When I was young, I hid behind tree branches and tall fields of grass
and everywhere was like a jungle to me.
I made crowns out of weeds and painted my innocence with a hinge of green.
I climbed trees away from my issues and nothing could stop me when I was hiding behind pine needles and evergreens.
I grew up back when the dented silo was still the dented silo and not the mockery of human consumption.
When my favorite restaurants all lined the correct side of Tylersville
and Fazoli’s was still ******* around.
Then I moved to where the trees were all I saw and the places beneath my toes became enriched with soil on a daily basis.
I was queen of my own jungle again and I loved every minute of it.
Now when I drive down the road I look to my right and see the streets lined with week old plastic bottles and bags-
you can’t go a mile without seeing trash and I start to wonder when the world will end, when all the pavement will become enriched with cracks and the ground will start poking through again.
Our tax dollars are going towards reparation of potholes, strip malls and new houses most middle class Americans can’t even afford.
I’m tired of watching what the world built for itself, become destroyed for what we try to build for ourselves.  
Everything is destruction and one day Mother Nature will come back with a vengeance and we will be the ones who pay the price.
Look around you, the fields you once dreamed about when you were young are now just economic land-mines and the places you work were once just an empty field.
Just remember, we live and we die and we are sometimes reborn again based on what you believe in.
But no matter your religion, Mother Nature will always be something I can believe in; when all else fails nature will always be the best therapy for me.

I try to remember the good times, but they are written out in brail and I've never been taught how to read anything but the outline of your shadow. You were never there. Even at times when you would convince yourself you were, you were just a shadow. Painting your way into my life one postcard at a time, one sealed letter and three words at a time. I was never really meant to be anything but lost inside these wounds the world has left upon my skin and inside my memory. I am a tree trunk, and you can see the hell I've faced just by looking at me and if you were to chop me down and open me up you would see the hollowed out pieces and the places where I couldn't seem to stand any longer. I am infested with bugs that are eating away at my insides and they're all named memory, anxiety, depression, and insecurity and somehow no one ever called to help me. No one cared if I lived or died they were just waiting for me to rot from the inside out so they could make room for something they thought was better. But what people never realized was that I was what kept you breathing, I was what made your scenery so ******* beautiful and you watch as I break down and rot away from the inside out. I wish people could see the destruction underneath. As my leaves fall away and the cold days speed up my process I hope you will remember, all my beauty and my glory. Insecurity is getting stronger as I become weaker, depression is like the cold crisp and it's weighing upon me like a chill I can't quite escape from, no matter how many layers I seem to have. Anxiety is like the lack of water and all you can seem to do is show people that you're thirsty but everyone around you is too busy taking ******* pictures of your pain while drinking away their sorrows in 40s and ***** bottles when all you really need some ******* water.. So memory comes along and reminds you why you needed it in the first place, reminds you how ******* thirsty you are, reminds you everyday that you're rotting away on the inside and there's nothing you can do to stop it..
I'm thirsty, longing to fill that empty hole inside my chest that just keeps getting bigger as the days get longer and all I want is for someone to lend me a hand but as they reach out to grasp mine, I break.
I want to stop the process but I don't know how-
I'm afraid of my own shadow again, because it reminds me of what I've lost.

nothing makes these feelings hurt worse
than not acknowledging they're here.
Alone again like it is every weekend
and you speak to the scars on your wrists-
tell them to go away.
But they just end up appearing somewhere else
I'm tired of feelings.
I long for the ability to feel nothing
so I could harness what it takes be okay
and use it to my advantage
so success would be just a nod away.
Instead I am nodding off because of these pills in my hand
and this head on my shoulders-
it's been almost 9 hours since my last meal
and I can taste the acid in my stomach
demanding refuge-
it, like me is tired of being left alone.
I am here-
sitting upon this mattress broken bones
and broken mind.
Trying to think of ways to put a cast upon it
so I can stop thinking so backwards
to start writing for the future
but these hands don't know time.
It is nothing but figment to this poetry.
I wished it still helped me-
I wish standing upon a stage
or tapping at these keys was still worth something.
But these words have become devalued to me now.
Too many to count-
it's an inflation of my current insanity
so nothing is of importance anymore
we're all carrying around words like they're nothing
building monuments and meaning out of virtue-
wishing upon stars we could build homes
out of these stanzas.
But the economy *****-
turns out so does this poem.

My lungs are turning inside out again-
and this poem will be void of the use of I
because it is not known to me who that is anymore.
This heart is beating outside of my chest
and my eyes can not focus on one fixed point.
It is troubling to me
words cannot express how my body is handling this.
Situational irony has always been a good friend of mind
and my emotions are diminishing further and further inside of myself.
Repression is to what my mind is prone to.
Ever since the child in me grew roots
someone pulled them out as if they were weeds
so this person staring back at me in the mirror
has always been a figure unfamiliar.
Always someone who longs to go backwards
so she can feel the familiarity of childhood.
Instead she wears a face not her own
and a body who she has trouble looking at most days.
This week the discovery was made
that in order to purge herself of all of this negativity
some weight had to be lost-
seems she doesn't know what that feels like
she doesn't recognize what that looks like-
but she makes a direct correlation between
memories and loneliness.
These nights have been mistaken for sleep
and the dreams mistaken for reality.
It's no question that identity has always been misgiven.

She makes no sense of her poems
and these words she writes down like they're her last.
The shaky hands make it hard to type
and she doesn't last more than a second in self-assessing,
she knows all too well the deep cut of judgment
but clings to the idea of contrastiveness.
Hoping that comparisons will not be her downfall
and that these words somehow make sense.

Again is something she insists on typing
because repetition and consistency is what she longs for-
but it never seems to come from anything but her own mind
and a body that is too in tune with the chaos in her bones
she shakes too much, and feels nothing all at once.
Calamity and clarity are not words she knows the meaning of-
only catastrophe
she puts it on her shelf and is proud of how she ended up with it
worked too ******* the life of others
and no hard enough on herself
but she still sees it a prize.
Even if she's not the winner-
even if she doesn't reap the benefits.

I feel nothing,
just irreparable darkness and all consuming sadness
I cannot shake this feeling
no matter how many times
you think I can, it can't happen.
You don't ******* get it
and there is no way to describe
the way my entire body is trembling
just from existing..
I can't escape from this darkness
I have spent my days afraid of-
trapped in this repetitive cycle
of cynical thinking.
I want to be okay.
with every inch of my being,
each and every vein inching closer to my heart
the mere thought of being okay for just one second
the idea seems so euphoric
but it leads me to disappointment in the end.
I will be okay, eventually.
But don't tell me I do not feel these feelings,
that the words I speak are irrational and insane
because I already ******* know they are-
But I have a right to feel this way.

What would you do if every instance in your life
felt as if you were almost about the fall from your chair
but, you catch yourself.
See, I lost my balance and I keep falling,
never knowing when I will hit the ground
flinching, anxiously awaiting
for the moment my body meets the pavement
so I feel everything again.
But that moment never comes
and everyone around you
is yelling,
"Just spread your wings and fly."
"Brace yourself for impact."
"Don't over-think hitting the ground too much"
"Just think positive"
"You'll stop falling soon, don't worry"
But no one realizes,
the only thing you're capable of doing
is anticipating an introduction with the ground
you know will never come.
So the hands you tried to use to grip onto the edge of sanity,
are now trying to grasp any chance of survival you have left
but there's no ledge for you to hold onto
no safety net or parachute.
Just you and the open air,
accompanied by your constant fear.

This is depression
and I am falling every single ******* day
so don't ******* tell me I'm over-reacting.

