here lies the boy who gave too much,
the boy that could have been someone’s prince,
in another life,
in another world,
on your throne made
of thin glass.
your silver medal is the chain around your neck,
it’s crucifixion,
standing trial by fire,
rosaries and scars, and ashes, ashes, we all fall down,
we’ve all got rotten posies in our pockets.
you fell from grace when you least expected it,
a sinner and a heartbreaker,
instead of the saint and healer you wanted to be.
with a soul in your hand and a smirk on your lips,
you held me close with no idea how to love.
but you wanted to, oh, I know you did, you ached for it,
felt It in your bones,
and your heart,
and your beautiful mind.
you built your love on lies and texts and late-night calls,
your calculated chaos too thin to hold your weight
and mine.
the third time I lost you, I was gone before I could finish the story.

I am from screens and bright machines
that show whole new worlds
that I use to pretend I’m
not living in this one.

I am made of the sharp smell
of artificial apples and cinnamon
burning your throat as you breathe it in
like secondhand smoke.

I am made of lonely days
spent on my phone
pretending to laugh when people say or send something
because I know they need the ego boost.

I am made of late nights
when I shut my phone off
and I start to cry
because I know that no one thinks about me after I go.

I am made of hours spent huddled
as my brother spits vitriol at my parents
and they take it with willing ears and become submissive dogs
with tails between their legs.

I am made of hellfire
carefully bottled up
until someone pushes me to the edge
and I am ready to ****.

I am of thousands of cups of black coffee
sobbed over at three am
alone in my kitchen
hands searing, but refusing to let go.

I am from carefully counting every dollar
wondering when
I am allowed
to leave this town.

I am from four am walks
alone through the town
taking in the sights
and praying the sun will rise.

There’s a shattered hand mirror in my room.
Broken glass litters the cold dark marble
and teardrops drip all over the shards,
because even in all of these things that I am,

I am still not good enough for myself.

don't let them see your hurt.
smile politely, keep your chin up, and walk away.
even if you're crying on the inside.

maybe if I learn how to keep
my mouth shut
I’ll finally be happy.