"Girls shouldn't smoke"
I'm sorry sir, say that again?
Tell that to the 15 year old hispanic girl who sold her virtue under the guidance of the traffic lights to pay off her mother's cancer bills.
Tell that to the wife of a man who
beat
beat
beats her, because some nights she refuses to kneel at his supposed genital altar and confess her sins.
Tell that to the girl who has spent 6 months carving her home address into her forearms,  hoping that her Mum would smell the rust and come and rescue her.
Tell that to the girl who was stolenshackleddruggedsold under the consent of her father who used her body as a paycheck to settle his blackjack debt.
To the lonely girl. The ugly girl. The fat girl. The anorexic girl.  The bulimic girl.  The girl.
"Girls shouldn't smoke."
Tell that to the women who find their prayers in the daily grace that is, nicotine.
Just like men do.

The Sun,
She didn't even shine for me anymore.

2.The Moons,
even they turned on me and I was left to find my way in the darkest of nights.

3.You left me in a corner, the walls were made of concrete and even they would crack at the touch of my empty hands searching for comfort.

4.I ran away from every mouth that
formed words that
that
that sounded like yours.

5.My guitar, is out of tune

6.My stomach is an abyss, for everything tastes like you.

7.I fell in love with your mistress too and her other friends, I see why you preferred her arms
for comfort

8. They said I was bipolar
depressed
crazy. After I split my wrists looking for a sign from you.

9. I love you

10. I still love you.

We spoke in tongues that day,
Your fingers trailed my body like
a harlot skimming through the bible finding her daily grace.

The Sun, her majesty, jealous of the
nervous heat that fought for a moment of breath between your satin body and my scarred chest.

Did you know that I almost cried?
Because your touch was everything I feared the most.
Your touch was confidence, maybe love.
It hurt.

We don't speak the same language anymore,
For your fingers,
are too holy for mine.

I want to be your 911 and your favourite childhood blanket and I want to be your goodnight instead of your goodbye.
I want to be your favorite pair of shoes and the air beside you so that I'm always next to you and I know you're comfortable.  
I want to be my parents' "I knew she could do it" instead of their "she's not trying hard enough."
I want to be my friends' safety net and not their other 24hour emergency hotline-dial-me-when-you-need-me. I am not temporary.
I want to be a girl who smiles because the world engraved laugh lines in her gentle face and not a happy pill trapped mistake.

But I will never be those things.
I will never be those things because, in your eyes I will be the last cigarette in every pack that smells and tastes so good, but hurts your chest in the most unforgivable way.
But I will never be, for you.

You took me as I was,
you rescued me from my own condemnation,
a remembrance of John the Baptist saving
the life of Jesus.

You glued back the pieces
of my broken lego soul with your songs
of, Its Okay ,and we danced while the
new foundation dried.
And you let me stand on your feet,
and you led me around the room
and we laughed a melody
that Mozart should've composed.
Even Tchaikovsky fingers twitched
in his cumbersome state.

But now, my love
I've forgotten the notes to our melody
and my cracks are expanding.
I'm sorry your glue went to waste.

I'm so sorry
But thank you for teaching me how to
dance.

Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you my skin tries to run away, and the goosebumps infect the people next to me. My stomach contents heave-** and tango to the beat of my limping heart. The tears swirl and tickle my eyelashes, but they do not fall, like I, for you.
Everytime I think of you.
Everytime I think of you I forget how to use the 26 letters of the alphabet to spell your name. The tastes of "want" and "need" ****** my tongue because you are those flavours.

Everytime I think of you.
I try to stop.
Because you turned the butterflies in my stomach into moths.

Why did you do that?

You* don't know
you don't know how bad I've got it.
yes, we whisper somalia & kenya
but.
(come closer)
please, sir, arrest my mind
take it away from me for I would rather
be a lame than let them continue to fuel the warfare
that
is
destroying
the
peace up there
I can consume an alcoholics most treasured secrets.
I can inject the dealers most expensive hits.
even on cloud 9, I am lost in the agony of it all.

Please my love, come back to me
For only you have the weaponry to conquer all.

Help
for I am about to
*forfeit

Sometimes your hands will become anchors and you will try to move and the ground will thank you for keeping still. And you will only notice this because suddenly you'll ask yourself," doesn't the ground feel lonely?"
And the people will spit on the deeply- tarred -equator -feeling bubblegum laced ground. And the people drag their obese- nicotine savaged-righteous feet upon the surface and allow their children to pick at it, mimicking their itchy adolescent nostrils.
The ground, we never realised is a playground for lovers backs and the collector of the suicidal's blood from every 27th floor. But mostly it connects us all.
This is noted from the thoughts of a 17 year old girl who wants to thank the ground for being grey and sometimes brown or green and wants to be forgiven for being the next shade of red on it's beauty.

