In a class, I'll sit and listen
they'll explain that I have no rights
as a member of the LGBTQ+
they'll say,
with pride of their skin,
black lives DON'T matter-
all lives do.
I'll sit here, OH YES,
I'll sit and listen
they'll talk about girls being ugly
talking about how
there are only two genders
and I'll sit here
relating women to paintings,
weaving them into my poems,
slightly pouting and confused
with my lack of their said gender.
Sighing,
I will sit here and listen
as they repeat the things
I've heard my entire life
and I'll bite my tongue, though not really
a look will pass by, rage seeps through pores
I'll leak liquid anger
until the toxins correct their rotten brains
I know I should say something,
but there are tons of them
and only micro-me.
Weak.
I'll sit here, and I will listen to them as
we all eagerly await the bell
Save us.
we're far apart, so
my mask is off now,
but when it sounds, when it promises peace
RING RING RING
I will stand, turn,
and Black Lives Matter will be almost
as prominent as a tattoo on my face,
the phrase will melt,
it will stick,
it will attach to my mouth
and say
scream
sing
the words that I cannot.
and I'll keep Sydney's hoodie on
as my bulletproof vest,
her chain against my heart
understanding that
THIS IS NOT A CHOICE
Why would I
ever
choose the pain I went through for this?
only to go home,
and hear more from my step-father,
with the victimizing mother actings
as if it never happens

Brown. I said brown was my favorite color. Deep, dark, opulent brown, like coffee, like the dirt, tree trunks, hair, the deepest of honey, like dark chocolate. Brown, I said. Brown, you remembered. But you see, as I've told you before, this color was associated with disgusting, horrid things. It was associated with a psychotic, abusive, manipulative, ****** person, associated with the screams and tears and blood left in his wake. I took the word, the letters, and I weaved them with meaning and memories and forever promises and the phrase "forever and always" which was something that used to be very important to me. I promised very few people that, and by few I mean one other aside from him, and that was Kenzie. I told them "I'll love you, forever and always." Kenzie and I made it first, and then we both made it to our partners, the partners that we believed would last. She's married now, with a kid, to that man, and I? Well, here I am now. I don't say it anymore, it means nothing to me now. Albeit brown is lovely, and after the said past promise-breaker left I tried not to think of it as eye color, I struggled to see it more akin to nature, as something natural. "Earthy tones, right?" You said earthy tones, without hesitation, when we were taking those online quizzes about personalities, it was the question was about my favorite color, so I know that you remember. "Browns and greens, right babe?" Greens and browns, the Earthy set colors, not those ****** betraying eyes of a Ryder. He told me my eyes were green. He often told me about the green storm that threatened to flood the very existence of himself. My eyes change color, according to friends. Brown, green, sometimes they get this weird blue color, sometimes they're two different colors, one being green and the other brown, but I'm not sure. But anyhow, I thought that was my pull. I thought that if I had to get specific and create the perfect person for myself, I'd at least know what eyes I wanted them to have. You see, I love things that are underappreciated, everything in the category is something to admire, as long as you leave me out of it. But now, Sydney, now? Now I know, the hottest fires burn blue.

  To this, your eyes are no exception. Brown was the Earth, still is, and it's what lurks in trees, the ground, the beverages and food we ingest, but Frenchie, love, eyes like yours? They burn those trees, the grass, physical objects, and then they demand hearts to ashes. They turn universes upside down, OH LOVE! your eyes drive people mad- they drive ME mad. Eyes like yours BURN, not the freeze everyone swoons about. Your eyes don't drip tears, they let off smoke in warning, and though the flame may seem like a liquid, it's not in any sense. Your blue is not the sky, your eyes are not something to gaze at, half-mindedly wondering and completely misunderstanding. You're not something to zone out for, towards, or to. No, your blue needs to be watched carefully, your blue cannot be left unattended. Your eyes don't hold people captive, they don't make people pause and romanticize them(at least they shouldn't), they trigger the fight or flight. Your eyes are not sad, they are not the ocean. Fire is not something to jump into, nothing about it symbolizes drowning. Oh no, no no no, Frenchie, love, your eyes, YOU, are a force to be reckoned with. Hell's fire, that's what I see rather than some stupid cliche body of water, Satan envies the heat. They're not something to submerge yourself in, they won't clean or wash away the sins I have, they'll burn the physical, mental, and emotional flesh, and then said flesh will wilt off, simply floating away as if they were petals stolen by the wind. Burnt ashy peach petals, that's all to be thought of the skin, hair, thoughts that are charred. Hear me, lovely, eyes like yours make the cigarette burns seem like a mosquito bite, they make blades dancing across skin feel like kisses, they make these thoughts of hate feel like vows of forever in love. Your eyes betray those who don't pay attention, because, yes, at a first glance, they're like the ocean. They're like an ocean, I mean, if you're basic and OH WOW BLUE! BLUE EQUALS SKY! BLUE EQUALS OCEAN! Oh yes, yes! The same way that salt looks like sugar, like coke looks like tea, just like water looks like bleach, the way that I look like a girl, but, ****, I don't know what the hell I am. They have similarities, but we all know there's a significant difference. Your eyes **** a soul, your choice on how rapidly this happens, though, and it lets the soul believe it's in love with the feeling. Being in love with the feeling of decomposing, can you imagine? I know I can. I suppose I don't need to be telling you this, do I? Because you knew. You've always known that part of you didn't come from the ocean, but much much lower. Hades granted you this gift, no turning back now. But I suppose I'm fine with others mistaking blue for water, I'll know the truth, I'll know some part of you in this writing, even though you've admitted I don't know you at all. Maybe I'll find you out, hell, maybe I won't. Regardless, my lips forever will work to light those eyes of yours up, I'll always be your pyromaniac, but what's the difference between fascination and contemplated arson.

  Love, colorblind love, allow me to show you my colors as we find yours, yes? Will that be okay? You're so sure that I'm finding me, but all I've done is realized I'm coming back with pieces missing, even after doing something as simple as sleeping. I lose myself in my words, and then they flake off like trauma, which is to say they don't disappear at all, just bury themselves under the flesh that I yearn to flay. We don't know who we are, and maybe we're both losing ourselves, but we have to drop off some things to pick up more, don't we? Maybe I'm dark shades of brown, lighter even, or maybe I really am green, maybe I'm white. Until either of us really know, I'll show you exactly what you've been missing. You see, we'll lose ourselves to our respected colors, and from there we'll find each other again, and drain ourselves against one another to create something entirely new, just for us, and then we'll weave ourselves in and out of the universe until we're nothing, and yet everything. The greys that plague you, your little stand-ins for my obvious surroundings, will shine like neon, The colors, they'll take you in, pull you down, and you will bask in the glory your past kept hidden, you will be one with the colors you can't yet imagine. And through this, I'll be your glasses and your coordinator, I promise to magnify and guide. I will be your sword and your shield, love, use me as you wish and I'll take the damage. Whatever you need, whoever, whenever, I'll be here, I'll be it, I'll be yours, forever with my hand out for you to grab hold of, to steady or to comfort, and we can be better together, happy together, simply together. We can be safe, against anyone else, against the world if you'd rather, and I? I will show you this. I will hold you into the blues, into the greens, and in-betweens, past the whites and blacks and... and we will be the rainbow, you and I. Unlike anyone can be, I am here now, and I will paint you exactly what love should have been for you, what life should have been. It should have been soft, like silk, not rope. We accept the love we think that we deserve, and even though I'm not anywhere near that blasted rope, I know that's why you're with me, for I'm not exactly silk, either. I'm something of leather, perhaps. I'll make you feel beautiful, powerful, but I won't last there forever, you know. I'll flake off, you'll grow tired of the mask, you'll grow tired of me, but at least I'm not rope. And we both know that you wouldn't want the silk for yourself. But until I'm something in a pile that you can remember rather fondly, allow me to be the reason you're smiling and walking like that, leaving flames for a trail.

