The ache inside of my heart
has become an open wound.
Everyone is staring at me
like nothing seems to be wrong.
like I can patch it up
and all is well.

But all is not well,
it never has been
not since you left.

I start to think about the cruelty of life.
How I lost two best friends
in the course of a month
one by death
and one by the pain staking
ambivalence of makeshift love.

I feel so lost and alone.

Sleeping next to someone
who is hurting too
so it feels like my hurt is less.
Not for lack of effort
but because of the thoughts
that consume this distraught mind.

I think less of myself
than others
so everyone else needs time
and I just need to **** it up.
Move on,
other people need you
more than you could ever need them

Straighten up,
strengthen that backbone
and don't let yourself wither away
inside the arms of tragedy.
This isn't what she would have wanted.

Don't give him the satisfaction
of knowing he has won
knowing he has made a mockery
of all the potential love in your life.
His tongue digs a sharp wound
inside of your back
and you're having trouble standing upright again.

You feel it every time
you try to move in the right direction
because he always used to be there
watching your back to dig in deeper.

But he does not control you anymore-
do not let him crawl inside of your mind.
Start fresh.
Renew yourself.

You are in love again
with a boy that
slowly closes that
cut down your back.
He makes it feel
like it was never there in the first place-
but you still feel the sting sometimes.

He will caress your body
and make a wrong move
so you flinch at the progress you've made.
you clench and feel as the past
has infected your entire future
but it's all inside of your head.

You have healed,
let yourself do as such.

She would not want you
wasting your time
dreading her lack of existence.
She would want you to live
and love again and again.
She would tell you to
never think of the wound again-
stand up straight
put on heels
and walk like you own the night
because you do.

And now so does she,
and all of my days
are spent wishing she would have stayed-
but life is sick that way.
Taking away your chance at redemption
by making it impossible to speak.
Stitches around your mouth
and between your fingers
because talking seems to hurt too much
and reaching out has never been
something I was good at
and now I can't.

Too worried about everyone else.
Too worried about this life
that buries itself inside of this body
and demands refuge.

I've always put others before myself-
and this is just another textbook
collecting dust
telling everyone how to fix me
no one wants to read it.
No one cares to read it
so here I am
collecting dust
withering away
from the outside in.

No one pick me up-
I'm staring a collection.

You work until your hands are sore,
and I am such a sore loser.
Competition is my second nature-
but I'm not fond of comparison.

I work until my mind is sore,
and we have that factor in common.
Awaiting the moment until
we can make sense of commodity.
Awaiting the moment until
we can breathe again.

I'm always writing the same things-
and for the first time
someone has made me speechless
the lining of my mouth
has been worn thin before.

But now I am building back strength,
my tongue no longer
gets stuck in my throat
I don't choke on my words anymore
my freedom of speech
comes with peace of mind
and I am able to withstand
the feelings as they come.

And we come.

and we love.

and we ****.

It feels like a waltz in my head,
the smooth jazz plays in the background
of your embrace.
I see nothing but silence when I kiss you.
The breeze runs through my thoughts
and all I ever hear is music.

And music is the only thing comparative
to this novel we are writing together
because it's not just a story between us.
It's well-versed and natural
it comes to us like routine
like years have been spent
practicing and rehearsing this love
but it's only been the hook.

Piano plays.
I smile again
and hear it in my dreams.
You were there once
dancing around my insecurities
and making dust out of all the pain.

Now you've
manifested into this life
and it doesn't feel like just mine anymore-
but ours.

The smile on my face hasn't left.
not since you've come around-
not since we basked under
architecture older than us.  
Not since we danced under-
timid lights
with the soft hint of *****
moving us across tile floor.

you are amor-
and everyday since I found you
has been bliss
and elation.

You saved me,
and continue to everyday since.
You work until your hands are sore,
but you still find time to hold me.
Competition is my second nature-
seems I've won.

I am scared of routine,
and repetition
even though my disorder
longs for it.

Makes it impossible
for me to live comfortably.
Because I want consistency
and when I get it
my other disorder takes over.

It's like a power struggle
between my mental illnesses-
and my mind is an episode
of celebrity death match
no one really wins,
we all just end up ******
and broken
and a joke.

Inconsistency
is like my consistency.

When things
smooth out
like cream cheese
on my favorite bagel-
I'm like **** this is good.

Then I start to worry
about when the bagel
will be come stale
or moldy-
and I don't wanna buy new ones
I like the ones I have ya know?

And the concern takes me over-
no longer even wanting to eat the bagels
because I'm scared they've already molded
even though they probably haven't
even though they're my favorite..

Should I be more poetical about this?
Should I outline this in a different
tone and texture to make
it sound like
I'm something other than I am.

I'm tired of doing all of that-
and I'm tired of using the word I
in all of my ******* poetry.

But it's always about me.
I am a self-involved writer
only writing from my experience
so why wouldn't it be filled
with every single part of me?

Love is something I have never been good at,
especially when it comes to myself.

Someone else tries
and all it does it make me cringe
and I wait for it get moldy and stale -
I'm not actually still talking about the bagel anymore
am I?