It's just a black empty space and I have created a corner in this circle because I need security in the form of things, and not, people.
And I unzipped my skin because someone smiled at me in the wrong way this morning or because I laughed into the mirror forgetting it was there.
I am dreaming of the heavens because God every night is singing me songs of sweet surrender, coaxing me "child, it's okay." And I unzip my skin because the tears and the sadness and the Everest of grief swirls in my arteries and dances in my veins and I feel *****.
I unzip my skin so when you hold my hand or feel my pulse beat against yours, I am empty because I want you to remain, pure.
And soon I will unzip my soul to galavant in the heavens so my bones can dance in the richest soils, rattling the song of goodbye.
It was nice knowing you.

its 10:53pm
and
i'm lying in my bed laughing because i think i can do anything
and yet i can't even decide if i'm gonna **** myself tonight or next month.

Feels like I'm breathing candyfloss and using my hands to stretch over the lonely sun

*** to a ****** boy like the ecstasy in the manner in which my eyes appreciate the presence of the August summer peering through the blinds when I wake up next to you.

Guilty avatars galavant in my veins as your fingers travel travel
travel
lose themselves in and along my skin

I know your fingers have felt the skin that covers my body better than the white sheets at the morgue
but now I need
I need I want I need
need
you to be a engineer and use your fingers to reach inside my skin and fix everything that is broken
for I am nothing but a second hand car
Beaten, forgotten, misused.
Misused, forgotten, beaten.

Baby I'm sad, and I'm begging you to be the one that see's through me

And my toes gripped on the edge of the cobblestone lining. And I cried because you weren't there to tell me to "get over it" and message me, "it'll be okay," but I was also glad. Because I finally let the voices envelop me, they're real you know, the voices? And for the first time in three years, I was warm, I was so warm.
The birds decorated the air above me and the cars zigzag the ground in between my feet.
I lifted my arms up slowly and laughed, a real laugh. And I thought about how nobody really undersands and how much it hurts to breakdown every time the sun rises in the morning.
I prayed to God and asked him to open up the heavens.
And then, I jumped.

and today everything hurt.
my tears confused my tongue, and the hurt tasted different. i wasted 8 minutes trying to console myself over the disappearance of my soul. and the darkness became the highest paying tenant in my arteries.

you know, i googled "how to tie a noose" today.
did you know that people favour the hangman's noose to the strangle-snare?

i think im broken.

dear friends, one day if you read this, if you knew? why didn't you say anything.

Why do you walk through life with a man who's lap has not moulded to the stress of your swollen feet?
With a man who's shoulder does not hold the curvature of your head
With a man who does not smell like goodness
and who's skin is not saturated with your tears.  
Why do you walk through life with a man who's nights are not spent worrying
about how cold the empty space on your bed is
in his absence?

Mama, tell me why you walk through life with him?

I'm tired of choking on my personality. Because you people are always trying to cut down people's trees and I'm that phone call that makes you put down that axe and walk back inside.
You're ruining me
I'm tired of choking on my personality. Because you people, you lovers of mine, are always trying to escape and I'm that last shot of ***** that allows your hands to find their way onto her hips. (again and again)
(and again in November)
You're ruining me
I'm tired of choking on my personality. Because you people are always asking me to listen to your sins and I haven't even found my God yet.
You're ruining me
I'm tired of choking on my personality. Because you people empty my pockets and pillage my soul and you won't even lend me five cents to visit my psychiatrist.

You people.
You people, what have I ever done to you.
**"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?"

Knocking on a door that never opens
knocking on a door that never opens,
I need to enter so that I can empty out the heaviness of my emptiness into a room that has no colour. And the ignorant will walk by and they will hear the wailings that have created another dent in the moon and they will dance to the beat.
But
They will keep walking.
The wailings, they'll stop.
One day someone will knock and
knock and
knock
The door will open and I will greet them with my feet that dangle 6 feet above them.
And I hope
I hope that's loud enough.

I remember when you walked up to me in a quiet, busy room and proclaimed to me and my friend that we looked like celebrities without makeup on.
I scrubbed my face seven times a day after that, hoping that the ugly would trickle down the sink even though it laughed at me in the mirror.
I remember when I noticed you for the first time and your tongue spoke a different language to the girl, next to me. I remember when I noticed you for the first time, because everyone else did too.
I remember when you breathed butterflies into my soul, because my body and my mind divorced and my actions were an orphaned burden with no guidance.
I remember when you left.
I remember when you started to look at drugs the way you used to look at me. The way you held your cigarette with a tender shaking hand, similar to how you used to hold
me.
I also remember how you said you'd never hurt me.
I guess you,
forgot.