The ache of loneliness is like chloroform on my lips
and I have been beginning to doze off again-
my eyes have grown heavy from these tears that fall
like mustard gas in a world war
I am breathing in this depression once again
and as much as I try to get the oxygen I need
the enemy is weighing down on me.
I reach out my hand for someone else's
but no one is around-
I look and look and look again,
but in the end I am alone
choking on the circumstance I have made for myself,
choking on these words I want to say to you
choking-
the thoughts are pressing against my chest now
trying to remind me that my heart is still beating
trying to taunt me because my heart is still beating
trying to remind me my lungs are still capable of breathing-
but I choke, and I take my vices and cling to them
because they are my only friends,
my safe haven when busy lives
interfere with depressed minds-
I don't want to ******* feel like this.
Every single thing I feel, or do, or say is a mistake
and I wish I could make these hands worth holding
and these words worth reading
and these tears worth suffering for-
but I can't.

The loneliness overwhelms me
and the dark has grown more under my eyes
making a point to let people know "I'm just tired"-
my hair is always a mess these days
because these brushes can't handle the tangled mess
I have made for myself-
and I guess I don't need to be saved anymore
because how can you save someone
that's already too far gone?
I'm too far gone.

Is it beautiful?
Or terrifying,
the way love can feel.

Raindrops drip from your fingertips,
only to imminently be evaporated
by the sun’s wave of smoldering heat.
Do you cling to those raindrops,
because you crave the touch on your skin?
Or do you wait for the sun,
because you crave the warmth beneath your curves?

I have felt the rain,
and weathered the storm.
I have danced in the warmth,
and soaked the sun beneath my feet.
Both equally making me feel complete.
Both teaching me things about myself I never knew.

It is beautiful,
to love.
It is terrifying,
knowing love can be lost.
But like the sun rises,
and the water nourishes
its merely unavoidable,
but necessary for growth.

Take my hand,
and let us walk in the rain.
Let the sun dry out the emotions,
flooding through my brain.
With the warmth of your skin,
and the storm of your eyes.
I will be fine.
I will be fine.

for some sad sorry **** reason
I can't get over the pain I feel
it overwhelms me
more than most things
and I could live
five lifetimes
and twenty three tragedies
break new ground
infinite amount of times.
I could go from the brink
of crazy as **** and back
But still never be used
to the pain I feel.
Some people say physical pain
is worse to bare than mental pain
and on most days
when my stomach is tight
and i'm curled into a fettle
position clawing onto whatever
chance of peacefulness i have left,
I would agree.
But other days,
I clutch a pillow to my chest
and stuff my face into it
wishing I would lose my breath
and leave this hell hole
that is my way of thinking
and break free from the chains
that confine my ability to be happy.
But the best **** comes from the worst ****,
which is why I write this
and constantly have internal conflicts.
is mentality worse than fatality?
or is it all so ******* tragic
that we need to stop comparing
two forms of pain that
dont even ******* coincide.

I don't know about you,
but i'm ******* tired of fighting-
especially when it's a battle
I know I'll never win.
They have pills to take away the pain,
and pills to numb your brain
but what people can't comprehend is
it's all the ******* same.

I remember the winter
how it chilled my bones-
and it reminded me of you.
I remember the night
how it shook my insides-
and that too reminded me of you.

I look at my reflection in the glass-
still seeing you behind me.
Hovered over my progress
hindering the steps I take forward.
You cower in the corner of my courage-
finding me when it has run dry.
Peeking out of my mind
when least expected
seemingly at the worst time.

I never knew you like I thought-
tried to face what you did to me
but denial is your muse
what keeps you coming back
is me.

You have been the reason
for me almost leaving-
the reason for these scars upon
my wrists, hips and thighs.

Two months ago
I wrote the last poem about you
my body could think to write.
My mind kept calling you back to me.
The winter chill captivated me
took me hostage there in the front seat-
waiting for my car to warm.

You're the reason for the makeup
that drips own my face and burns my eyes.
But only sometimes-
you are not to blame for everything
except my fear of the dark corners
and my inability to keep myself
from trying to discover what hides in them.

I hate the winter
the cold takes me hostage-
it chokes my willpower
and makes me remember you there.

You don't know that repression gave up-
ran away around middle school
when I couldn't be strong any longer.
You came back in the winter-
reminded me of when you left me in the dark.

I still smell you sometimes
and remember the things you showed me.
How they were something I didn't want to learn.
Seven is everyone's lucky number-
but somehow it has me doomed to fail.

I saw you standing there-
my mind hazy from intoxication
I thought I could handle you there.
Metal should only be in your head
if something went wrong-
and so that's why I threw the bat at yours.

The closest I've been to showing you what you did-

The winter still chills my bones-
the night still shakes my insides.
But I am still alive
Still Okay.
Still Alive.

The sun fights hard to keep its place
and the winter doesn't stay forever.
So you won't either.

here i sit
pitted against myself again
i am collapsing under the weight of it all-
limboing between recovery
and recognition
i don't remember who i am anymore.

haven't seen clearly in days
because all i see is her face
etched inside the mirror
in front of me.

i try to tell people what it's like
i try to remove myself from it
like it isn't my own autobiography
just someone else's

but that never works in my favor
it just causes even more disscociation

i have not been inside my own body
in 15 hours, i have counted them all.

they have sat heavy on my sternum
causing me to feel like i cannot inhale deep.

i have lost my ability
to do the one thing i have known since birth
and it is because of you.

how do you tell someone
they remind you of your abuser?

how do you let them know
that is also why you keep them around?

how do you know if you believe yourself
when you say that?

how do you know what happened to you
when the memory is lost inside time
and only shows itself when it's ready?

how do you make it ready?

how do you convince yourself you are?

none of these questions have answers,
the light of my reality is dimming slowly now
and everything around me will be dust soon
and this is not metaphor
this is how trauma eats away at my vision
at will- whenever it is hungry for my tragedy.

i hope it will subside soon
i hope these tears will satisfy it's emptiness.

i'm starting to wonder if there's any lost memory left
and then i blink and it's something else.

i wish everything wasn't so stained glass and fragile-
fragmented at the base of my eyes
projection is my only magic trick

i haven't taken a deep breath in 17 hours
i'm afraid of what it will feel like moving through my skin.

just another unwanted entity-
having control over me.

I watch the ache in my chest
for you
dissolve into a quiet whisper.

I rethink every decision ever made
as these memories are telling me a story
about my progress
as if it was someone else's

will I always stand inside the shadow of another?

will even my own not be enough company to keep me sane?

why do I love lonely but crave the embrace?

I'm watching my expression change,
with every single word I say
and every single thing I feel.

it seems it's all imagined,
the desire for infatuation
and lust and connection.

it's all just ego.

I am nothing but
a whisper in the ears of no one.

should I even speak at all
when my words don't mean anything to even me.

never have I been trusting.

and here I go-
coming undone again.

thinking the world of myself
but the world is ******
so that's counterproductive,
isn't it?

paradoxical contingencies
keep me awaking from these dreams.

go to sleep it's a nightmare
and wake up it's the same.

my vision is getting blurry
and my voice now shakes
from inadequacy.

I love every part of me
so how could this be happening?

my shadow laughs back at me,
reminds me I am the same girl I was
19 and addicted to things.

almost 23 and it's more of the same-
23 and I've lost almost everything.

so what's another 23 years?

I have turned into everything I've ever avoided.
I danced in the moonlit darkness of my father
and soaked in the rays of my mothers tragedy.
Vitamin D is only injected into my bloodstream
by judging eyes and objecting vocals.

I never wanted you to tap dance
around my ribcage or fornicate with my insecurity.
I never wanted you to feel like my eyes
washed over you with judgement day protocol..
I wanted you to be free inside of me
so I could take away every fear and instance
that makes you feel insane
and unchain it from every misinterpretation
hung around your neck.
I wanted to be the one you could save,
so that I could be the one to save you too.

