When I’m sober I’m
so good,
so high on myself.
I talk to my friends and
I love that they love me
just the way I am.
But right now I’m drunk
and I’m falling in love
with all my exes,
all the people who are
poisonous.
I need validation
so I text boys who
I know will get off
on my words, on the
pictures I send them.
I have a whole list of their numbers
for nights like these.
I don’t even know
if they’d recognize me
in the morning.
I don’t even recognize myself
as I delete messages,
words, feelings.
No one will ever know
all the things I crave
if they don’t know me
sober.

The reason I'm here
is to take away your pain.
Don't you understand?

Sometimes I think I've shared too much
I feel like I'm posting away pieces of my soul.
A part of me wants to hide my poetry away
But the other part always listens to the voices in my head
and they demand to be shared and heard.

So I don't know what to do
when my brain is at war
I think I'll just take a seat
and let both parties fight

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Under a spotlight where everyone knew my name...
I was five.

Now, I want shadows and to be as far away as possible.
Hidden and far from consequence,
And even further from myself.
Where my name is not a name,
But just another word without any true meaning.

When I was younger, I used to think I was going to be a Star.
Now, I want to disappear.

I should have jumped overboard when I had the chance.

some people are born anxious
a tidal pool of dry-heave and spider bones
a conundrum whirlwind of seared tongue not tasting anything for days
i think there's a nausea that hides under my shirt sleeves
there's an unproven cluster of nervous cells waiting for my elbows to
suddenly start fidgeting
a dehydrated vocabulary of what to say
and is it appropriate to say it
autumn is forever around here

I know I’m not who I used to be

But there’s a part of me that’s still her

A girl who likes in yellow brush strokes

But loves in the deepest blue

Who makes a fool out of herself

And pours out her soul

To the ones she loves most

Who writes down the words

And feelings that crowd her heart

Displayed on a computer screen

Who always says I love you first

And waits patiently for the words

To return to her

Who wears her heart on her sleeve

And kisses your bruised knees

Cares too deeply, smothers too tightly

Who misses you when you’re gone

And hesitates to tell you the truth

“Is this too much too soon?”

Who falls too hard, too fast

But loves the way you look at her

From across the room



I could choose not to tell you

Because I’m afraid of who I used to be

But for now, I think I’ll tell you the truth

And that has to be enough for me.

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

you can dip your words in honey and sugarcoat your wicked tongue,
but nothing can change your rotten heart or change what you have done.

― poetry doesn't make what you did pretty