   I'll first show you a better white, white outside supremacy of course because white is nowhere near a dominant color to me, but I know that you've seen enough black for now. I will lay next to you in a field of lilies, snowdrops, hyacinths, dahlias, and daffodils with the beautiful floral scent filling our senses. We will be surrounded by all that is pure, soft, safe. Dandelion will fly around us, make a wish if you must, they'll fall everywhere; you can wish for everything in the world and still have excess seeds. On milk-colored cotton blankets, we'll gaze into the night sky, where foggy shapes spread around the chalky Moon, capturing Her beauty rather nicely. In this perfect world, Scorpio and Cancer will be right next to each other. Relax next to me, go ahead and put your guard down, as I weave my hand into yours, the peach and creams of your existence make me feel olive in comparison. I could be olive for you, but olives and milk don't go together, so perhaps I can be a soft caramel, very soft, I'm not too entirely tan, but I like the thought of that. It's further proof of my imperfections and proof of your opposite. Caramel and Cream. Beneath the pearly light, we shine quietly, soft glowing fae, you and I. We're goddess's, y'know. Crowns of the pale flowers on top of your head, now that I think about it they make you slightly coral in comparison, then lace down your arm, around your fingers, covering the parts you wish to hide. Can't you see you're a perfect representation of something to worship? Goddess of Comedy, of ****, of What Love Should Be, of Selflessness, of Cuteness, of Protection, of Not Knowing How To Control Anger, of Music, of Koalas, and I? Suppose I'm some sort of gender-neutral Goddess of Laughter, Magick, Crying, Being Overdramatic, maybe of Poetry, maybe of Avoiding Issues, maybe of Frogs, and maybe of Empathy. Oh yes, and I'll show you this. I'll show you the alabaster watercolors and paint and pencils, I'll show you how a Goddess paints the stars, but I won't ever(EVER) show you those ****** impressionable Crayolas again. They're childish in their waxy ways, Frenchie, and you don't deserve that anymore. White Crayolas are pointless and deceiving anyway, aren't they? You deserve so much more, so much better, so, I shall provide stability and vision.

  And this? I will show you.

  Because words are empty. And you need to see to believe it.

  You see, I am in debt of your presence. I am in scars of your truths. That might not make sense. To explain, I try so very hard to keep my own blank face when you're talking to me because I'm afraid I'll give you the wrong expression. You need understanding, not to be singled out and felt like an outcast the way that I know you feel already. I do this because I know what you've been through, but you say I don't, that I would never get it. Maybe not in exact ways, but I do in some fashion. But I don't know you, so maybe I'm just blathering. Anyways, I try to keep a straight face, hearing of your abuse, your insecurities, your everything that you slowly open to me. Do you know how that makes me feel? I'll tell you. I'm angry that such things could be done to you. You don't see this, I make sure of it, but it takes everything in me not to hunt them down, Sydney, because why. WHY. Why would anyone do such a thing.. to you? To you. You didn't deserve it. ****, no one does, but you especially didn't. Hearing this pains me emotionally, mentally, physically. But I keep a straight face, please don't assume it's because I don't care. Please never assume that it's because I'm bored with the topic. Because I do care, I care so ******* much, I just don't want to make you feel like I'm afraid. I'm not. The thought of losing you, THAT'S what scares me. The mere thought of you loving someone else the way that I love you, that's breaking away my soul with its phantom grip. I refuse to lose you, I can't. I don't think that you quite get this yet, but there's something about you that makes me worry so much that I get sick when you don't reply for mere seconds. It's like I need to constantly hear from you. Like if I don't, I'll be dead, alone, because I know better than most people how quickly a life can be taken. I know that I get mad easily and that sometimes my overdramatic selfishness gets overwhelming, but I really don't want to shove you away or make you annoyed by me. I just want to talk, and show you these flaws, so that you know I mean no harm, that I'm getting better, that I can be good for you. I also understand that such is impossible, you're bound to not want something about me, I know I won't match you in every way that you need. But I do want everything of you, I want your anger and your sadness and your insecurities. I want you in tears for me, because I know I will always be here to clear them up for you, but I always hope to never be the cause of your crying. I will never purposely make you cry, I will never try to make you leave me(unless I think that it's best if you do so). You say that I helped you, that I was the reason you felt that it was good you're not dead. One of them, I know, but still. When you wrote for me, it was something interesting. You see, people don't write for me. They write for themselves, they write about themselves, they write to feel quirky, they rarely write about others, hell I know I do. I don't get written about, and if I do it's lies. He-who-shall-not-be-named wrote a few things for me. In his letters or texts, promising his life to me, vowing that he'd never leave, never hurt me, never cheat on me. He gave me empty words and full-blown everything else if you catch my drift. He showed me that words were nothing, never to trust them. "I love you" is the biggest and most frequent lie that I get told. But something in me believes you when you say it. Because you said it without getting anything back for such a long time. You could have given up, moved on, walked away, but you didn't. You stuck by me, even when you had the world of people you could go with, you wanted me. Me. And so I owe you at least a little bit of trust when you say that you love me, and doing so should make you see that when I say it back I also mean it. I've never written this much for anyone, you make me want to write even if it all sounds ******* cliche and mushy.

  Deep breath.  

  I will kneel for you, Goddess, and be here, waiting. Here, ready. Here, open for you. Pick me apart, I'll show you my inner mechanisms, do with me as you please. I'm going to work for this, just give me time. I don't know you, you don't know me, that's what we agreed with. We hide behind these words, YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME! because we're afraid that if we DO know something about the other, we'll die for it. We'll be hurt because knowing is knowledge and lack of something new to tell is weakness, is it? That's what you've been taught, that is what I've been taught, but listen. I have nothing to hurt you with. You've always known that you're stronger than me. I can't hurt you, right? I can't.
  