My problems are not found in you
and somehow I found refuge
in my dark tainted past
but i'm tired of that being my excuse
it's my sad reality but I don't want it.
You shouldn't have to break, to fix me.
You shouldn't have to melt
to fit into the cracks you are so busy avoiding.

I have turned into my father,
unpredictable and manic.
I have turn into my mother,
paranoid and problematic.
I don't know exactly who I am,
but i'm sure this isn't it.

I will not be a shining example
of the apple that doesn't fall far from the tree.
I will not be the *** that calls the kettle black...
I am my own destruction but I will rebuild me,
because you shouldn't have to.

Every inch of my being is tired,
exhausted really, or some other form of the word
that I can't quite think of because my mind is on auto-pilot.
and I can't exactly put into words how I feel right now
without sounding ******* crazy but basically-
I'm tired of wanting to see my hand go completely through a wall
and not exactly know why I want to let loose on everything around me.
I'm tired of one day wanting to ******* from the face of the earth
and the next loving every single tree and blade of grass there is.
The irritation isn't worth the euphoria
but the euphoria makes everything else seem worthy.

I have traced my hand on paper and turned it into something,
like a thanksgiving turkey or a cool art project
just so I am reminded that these hands can hold more things
and touch more people than I could ever imagine
all I have to do is utilize these words and harness them
into something, something other than rage and fury.
I'm so ******* tired of feeling like I am running a race
while wearing weights around my ankles
and a lock around my mind so I can't think of anything else
except the circumstance I am in right now.

Why is negativity so easy?
When everything else is so ******* hard
and I'd like to think it's because nothing good comes from negativity.
All good things come from positivity right?
Well what about to nights I want to be alone
but the whole world is on my back pushing me to maintain
and everyone is hovering around me with expectations and worries
But all I have to do is reply with a simple,
I don't feel well and it all vanishes.
But this isn't the life I want to live,
constantly feeling nothing but pain,
physical and psychical what the **** is the difference?
Because physically you're in pain it makes you psychically in pain
Vice Versa. Vice Versa. Vice Versa.  
This is why every vice we have like cigarettes and ***** are bad
because nothing good comes from the bad things.
So why are there any bad things at all?

I  would like at least once
to write and really think about what I write,
and get somewhere magical.
Write the best ******* **** i've ever laid eyes on-
But then I start and I get so enthralled in my stream of conscious
I am not longer in control of what my hands type,
it's like a teleprompter in my head leading the way.
I wish it all made sense.
I wish I believed in god and heaven-
that it would make all of this easier but it doesn't.
if god exists why do I see ghosts of lives past
creeping behind closed doors in the light of day?
Why in the **** is there so much corruption in the church?
You would think he would try to stop us,
but maybe this is the plan.

Maybe depersonalization is actually just being one with the universe.
and maybe manic depression is just reminding us
how we can harness the intensity of our emotions-
because I've felt that dry wall cling to the knuckles
on my fragile hands and ever since then I've never felt so alive,
but I look at the damage and start to worry what my father will think.
How will I mend what I spent so little time breaking?

sticks and stones can break your bones
and words always mislead.
these sticks I stick into my skin
never seem to bleed.
my mind is sick
these hands are tied.
so I can't put on my smile.
tired is the way I've been
and something in me is broken.
I tried to fix what's in my head
but it seems it's working against me again.
How can you fix this mind so fragile
if this mind is all you have to claim.
You can fix a birds broken wings
but he'll never fly the same.

I feel sick inside-
the days feel low and the weather is bad.
Haven't seen the sun for days
and I'm hanging on messages that never come.
This buzz inside of my chest
feels like I just drank a gallon of pure sugar
and I can't stop my skin from crawling.

worse case scenarios repeat in my mind
like a maroon 5 song on the radio,
painfully they never end.

The sun is out again.
I have placed both hands on the steering wheel
and I'm driving fast on the highway.
I see a cop and my heart races,
makes me feel like I did yesterday.
So I start to feel like yesterday.
My favorite song comes on-
reminds me today is not how it was before.

Hands shaking-
blood is dripping
and I wonder why no one loves me.

It's morning again-
I spend this one hating who I was the day before.
But stay up until 4:30 am because I can't sleep.
Enthralled in the idea I'm the funniest person in the world.
Things don't feel so bad here, in this moment.

But the day comes after-
only got a couple hours of sleep
and now I am scratching at my skin.
My boyfriend hasn't texted me back in two hours
must mean I did something wrong.
Must mean he doesn't love me anymore.
Must mean he's thinking of someone else.
Breakdown.
Multiple Texts.
a fight that makes me feel dead and alive
simultaneously.
I'm emotionally abusive.
But only because my mind is,
I don't want to be.

These words are always punches-
to myself and the ones I love
I'm so used to being broken down.
So guilt trips are the only survival tactics I know.

I promise I'll be better baby.

Morning-
I slept well last night,
my heart feels filled with love
and admiration for everyone around me.
I spent $200 on clothes at the mall.
Things feel good.
My desire for sexuality grows stronger,
and I want to be tamed.
His arms gather around my waist
and kisses are placed upon my neck.
I feel the love inside of my bones.
Wrong hand placement-
my mind goes backwards
dark room, hands- hands and hands.
I smell it, that day.
Small child again.
I wince. Crying again.
He holds me in his arms, makes me feel okay.
I think about it for a week straight after that.
Not wanting anything to do with love making
or any of the sort.
Emotions aren't too good for me as of late.

I can't stop writing-
so many things I want to say
but never knowing how to say them.
Typical ******* cliche.
I stand in front of an audience.
My hands shake
but no nerves ever feel as bad
as the ones my mind likes to give me
on random, every other day.
This is where I feel okay.

Sticks and stones will break my bones
because they have before.
Words repeat
and these memories
will always be inside me.
***** floors and Dusty rooms
these hands they seem to stain me-
I will not fall victim to
this chemically imbalanced insanity.

I worry I will never be okay enough to survive.
each step in this life leads me into more trauma
and I am collapsing inside the hands of tragedy.

here I am hiccuping between breaths
and hoping for a hint of harmony-
but my diaphragm won't let me feel it.

everything hurts today
and I am choking on promises
I never got the chance to make.

my therapist tells me it's okay to grieve
the things you never got a chance to have.

well then I will spend most of my life
forgiving everyone for what they never gave me.

I will sit wrapped inside this idea of a happy family
or this idea of monotony and normalcy
or this idea of a friend who doesn't try to take advantage of me
or abuse me, I am exhausted thinking about where I have been.

when will my limbs be enough to pull me up-
when will I be strong enough?

everyone is so quick to let me down
but how can they carry me with this spine
full of trauma, this darkness that weighs on me?

I have been my own backbone for 23 years,
so why can't I do it anymore?

What does stability look like?
Does it have a face that resembles mine?
Will I ever get a chance to know her?
Or is survival the only face I recognize anymore?

When will it turn survivor?

I wrote you notes in high school
and we talked about our future.

I always thought my depression would **** me first-
but at least I know now how badly it would've hurt you.

A car wreck broke my chest
and I'm left here picking up the pieces.

Somehow a death has kept me from leaving.

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.

We never know the whole story-
We only see the outside
of this life we spread our minds upon
Take our hands and grasp them around anything we can reach out to.
But they always seem to slip through our fingers anyway.
Words have the power to ****
They have the power to resurrect
and save you and also leave you helpless
but the ones that puncture the worst
are your own.
Repetition inside your mind
Leads you to draw outside the lines on the skin you find yourself shadowed beneath.
Don't drown.
Come up for air sometimes.
Shed your skin and throw away the drawing pad
You don't need it anymore.
You are already a masterpiece.

sometimes,
our biggest fear
and most tragic regret
is ourselves.

sometimes,
love can turn you into gold
lining the walls of an ancient castle.
and sometimes,
love can turn you cold
cooling the tender heart
that was once inflamed with passion.

