Writing has become my safe haven
and my sarcophagus all in one breath-
these emotions are purged from my chest
so I end up feeling empty again.
I am tempted to write the same poem
over and over but I stop myself.
I wonder if things such as this
can be as good as they once were
but that is just an image in my head
that will never become reality.
This page has ruined me
for I was never the same before
it tainted my skin
and imprinted upon my retinas
the misconstrued intentions
of a golden thumbed wordsmith
all of which I am not.
The knife in my chest bleeds ink
but I think it's running out now-
there's not much left of what keeps me alive
and I am choking on these words you say to me.
My heart beats too often for your words
that I read on the page like eulogy
but my mind knows better
than to engrave your name next to mine just yet.
I'm not the only basket case in this equation,
not the only one addicted to the idea of
going backwards and starting anew.
Things cannot grow backwards,
flowers only bloom or die
they're only consistent if you water them
and these tears seem to have ran out
my mouth is too dry to speak
I'm having trouble keeping up with these thoughts.
They are like maps, drawn out in the back of my mind
but I'm not sure which way to read it-
my memories do not work on North or South,
not even East or West
they only know forwards and backwards.

These words don't seem to fit together
or flow in a way that they're supposed to.
The more I think too much about them,
the less they seem to make sense.

my heart hurts worse now than it ever did before.
it will be five whole years in a couple of days
and I hate how bad it still hurts me you're gone.
I still wish you were inside of that room
but not so sick anymore.
I wish it would've been me.
why couldn't it have been me.
I miss you more now than I did-
and it seems the hurt only gets worse.
I just got my heartbroken again
and I have no one to turn to anymore
you were the only one who knew me
and how I tried to hide so much from the pain
it made me miss you before you were even gone.
I want to be gone now
but I know you would be mad at me for that
so I won't
I'll stay here because you couldn't
but I would rather be up there with you.

I broke again today-
my feet fell from under me
and I wept until I bled.
Nothing has ever hurt this bad
I thought I could make things right
with my hands grasped around my own throat
I choked any words of distain out of my mouth.
But still you stood upon my chest
like you were the elephant in the room
and my heart was just as heavy.

I broke again a minute ago
the things I thought had worked themselves out
came festering up and I felt like I was drowning again
Currently I feel two hands all over me
one of them born from my childhood
the other one showing me all of my addictions.
I try not give in again.
Try to wrap my hands around my throat
even tighter so they do not swallow too many pills
so they are too preoccupied they can't take to my thighs.
I write through the tears.
It seems I can no longer use a notebook
because my tears eat through the paper
and make a mockery of my coping mechanism.
It's funny how pain can make and break you
all in the same second.

I broke again and I continue to break
because every decision feels like a bad one
and I'm tired of being this person I've become
though it is who I have always wanted.
It's not as a great as I had once hoped it would be.
I try to breath away my pain
but my hands are wrapped around my neck still
and I'm afraid of what will happen if I let go
but my lungs are empty and so is my heart now
so I have to let go-
the ring around my neck reminds me I'm still alive
and I run my fingers through my hair,
I caress my thigh where the scars are traced in white.
White lines can be two types of addictions-
I would like to think mine is the safest
but some days I'm not so sure.

I'm breaking once again-
and everything I've held down inside me
since 2007 has resurfaced
and it feels as if I have to deal with it all again.
There's different hands around my neck now
but the face doesn't look too familiar-
I don't think I have ever recognized it
somehow it still causes me pain.

I'm broken.
I can't seem to find a way
to put myself back together again
because even when I do
someone likes to make a mess
out of what remains of me
until I am just ruins.
The sun hasn't been out in days
so I forget what it even looks like
it's hard to grow when you can't feel warmth anymore.
All I am is cold
a ring reformed in the chill of the air
I don't fit like I used to.
Neither do you-
the puzzle pieces of our heart
have been trying to connect by a small thread
but you took the needle and stabbed it inside my heart instead.
You looked at it and said you needed time to practice your aim.
So I continue to be broken and ruins and remains
and try to forget everything that has a name a face
because I don't want to feel things anymore.
Separating myself from my empathy
unless emotionless I become.
It's hard to write poetry when you have nothing left.
It's hard to write poetry when you are nothing.
It's hard to keep living with a needle inside your heart
but you will die if you try to remove it-
so here's to hoping it falls out.
Here's to hoping I can breathe again.