  I will always be full of stories, as will you, just tell me them. Just talk, I'll be quiet for once, you can tell me everything. You offer to listen to mine, say that you want to hear about me, but God let me just distract you so you'll talk about something, anything, else. I'm so stupid, I know you want to talk. I'll be quiet for once, let me work harder for you, I don't want to pretend that it's easier not to know you. We have to know each other. We have to, don't you want to stay with me? I know now that it is I who is the toxic one, let me try to be better for you. You told me that you didn't think that I stopped cheating, that I stopped being toxic because I met you, but I did. Sydney, I did. Or at least I've gotten better. I don't cheat, I've never cheated on you. I won't. But I know that you said that only because you were mad and overthinking. Or maybe you really meant it, I know everything that you said had some truth to it. I'd let you in if I could. Truth is, I'm an open book. For ****'s sake, I'm emptying this **** onto a ******' website, I don't have any ****** secrets. . . okay, I have a few, but only because I don't know how to bring them up. And yes, there's a lot of my past that you don't know, but there's also a lot of yours that I don't know. You have secrets you'll never tell, this is just truth, everyone does, yes? Do you want to know everything? If it will make you feel better, I'll tell you the world, the world of J, everything, you can have all my secrets, I'll be nothing but empty for you, you can have me. Would you like that?

  I'll erase the past lovers who made me fear, made me mad, made me, well, me, just for you. I won't mention him anymore, just don't leave me, okay? I'll stop talking about it, I'll stop getting so mad at you, I'll stop twisting your words, I never meant to. I never meant to. I always seem to make you feel as if you can't open up. You can. You can open to me, always, forever. Please. I can be better. Just for you. Always for you, only for you, please. I'm sorry. I say that so often, but that doesn't mean it has any less meaning, I am sorry. Quite often, I admit. I'm sorry for thousands, millions, trillions of things. I promise I'll get better with that, for you, just tell me how, tell me what to do, I will. I'll do anything. See, my past people weren't good at many things. Some could write a bit, some could sing, or both, or neither. Some could just talk right. But they all were good at one thing: leaving a scar. I remember you compared your past lovers to people with rentals, aka you, that they trashed. I think that if I could compare them to anything, they were feelings that I couldn't quite let go of because I knew that if I did, I wouldn't know what to do. I liked fear, maybe, I liked being hurt. I was used to it, it felt like little kisses, it meant they loved me. Manipulators do that, they make you feel like you need them until, bam, it's been almost a year and ****, you're alive aren't you? I feel things too deeply. One person's favorite thing would become an obsession for me. I don't know if that will change, because here I am telling you that, honey, you can be my addiction. But I wouldn't compare you to you a drug. Not the way Edward called Bella ******, how toxic, you're not ******. You're wine. You're champagne. You're "Veuve Clicquot." I know I don't really have to say this, but drugs are ******. They make you feel ******, that's why I won't ever relate you to them. You don't make me feel ******, not always. Admittedly so, sometimes you upset me, and sometimes you make me want to die, but that really is more along the lines of my fault, because we know me- I'm really overdramatic. And you, you say you're bad, that you're entirely something to stay away from. I think that's funny, really, cause I'm an alcoholic, I've bathed in poison, and Honey? You don't have its burn. I'll say it, you're not perfect, not in a sense that everyone will understand, but you are to me. Even your unobvious toxins are things that I find perfect. See, those things, they're deep down, but you're not toxic, you're not entirely deadly. But of course, you can be, if not handled with care. Though everyone can be as well, so please stop acting as if you're something that needs to be locked away from people. You're a person, a good person. Stop telling me that I'll never understand you. If you want to shove me away, my goodness, keep trying, but I've been told much worse by my own self, love, and I love being degraded. You're safe with me, and I will love you, though I know my affections can be quite unorthodox. You're my drink, not my drug, but somethin' I'm very much so addicted to. You feel good going down, hell you make me feel like a ****** lightweight, but god you show me what it means to be carefree, warm, happy, it's like I can do no wrong. You feel right for me. So, I'll drink and drink, and I'll dance and dance, soft yellow, and you? You will be swaying beside me. Mixing our hopes with our pride, you and I can twirl.

  "Distance makes the heart say you want her, distance makes the heart grow fonder."

  Regardless of the forevers between us, infinity called miles, I want you. Even though you **** me off really often, I want you. I don't like you sometimes, but I want you. I think that you're perfect for me, but I want to choke you. Often. But I mean it lovingly because I want you. See, I'm allowed to choke you, I'm allowed to want to at least, but no one else is. I don't actually dislike you in the slightest, I just think I have a lot to work out with myself. I didn't actually mean it when I said that I hated the things that you loved. I think the word was envy. I envy the things that you love, I envy being able to like things, being able to handle things, because **** I can't handle anything for large amounts of times. And I do envy the things you love because some part of me(I'm sure there's a name for it somewhere) wants to be the only one, the only thing for you.  I get frustrated so easily, I'm ****** I know. I'm so ****** used to being in this little fantasy I have for myself that I don't know what it really means to be in this reality. People don't act the way I want them too, I lose control of everything when I find I can't make people do as I please. In my world, you love me completely, so completely that you don't need anyone but me. But in reality, if anyone left your life, you'd break down.
In reality, you don't need me. You just happen to want me, you love me right now, but you don't need me. I'm not oxygen, or food, or water. And to be honest, even if I was, you'd be able to live without me for a bit. You avoid those things anyhow, don't you? I want you to see that I do love you, that I do want you, that I would never cheat on you or hurt you in that way because I want to be different from what you're used to with your lovers. I want to be something that you remember quite fondly if we don't end well. I want you to be able to say, "yeah. Yeah, they weren't ALL bad. There was this one person... J, I think, yeah. J. They weren't too bad."

  See, you're a blue flame that tastes like that yellow champagne, but I'm Agave Reposado. I mellow as I age. My natural citrus and spice round out as I grow, creating these complex notes of dry chocolate, chilies, vanilla, and cinnamon. Some prefer me with mixes of something else, say Cognac or wine, which might **** with my flavors even more. Parts of me are hardy enough to support cocktails, while the subtler parts are best sipped neat or over ice. Take that information and do what you will with it. I only speak these words so they'll have some sort of meaning to you. I taste like that gold tequila, but I'm nothing more than a candle.

  "I know we'll never grow old together, cause you'll never grow old to me."