I sit idly as the days pass me by
and next to you
I feel so alive.
But some days,
without you
I feel so exposed on the inside.

The thing about love is,
it can be the brightest of days,
and the darkest of nights.
It can show you,
the side of yourself
you would've stored away
if you'd known it was there.

Who am I,
or you, to judge love?
It is it's own force,
it's own entity
it can either leave you whole
or leave you empty
and I'm not sure
which one
love has left me.

I wanted to write about how the curve of your smile made me tense inside, the way his harsh words echoed inside my memory. But the only thing I could seem to muster up the courage to write were things that were vague and dishonest.
I shelf my feelings for the sake of becoming someone else. For the sake that some day I will be worth something, to someone- anyone at all. You spoke your words to me and I listened to them like a poet, unsymmetrical and all relating. I felt dead again.
My heart had trouble calming that night as I danced your words around the edges of my mind, back and forth and over again hoping to hear from you. Hoping to understand this language in your mind that I don't seem to comprehend too well. You're often not too english. More so metaphors and undertones of sarcasm. Of off handed remarks and cynicism. I can never read you.
I want to blame it all on you. That the hurt that lies within my heart is all because of you, but the blame is on me. Though I am not the only innocent one. Your words a thousand scars upon me. Your words a skipped disk stuck in the CD slot, constantly reiterating in my mind. I don't know how to read you anymore.
You were once the person that held all my secrets like they were gold and you let me understand things in ways no one else did. You just listened- but now I realized you were just awaiting the moment at the bridge of my words to jump off. Onto something more fruitful that was to your liking. I've never felt good enough.
So I take the long distance road maps to destinations I haven't seen and I look at every option before I decide to travel again. You were the road less traveled. You were the cornerstone of every decision I had made. The land-mine for my insecurities. I let you trip me up. I didn't even try to catch myself. I let you trip me up- somehow I'm still falling.
Still awaiting at the foot of your words and the edge of your thoughts for something, anything to guide me home again. I feel lost inside your love. The distant river has overflown and I've forgotten how to swim again.

The problem with intimacy is,
it can leave me more exposed,
and naked
and cold,
Then any type
of lustful encounter
ever could.

How can you open up,
and give yourself to someone,
with such little to offer,
and so much to handle.
If I could harness the hands of time,
I would use them to feel you,
in ways I never could.
I would take back the times,
I chose liquid courage,
instead of truth,
and lust,
instead of sanity.

The problem with closeness,
is it breeds distance.
And there aren’t enough,
hands of time to ever turn back,
how badly I pushed you away.

I would love to love,
but some things,
are so overwhelmingly terrifying,
you’d rather feel nothing,
than get something
and feel everything,
all at once.

I tried before,
to get to you,
in ways I never had,
like deep conversation,
and learning about each other.
But some things,
are never enough,
and sadly,
the hands of time,
can never wipe away the past.

I try to let these words I speak come to me
bloom out of my fingers like someone long ago planted seeds
hoping they would flourish out of me
so I could write everything you need me to.
But this heart holds more regret
and these eyes have seen more destruction
than any garden could possibly uncover.
And see that's the trouble
the only time my fingers feel at home
is when the tragedy masks the happy
and the depression nooses it way around my neck
turns the whites of my eyes red and makes me remember
the reasons I started writing in the first place.
I'm a little too close to happy and I wont ever get there
I just reach out my hand to touch it
and it runs back to it's save haven
as I run back to mine because I fear what I may find
in the dark of the night-
the silence of this room is my impending destruction
is my masterpiece and my corruption.
Its my sin and my sanity in the same exact second
and I've used that line twice now but it's the only way to describe
how I am constantly crying on the inside
crying out for that happiness that runs away when I touch it.
The happiness that wouldn't even remember my name
if I did in fact learn to love it.
So what now?
These hands hold on to the idea of becoming better
and these fingers write it out like an apology letter
but you remind me time and time again why it hurt to be lonely
and I knew I would never truly be happy.
I learned that the day someone started loving me
and it somehow still wasn't enough to ensure my insanity.

When you're running down hill, you have to keep pace-
keep running while keeping your balance so you don't trip
land face first into the dirt and wish you would've just crawled.
This life isn't born to be crawled upon
so run, run as fast as your feet can take you
towards the places you want to be
towards whatever the **** makes you happy
because who the **** wants to be me
hanging on the edge of the cliff clinging to anxiety
but I wouldn't change it for a ******* thing
because this, this is my normalcy, this is my version of happy.

I stopped myself in the middle of a sentence again-
revoked my right to write and repeat the words inside of my mind.
This page has seen too much blank and not enough progress-
this mind has seen too much repression and not enough retention.
You can't wrap your brain around a memory that doesn't exist,
how are you to cope with an event that is all haze and heartache
with no face painted out for you-
it's only stench and sorrow from the wounds you opened
all because you couldn't make out a face in the dark,
so you turned your skin the same color as your memories
and everything went black
this page was left blank those days.
There's no getting back those words that were never written
and there's no getting back those memories you sent away
abandoned them like an old pair of sneakers,
too many holes and not enough support
too much stench and not enough comfort
in knowing you can wash them clean.
You were tired of the effort,
it's easier to get new shoes.
It's easier to let go,
make new memories and leave these behind.
But you'll be 21 washing your face in the bathroom
and the stench will reach your nostrils
you'll wonder why you didn't push the memory further-
further inside of your mind enough that
your nose would not recognize the smell anymore.
Must and molester-
high and mighty and something like axe body spray.
Cheap and overused, like I felt after you.
Repression was never something you can hold on to for long,
it's unreliable and forgets to pack your lunch for the day
leaves you at the bus stop waiting for a way home
eventually you find your own way
eventually you start packing your own lunch.
Nothing is worth an idea, or an imbecile taking over your life.
Seven years I spent happy, seven seconds it was taken away
and I've spent the last fourteen years reminding myself
that I am more than you have made me feel since then.

I smell you there, on the hand towel in the bathroom.
On the random guy passing me in the mall-
it doesn't hurt me anymore
to know is to be the owner of your own emotions
to feel is to be the owner of your own knowledge.
Belief and acceptance are the only hands you need to hold.
They will walk you home from the bus stop-
they will make you that lunch
they will be the new pair of shoes you wear on your feet
so you can stand up straight again.
Don't let these memories bring you down
don't let the lack there of do the same.

The best revenge to your repression is dealing
with the fact the memories may never come to you
but when you're walking through the mall and smell
the man who stole your innocence-
you'll know that memory is warm gun
that you would rather forget you have the bullets to.
Lock it away and laugh to yourself,
the best self-defense is acceptance.

I bleed from the inside out
and I was written on an already disheveled page
outlined in genetic disadvantage
and spelled out in words love never understood.
Someone ripped me apart,
crossed out the sentences drawing me together
and let the pieces wither and soak and dissolve.
You'd think there is nothing left of me-
you'd think the tree that built me is mourning for me now
looking at the empty place where I was
and wishing it's purpose was served further.
But these words can never be unwritten
and this person who bleeds ink from the inside out
cannot run out of what her body pumps full of-
these words are just inspiration for her bodies growth
and this page just encouragement to keep her lungs working.
Some days her brain cannot tell the difference between
love and affection but these words she was written from
tend to make sense of it all.

She looks into his eyes-
sees something made of acrylic paint and movie scenes.
Built from cigarette ash and bible verses.
Birthed on the back of commodity and judgmental day protocol.
But he looks at her like he's trying to show her his teeth are white-
it's as if he has a point to prove and the only way to make it known
is with his lips pressed up against hers as many times as possible.

