cling onto your hands
the brush
your shirt and shorts
the ones that ride up against your thigh
my hair will not curl lovingly around your fingers
it will grab onto anything put through it
it will keep you here
a part of me forever, the way it should be
my hair will not remind you of flames
but maybe of a lion
though easily tamed is it when
it's sprawled across your lap
your nails gingerly scratching my scalp
no
my hair will not cascade down my back
ever so gracefully masking the scars from my past
teasing you in its waves
it will claw against my spine, it will dare you to draw near
my hair will not remind you of an ocean
spread out so perfectly as I run,
molding against a perfect sunset
it will be a beast, sneering at you
luring you closer, begging to be chased
it will make you its prey
no
my hair will not be brushed out
my favorite knot will be entertainment,
lack of motivation in its calligraphy,
you see it as a cry for help,
it is my declaration of power.
my hair will not spit sparks when you brush it.
it will be the forest and flames all in one,
and when you're choking on the smoke,
you'll remember that hair is power.
to touch it is to drain it.
so
I empty all
into your talons
because my hair will remind you of a monster
and your breath will be its leash.

hmmm hm hmmm

you've left again,
and truth be told it's best
so don't tell me that you love me still
that you just need to get some things in your head straight

hmm hm hmm

because you had your head on the entire time
you just wanted to rest it for a while
and I was your soft pillow
a punching bag if you must
you flipped me around when I was too hot
you seem to always like me better when I'm cool
my silence will always be reassuring
the heat will make you nervous.

hmm hm hmm

I cope by talking
so let me talk to people that are like you
my ex
exes.
girls that have wanted me from the beginning, am I really
that charming?
I have three, four if you're counting the girl i sent nudes to last night
i'm disgusting
I should have kissed her in that bathroom, you know.
i should have took advantage of the situation
I don't like that you're the last person my lips tasted

hmm hm hmmm

running my fingers across the keyboard
they dance in a rhythm only I can figure out
I've got plans, a future, and a pack of cigarettes waiting for me at home
I should have listened when people said to stay away from you
I'm mad because you let me believe you when you said
i love you
because i always meant it
i love you more, most, forever and always, that was the promise, the deal.
I was supposed to be loved by you and you alone.
and you for me.
maybe you left

hmm hm hmmm hm

because you have other people that you want.
but you'll never in your life find someone like me
but maybe that's good because
hell I know that i'm actually very toxic.
manipulative.
dramatic.
draining
i've heard it all before
i'm too sensitive.
these are truths
i'll fix it.
i'll get better.
and you will too

hmm hm hmmm

i shouldn't still be writing about you. i've been broken for a while
but it feels easier now.
i can just pretend that you don't exist, that's easier for me
that is how i have to cope now.
after Justin, i thought i wouldn't love
i should have focused on getting hurt again.
i know that it's possible now.
well sorta.
after him, i went numb.
hell. what am i ever talking about
i guess what i'm meaning to say is
we'll be a lot happier without each other
at least we were long distance.
you don't have to see me or hear me everyday.
I have you blocked on social media for that reason.
but i can't block your number
i like knowing that you'll come back eventually.
and if not knowing, then hoping
when you find out what you've ****** up don't be textin' my phone
i like you better when you leave me alone.

hmm mhm hm

Autumn's sweet, we call it fall
I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl

I may be a smoker
but I still think of the fruit
when I hear cherry

my room, late at night when fear scratches the back of my skull the way my dog does to get in. he can't come in, he'll make me soft, and I can't be soft right now. flames ****** the walls, lapping up my arms and fingers, I feel nothing, and yet I'm overjoyed. See, burning love reaches further, so with this, I have to prove. I'll scar your name into unwanted flesh until I'm nothing but a sign portraying a name unable to properly be voiced in fear of crumbling. I cannot do this anymore, all of your apologies mean nothing to me, and yet I still love you. I swore I'd never be with someone like him again, and yet here I am crying in your jacket, which has somehow become a better consultant. I'm tired of not being good enough, and yet you tell me I am, then snap, and then apologize for it, you blame it all on others, you say you're sorry I deal with it- YOU DO NOTHING TO CHANGE IT. I want to tell you that I'm done, but I'm not and you know it. Even if I were to block you again, you could win me back easily. Why am I like this? why can't you love me? don't say that you do, God please say that you do, but we all know you don't. Why lie to me? to keep me here? it's working. but why? Why me? you couldn't have tortured anyone else? I love you so much, why did you listen to my pain and decide to do it all over again, please I am so tired of hurting, why won't you love me, what do I need to fix?