  I will want you until you decide you don't need me, and, even then, I'll want you. YOU. You alone. You, Sydney Grace Collins. Because once I love, Darlin, I don't stop until something dies. The things that usually do are patience, longing, energy, faith. Will you get tired of me, no longer wish to see me, be finished with my absolute *******, not trust that we will last any longer? Will you wake up one day, see me and realize, "****. I'm done. I don't want THIS. I don't want this anymore, ever again." I said not until something like that dies, but I don't really think that I'll stop. I don't think that it matters if you love me or not, because I'm going to love you. I mean, it definitely matters if you do or don't, but it doesn't affect the way that I feel. See, when you stop loving me, I'll pretend I never did. But I'll know the truth, and when you read or hear this you will too. If I cared about you, even after you-know-who and everyone before him, it means that you're something very special to me. Even though I really wish I didn't give a ****. It would just be easier that way, I think, easier not to want you or care or worry, I would much rather not ever worry about you again. BUT. We both know it's not really something that I can choose, so until YOU leave and cover up your tracks, because I can be a hella good FBI agent,(or stalker, whatever you wanna call me) you're stuck with me, huh? Which shouldn't be taken as a bad thing, being stuck with me, and if it is I think that maybe I should probably tone it down, but, seriously, when have I ever really toned anything down?

  I can think of at least two times where you've asked me why I love you, what draws me to you, and I think that I've finally ******' figured it out. It's your laughter, love. It's like I said before, you do that cute little wheeze when you laugh before the cute musical notes of the actual giggle erupt, and in the middle of this, you find ways to take breaths. You toss your head back, and then you double over before you proceed to rock back and forth like that. I love seeing you happy. I love seeing you be THAT happy, and I like that most of the time that I see you do that is because I make you, I give you a reason to. I can't really deal with things other than laughing at them or making jokes, it's a serious flaw of mine, but I like that it can help you sometimes because, hell, you can't deal with your **** much either. It's the way that your eyes crinkle when you smile at me, or the hopeful look on your face when you sing, or the eager face you make when you're talking, or the simple resting ***** face, or the way you sleep, breathe, exist. It's the way that you reach for leaves with your burning touch, you reach for things that fall eventually on there, and you save them when you tuck them into your pockets. Little stars, little shooting stars we'll call them. It's the way that you can brush off an entire tree falling on you, but heaven forbid a leaf fall on your loved ones. It's the way that your anger flares when something happens to hit you the wrong way. It's the way that you dance. It's the way that you eat. It's the way that you talk, sound. It's the way that you tuck your issues down into that same pocket as if your crumbling life was a loose strand of hair falling onto your face.

  I like that about you, about how you bottle things up, sweep them away, avoid things. I love it, really, because I've always liked to research, to figure things out, and I know that I'm not too good right now, but I'm going to help you. Oh, yes, I am. I'm going to figure you out. Run away from the words I'm saying, but it's true. And you'll either accept that, or we'll fall apart. Not because I want to, but that's what happens without communication. You've gotten so very good at talking about your issues though, so so so very good, love, and I'm so very proud of you, not to mention grateful. But I know that it barely scratches the surface of that pain, I know because you've told me. So tell me, blue flame, where's the source? Where do I patch up, where do I sow, and what can I do to make sure it doesn't happen, let me help you. I want to patch you up, and then I want to love the scars. There's nothing wrong with you, did you know that? Nothing at all. You're perfect. I love everything about you, even the things that I don't know about you, I love them. All your secrets and thoughts and plans, I love them. I yearn to be a part of them, but I know that takes time. I'll wait, and I respect it but don't ever forget that I am right here, even if I won't understand the pain I know that it's relieving to be able to just ******' talk about it. I'll listen.

  You're so ******* important to me.

  Look at me, baby. No, seriously, look at me. I want you to keep this in mind, love, this face, the look of my room, how I talk when I tell you all this **** that goes on in my head, look at how I'm opening for you, for YOU. Remember this round, unorderly face. See my eyes, love, as I read this to you, this other poem-related thing I'm writing, notice how wide they get? They're passionate, they are, do you see that? Passionate because of you, the thought of YOU, love for YOU. Do you see how your hoodie looks on me, and if it isn't on at the moment, your chain. Look at me. I will make you want to stay, look how tiny I can be for you. You can put me into your pocket too if you'd like. I can make you want to stay, right? I can make you miss me, I know it. When you do leave, I'll make sure I haunt you with this voice, these eyes, these I-love-you vibes, Darlin, you won't leave without an extra soul following. Cause you're gonna remember, you're going to remember me even if it kills us. You'll remember the way it felt when my lips crashed into yours, you'll remember laying in my lap while my hands roamed your face, you'll remember it all. You see, I don't remember things very well. For instance, I don't remember exactly when I first realized I loved you, which was after I had loved you but before I could admit it to myself much less to you. I only remember wanting to hold you, the times where you were the only one that could make me happy, and I know that's still how it is, at least on my end. Something about you makes the green storm halt. I don't remember what made me want to say that I loved you back, but I do remember trying to find something funny, just to say, to show, so that I could watch you laugh again. I love your laugh, Sydney Collins, I love you. I don't remember what made me fall for you exactly, but I do remember noticing you were being quiet when I finally stopped talking about myself once, and I remember knowing that I would do anything to make sure that you're okay again. See, I **** at really helping, but I want to, believe me. I want to help so many things. I want to help the voices and the thoughts get easier. I want to help the anger and loneliness, I want to help you. I want to be YOUR person. Forever. I want to protect you, let me check under your bed for beasts, back into the closet I go for monsters, I REMEMBERED, but you see, you don't need me to do the second part. The secrecy and skeletons, the ones you lay to rest, you keep it shut for a reason, don't you? Locked and sealed, like your mouth, never opened long enough for anyone to know what's going inside, but I will check regardless, and if you say, " J, don't say **** about that body," I'll smile and ask "what body?" and shut the doors, find my way back to you, and tell you that you hide the smell very well. Because I'm on your side, love, I'm not the enemy. And, just so you know, I always bring a shovel with me, should you need it. Closets can only hold so much, and you'd understand that, wouldn't you? Wouldn't we? GOODNESS! My heart is ******' POUNDING.

  You make me see gold when things are black.

  We are Not Veronica and JD.

  I have to admit something to you. When you talk like, oh it's happened so rarely, but like.. that. I freak the **** out because, wow! how do you do that to me? DO I DESERVE IT? No, no, no. OH, no I don't, I could never. I don't deserve a lot of the things that you tell me. But I think of you, I think of you so often. When I'm alone, I imagine you're touching me, I think I need your touch. You breathe sometimes and these knees buckle and this heart swoons and I cry out "ASEXUAL" because holy ******* **** *** with women seems so scary, and oh **** how do I hold myself back. I just want to see you smile, hear you breathe a sigh of relief, and listen to your sweet nectar laugh when flattered by one of my compliments. I want to feel the warmth of your skin while your body is wrapped around mine, and hear the beat of your heart while I lay against your chest, though I'm happy if you'd listen to mine instead, I know how you prefer to lay. I want to watch your chest rise and fall as you sleep and kiss you until you wake up. I want to feel safe with you. I want to feel...small.. with you if you get what I'm saying. I want to trust you.

  Let's talk about our issues from now on, rather than ignoring each other, please.

