I want to feel like your warmth on my skin is enough. That every move you make is all consuming and as I wish intimacy was something I'm good at, it's not. So I sway the thoughts away in my mind like I sway my hips and I wish I could give someone some sort of bliss but the blisters on my memory keep busting and everything I never wanted to feel again pours it's way out and paints the crevices of my mind.
I want to feel special. Like every move I make is something to you. Like the waves that beg to kiss high tide like my tiger stripes beg to kiss my thighs. Maybe my mind is just poison. Maybe the pistol to my throat at a young age set in stone that I'm nothing but a grave stone amongst a growing garden of birth and new beginnings that will never be me. I am always the shell casing of who I wish to be and no matter how much I think I am pushing towards something, I am always holding myself back. I step into the spotlight only to be over shadowed by my own guilt and denial of what I should already be well aware of. I'm not sure this makes sense anymore.
And I am sure that these poems are just eulogies someone will read at my funeral or words that will paint and pour over my obituary. I haven't been the same since that February, the one when I lost my happy and gained a whole new chapter of my life I feel like I didn't even write, that feels like just an added story to make things more complicated for me and more interesting for everyone else. We all feed of off the misery and the interesting, we cling to the things that are a mystery to us because drama is in our nature and nuture never had anything to do with the way I was brought up. It was all mere circumstance because if my parents had it any other way they would've tried to raise me. But instead my father raised glasses and instead my mother raised prices and work and ***** got in the way of new gym shoes and admiration.
I'm not sure I feel anything anymore. And these doors to my future hold a lock I do not yet have a key for. But that doesn't mean I'll stop looking. That doesn't mean there's nothing behind those doors.
I'm living, to live for more.

10:50 pm, another beer-holding sorority selfie on Instagram.
I shut my phone.  I clench my fist.
I look up to the man that tried to raise me
as he raises a shot class in front of my face-
then my brother continues after.
The lingering smell of liquor on my nose
makes it feel harder to live.
See, I like to tell myself I've never done hard drugs
but then I am reminded of the days I wanted to mask the pain.
Take a paintbrush over all the misery-
and the bottle seemed to be my muse.
& as the alcohol becomes the inspiration for this piece
my hands begin to shake and my jaw begins to clench
and I can feel my mouth yearning for the taste one more time-
people don't understand addiction.
They don't understand when the problem becomes their life
they don't understand how quickly it can ruin you.
I thought I was just having fun
everyone drinks right?
Until one night I was faced with someone
who said something backhanded to me
so I threw a metal bat at his head.
I missed.
Until one night I was throwing myself at people
who probably didn't even want me for me
but for what I had underneath-
Until one night I was face down in my pillow weeping
because I had no one to drink with-
weeping because the alcohol was nowhere to be found
panicking because the emotions that needed to be addressed
began ******* my insides and making the anxiety
creep it's way back into my mind and into my stomach
until panic attacks became routine for me night after night after night.
& not even two weeks after I had surgery
I tried to drown my pain in a bottle in a room full
of people I thought I loved because I couldn't wait.
I began to forget and the last thing I remember-
was being face to face with my toilet confessing my secrets
via projectile *****-
I didn't think this sickness could happen to me
because I was so "in control".
Three days after that I was still ******* hungover.
A week after that the temptation led in and I tried to drink
again and again and again and when I couldn't
the anger came abrupt and the anxiety took over
I was a basket case that took pride in my tolerance.
I was masking what I didn't want anyone to see-
Every time I drank my insides would turn sour
and the sickness would overcome my desire to drown.
& if it wasn't for the headaches and the hangovers
and the people telling me what I didn't want to hear
It would still probably be an issue-
I lost a lot those years, even myself.
The bottle made me a persona of a person
just a piece that interprets her surroundings
I was a walking metaphor in a world full of short stories-
and I made a sonnet out of my struggle
with 14 bottles and ten syllables of labels
I put on display so everyone could interpret me.
I'm 20 now and I've been sober for 5 months
and it's sad to me when I have to say
that's something I pride myself on
but I do and I am thankful.
Addiction can be anyone-
with anything.
You just have to watch because those hands of yours
can hold on tight to anything that makes you feel alive
like liquor or cigarettes or the **** rips to your lips
but nothing makes you feel more alive-
than actually dealing with life.
That's where I found myself-
in the corners of my mind I never wanted to reach
in the parts of my memory I didn't think I could touch-
I'm 20 now I finally feel like myself again for the first time
since I turned 13, since before all the memory.
There are times when tempation will lead me to the edge of sanity
and try to push me over so I fall back into the hole I dug for myself-
but I am no longer weak,
no longer clinging to the addictions in my mind
no longer clinging to the negativity that surrounds me.
I am a delicate flower and in the winter I may wither up
and want to die-
but in the spring you will see me re-sprout
this time I will let the rain wash over me
and realize it is needed for growth
and I will blossom.