She has never had faith in words until she heard his voice.
She had never had faith in pages until he filled them with his art.
She never had faith in herself-
until the bible verses he was molded from
gave structure to the idea that it could exist.
She was never one to believe in God or scripture,
but he could paint a canvas in ways she had never seen
and made it easy for her to believe in something bigger.
Green looks good on him-
he wears it inside of his eyes
but he never has to be envious
because hers are filled with blue and gray
but mostly the reflection of his smile-
and it never seems to go away.

Born on different pages
but their story came out the same.
She loved him,
and he loved her just the same
and look at the art they made.

Everything about me is unorganized and messy,
like your favorite pasta dish, or romance novel-
There are layers to who I have become
and even more layers to who I was.
I can't help all my poems sound the same,
or maybe that's a good thing
because when the pain drowns me
in the same mistakes I've made repeatedly
I remember that I am yin and I am yang
all in the same hand.
There is no sign on my star-crossed heart
that says I can't stay exactly the same
there is no roadmap inside my dark defeatist mind
that says I can't change who I am everyday.
So let me be dynamic-
and never the friction between your sheets
because I will never be static.
I am a stone wall with every sad thing you've ever witnessed.
I am a garden full with every joyful experience-
The pessimistic paradox and the optimistic oxymoron
is what I have become and I'm still comprehending how that can be.
I have yet to find myself fully, but I know who I am
these words become my compass
and I wish I could just go north
but this galaxy that is within
wants so much more-
I will discover myself again.

My heart hurts
and I would like to say it's in the good
cheesy-romantic novel slash chick flick kinda way-
but that's not the case.
This keyboard and these sweatshirt sleeves have seen better days
and my eyes are red with the words you left with me...
I have been crying for about
eh, I'd say two hours now and it hasn't gotten any easier.
I try to distract myself with Netflix and music
but all I hear in the background is your voice telling me you love me.
****, I love you too.
And if it's any consolation, it will always be true.
Even if you decide these nights alone are better than the ones with me
I will still be there, hoping you will come back to me.
And is that pathetic? I'm not sure
I would like to call it dedication.
They say true love is defined by what you would do for someone
and I would climb the highest mountain in flip flops and a bikini
just to see you smile for a moment.
Is that crazy? I don't know.
I would like to call it diligence.
These hands are nothing without yours intertwined
and this frame is made to fit you perfectly
but if you decide you do not want to be with me-
then I will be on my way
because all I want is for you to be happy
and I'm sorry for being the anchor that drags you down
I'm sorry for being the roadblock that makes you astray from your path
but i'm not sure will you find common ground here-
and I'm not sure you will find any detours.
You won't find anyone else like me,
that can love you so ******* passionately.
I have been given minimal love so I harness it.
I know what I got and I wanted to do the opposite.
So I have given you all of the love my heart can muster.

Two days ago you said-
that I was the one you wanted to spend your life with
now something has changed and you've flipped...
You made me believe in the idea of forever
and then ripped it to pieces in front of me
but I do not fault you for your heavy heart
and I still love you even on your worst days,
I still love you on the days your insecure and unsure
and all I keep on wondering is.... do you feel the same?

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.

Insert cheesy metaphor here about how
I want all of you-
but you will not open yourself up enough
and I am too timid and insecure
so I idly sit here and wait for you to come to me.

Insert life advice here about how
the ocean can make waves
but it takes skill to swim
and once you learn
you will always know
how to beat high tide.

Now,
make the font pretty and add your watermark.
You don't want anyone stealing your work.
Maybe put it juxtapose style on a pretty piece of paper.
Make it so stereotypical people eat it up.

Helpful tips.
1) make sure it's generalized
2) try to put as much emotion as possible
but don't put any of yourself into it.
3) always write about love
4) make people think you've experienced a lot.
5) follow as many people as possible to get a lot of likes.
6) edit until it sounds like it's from a hallmark card.
7) take yourself out of the poem
8) make it hollow.
9) make yourself hollow
10) get nothing out of the experience but massive likes.

repeat until you feel better about yourself.
repeat until your fingers don't feel like
they will burn themselves off with lack of confidence
make your mind work in propaganda
and feed into the masses
because who needs creativity
when you have publicity right?
Likes, likes and more likes-
because that's poetry isn't it?
Not a true, genuine expression of ones self
just some **** on a page that sounds pretty
and probably rhymes.

I'm tired of cliche's
and rhyming-
tired of the disingenuous nature
of something that saved my life.
I'm not looking for relatable
I want to ******* feel something,
someone, anyone-
make me ******* feel
something.

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.

They say imitation is the most
sincere form of flattery-
But why do I feel like my exoskeleton
has been carved out and worn
by someone else's bones
and everyone seems not to notice.
I've never been one to claim
originality but it feels as if
who I was contridicts with who
I actually want to be.
So the only mistake I have made
along the way-
Is believing I could be anything but I.

I was never one to bite the tongue
that spits sharp and quick
with wit and fiery passion.
I was never one to bite my tongue.

I was never one to hold back
the vivacious, lively girl
with quick wit and passion.
I was never one to hide who I was.

But as much as the days change
so do I
and I'm beginning to wonder
if I had ever known exactly
who I was.
I was never one to second guess.

I wrote stories that could move the sun
and destroy every hope you had left
of your sweet sanity and crumble it
into an ineffable reality.
I was never one to double check.

But just like the seasons,
I changed, fast and fierce
because of a force unknown to man
that I spent years convincing myself
wasn't even real nor imaginary.
I was never one to believe in love.

Somehow it found me
and a way to dissemble
my quick wit
and set ablaze to my fiery passion.
It captured me in it's warm embrace
and promised me a lifetime
of security.

Just as it came
so did the loophole
and I realized quickly
that there was a time
where I must bite my tongue
and there is a place
where passion and fire cannot meet
and sometimes
you have to edit,
even your best work
on your worst days.

You see-
I was never one to bite my tongue,
I was never one to hide who I was.
I was never one to second guess,
I was never one to double check.

I was never one to believe in love
and when I did,
my eyes opened wide
and I had seen a world never shown
it was then I realized that
all those things I never did
had now become a part of my daily routine
maybe love, isn't as bad as I had made it seem.
and now, i may be a lot less sane
but my wit is a lot more keen.

The insides of my eyelids are the only idea of love I now know.
Only darkness.
and if I squeeze hard enough maybe I'll see something.
If I shut them long enough maybe I won't feel anymore.
Sleep is the only love I know.
Conscious doesn't know my name.
But the bed sheets call it like they're back from church camp.
Religion is only known in the dark.
My saving grace is blackness.
The halo is the blue inside my eyes.
The high makes it disappear.
Sobriety and love are synonymous.
Both things don't feel so good after a while.
Both make you feel too much.
Give me high,
Love makes me only feel low.
Six feet under and I guess my lack of religion led me here.
Abandonment came afterwards.
After what?
Everything.
Consistently.
Always.
Left.
Give me darkness
It's all I've ever known anyway.

I want a love I cannot destroy-
so I must love myself.
On the days I feel low
and like no one can be of service to me-
I must be that to myself.
No one can love me like I do
and I think that's why
I have such a hard time keeping people.
I am not one to be kept.
Constantly faulting-
afraid someone will run away
when they realize who I am.
Who am I?
Most days I am never sure
I see the outline in my shadow
of who I can be
who I would like to be.
A stencil I have yet to trace.
I lost myself once-
regained a part of me I never knew
back when I found who I was again.
But I guess I'm still searching
in the parts of the world I have yet to know.
Days like today I do not wish for solitude.
Spending my days
searching for someone to spend my days with
but when they come to me
when they desire me it never turns the way I would like.
I scare too easy
most times I cannot remember what commitment means
even when it is spelled out for me inside of someone else.
I am not one to be kept-
no secret inside your suitcase just awaiting the x-ray.
The airplane ride to a location you haven't learned.
So teach me.
Wishing for someone in a world full of nothing
is simply childish.
Take off the mask,
let the cage open and run free.
I am not one to be kept
at least that's what it seems,
trampling over my sanity-
turning my desires into demons.
Take what's left of me
I do not wish to keep it anymore
you have burned it all away
I am now just ashes in your wake.
Blowing away with the words you never said-
the people you chose over me.
I am mine-
for eternity.