  I really don't care if I have to cross a sea of vulnerabilities and emotion, I would do it all for that time you said that my, MY, smile made you happy. Because when you're happy, I'm happy. And ****, my chest feels all fluttery whenever our eyes meet, and jeez I'm just a frikity freakin' mess whenever you make me laugh, and GOD I love it when you call me baby or princess or kitten or whatever name because hell I don't have to be a girl for those names to mean the world. I'd love anything that you call me, just as long as I can call you mine, still. I will say this, love, I will tell you that I'm gay, just for you. I'm a ******, I'll scream, until my mouth grows numb, tongue forgets how to speak, teeth rot out. Until I die I will cry your name, and from then I'll sign it, and you'll teach me how won't you? I will never NOT want you, Sydney. You're part of my life now, a big part of it, and that means that even five years from now I will remember you. We can't go back, now, these are important memories. I'll write I love you until my fingers forget how to hold, how to touch, how to be fingers, I'll write until said fingers break and ******, I'll write until my fingers forget how your hands feel wrapped in mine, until my poems no longer reek these cliche pitiful words, and then I'll continue because I will never stop. I will look for more ways to make sure that you are HERE! In my heart, in my eyes, in my head.

  "All I wanted was you."

  There are very few things that I can be sure about, and one of the only things that I'm sure about is the fact that I mean it when I tell you that I love you. YOU cannot help how I feel, and, quite frankly, neither can I. Nothing will change it unless I want it to, and of course, why would I want that? your voice whispers a gentle need back, I know you feel this too. So I beg of you to call me a thousand, billion, trillion times, tell me that you want me, too, just me, only me, that you love just me, only me. Babe, I'll write your name times infinity between each phrase, I will love you more than you love me, and you'll drown, fire child, in my love. you'll hiss, I'll cool you down, but I will not ***** you.

  For I am just a candle.

  And you're the flame that takes me away.

Maybe my mother and my stepdad were happy once.
but that was a time where they still thought it was freedom
to be out of a household
as I'm thinking now.
there was a time where they could look into each other's eyes
and think
This is who I want to spend the rest of my life with
I want to hate him.
I want to hate him when his hands are on her,
on me
on us.
I want to hate him when he tells us that he doesn't love us
when he says he doesn't love my mother
that he's going to take my sister and brother
his kids he says
and leave.
I want to hate him when he tells me that I'm not his.
He's not my dad.
He's not my other sister's dad either.
that my mother's a *****
that he'd rather **** his cousin than look at my mother again.
We're nothing to him
I want to hate her when she tells him to leave, too
when she keeps talking
spitting on him
telling him that he's worthless
that she's cheating twice as much as he is
when she tells us that it's our fault he's mad
our fault their marriage is failing.
our fault.
I want to hate her when she leaves us alone with him
and comes back to my strongest sister in tears
asking her why she's crying "like a little *****"
I want to hate her when she breaks down because he's now been gone
for six hours
and we don't know if he's coming back.
but I can't hate them for long, because maybe they're right.
it's probably our fault.
I know they were in love once.
when I was young, and his kids hadn't been born yet
and I was living with my grandfather and grandmother
with Lilly and Cherish
that was a time where he could be with her
alone
always.
they were in love with each other once
back when I wasn't cutting
or drinking or smoking
back when I wasn't thinking or talking
back when we were nothing but children
tiny children.
they were in love once, and now there's nothing.
somewhere when they started
falling apart,
they left little string
and as I grow older I find that I follow it
the string leads into why they're still together, but
see
the string will run out eventually.
"For the kids"
"We can try"
"we can make it work"
"I'm sorry"
"I love you"
those all get thinner.
See I think that they were in love at one time
but that was before they knew each other.

Walls, colored like vanilla,
melt against the ribbons of gray
that the cinnamon red flames breathe.
slowly, each exhale works as the tempo.
one-two-three-four-five
slow slow quick-quick slow
get on step, J, you're off again.
b r e a t h e
I taste freedom as I spin,
the air burns like alcohol,
it tells me
"pick your poison, J,
choose wisely,
and we'll show you who you are."
but I'm so tired of being
them.
so I'll sway until the traits
slither down my body,
curling around my ankle
before sneaking into never again.
I'll mix my being with the acid
gripping onto the shadows as I tilt back,
demons will nip at my neck when my
hair brushes the floor,
with my body bent,
hands clutching Hades' shoulders,
I let out a cry.
He tells me I'll get better.
we'll spin
like lies, rumors, thoughts,
we'll ****** our feet, and stomp out the pain,
the flickering will shade,
and there will be nothing but the sound
of my dancing
protesting, landing, ordering
against, on, to
the ground,
demanding to be seen, heard, known.
I'll leap across,
pressing my body close enough to Death
that I can tell you
She's just as lovely as Lust,
and She'll twirl me
until the radiation I've encountered
slathers the wall.
I'll heave until I collapse,
becoming nothing but
a heap of avoidance.
part one of
my tango.

she came up behind me,
curled her long fingers into my scalp
****** in air through her teeth,
and lowly she said,
"How long has it been since you've showered?"
embarrassment is an understatement.
I laugh, shuffling nervously in my seat,
feeling beyond disgusting
replying with
"sad."
she repeats the word back, tasting it
as if it were a question,
as if she didn't know
then she said it quieter.
"sad. i get sad too. try to take one tonight, okay?
do it for me?"
i hold back tears
for reasons I'm not yet sure of
and breathe.
I want to be strong enough to do it
but I'm not sure that I am

I can just simply tell you how tired I am
but it's something that's been done before
over and over
so I will describe it.
arms are loose, hanging down in defeat at my sides, knuckles dragging against the ground, hair unwashed for yet another day because I just can't get myself to stand and walk into the bathroom, much less turn on the shower, much less let myself stand under the droplets.
I'm screaming, eager to be normal, to stop feeling like this, but nothing changes, ever. muscles in my face pull, then I'm smiling, and they smile back, and it falls.
the pain in my chest grows sharp, both in pain and in realization; I'm dying.
I reach for a star, and it stings in return. I drag my hand away, muttering apologies, and cradle the wound against my ribs, swallowing back my words.
walking is hard, sleeping is hard, moving is hard, breathing is hard.
I'm not going to get any better.
I long for that shower, but I'll stay in the mud. I'll roll in it, until the dirt sticks under my nails, painting them mocha. I'll have grass for hair, beetles for eyes, and a worm for a thin smile. I can't wash this away anymore.
I'm but a drumset playing in an empty room, falling out of tune, angrily bashing myself in until I'm nothing at all but unrecognizable pieces, floating away with a whisper.
I take a drag of the world, it corrodes my lungs, and yet I dare not cry out in pain, there's no room for that right now, I have to exhale.
but with the breath comes my guts, pooling out and piling onto the ground, wetly smacking against one another like slabs of meat, wriggling like snakes, hissing as if it were a spark doused in water.
I'm being emptied out, to make room for something else, perhaps the hit will create a new little ecosystem, maybe they'll create serotonin enough to fill me.
I'll rot, and the maggots will dance across my flesh, digging until they find something worthy to feast upon, spreading the flesh with their want, I'll be a part of something that lets creatures live, and then I'll one day become something worth loving, saving, caring for.
but for now, I'm nothing but a sensitive overdramatic piece of complete ****, sitting alone in their room with music no one gives a **** about on repeat, praying to the Gods and Goddesses their girlfriend calls them so they don't **** up their arm again. but there's no ringing, just the drum alone in the white room.