I lace my sneakers wishing I could organize my life this way.
My therapist is late again
And I wonder if I'll ever get my life to go as planned.
Racking my brain for organization skills I do not own.
Some things are destined for chaos.
The sun was out today-
But just as it usually does the rain came again
and so did my mania.
The sun controls my mood
and so does anything relating to warmth.
Controlling my emotions was never something I was good at doing.
The watch on my wrist is ticking down the seconds
until I have to stop writing and start talking.
I'm scared of how my therapist will see me now-
Scared of letting her down.
It seems the only one I do let down is me
because I'm always so six feet beside myself
But I like it here-
no one can bug me when I'm too busy sulking in my own self pity.
I start to wonder if that's what depression is-
or if I'm battling the idea of being okay with myself.
What does confidence feel like?
because all I've ever felt is confusion.
I've gotten to the point in my life
where not one thing makes sense to me.
Even what I write.
Every thing is all stream on consciousness
and not enough consistency.
My wallet is sitting on the table
If I wouldn't have glanced over
I know I would've forgotten about it.
Sometimes all we need is a second look at something
to remind you what can be lost.
I'm tired of turning everything into a poem.
My mind is on autopilot and I can't stop thinking in metaphors.
It gets really hard to write college essays
about History and the birth of America
because all I write is poetry
Plus, I haven't even traced my past back far enough
to recollect every event.
I wish I could.
Maybe then I could remember what you look like.
Maybe then I could deal with this life that has been destined to me
Etched out of stone and formed into skull-
it's funny how your structure can protect you but your insides are what kills you.
I'm tired of oxymorons.

Currently-
I'm sitting in a room drinking coffee too hot for my mouth.
I endure the pain, it is what I'm used to by now.

Currently-
I have like 10 thoughts in my head
not one of them relating to another.

Currently-
Nothing can hurt as bad as where my mind can travel
here in this room
when I'm trying to focusing on everything else
but all I can hear are whispers in my ear
and hands on my body as a young girl.
You found me then and you've found me now.

Currently-
My Spanish exam is today and I'm tired
of thinking about conjugations and commands.
Moriremos! Let's die.
Don't worry this exam will do it for me.

Currently-
See I'm racking my brain trying to understand you
why you did what you did
and why it hurt me so much
but I can't seem to find an answer.

Currently-
I'm thinking about when I was molested
and I think about how every time I write about it
and show my boyfriend he sometimes
thinks the undertones and contexts are about him
considering I only use metaphors to explain the situation
I'm never blunt in poetry.
Why does he think they are always about him?

Currently-
Two cups of coffee deep and my hands can't stop shaking
I got inspired by my own writing
which is weird.
It never happens so I'm taking it for what it's worth.

Currently-
my mind is running on 100 mg of Lamictol
and 5 mg of busiphrone so I start to wonder
if these thoughts have become synthetic.
Configured inside a laboratory filled with people
who have no idea what I go through on a daily basis
yet they are trying to figure me out
place me inside a box I don't want to be in.
Funny, my alarm just rang.
55 milligrams of small white pills down the hatch again.
This is all becoming too unrealistic.

Currently-
I'm thinking about all the things I shouldn't know.
How the girl that's ******* around with my friend
has ****** way more guys than she says
but I lied to make him feel better, it's not my place.
Besides it's none of anyone's ******* business but her own.
I think about how my friend found a lump on her breast
and how she didn't tell me about it
probably because my grandma died this month
5 years ago. Wow. 5 whole years. It hurts.
So does the idea of losing my best friend.

Currently-
Death is always on my mind
but in this moment it's more than it has been
within in the past couple of months.
But the coffee burns my mouth and reminds
me why alive can mean pain, but it can also mean
sweet taste and warmth.
Warmth, I think about your mouth
and what it could've felt like on mine that night.
I was too hurt to think about anyone
except the heart that was cracked inside myself.
10, 9, 8....  
I'm trying not to think about it,
how turning back time would be cool just so I could know.
But I don't, and I have a boyfriend- sort of.
Can't go there right now. Trying to write a poem.

Currently-
Everyone who has ****** me over
has become or stayed my friend afterwards
and I start to think about how ****** up that is
because they didn't want me as a lover
but were fine with just my friendship
it's painful knowing they all got what they wanted
and I was left with always wondering what if.
It's funny how I know things from the moment they happen.
"She has such a weird face" was actually code for
"I'm eventually going to **** her, I just want to make you feel better and like I won't but I will"
I'm still bitter.

Currently-
How should I end this piece
now it doesn't feel at all like poetry just a bit of rambling.
I feel the lining of my gums
how they are repairing themselves from the damage
of my mouth being ripped from words I wish I could say but can't.
But here I am, saying them anyway.
I start to wondering if anyone knows
these words I speak.
and how I sometimes wonder if I'm dyslexic
because I always spell words backwards.
like backdarws or fkuced up.
Even in another language.
Too chicken to find out, so I guess I'll never know.