Beyond the imprints in my skin
Redemption has tried to
Encompass my hands and hold them tightly
Across these urges that attempt to pain my smile and
Kiss the lids of my eyes.

For I have not found
Room to grow just yet,
Only making such a fickle
Mockery of my former self.

Why do these
Hands no longer feel
Anything-
They just tuck away the memories.

Beyond this smile
Repression holds me again
Often times the only thing
Keeping this mind sane
Etches a mark onto a page

Yielding what I need for recovery
Only to leave me back to one
Universal truth, to break from what broke you.

I tried to smoke away my thoughts of you today-
but as the hunger pain etched into my stomach
and as every single laugh left my lips-
all I could taste was you.
My mind was somewhere else-
but I still ended up finding you there.
I've had writers block for a week
it still hasn't stopped but I hope
writing about the way you left me
will help the words come back to me
I hope it will make me worthy of something again.

I broke today-
my 10 month streak of no self-harm diminished
and I was at war with myself again.
I gave myself a concussion
clinging to the episodic tendencies I've always known-
I missed the familiarity.  
My nose started to bleed
because all the stress was getting
way too into my head
and so was I.
I fainted.
and no one was around to find me.
I woke up from falling-
alone once again
which reminded me of my childhood
everything reminds me of my childhood
the days when the stress would take me over
and sleep would win in an instant-
everything makes me feel so low
everything reminds me my childhood
except you.
But why do I see your features etched
into every face I come across.
Why does this feeling in my gut
tell me I should run back to you-
why do I feel like you're my forever
but you want that with someone else instead.
You said I wasn't the problem
and you cried when I kissed you for the last time
as you hoped you weren't making a mistake
even though you knew you were.

I hope one day I forget you-
that your name just turns into
another face in the crowd
another person I don't care to know.
I would've spent my life with you.
But you were too caught up in insecurities
and inconsistency.
People in your ear
telling you this forever thing doesn't exist.
I was left on the ground-
sharp words from your lips
pinning me down
all for your peace of mind
all so I could eventually lose mine.
Enjoy your freedom-
because I am now the prisoner
trapped inside myself
and you had the key-
but you tossed it aside
for that peace of mind
and your own company.
I am now my own tragedy-
Misery loves company,
but ******* I love lonely.

I'm sorry for what this pain
has turned me into.

I'm almost 23
still I sit
uncomfortable
with the parts of myself
I should've felt okay with at 12.

But I am stuck there.
A small girl
painting on her skin
wondering why everyone
makes such a big deal out of her body.

But still I am stuck here.
A grown woman
tearing at her skin
wondering why
she feels so outside of her own body.

Everyone wants something from me
there is only so much I have left to give.

They wonder why I cannot
push past this pain.

They wonder why I won't
shut the **** up about it.

It is lined inside my DNA now
my genome is riddled with trauma.
It is as much apart of me
as the these veins inside my skin.

I am weak
in the same breath
as I am strong.

Taking steps backwards
until I meet the small girl
that was ruined by another.

I shake her hand
and thank her for the progress.

I look in the mirror and do the same.

But all I see is my trauma
lapping over my eyelids.
Stuck inside of my reflection
my abuser stares back at me.
Smirking.

Stop making me remember
I am trying to forgot.

But this is just as much apart of me
as I am apart of it.

It will never be a second cousin
twice-removed.

It will forever be malignancy.  

There is no remission for this.

No black box warning
on the side of these pills
because I will end up killing me first.

On the outside looking in are hinges,
they keep together the things so willing to fall apart.
When gravity does it's best to pull away at the seems
a thread and a needle will do.
Push me in and pull me out
these games that are etched in my mind
like to play hide and seek with my emotions-
so I wear my heart stitched upon my sleeve
for everyone to see.

A scarlet letter in the shape of a sin
once more and once less
I have shown my true colors and they all bleed red.
Purple is my favorite color but my aura seems orange lately
which is to say a part of me is being washed out.
The crease between my fingers has gone cold
and sweat is the only thing I feel there most days.
Someone hold on to them
someone remind me what that feels like.
Then don't.

I am too outspoken and
not enough backbone.
Too passive agressive
and not enough passionate.
These bones are filled with oxymorons
and there's not a **** cell that can help
aside from the prison-like one inside my head.
Get me out of here.

Discourage the synapsis and spark a fire inside of me.
I am begging to be undone again.
The only thing I know in truth
is that I do not know enough-
and my hands shake on more days than just one,
more chances than just two
and more hours than just three.
I dig myself out of envy
and birth myself from accomplishments
so it is to say I'm still a kin,
still a figment hidden inside another.
This life of mine is structured out of a person
I don't know anymore.

The pills made me different,
the pills make me better
but who is this person I see now before me
and how did all this progress lead her here
to the place where she dreamed she would be
the one where she is not shaking anymore
at the thought of waking up the next day
the place where conversations can flow
and ideas can be explored-
she can finally catch her breath.

The weight that has burdened me
from the breathing inside of this chest
has been sent away to it's original owner
it seemed he went to the gym to lift it
just so he could gain strength from the struggle.
Push himself further than I ever could
but these things inside of my chest are strong now.
I can feel my heart beating again.

every word out of my mouth, to you
is like I’m breaking a bone beneath your wings
but you are not the angel that you seem.
every step I seem to muster up the courage to take
apparently isn’t in the right direction.
It feels as if everything I do is in front of a jury
but to you, my face is stained with sin
and no matter what, I am guilty.
I’m tired of being a dart board
for your pent up aggression
or a punching bag for your bottled emotions.
I will not apologize for being myself,
you have made me feel inadequate for far too long.
Every word you speak is a lash in my direction
and you wonder why I shy away from your presence.
You speak to me as if I am death ready to drown you
kicking my thoughts into the ground
one backhanded comment at a time.
There’s nothing I can do to make you change,
even if the tides of fate swarmed over you
holding the sands of time above your head
you’d still tell me, something along the lines of
"I wish you were dead."
Peace of mind doesn’t come often
for me it never seems to appear at all.
One day you will fall from the high horse
you have sat yourself upon and you will break.
then, only then, you will see,
chastising my every move, was your biggest mistake.

I can't breathe
The darkness doesn't pull me in anymore.
My body is too used to this lack of lighting inside of my life.
Everything is not what it once was
and I'm trying to wrap my mind around the idea of night-
how it is a solace to me
sleep being my only form of therapy now.
It seems as if it has been ripped out from under me by my own sanity.
This is the cruelest fate, yet again.
Always my own worst enemy,
creating problems for myself even on a strictly unconscious level.
The dark has never been a friend to me.
Let me sleep.
I mutter the words over and over and over again but I still lay awake.
Still try to exhaust my brain so it will shut off-
but my eyes don't want to shut anymore.
My mind does not want complacency anymore-
I am breaking at the seems
and it seems I am the only one who is the blame for this madness inside of my mind
because I'm honestly ******* losing it.
Deprive me of oxygen
so maybe I'll rest.
But their ain't no rest for the wicked
I guess that makes me ******* evil.

I grasp at the sound of my voice-
try to hold it between my fingertips
but it slips away.
I try screaming but nothing comes out.

I long for the days
when my hands weren't so fragile.

My heart is heavy in my chest again-
my lungs don't have the space to breathe
no, not anymore.
I am clinging to the idea
my heart will lessen
and become cold once again.