it's raining again.
It's been raining a lot lately.
I rush outside with jars usually,
tonight I sit under
and I fill myself up.
my hair clings to my neck
my face
my soul.
I close my eyes,
dipping myself in and out of
the sky's tears
in hopes that she'll never recognize
the difference if I were
to be extracting tears of my own.
There will soon be no distinction
between me and the wet.
catching a breath, I peer up
I blink so much I'm surprised I can find the clouds
They shield Gaia from the cold
I count the stars, though I mistake
the majority of raindrops for the plasma.
So I tilt down,
face to Hell
my hair curtains around me
as if a cat had torn them into nothing but
clumpy pieces of string,
and recognize the puddle of a person,
through blurry sockets,
that I can no longer hide from.

all your lovers of summer whisper soundlessly
against my collared [owned]
existence.
airy spirits of longing sleep
unseen by anyone
except me,
and yet these
flickers of response aren't
noticeable.
I?
desolate and weak.
my heart remains and feels the sight
like an eternity of bleach down my throat
or glass in my eyes
or fingernails ripped
or neck broke
or burn marks
or bites
or the Judas Cradle
or the Blood Angel
or the Swedish Drink
or White Torture
or disembowelment
or Scaphism
except worse.
The thoughts are whirlwinds,
or maybe whirlpools
because I'm drowning
in the same way that you drown me out.

I will
do just that
until i'm nothing
but art

something to be admired
would you like that?
would you like it?
do you like art?

canvas
paintbrush
paint
why are you crying about it?

Relax,
I have a towel, it won't
get on your
precious ******* clothes

don't call someone.
I
said
don't.

I'm fine
happens all the time
just shut up
help me clean.

why the ****
are you looking
at me
like that

like I'm disgusting
like I'm *******
gross..
****.

it's just paint.
taste it
do you want to touch it?
the paint's running off the canvas, let me get that.

sorry.
not a lot of people get it
not a lot of people like it.
you like art, don't you?

do you like to paint?
I've been inside your backpack.
I've seen you in your hoodies.
I've seen it all.

don't look surprised.
the little lighter in the side?
i like it
i wanted to light myself on fire.

do you burn your art?
do you burn the canvas?
sometimes it's frustrating
so you want to ruin it.

sometimes it's okay
to ruin things.
Daddy ruined mommy
mommy ruined you.

let me see.
don't scream. let me.
let me ******* see.
you saw mine, it's only fair, right?

there.
there it is.
you've dug hard, yeah?
do you like it?

have you shown anyone else?
no?
they saw but you didn't want them to.
the other ones reacted awfully, huh?

you're lucky I'm here.
I'll love you regardless,
you're not a freak to me.
just a bit messy.

i like messy.
your blood tastes nice, yknow.
i want to open them wider.
watch it flow.

shut up.
stop crying.
stop.
no one cares.

there. not too bad.
I just want to see your insides.
i will know how you work.
is that okay?

I'll carve my name next
it would look pretty, right?
you do it, too,
on me.

we can just leave each other
little messages.
i love you,
y'know?

you don't have to worry anymore
we're gonna keep each other's secrets
sometimes art is a group project.
no one gets to see but me.

does it hurt?
you'll get used to it
you'll crave it.
just like i do.

stop sniffling,
you jumping will make me mess up.
you want to hurt.
not die, yet, right?

sometimes, when I'm alone
at night
or day
or anywhere

i paint little flowers.
little smiles
little words
little things

****
****
****
****

you do too,
i saw it on your thighs.
i saw the words.
did that say "hate?"

what do you hate.
tell me.
tell me it all.
I'm going to find out.

yknow.
I've been through some ****.
we all have.
gotta cope some way.

clean yourself up
don't ******* touch me.
i say when you touch me.
i say.

you're so soft. just grab the brush.
grab the brush, do it.
I'm painting.
I'm painting.

we're gonna paint the sky, the stars.
nah, ******' with you.
we're drawin' grass right now.
see where that goes.

you look shocked.
stop looking.
you're cute when you're afraid.
relax, I'll live.

i wish someone would tell me it's
******* fine.
god do NOT ******* touch me.
I'll **** you.

I'm going to die alone.
I'll pretend that I'm fine with it.
I'll pretend that I'm not playing with the crippled canvas.
how much until it rips in half, i wonder.

sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I'm so ******* sorry.