Am I?
Am I everything that I say am?
or am I just biting off an Eminem line.
Oh my god I've turned into
the manifestation of Jay-Z
overrated and boring
and attempting to stay relevant
via my love life.

I wish things wouldn't change,
I wish routine stayed routine
and things didn't get so complacent.
The spark always dies in the end
and I always end up becoming
a different version of myself
as soon as I fall in love.

I guess I'm always too scared
too reliant
and too worried no one will want me
when they see the real me.

But in this current scenario
I was 100% the real me first
and then we fell in love
and now I'm at like 75% and free falling.

All because I miss how things were
when friendship made us talk everyday
and we spent a good amount of time apart
so we actually had things to talk about
when we were together.
Now it's all the same again
and I worry about routine
and consistency
more than anything else.

This is what ruined me before-
comfort.
and I need to talk to someone everyday
or I will become too much into my own head
that I think myself into
thinking that everything is going wrong.

It's like I'm trying to find reasons
to not be happy
and I'm so scared of having nothing
that I end up giving myself it anyway.
That way I am safe and not worrying
about when everything will go wrong
because it already is.

I've never been so happy-
and it scares the living **** out of me.
I just want it to be like we used to,
I'm scared of you not trying anymore
because you have me-
it's happened too many times before.

Then you get comfortable
and then I don't matter
and I turn into a bagel
left stale in your bread bin.
I turn into something always there
but never paid attention to.

None of this has happened
but I feel it slowly in my bones
that history will repeat itself
and I will end up lonely
and in love
and hurting all over again.

I just want to feel like
I matter I guess.
Like even though you have me
you'll still try for me.
But we all know how this goes,
and history repeats itself again
and I end up a moldy bagel
waiting to go stale
waiting to be thrown away.

I'm mad at myself again-
so **** forgiving to everyone else

What did I do so wrong to me?
Why can't I let **** go.

Get it together.
You're all you have.

I heard the news of your broken bones-
but you have always been so heavy heart
and so hard head
it seemed like nothing more
than another scratch
nothing more than
another obstacle
you would move through.

Jump through the hoops
like you've always done
so resilient in nature
and unrelenting in stature.

Invincibility was apart of your genetic makeup-
ran through your bloodstream
even when I first met you.
But I never thought it would come to this.

Just another picture on the wall-
another memory
that keeps me clinging to this pain
that is withering inside my chest
and I am sinking
and sinking and sinking.

I can't stop thinking
and thinking and thinking
about the distance that grew between us.
Miles made it hard to be there for you
and that's all I ever knew how to do.
You didn't listen to orders
and took your own advice.
You're strong and ambitious
and it was built inside of your bones
from so young
so innocent
and then you grew-
grew to be something different.

You changed me
and from how it seems
you changed everyone else to.

I'm in a world without you now
but I can't be sad
I don't have a right to be sad
because you wouldn't want that.
You would tell me
"*****, you know I'm gonna haunt your ***"
and you would throw your head back
and laugh and laugh and laugh.

But I still cry at the thought
and I still cry at the lack there of.

Your bones broke inside of your chest
and I wish I would've tried harder
to keep you inside of mine.

Now everything is broken inside of me.
and I can't seem to place my head on correctly
or even formulate it into poetry
this just feels like ice-ridden insanity
a chill down my spine
that will never disappear
a constant reminder of the cruelty of life.

I don't feel real as of late,
just a dream
a figment of my own imagination.
I spend more days out of my body
than in it lately.
This world isn't a place I like to be.

You were always
my little sister
my biggest supporter
and a giant pain in my ***.
I cared too much
sometimes I think it pushed us apart.

I'm taking a plane alone tomorrow
so I can attend your funeral.
If it wasn't these circumstances
the plane would leave without me
because my anxiety would
stick me to this city I live.
But you're still pushing me
even after you're gone-
to leave my comfort zone.

The scar above your eye
comes with a memory.  

And I was always taking pictures,
every moment-
all the time.
I loved the limelight.

I'm glad for that-
because I have a plethora
of memories to look into.
A recollection of events
that my mind would be-
too numb to remember.

But even so,
I will always remember.

sorry this is ****,
I haven't been able to write since you left.

My bones were broken when you found me-
spent time trying to revert this body
into something that looked good in a mirror
or sounded pretty to doubtful ears.  

My smile was on sideways
and my chest was too small
so these breaths became shallow
following suit, so did I.

Someone turned me into a shell
an outline
a well-versed idea of what they wanted.
Written in brail and felt upon my skin,
everyone could read the way he changed me
but the only thing I saw was silence.
My subconscious warned me about it
wanted love so bad I never listened.
That was never what I wanted.

When my mind was numb
on the idea of happiness
you showed me differently.

My smile grew with you
and everyone could see it but me.
You saw my chest was small
and helped me breath in deep-
helped me expand.

The jokes I sputtered
were your lighthouse
and the only thing
that mattered to me
was finding you
so I could finally come home.