I long for the days
when my heart was open and empty.  

I just want to breathe-
want to feel like my chest isn't on fire.
Put me out.
Water me down with your words
and slice open my chest
with your razor tongue.
Make this heart stop breaking-
and weighing down everything.

This is all your fault
so it's up to you to fix it.
Eat the words you said
because I'm having trouble
finding mine.

I long for the days
when my words weren't at war.

When you left-
you took my ability to write with you.
All I could muster were small sentences
and they never made sense.
Without you-
nothing really makes sense.
I'm trying to rack my brain
about you.
Wrap my brain
around you.
Still just confusion.

I long for the days
when my mind was just a blank slate.

Sometimes I wish I had never met you-
stopped answering your texts
stopped waiting for your reply
stopped letting you paint
my smile on for me.
I am my own artist
but somehow you had better tools.
More colors to choose from.
I was just so black and white-
you were just so rainbow.
But now you've became the storm.
It's hard to breathe in the midst of a hurricane.

I long for the days
when my hands weren't so fragile.
I long for the days
when my heart was open and empty.
I long for the days
when my words weren't at war.
I long for the days
when my mind was just a blank slate.

Nostalgia, your oldest friend.
You can't remember her favorite color.
Or even the sound of her voice.
But you remember the fondness she brings.
Until she's ringing your neck
with all of this past regret and you cannot breath again.
Help me breath again.

I'm always inclined to curse at an idea.

These hands haven't seen the light of day in ages-  
I can read my past between the crevices.

Too bad it's in a language of anguish-
one I can't seem to decipher.

Will someone teach me?

I am stuck throwing profanities at entities
that will never be able to reply.
Guess I am selfish that way.

and my mind likes to remind of this
when my chest starts spilling out
this morse code that I am not capable
of translating.

it pulses SOS
the only cadence
I have been able to understand.

the rest is all just blur,
just foggy memory.

I am cursing at my brain's
inability to show me.

What is the language of anguish?
Can I feel it in the pulsating of my chest?
Does it whisper to me at night before bed?
Is that the reason I can't sleep?

I have been learning how to understand this trauma
through the stomach pains and pale face.

I am native to it,
born here inside of this suffering.

But still cannot seem to
distinguish the meaning.

How do you find a lost memory
when it is tucked neatly
in the lining of your suffering?

When can I put this to rest?
Will I find meaning here
inside the convalescence?
Or will it all be for nothing?

I have days I wish these pills
would have never entered my throat
and then days where I wonder
if I could possibly function without them.
I'm tired of being off the rails so often
that I cannot find where I'm going.
You can try to put yourself into my shoes
but I've been running around looking for another option-
they would be too worn out to trace over your callused toes .
Stopping is not an option for me
there is only forward, and on and heading in a new direction.
This life for me has never equated to complacency
or consistency or anything in relation to repetition.
I have no cards to play in that regard
no, not anymore.
The hands have all been dealt wrong and I have lost too many times.
Swallowing my hell whole in hopes to fill this void within me
this never-ending shame of guilt I have put upon my shoulders.
I can only be strong enough to hold myself up
but everyone around me wants my shoulder to cry on too
and I can't give it up anymore
it's too busy holding the things up, I try to hold back
so many times the chip upon the left one
has turned into a crack right down my middle.
As I am staring at myself in the reflection of the tinted glass
my smile makes a mockery of my current travels.
It reminds me that even the best things you can miss,
even the best things are sometimes almost too worth it.
My eyes meet in a mirror and I'm having a staring contest
with someone I don't even recognize anymore
where is her full cheeks and dark brown hair.
Where did the sunset in her eyes go? Away-
just like everything and everyone else does.
Stop staring for two seconds
place yourself where you are.
Do not look back, do not look too far ahead.
Just watch where you're going,
distraction can make you lose yourself.
Keep going-
you cannot crash when you're not in a vehicle.
Keep going-
until your soles are worn and you feel your feet are tense
from trying to put the broken cloth back together again.
Keep going-
you can get new shoes on the way.

I am walking a tightrope
that I am continuously falling from-
my feet try to move but I see no balance.
Gravity and I have never really been friends
too busy falling, never keeping my feet on the ground.
So I walk-
jigsaw puzzle for my feet below and head above.
I try to conjure what it would look like
if I did in fact make it to the other side.
But I realize that's another part of me
I will never get to face
because my body will not ever let me-
my fear overpowers my skill
and I cannot hold on any longer
not with these two feet I own
or these two hands
too busy trying to hold up everyone else
long enough to make sure they're back on their feet.

I'm tired of not being in control
so as these emotions become too strong
and I become too weak
falling to my imminent destruction becomes routine.
Consistently pushing away anyone who tries to help
and any chance I get at happiness
I make sure it never ceases to exist again.
Control was never in my nature
so anger consumes me when I am the lesser
when the animosity takes over-
there is no coming back for me.
My mind goes blank
the only words I can spell out for myself
are regret, so this pen bleeds ink
just so I will remember these words
cannot be erased from someone else's mind
that these episodes will constantly become re-runs.
I'm getting so ******* tired of this show already-
always wanting to turn off the tv or change the channel
but I can't afford cable
this is the only show that isn't static in my ears
the only show worth watching.
Sometimes, I wish it would get cancelled
and fade away from the listings
so I don't have to see it anymore.
But the episode gets played over
I still cry at the sight of them-
I still let the plot lines dictate my emotions.

Control has never been something I was good at
but somehow this tightrope I walk
has become such an occupation
as if people are waiting for me to fall from it.
I walk steady now-
awaiting the moment I fall
I worry when I stick out my neck
for those watching my downfall
that this tightrope will become just a noose
and this show will turn into the news
reporting on what I could've done better-
repeating my mistakes like re-runs.
Time has been nagging at my feet again
I guess it wants to speed up my downfall.

I look at those with simpler minds
and simpler life's and think to myself
you have not seen circumstance
until it's hung around your neck
like a noose and your begging for freedom.
you have not felt pain
until you've quivered in dark corners
crying because anywhere
would be better than home.
and some may reply,
you have no clue what another goes through.
and that's the problem,
No validation, just excuses.

I have seen my life strangled from my eyes
by someone who was supposed to offer me protection
and I have been betrayed and abandon
and took advantage of by those much bigger than i
but somehow the only resentment i feel now,
is towards myself for keeping it all inside.

I am not willing to hide myself,
inside blind eyes
and unopened minds.
So I spill my guts through
stanzas and double entendres
because peace doesn't come with closure
and you can't even count on closure to find you.
So I lose myself inside the walls
of never actually saying how I feel
and behind doors that only peak into my subconscious.
My fingers touch these keys and my affirmation lingers
and the only time I feel at peace,
is hitting these keys.
My nirvana does not exist,
long ago, I had lost my happiness
and found it burrowed deep inside my misunderstood..
this is my sanity, this is my understanding.

Nothing good comes from the sulking inside of my bloodstream.
And nothing good comes from writing these same lines and thinking these same thoughts.
Why am I no good at anything I do.
Why are these pills not enough to remind me who I am again.
Did I ever really know her?
Lost inside memories that never came to the surface.
Lost inside a face in a dark room that I never see-
only smell and feel
that makes this all worse.
That something was stolen by a man wearing a mask and I can't retrieve the footage.
Maybe this is where all the hurt stems from
or maybe I'm just using it as an excuse as of late.
Maybe I'm just ****** up
and maybe the blame is on me.

And maybe these lines I write will be good enough one day to remind me why I started writing in the first place.

But until then
I will wrap myself around this life and hope it helps me drown.

I will count out my breaths:
holding them in longer than I take them-

and I will wish for better days,
knowing I don't believe they will come true.

I will pray for a way outside of this life and into a new one, knowing I don't believe in God.