something i
love
to do is
quickly, roughly, no thoughts, no hesitation
slice.
pinch, it's worthy of nothing but a blink.
I should go deeper, harder,
i want to part deep like
a canyon
easy
like a valley
i want a river, a flood.
i want to be emptied.
I want muscles to shift beneath my hands
tendons to scream
I want to be pale, and nothing
and never call anyone. I want
to deal with it alone.
maybe you won't think I'm so ******* sensitive
such a ****** *****, yeah?
I'll do it. i can. I'm going to. I'm ******* going to.
if i just ******' **** myself right.
no matter what i do
how i feel
how I've grown
how i think
who i love
who loves me
I'm going to die
alone.
I've texted you.
i keep texting you.
said i needed help.
you don't love me. you
you're not in love with me
you know it.
you know it. i know it.
I'm not worthy of that ****. not from you.
please. just ******* leave, i know you want to.
you're dying to, aren't you? go.
****.
you wouldn't know.
hell, but you can read me, can't you
but you wouldn't know I was thinking this
no one does.
I've only been screaming about it
since i ******* could.
didn't you know?
did anyone really know?
i should start on those ******* letters again.
i have therapy tomorrow.
I'll say I'm better.
so so
so much better.
I'll eat more, i swear. see
getting better. no need to continue.
I'll ******* **** you.
after I slice,
i let it trail down
beautiful candle wax
very liquid-like candle wax, i
i like the burn of that, we can compare shades.
it'll curve with my thigh, it'll slide
under, and stick to whatever I've piled there.
i love how it looks when i
peel.
the object away from my skin
it sticks, so easily, it hates to part
it'll leave you with a sweet red kiss memory.
we'll talk about my leg this time
legs, stomach, chest, between my legs
those are easiest to hide.
no one knows. no one knows.
it collects before it drips
building up
the snowball effect.
do you remember when you
were a child
looking out of a car window.
dark stormy clouds
sprawled across the sun,
seducing it,
stealing the light.
storm's coming, young traveler.
wind picks up,
trees dance
breaths hitch
the rain trickles,
pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat
windshield wipers wave
and to prevent the boredom, or
**** it
block out their arguing
or keep your mind from the thoughts
of your bones breaking
(intrusive thoughts)
or to ignore the bridge below you
or maybe it's something you
actually enjoyed doing
or
whatever
the ****
you were trying to do,
you'd watch the droplets race.
OH!
which one makes it to the bottom?
first one there wins!
pick a favorite.
but then they end up meeting in the middle
so they both trail to the bottom?
and you watch, a proud parent moment,
do it over and over again,
let's see how we really win.
it's like that, except for
i know how to make them all win. Every time.
all three hundred of them
they're all my favorites.
it's a game, to meet in the middle
see
what you do is you just give it a little boost
pinch and turn the skin
slice it a little more
just above, but the above ones have to be deeper so
it comes out faster
and the ones below have to be quick.
maybe i would always win if i
always went deeper.
i'd never have to wait
it would come out easily.
do it
do it
do it
just give it a little extra boost is all.
oh? you thought i'd get better? why?
Sydney came into my life?
can't fix someone like me.
i enjoy being broken a little too much.
music plays,
something with a low bass,
something on Sydney's playlist, maybe
I'll change it.
i don't want to think of her.
i don't want her to know.
i like cutting, i like what it does.
but god i hate how it makes her feel.
she kissed my cuts when we met. my arm.
my sleeve had been rolled up, i think i did that without thinking.
she grabbed me.
touched me.
laying in my lap, turned her head, and
pressed her lips against my
tainted skin.
i should carve that part out.
she shouldn't be a part of me.
i might **** myself tonight. I
I might ignore her
forever.
i can't face her now.
god, someone, tell her.
if i don't answer her,
I'm back where I belong
I belong with the other crazies.
god I'm ******' filthy, aren't i?
look at all the time I've wasted.
When I'm killed that'll seal the deal
And I'll be free from these chains
I sing softly, imagine recording the
twitching of my leg.
a little funny.
weak.
i know it's not from pain.
or is it?
or are we impatient?
eager as ever, aren't we, J?
Little *****.
i should slit my wrists.
i'd rather the pills right now.
pills make me drowsy. just
keep taking more, yeah?
the cuts on my legs are foreplay.
slip your hands down my underwear, Syd,
I'll show you.
I cry, the ugly face cry
and then it stops
where are the streams?
I'm nothing but expressions
and ears that ring.
i let it collect on Justin's sweatpants.
i like that.
when i give it to him
if i do
it will be soaked with my blood.
is it his fault that I'm like this?
oh, he hated it so much,
didn't he?
drove him up the *******' wall
hated when i didn't eat
hated when i cried
hated hated hated
hated when I defiled my skin
oh
but when
he
did it?
when he was the reason? hm?
why was that fine?
but back to the race
i wipe it with the fabric,
sometimes it pools back up
i have to press it a little
just tighten the hold, I'll run out eventually.
and then i wait.
i wait for the blood to crust up, the ones that are
just bubbling up
so eager to escape, why?
i want you gone, too.
i feel so drained.
i wait for it to dry.
then i peel
pick
pry it off.
something in my head
realizes that this is a bit far.
shut up.
and i press my red fingers
to my lips.
see, i say red fingers
both because I enjoy
the texture of it. but also
because once I've gotten into the habit of
crunching.
my own blood,
as in doing it over
and over and over and over again
it makes the blood slowly revert back to
well
its normal blood self.
it mixes with my saliva, i think
and breaks down the solid form it takes as it dries
(paint dries)
which also got me to think of
blood cubes.
sip it, chew on it, press it on your head after
a hot, sweaty day
i
remember there was this video
that someone I know
posted on their story.
a very
"******" dom
Instagram dominant, taken, a stranger to me
but they influence me.
fangs.
not hers. but someones
teeth had been filed into fangs.
and they pierced anothers girls neck
the holes the holes the holes.
when the blood gushed out
a tongue slithered and
lapped it up.
I wondered how much would bleed out,
how much can you have without getting sick
could it be an acquired taste?
and i remember it made me nauseous.
i remember cringing at the idea of drinking
something so revolting.
and of being impaled too
the pain. the loss of blood. they'd pass out.
but now, i think "good."
now. i'd give up my voice.
to be able to drink it like that
to cut enough to drink until I'm hydrated
sipping chamomile tea
that's much too hot.
adam ******* on the TV, he's singing
The Wedding Singer
my, isn't he a God.
with peppermint to stir
sweet scents, if only i could smell.
and little blood cubes,
ooh yes,
melt in my tea
so that I may taste
myself
on my tongue.
because I don't think I'll trust anyone else to.
I'm going to **** myself tonight.
and if i fail, i need
to go back to a ******* hospital, there's
something wrong with me.

all these people and their
"it's easy to sleep, ***"
I'm up at six
with four things of Capri suns.
people sleeping and their
"My dreams are so fun!!"
I'm never sleeping,
I'm thinking of shotguns.
waking up pretty and their
"put your hair up in a bun!"
I'm busy trying to make my own source of income.
petty people with their
"*** jiggle" (yeah, that's ***)
I'm thinking Russian roulette would be my fun

Candles are how we keep fires as pets.
we scoop the pyre into our palms
and dump it into pots
and expect it to stay lit on its own.

breathe for me,
just one deep breath.
let me see the rise of your chest.
i've got you, we're going to have a little fun, princess.

down into the depths, we go
don't squirm.
you know how I hate when you mess me up.
calm down, brat, i've got you.

look at you! my hands wrap around your neck so nicely!
it's almost as if you were made for me
come on, darling, eyes on me
i like the way you smile, so smile for me, hm?

oh yes, that's the one.
my pretty little princess, you're entirely precious
how innocent you are for me
hard to tell if you're whining or moaning, love.

does it hurt when I touch you?
it's your fault, you beg for it, don't you?
it's your fault that you've bruised
its okay, pretty baby, purple suits your face well.

flinch again and I'll hit you harder.
aw, tears? you know how I feel about crying.
god you're so cute, I could **** you!
you're such a tease for death, hm?

you screamed so beautifully when my blade was against your neck
have you ever been touched like this before?
no? not by anyone but me?
good.

you're not meant to know anything
except for me,
except for the ways that I make you feel.
I'm treating you better than anyone else ever would.

i like the way you look
all bound up, just for me, skin tied tight
do the rope burns feel unbearable?
just a little longer, love.

you'll get excited to see me soon.
no more of that pretty little fear
every touch, you'll crave, you'll beg for.
you're mine now, aren't you? say it. say "I'm all yours."

you'll love every second of life i grant you
i'll show you what it means to want.
oh yes, you'll want to be mine forever.
i'm the only person who can really love you.

speak when spoken to,
talk to me.
don't ******* run.
you're so cute when you're scared, give me a kiss.

i like how you taste, muah
your cracked lips spill that lovely red juice
you've got me all hot and bothered, now, fix it.
tell me you love me.

i hate that i have to let you go
but you know the saying, right?
oh, of course, I love you!
but that's a weakness of mine, isn't it?

god, I love how you fight until the very end.
claws against my hands, raking my flesh
make me bleed, I won't loosen my grip
you used to love how it felt to be choked

you told me these stories, stories about you swimming with your family
I'm only giving you exactly what you wanted,
you like swimming, huh, baby?
breathe for me.

