Don't call me pretty

I am not pretty

I am a warrior molded from hot iron

Beaten down to conform to a shape

To conform to a number

To conform to a scale

I forgave the people who ripped me apart

I crawled tooth and nail out of the ashes that trapped me

I get up every morning with a purpose to change

So don't call me pretty

Because I am so much more

I hate when people ask what's wrong
As my eyes fill up at a sad sad song
Or a movie or a book
They'll take one look
And question my emotional response

But happiness isn't something
We all get for free
Especially girls with broken hearts
Who write bad poetry

I hate to admit my feelings
because to admit makes them real
and in my experience real things end
eventually
so i'll keep it to myself
and maybe whisper it softly
so if you listened real hard
then maybe you might hear it
I can't explain how I feel about you
I'm not in love with you
nor am I infatuated with you
but I want to drink coffee and eat biscuits with you
want to look up from the newspaper and see you
pick up the telephone and hear you
reach across the bed and feel you
I want to be near you
To admit is to make it real
to be real is to end
so I guess this is goodbye
to someone who was once
a very dear friend

and i wish you could see
that there is hope
in this hopelessness

and someday
when you aren't expecting it
you will see a glimmer
so grab on tightly

because you do matter
even if it feels like
the world would be better
without you

i've been there.

in a place so dark
i thought i'd never see the light again
wishing for something to take me away
from a world that didn't care
or understand

in a world of insomnia
and weightloss
because sleeping and eating
felt complicated too

so it's okay
to not be okay

but i just want to remind you
that you are brave and you are strong
and you are ******* alive.

Everything will eventually fall apart
You must keep running
Steering towards your masterpiece
The pain must shape you as a vessel that can withstand all the tragedies
Your captains wheel must point in the direction you will one day crash
you must keep running
For all life's tragedies are waiting to shred you apart
To try and misdirect you so that your vision seems impossible
Pain must only be used as another tool embedded in these bodies
For the one thing you are guaranteed is pain
How you handle it is completely your responsibility.
Paint your pain or let it **** you

scrolling through my feed
when a picture makes me
stop
zoom
stare
yep, i was right
she just posted a picture
with her body splayed across
THE picnic table
the very picnic table
where the first person i loved
ended
everything

i waited
for the anger
or sadness
to drown me
like it has before

but it didn't.

i felt okay
that art could be made
in a place where i sat
and uncontrollably sobbed

it felt nice
that there was beauty
to be found
at a picnic table
where i once only saw
heartache

I see you almost daily
in long braided ponytails
and sarcastic smirks
on stranger's faces in a foreign town.

But where it makes sense
I wasn't expecting you.
So I turn
and my heart drops to my stomach
and it's thundering so loud
I feel like my skin will vibrate
off of my body.

And your cousins are there
so grown and beautiful.
I think of the times
we did puzzles
or played soccer in the yard.

No one glances my way
and it's funny
how a second
can feel like an eternity.
And it's funny
how you were my sun
while I'm just a desolate planet.

and i wonder,
do you ever think of her
and what you could have been.
futures that were planned
but never successfully played out?

do you ever hear a song
that instantly takes you to a place
belonging to you and her
and nobody else?

do you ever compare me
and think of all the ways i fail
where she would have succeeded?

its okay,
if you do,
i would understand.

because memories have a way
of sticking around,
especially the good ones,
especially if you don't want them to.

Never be happy,
Said the girl with blue hair
Because then you will become
Very very boring
And you will start to die.


-- Eleanor

i used to be
afraid of death
isn't that funny
because now
i like killing myself
i like the feeling of
being torn apart by
other people's opinions
i beg them to tell the truth
even when i know
it's not what i want to hear
tell me
tell me you liked my hair longer
before i cut it short
tell me
tell me i'm too skinny
that i should put on some weight
tell me
tell me you're shocked
tell me i should know these basic things
i want the truth
not a sugar coating
and i don't exactly want it to hurt
but i'm starting to think
it is better than nothing