Missing you in pieces
Falling into the places where they lay.
Loving you in parts
because I didn't know you how I used to.

Everything is breaking
I don't have enough sticky tac or glue or medication to fix all of this.

I can't talk or write my way out of this hole.

So I'll tie myself around this life and hope it will help me drown.

But maybe I'll float

And maybe I'll never know.

It takes more than just words, more than just endless apologize to reason with my nature. These hands have held more things dear to me than you and honey don't think for a second I'm not special. These universes inside these lines painted me a picture a long time ago of the person I would hope to be and the sails are setting in the bay again and I am the windstorm they are getting ready for. I am no last place or home base. I do not fight to win or lose to show pity. I do what's best for myself. These eyes have seen death slowly creep it's way into the picture frame one day, four years at a time. They have seen what it's like to remember blank pages of your history somehow finally filled. The ending to this novel that is me is complicated and messy already and I wish you knew what it felt like. How the wind beneath my feet felt more like a hurricane than a boost from the ground I kept weeping on. How these tears fueled these fingers to write for days on end and how things just don't seem to feel good enough for me anymore. I am a garden constantly trying to water myself with the nutrients I need but somehow never seeing any growth. These hands have made mistakes and these eyes have seen better days but all in all I am a force of nature that will turn your world upside down and put it right back where it came from. I am the *** of gold at the end of the rainbow, but I am also the storm that got it there in the first place.

There was a time where I was sick a lot
clinging to the pains in my stomach
only there because my heart made it so.
My mind was my own demise
and the sunken chest I hid inside
caged all the resentment
I spend years trying to hide.
And each and every time a surgery came
I hoped that maybe I would go under
and see my future more clearly
or go under and never come up for air again.
But I always woke up-
I didn't dream anything
it was the most sound sleep I've ever gotten.
Each time was better than the last
and even though when I awoke
the sickness plagued my body
until I could not breathe between the aches
I was alive each and every time.
See, hard drugs never did anything for me
neither did prescription medication
but really what's the difference between the two?
The only thing that made me feel stronger
was the alcohol bleeding through my veins
as if every single secret escaped my body
just in one night.
Until I learned the sickness that came after
was worse than the hospital stays
and the pills that were supposed to take the pain away.
The aftermath was deadly-
I felt it all in my mentality and found a safe haven
in the misplaced anguish
until it turned against me.
I had to live again.
Pushing through with every ounce of strength
that I could possibly muster
because dying sounded a lot worse
than living with this beating heart
reminding me the vices I cling to
are only temporary and so is this pain .
The ache in my stomach passed,
just like after the surgeries
but this time I didn't get to go home
I was already there.
There is no place to run away from this-
no way out of the dark tunnel you find yourself in
after the anesthesia diminishes your clarity.
It will always be there and it will pass
and your body will soon feel like yours again.
These arms that carry you to the backseat of the car
will still be there to carry you home-
Just wait.

What do you do
when others become
the aftermath of what happen to you?

Is trauma better a closed door than an open window,
is silence the only thing that won't cause them pain?

How do you talk about it
when the words leaving your mouth
Are just as toxic to those you love
as the events that occurred were to you?

Is this trauma always a contest?

Does it always beg to discipline
a body demanding closure?

Will memories repressed
always lay into the place that once held your spine?
Where each moment spent remembering
chips away at your backbone-

soon enough there will be nothing left
and you will have to stand up straight on your own.

But what happen when you crumble,
and you take everyone down with you
Is their downfall now your fault?
Does this mean the trauma is now your fault?

That because you let yourself be honest-
it was nothing but a disservice to those who love you.

Is it better to struggle in seclusion
than let someone wither away
inside the hands of your abusers?
the same way you have for years.

Is the conversation
worse than the experience?

I’m still trying to find out.

Hidden between never open fingers
and vocal chords
scared shut

I have been battling
the idea of redemption.

Will those who know help me fight
or watch as I do it alone?
Either way,
I am rebuilding my backbone
from the ground up.

Chipping away at the parts of me they made a mess of
filling the gaps with concrete progress.

Structure can only be as solid
as the foundation it was built upon.

So here’s to hoping I harden.

the sad fact is-
this is progress.

This is what
years of trying
have painted inside
of my demeanor.

I leave him.
The freedom makes me fly-
then I put myself
right back in the same position.

Constantly
******* myself over.

But this is still progress.
Still happy.
Still okay.

My best friend died
College starts.

I keep it together
for the friends
and the boy.

Help him maintain progress.
I had drifted too far from mine
  before.

I think about this time last year,
and the months that came before.

I think about the inconsistency-
the insane mood swings
accompanied by the
suicidal tendencies.

I've made progress.
Repeat this.
Try to memorize it.

I took medicine
because one of my boyfriends
convinced me-
I was crazy.

Shortly after-
He cheated.

Took him back
Because I blamed
my own inconsistency.

I should've made
him feel more wanted.

Seems I am the cause
for so many others'
problems.

My mom
blames herself
everyday.

I think about
if I wouldn't have told her.

My friend
dies in a car crash.

I think about
how I should've been there more.
How I should've taught her
to wear her seatbelt.

My boyfriend
drinks away his emotions.

I think about
how that's not
the kind of person he is.

But I am a hypocrite.

I have started drinking again
The pattern repeats.

Here I go ruining everything.
Here I go missing the old me.
Cooped up inside lavender walls
with my phone turned off.

Seems that was when
everyone else was happy.

Living life without me.
I think I could do without me
  too.

how satisfying is it to feel nothing-
numbness living inside your bones
on the days when nothing else feels lower than you
when the ocean floor couldn't even capture your darkness.
how comforting are the racing thoughts inside your mind
that no one can know.
No one knows.
How the good everyone else feels is just a coping tactic
for all the bad they feel inside their bones.
A tragedy to deny yourself the liberty of lonely-
the hands you feel in the dark wrap around your throat again
and you don't say the things you desire in the end.
You become the end-
You become an end
the means to it just diminishes under your skin
and you are lonely again
all because feeling things has never been in your nature-
maybe just once.
But those times never turn out the way you want them to
and timing is the biggest ****-block you will ever know.
Wake for me
breathe in and out until your lungs forget what panic is-
until your brain forgets that you don't control your own breathing.
Put this life on cruise control and wait for traffic to *******.
Sulk in the fact you're stationary.
Convince yourself this body you live in isn't worth the trouble
that it will make a mess out of the remains of another
and leave you emotionless and empty
watching as the person you wish you could care about
withers away in the corner of your mind
all because you wish you would've tried.
Break around your edges and remove the dishonesty-
reality is the only villain in this movie
and you just play it at times you have nothing else to do
dreaming is your aphrodisiac
and waking up never feels as good as when you were a kid.
Built yourself a castle-
four walls and bridges surrounding the ****
you try to convince yourself you are
but your aura likes to paint a different picture.
Cast away-
remind yourself you are broken
remember how you got there.
Run fast in a different direction.
Choose wisely,
or don't choose at all.
Lose.
Lose again until winning feels abstract
fill yourself with the insecurity behind your eyelids.
Remember you will break someone
Remember they will break you-
don't forget to tell them thank you as you leave.
Apologize for the mess you made
but never be the one to clean it up.
Selfish is a second nature
and I am the mother of all mistakes again.
This self-assurance was short lived
and I'm on the brink of breaking for the 100th time.
Swoon me into sanity
and push me into the depths you like to call self-righteous.
Rebuild.
Remember waking up to the sunrise.
Remember the lowest you've ever felt-
run fast in a different direction.
Just Run.
Think of me when you do
because alone is not human nature.
Running has always been what I'm good at
and when I stopped I became stagnant  
then stagnancy became my state of mind.
So run.
and think of me when you do,
we will never become weak
as long as we keep moving.
So run.