Rip out this still beating heart,
Then call how you did it a art,
I'll still forever be yours,
Even if we live on different shores,
The pain you've caused,
The way you pointed out my flaws,
The wounds you make,
The hearts you break,
The lies you tell,
The day you made my life a hell,
None of those matter to me,
Don't you see,
I need you,
But you never knew,
Living in your head,
Pretending I was dead,
When I cried,
You just sighed,
I'm sorry for the disappointment,
And for my smile now bent,
Please forgive me,
And don't leave

In my mirror I see a clown,
Juggling his fate upon the hope of entertaining his captivated audience.
Performing circus tricks with a painted smile across his animated visage.

In my mirror I see a soldier,
    Dauntless and Dedicated
To dutifully serving his school.
The soldier never tires,
Never slacks,
Never rests,
Never stops - until his duties are done.

In my mirror I see an explorer,
seeking adventure and freedom from the concrete jungle, whose cement vines bind round the sinews of his heart until he trapped
Trying to break away from:
Oppression, and the Syntheticity of suburbia.

In my mirror I see a ghost.
Dead to the world, yet still cursed to wander its lonely alleys,
In search of liberation from social purgatory.

In my mirror I see a learner,
Clean-shaven and well brushed.
His face well scrubbed though the tell-tale pimple betrays him to adolescence.
The student has no substance...
What you see is what you get,
And what you get is well -
Whatever you want.

In my mirror, late at night,
When all have drifted off to sleep,
I see a boy, who finally takes off his many masks,
And reveals his true identity to the trustworthy mirror (whom he has known long enough to keep his secrets)
He is no longer:
The clown,
Or soldier,
Or explorer,
Or ghost or learner,
He is me.

Hi my name is Emily
I am fifteen
nothing special
my mom left
I was 4
I only see my sister
once a year
my family and friends
deserve so much more
I'm just a burden on
everything
everybody
I hate myself
the bullies made me hurt myself
I cant hate myself forever
I might as well not
be
here

I have so much to say
but I can't write it down
thoughts are spiraling through my ears and into
my eyes but my hands
cannot translate
the murky, opaque chain of consciousness
weaving in and out of view.
I'm frothing, bubbling
ready to burst, to sing to something.
I'm trying to write words I know but
is a name
a word.
My rule is that I don't write names, it's cheating.
Names are far more powerful than words and name has a story
a background a connotation an emotion a lump in my throat when you stopped staying.
And if "you" is a pronoun and and a name is a proper noun does the extra "per"
mean the name takes up more percent in my mind?
I have so
much
to say.
Nothing is working just words, no proper ones.
I see it. I see what I feel and I feel it. I feel what I see.
I can't write it.
It feels like a warm ocean, unexpected, nice, then suspicious.
It feels like someone took the blood from my veins and replaced it with liquid doubt
now pulsing through every artery.
It feels like a favorite toy being glued back together. Still beloved, but never the same.
It feels like drowning.
It feels like falling.
I have so much to say.
Take my hand.
And help me.
*please

Laying here on ***** sheets,
the words of that crooked smile haunt me.
That moment
over and over,
like a black and white movie with a scratch on the film.
Over and over and over...



You're like a black widow, he said.
You bite the heads off every man you touch,
You're lucky you're hot and look good with your clothes off.
You don't even know how to feel, he said.

You're cold.

You're cold as your eyes are blue, he said.
But you know if you laugh loud enough,
and pretend you're drunk enough,
your prey will be dead before they figure you out.
I sure as hell wouldn't love you, he said.

You're ice.

Even your hands are cold, he said.
Doesn't it get old?
Don't you get tired of being so guarded,
Isn't it painful being you? he said.

You're stone.

Look at you now,
How blank your eyes, how ridged your lips,
How thick your skin,
I don't even want
to touch you, he said.

You're heartless...

Heartless..

he said...

heart.
less.

Heart - less.
Adjective.
unfeeling; unkind; unsympathetic; harsh; cruel.

Heartless.

That word pounds through my head,
wreaking havoc on who I am.
Forcing perspectives.
Since the moment he said it,
while I laid there,
naked,
more vulnerable than he ever gave me credit for.

Heartless.

Jokingly, I tell myself that he's insane.
Scientifically it's impossible to be heartless.
I'd be dead, I think.
He's an *******.

But I know that he was right.
Because he wasn't the type to spare feelings,
or mince words,
He never said things he didn't mean,
especially not to me..
And he never cared about my reasons,
or the things that made me this way.
He showed up at my door, and took my clothes off
Told me I wasn't the type boys bring home anyway.
Told me I was too damaged to belong to anyone.
He said and did mean things.
He was not a nice boy.
But in the end I told myself I deserved it.
All the things he did and said.

I perfected my game face.

After all,
I'm stone.
I can take it.