I have a heavy heart.
and there are days it's so hard to hold on to
that I want to just jump into a river of regret
and let it weigh me down to very bottom
so I can find peace again.
I wondered why you push away?
Why my ups and downs make you feel
like your world is being shaken upside down.
I guess, I'm just hard for other people to deal with-
it's funny because imagine actually being me.
I have a hard time dealing with myself-
dealing with the other side of me
that begs to be seen in mirrors and photos
and inside the hearts of others.
Why can't I find a good manic depression spoken word poem?
I ask myself as I search the youtube tags
and all the button poetry videos coming up with
only "The Future" to satisfy my thirst for validation.
I have a heavy heart-
some days you feel it's too hard to carry
and I begin to wonder if i can see a future with you-
but I can't even seem to see a future for myself
because I don't think I actually want one.
I don't want to die-
it's actually, I want to live
but I feel like I'm dying everyday
because my emotions take a noose
and tie it around my brain
and make a mockery of my self control-
I become a puppet to these emotions
and no matter how hard I try to pull away-
make something of myself and take over these emotions
they just push me down-
making a mockery of my heavy heart
and my control withers.
I sit alone in my room crying until 5am again-
convincing myself not to touch the razor
trying to convince myself not to take those pills
trying to reach out to someone, anyone to make it all feel okay again
but I come up empty.
So I called a hotline-
6am secrets syruping over my cellphone
into the receiver
into a complete stranger...
I had wondered when I lost everyone-
I had wondered where I lost myself.
See I sent out a search party for my self-control a long time ago-
but all they could find were empty pill bottles
and empty alcohol bottles lining inside my closet
but they never found me trapped there
underneath everything I've been hoarding inside my memory
for years now, I was buried there.
Some days I feel like I never escaped
like the old empty bottles are still weighing on top
of my heavy heart making me incapable of
seeing the light I have turned on for myself.
My manic depression
is like your favorite toy left in the basement
you get excited thinking about having that joy back again
but as soon as you try to go towards it
you're scared and panicked of what could come after you
and even when you get that courage to step foot onto
those stairs leading you to your happiness-
you stop, look at the darkness
and slowly turn and run the other way.
I will take back control eventually-
I will take this illness one step at a time
and hope someone will be there to hold my hand along the way
although I know this heart is heavy-
I am capable of carrying it alone.

In the middle of the night he cried-
arms outstretched wide to his father
who was never really there
and the times when he actually was
the liquor stained lips would reply
with an adaptation of his truth-
"**** it up and be a man".
The boy looked at him with hollowed eyes
and a heavy heart and from that day on
carried a burden upon his shoulders
at the life he thought would treat him well.
But it painted dark skies over his sunset
and brought clouds to the sunniest of the days.
He was born in a world where emotion is never okay-
So the chip upon his shoulder turned into a hole
and eventually made it's way into his heart.
That chip now a disease on his insides
his brain rewired to push everything back,
to swallow his hell whole and to hell if he did
because he knew what this life was doing to him.
His insides turned to stone and he held a stone face.
As his father told him the names of all the men
he should look up to and he left any women off the list.
So as the boy grew old he found himself hiding away
his insides and never showing a hint of emotion
because he knew it would let his father down.
Outside he took his fists and misplaced them
upon four walls-
his arms outstretched around little sister's neck.
Society's genetic defect.

Someone once told me-
men are more likely to commit suicide than women
I thought about this for a while-
Women wake up everyday in fear of dark alleys and street corners
Afraid of men with any address begging to undress them-
We can't walk down the street, any street without worry.
We cannot go into the store without fear painted at our feet
We have become afraid of our own shadows.
This life has built resentment upon our shoulders
ever since the wage gap got less and less
and even now we still have work to do.
But we can't forget that society has painted a picture
of us all and they're nothing close to a self-portrait.
They're more like those fat faced comic illustrations
you get at amusement parks and laugh at
because they look nothing like you.
Us women have been taken advantage of for years-
hiding behind car keys in-between our fingers
and pepper spray on our keychains.
Men have had to hide their pain behind fake smiles
and bank accounts that are supposed to make them feel bigger.
When in reality, we all just end up feeling tiny.
We all feel like the edges of our feet are on top
of years and years of misandry and misogyny-
and although the words feminism encompass feminine
all it's really about is total, complete equality-
so now is the time to treat everyone equally.