I'm not hurting you, ******* *****.
stop.
why must you fight me, I thought we were past this.
I could let you go, I might. I almost might.

oh, life! the life drains from forest eyes
see plants need and love rain, but you can drown them rather easily
you're so weak, hm?
you know how I feel about eye contact, but this is different.

don't look at me, darling, this is our goodbye
you're not supposed to look back
yet here I am not looking away either.
not too much longer, and you'll be gone, right? right?

right. gone.
your hand lays limp on my own, I already miss your nails.
did i ever tell you how much I loved your hair?
it's heavenly now that it floats around you.

I hate that you made me wet my clothes,
yours cling to you rather nicely, I suppose.
i told you to breathe for me, we had our fun
you really did a number on my hand, love, it's beautiful.

why are you just laying there?
get up. now. we're not playing anymore.
oh
oh no

No, no no no, we were playing, just like we always do
like when you let my knife twist it's way into you
it traces my name in its cursive whisper
you liked it, you said, you loved it

get up, now, please.
I said please, princess.
you belong to me, get the **** up.
you're so ******* useless.

this isn't funny.
it's not funny.
come back.
****, I didn't mean it

tell me you love me again.
i didn't give you permission to die.
breathe.
I said breathe for me

so. so what?
it's like every ******* time that i need you you're desperate to leave.
but god forbid i think of my own emotions once in a time of crisis.
because ****** lord knows that whatever the **** i am doesn't ******* matter
oh but you do J
you're such a beautiful person
you're so smart
i love you.
******* ******* *******.
what the ****. nah.
nah what the **** is wrong with you.
you've had it happen before.
so i ask for help, i tell you that i don't want to be here.
so you leave me on opened and then the next day you're telling me
telling me what? that you got MAD?
you got MAD at me for it? tell me where that makes sense.
you're mad because i wanted to die?
are you ******* me? I WANTED TO DIE!
I wanted to die! i wanted to die!
and you're MAD?
"it's not directed at you."
I'm ******* mad.
I'm ******* ******. I'm beyond hurt what the ****.
I'm so ******* tired of feeling alone. I'm so tired of being alone.

I'm so tired of feeling this way.
why do you keep leaving me alone
why do you keep leaving me alone.
please don't leave me alone.
please answer
why won't you ******* answer oh my god
I'm not safe.
why couldn't i have just succeeded?
i can't even **** myself right
I'm so tired of feeling like this.

i wish it was more than just some extra time to sleep in.
i wish it was forever.
i could rest forever.
i could sleep forever.
forever forever forever.
please answer the phone

it's the feelings he gave me,
i can do it
i
I CAN'T
I JUST I
just can't i just
can't.
god it
it feels so good to cry.
i don't want to stop.

this ******* *****, yknow.
the way this feels.
i just want to scream.

I'm blocking you. everywhere. you can't get me now.

alone again.
naturally.

Tears
salty lava snaking down my ashy skin
meeting at the curves of my lips,
bouncing off the flesh when I speak.
Your laugh on the other end
vibrations that leave me deaf
and yet I stay eager for more,
slumping against the sound.
Heart
the weighed down wriggling piece of nothing,
the chipped little porcelain teacup
the veiny vessel
suddenly
releases and rises,
no longer drowned by thoughts.
I missed the sound of your voice saying you loved me, I miss how I feel when I hear you. Missing someone is bad enough, but to miss their voice on top of it? Their voice, their touch. I've touched you only a few times in a span of mere hours, and yet I think about it every day. This hoodie is very nice, but it doesn't compare in the slightest to your arms around me. I love your chain, but it pales in comparison to you as well. you. I love you. and I am so so sorry that I ever let you doubt that, I'm so sorry that you ever wonder, I'm so sorry for the times that I make you sad. I don't mean to be. I'm going to start working on it, I promise I will. I love you.

I listened to a song that reminded me of my mother today,
but also that reminded me of me,
but also made me think of Sydney
though I won't talk about that,
I suggest listening to it.
Or simply looking at the lyrics.
White Trash Beautiful by Everlast.
I say that it reminds me of my mother, but it
mostly reminds me of my childhood.
Childhood car rides,
specifically from home,
maybe late at night.
She played things like this
and Metallica,
I was raised on everything, really.
I was raised on the musical staff.
When I was younger,
9 was late
so the stars and trees and clouds and world that passed by
so quick at night when I was sure
a monster would swallow our car
seemed to simply protect us
and the thumping of the stereo,
her hard, glazed over eyes locking on the road in front of us,
I dozed in and out of consciousness.
the song.
reminded me of the way people release their issues
in the music that they make
or that they listen to.
My mother drowned out her
failing marriage
drug addictions
and her mental illnesses
and me
and everything else,
with music
and alcohol
and more drugs
and more men, the kind that
couldn't keep their hands to themselves
those kinds of men.
There were songs by Everlast that just
made sense
to her
and I never
really
understood, I mean, I
was as a toddler, why would I?
I had too much going on in my kid mind,
I'm sure.
but I get it so much now.
I also recommend
What it's like which is also by Everlast
Because I get that, too, more than
I think
most.
the song
I was talking about first
isn't supposed to be bad, right
I think it's mostly the music
that reminds me of my mother-
of my childhood with my mother.
I try not to think
about things like that too much.
but I promised to try and start opening up more.

that's what i'm telling myself as i think of her.
her best friends messaged me
i broke her heart.
would they have preferred that i
continue to hurt us?
i miss her, i miss her a lot.
i know she doesn't understand this
and that her friends hate me so very much.
relax, Gaige, I hate myself a fuckton more
it was the right choice, this is what needed to be done
we weren't good for each other.
god but i feel like ****. i feel so sad and alone and
**** but..
was it?

If I should be melted down
You shall forever be what cools me.
If I should ever be completely mutilated
you are what mends me.
throughout the amount of time that I've pieced myself together
tore myself down,
then back up
around, through the loops, under the bridges,
I've grown tired of trying to figure out where I go.
I want you to tell me.
I, flimsy wax, will mold as you wish,
I, roadkill, will be the source of necromancy,
if you shall wish it.
I'm tired of faking as if I know what I am,
I KNOW NOTHING
except.
that I want to be as you want me to be.
So if I were to be bloodied and bruised
I'll allow you to be the reason, or if you'd rather
you can be justice.
If I should be sad,
you will always be my smile.
because I constantly make this
choice, apparently,
of loving you.