Currently-
there are more than 10 currently's
but I don't seem to give a **** anymore.
I think about how the pain stops when I write
how one focus can make a huge difference.
I burned my mouth again
and it made me laugh for the first time
since Sunday morning.
It's not sweet enough.
Neither am I.

Currently-
I think about how easy it is to change my clothes and my hair
and how easy it could be to pack up and just leave.
But I have this overwhelming feeling that I can't
let everyone down.
The coffee has gotten cold
and my patience has run dry.
My heart is heavy with these words
I try to make pretty,
but there is no makeup for these words
no concealer you can use to hide the blemishes.
If there were they would be metaphors
and this poetry would be the final product.
But you can put a mask on the truth
and I don't think I would ever want to.

Currently-
I'm thinking about how happy you make me
and how dysfunctional things can be between us.
But I don't know how to be with anyone else
and I don't really want to.

Currently-
I'm thinking about my Spanish exam again.
******.

these words hurt too much to write down.
too busy trying to make everything sound perfect
but too insecure to let myself fail.
so in this instance I just don't try.
let all of my work go unwritten
just like the scars on my legs go unnoticed
and my pain gets overlooked.
I'm not a good writer anymore
I don't think I ever was
but there are some words I can string
together like a symphony to make anyone believe in me
but this is just a facade
just a game we all like to play
but I'm out of chips now-
I have nothing left to give anymore
and I'm walking through life
like it's a keyboard I don't have to look at
because I already know where this is going
I already know where everything is.
Wanting to write reeks havoc on my insides
not being able too makes it all worse for me again.
I string these lines together but they're always out of tune.
my mind is always two steps away from every edge
I walk upon and somehow I walk over them.
Down for the count and I'm tired of writing in first person.
Tired of being this person.
my point of view is blurred
and so are these words in front of me.
existing doesn't feel too good anymore
and it seems as if everyone is trying to tell me otherwise.
believing them would be nice
trusting someone again would be nice
but these are not things my mind is equipped to handle.
So I try to handle as much as I can at once
and just hope it doesn't take me over that edge.
these hands on these keys make mistakes
but somehow I always know when and where to correct them.
being okay is such a foreign concept to me
and I don't have any real reason to not be right now
but i'm still not sure why everything hurts so much
maybe I haven't dealt with the parts of my life I should have
and maybe they're just waiting in the back of my mind
to attack the person I have become
because sometimes, in the dead of the night
these thoughts will creep up to me.
when I'm cold and lonely
they'll tap me on the shoulder-
remind me they're still there to help me stay down when I fall.
They know balance has never been my forte.
I guess that's why I can never hold on to anything

My sky came crashing down on a saturday night
I looked outside myself and saw the mess I made of it.
My bones were shattered and my psyche torn apart
I never thought I would let it get this far.
Maybe if I stopped myself from loving-
pumped the brakes and stopped
to look both ways
things would've turned in a different direction for me
But I suppose I wasn't supposed to break-
that just sent me into a hydroplane
because everything I know of is drowning.
Maybe if I wouldn't have been so distracted
so worried about losing sight of the road
the fatal crash wouldn't have taken place.
But I am here, bleeding and broken
and you are there
looking, staring from the outside of this ambulance
when all I wanted was for you to
hold my hand through this car ride
I'm not sure I'll make it out of alive.
You just mouthed the words "I'm sorry"
and the paramedic kept on driving
I watched you pretend I wasn't hurting.
These crashes happen often
because I was never good at controlling things-
the pattern repeats every time
another sorry slips from your lips
and I wonder if you care to know
how bad this actually is.
It was like before the storm
all you knew was my happy
and when it rains
you don't seem to know me.
You don't want to get your feet wet
but I've brought you umbrellas
on days when you were so under the weather
you couldn't seem to get up-
took your hand and held it until the sun came again.
But the storms keep coming for me
and when I try to convince you they will pass
I don't think you believe me anymore.
I know I am unpredictable
and overwhelming-
that these tires are too worn now
to handle this kind of weather-
but I am driving anyway
heading into an unknown direction anyway
because I know when I get there
the sun will be shining
but I'm not sure if you'll be there to share that with me.
You're stuck on I'm sorry's and apologies
for things they aren't your fault.
You can't control the weather-
but it would be nice if you could bring me an umbrella
it would be nice if we could see the sunshine together
but you're stuck in reverse
longing for a path you can no longer take.
I'm tired of waiting for your reign to be over.