He said that;
She kissed like her mouth was on fire and the only thing that could ever extinguish it was someone else’s tongue in the form of, I love you on her lips. And even if each movement never really felt like love she made it feel so real anyway.
Her hips moved like the oceans were begging for someone to ride the waves and she was the sand beneath the feet of many men but never made it seem that way, even if those men got to feel her warm embrace it was never considered enough to make her stay.
She was always a mystery to me and the way her lips curved under when she smiled made me envious of the way she spoke, jealous of every word that left her lips because they got to touch them again and again and again.
I hoped that a man would look at me the way men look at her, innocent and admiring of her ever-present and translucent beauty, it glowed bigger and brighter than anyone else I had ever seen. But it wasn’t her smile that made her so enticing-
He mustered up the courage to say it was her that made the outside so much better, it was the words she spoke and her intent behind them. The love she spread about with just her tongue made a mess out of my distaste for life and introversion.  So I started to question everything I had ever known.
The wind sat crooked on the back of tree branch and I wish someone would have spoken to me in sonnets the same way he looked at her in paragraphs and I wondered if my pessimism is shading my views of anyone else’s admiration but everything feels like a fairytale nowadays.
I wondered if the things he had said to me were dancing on the edge of his mind for some time now and I wondered if he looked at me that same way sometimes, but the look in his eyes told me otherwise.
The way his expression guided the moon to the eyes of everyone who was listening and entranced the ocean’s waves was something more beautiful than any amount of romantic gestures.
They kissed at high tide and made us believe in emotions that never were, dimensions of the world unseen to the human eye and it made me believe again.
She was the fire burning beneath someone’s feet and I felt as if I wanted to be a volcano, burning down everything in my path and never letting anyone close enough because they will feel the burn in between their toes once again so they’ll need to dance on the sand and wade across the ocean just to feel sane again.
I want to be the kind of girl that changes things-
I want to be the air that dances beneath my curls and reminds I’m alive again.
I want to be the ocean, so I can be water under the bridge.

I turned my hands into fists again today-
spoke only through my fingers that
wanted to scratch their way through my flesh
and find their way up into my mouth
so I could say the words that have been haunting me-
but I kept quiet and let these hands do the talking
and as my grip tightened you could feel
the outline of where my flesh used to be
and how the skin curves around my nails once again.
I made the mistake of believing these words mean anything-
anything at all to you and as I read he passed away
those words joined with every other worry I had to face that day-
I froze up like love couldn't solve a single problem
like I had never ******* learned to talk in he first place
and everything I had tried not to worry about
crawled its way out of my fists and into my mouth
but the only thing that would come out is hot air-
and no words. Silence was in my face
like a ******* step-child who needed attention
so badly they decide to fake an illness
and you can't not sympathize with them
because you're so busy feeling sorry for them
you can't help but ******* pay attention.
My eyes paid attention to my mind and my fists
and started played a game of monopoly with my eye sockets
and I keep having to go to jail again and again and again
and you know monopoly that **** never ends
So it was just me and my fists and my tears
as I thought about the way you drank away your issues
and stole pills to cover up your hurt
and made me laugh so hard that I peed myself.
I realized you were empty and hollowed out-
there was nothing inside
and now you're just a container full of dust
and I'd like to think there's a purpose for you in the afterlife
but you'll probably drink away your pain there too.
i would like to think you're happy now-
and it's ****** up all your death makes me wanna do is
drown in a bottle when that's all you ever did when you were alive.
**** why is death so hard to deal with-
it's taking these fists of mine and wrapping them around my neck
until i learn how to deal with this entire ******* mess.
You had a heart attack-
and I would like to think that's because it was so **** big
your body couldn't take it anymore and just said **** this-
and you went out with a smile on your face
but we all know that's not how this works.
That's not how life and death works.
We don't know how or why life and death works.
It just does-
always has, always will.
I wrote my will this year and it goes as follows;
Give my **** to whoever fights the hardest for it.
You can forget my ******* name-
but remember everything I wrote down
because that's all that matters.
This, is all, that matters.