"I
don't have time
to be reading
paragraph after paragraph,"
she typed.
"but
I have time
to trick you
into thinking
you can open up to me
about anything,"
said her actions

sometimes
though I suppose I should say often
taking into consideration that
I cannot go a single day without
feeling this way
but once again that won't accurately describe
because this issue that I'm having
is not feeling anything
so let's say
experiencing this.
I cannot go a day without
knowing this exists
which is funny really because
I'm not really sure i exist
Which sounds funny
or maybe absurd
but I get to this awful point at night
when I'm alone, see, I think being alone is the trigger
where my vision is blurry
and clear
and I rock yet I don't move
am I typing?
or am I watching someone else type
or am I imagining someone else type
thinking
hoping
wishing
I too were alive
what
where
who
am I?
I'll listen to songs on repeat
I'll sway and
tune in and out
of the mood to sob
or to dance and scream
or to freeze, and be nothing
except whatever I am
or am not.
the air
grips my arms
or whoever owns these arms
and goosebumps are left in the ghost's wake
ROXANNE
you don't have to put on the red light
ROXANNE
you don't have to put on the red light
ROXANNE!
YOU DONT HAVE TO PUT ON THE RED LIGHT
ROXANNE!!
you
Don't
have
to
put
on
the
red­
light
ROXANNE
Ro
this is the song that I've been listening to for the past
well who even knows
I want to say hours
but the concept of time leaps around me carelessly.
I like the music, I like the sound of his voice
I like how it brings back childhood memories of singing it in my mother's car
though I only knew how to sing "Roxanne"
and honestly as long as I said it every other word
I was doing pretty good.
and
yeah
maybe it has something to do with me
something deep about who I was
and who I am now
comparing the differences
talking about what I'm mean to be, who knows.
it just
feels right
to listen to right now.
I'll get tired of it eventually.
i don't have the mindset to really be able to
explain why I love this so much.
I used to want something unique for my children
or at least something uniquely spelled
I wanted their future teachers to look at their names and say
"what the **** is this."
maybe it would single them out
but they'd be something entirely new, wouldn't they?
one of my best friends is having a baby girl
my friend and her husband are naming her Honor.
I used to want to name my girl
Hasel
like Hazel, but with an "S"
But I'm sure I'll use that name for ferrets
Haesel and Baesel
now I'm thinking I like the letter "R"
my biological dad won't like it
we all have to start with the letter J for him
maybe they'll have my last name
maybe that will be enough for him
so now I'm thinking
I want to name two of my children
Roxanne
Rhiannon
but I'll change the spelling
it just feels real pretty right now.
or maybe Jolene.
Sydney likes
Nala and Lydia
Nala Roxanne Collins for Sydney's last name(or Scott for mine)
Lydia Rhiannon Collins(or Scott)
or something along those lines.
those sound real pretty actually.
Am I typing still?
who am I?
i wish I could just go a day
without wanting to **** myself or
god
I'm so tired of feeling sad.
I'm thinking that this is sad
or numb
or somewhere in the middle.
I'm just
in and out right now
i think this hurts.
but I'm trying.

arms outstretched,
I reach for the stars
I was always told to want
only to find that I'm
tracing myself against
murky, illegal water
in pink nectar.
I'm too rough
unexperienced
nerves get the best and I
dip down ever so slightly
not bothering to take a breath.
as I slip under the fruity grip
the lake of liquid freedom
clouds my vision.
fear.
a calm, calloused hand
hardened from time
from life
from love
cups my cheeks and
breathes into me
with her
petal lips
sticky against mine
a reminder.
I float back up
before I get a good taste
I twist and turn against the current
hissing
against the surface
Solidago and Indian Mallow
smeared across the sky
reflecting against me
until I'm nothing
but the fuzz
of a peach