You rebuilt my insides
before I even knew
you were capable of it-
before I even knew
that love was an option.
Helped me send out a search party
for who I used to be
before love had shattered me.

You recreated me into songs
and molded me into a melody
something that sounded like me
like the person I was before
the chaos and calamity.

The soundtrack
of who we have became
reminds me of where we started
and I dance in what it feels like
and I sway with the shimmering vocals
and I bask in the bass line
loving what it sounds like
to be with you
and not so scratched CD
that eventually became
too shattered in bits
too broken to read.

We picked up the pieces
we made artwork out of it
and laughed at the progress
and laughed until we both lost it
until we both found ourselves
and built these records back together-
orchestrated a love
out of the imprints
and my life was no longer silence.

I was the spitting image
of a buzzfeed article titled-
"how to tell if you're in an
emotionally abusive relationship."
But it took me years
to stumble upon it.

Three years to realize
the words you spoke to me
were rotting inside my ears
until everything else I heard
was void of life.

I didn't listen to my mom when she told me-
or my friends when they tried to paint out a picture
hoping that because you are an artist
seeing it that what would make more sense.
It never did.

Someone doesn't have to hit you
to abuse you.
Repeat this.

You drank-
texted away my love for you
and gave yours away to an ex.
Everyday I feel like it's my fault.
You made it feel like
the alcohol running through your blood
and hiding behind your eyes
was a good excuse.
It wasn't, still isn't.
But I stayed.

Every moment with you
felt like a point I was trying to prove.
Like I was trying to eradicate
the images of the words you said to her
out of my mind.
I wanted to be the winner
in a fight I wasn't even sure
was worth all the ******* scars.

There were actual scars,
self-inflicted across my thighs
because worthy was not something you made me feel.
But you never noticed
and I liked it that way.

Every conversation made my bones ache.
But the good days,
the ones where I felt worthy
were the reason why
one year turned to two
and then almost three.

But my eyes became clear
before we could hit that milestone.

You told me you didn't try-
told me you could've tried harder.
Well it shouldn't take so much ******* effort
I shouldn't feel like so much ******* work.
When I told you change needed to be had
in order to hold me, you agreed.
You never thought I would leave-
even if your hands stayed stagnate
and everything else just rotted away.

You assumed my heart was too big
and my love was too much to leave you.
But now you're the one who is broken
now you're the one who knows how it felt
when you left me last,
and how it felt
every single day with you after.

Then the clarity came,
well-dressed and with a crooked smile.

Saw the way it was supposed to be.
Felt something I wasn't supposed to
for someone you threatened to end.
The violent tendencies
you spoke to me were the last straw.
Your bones are aching with resentment
and I never wanted to be the ever after
the morning after
or the excuse after.

So I'm staying your before,
your never again.
Left you in the morning
and you never saw it coming.
Left you in the morning
and since then I've never stopped running.
Left you in the morning
and I'm not ever looking back.

Little blue pills down the hatch,
I follow in the footsteps of my mother.
Pondering if this is what repetition feels like
whether this is what consistency looks like
tablets made up of milligrams I pay no attention to.

The irritation stems from my hands-
it's hard to feel things when numbing the pain
is all you have ever seem to do.

I mask this urgent sense of complacency
with illness that doesn't exist
to avoid any sense of responsibility that comes my way.
Pretty sure they call this mush-faking.
Just another part of an endless discourse
that I would love to see myself separate from
but it is etched into the lining of my genes
and it seems I have been losing a lot of weight
so these genes are the only that fit now.
Now destined to follow suit of my parents.

They are, as I am-
two people who make up what becomes of me
I am scared I am too much like them both
and not enough like me-
because these hands reach out to substance
the abuse part comes after.

When the pain starts to go away
and sanity seems formidable
achievable
something within reach-
all I have to do is find a bottle.
But pills are poison don't ya know?
So I move to the more socially acceptable addiction
the one you can find in a 12 pack at the store
or the one you can chase
with your favorite beverage
make it seem a little less toxic
because making yourself feel better
seems to be taboo.
Emotional instability is the new fab
and everyone seems to be following the trend.

Little white pills down the hatch
so I am not mimicking the behavior of my father.
To crush all the eggshells I throw out for others
so their feet don't rip upon impact.
My encounter is counter-intuitive
and also counter productive.
I try to make it less of the latter
but seems these eyes know me all too well.
They are red from over exposure
and tired from pressure they're under-
the invalidation painted upon your eyelids
with heavy words and absent thoughts.

You become defensive
I do the same.
You can't fight fire with fire
But we're both hot headed
So when all the **** goes down in flames
which one of us is to blame?

The arsonist fell in the love
with absence, absolve and absinthe
and all are ingredients
to this recipe of disaster.
You love me
I tolerate you.
That's what family means right?

I'd like to think this happiness
isn't just a dream-
isn't just these pills that make it seem that way.
Wait till you see the other side-
and everything will become a sink hole again.
I destroy everything I've ever loved
and watch as it delves
deep into oblivion
like these pills that fill my fists
and these nights I've spent alone.

Fear what I've become-
so I'm not the only one.