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.

We were always tripping on ways to make it out.
Long winding roads to backwards homes,
we never took too long.
I had a way with words
but not with speaking them too clearly-
I could only write them too be understood.
I was a little too passive aggressive and not enough passive voice-
Built upon analogies, not using enough antonyms.
Too much consonance and not enough consistency.
Always too dynamic for this static world.
We drove each other crazy.
Took words and turned them into roads always intersecting.
We never thought to stop and look at the scenery.
I never thought to ask where we were going.
You told me buckle up and I always asked you why-
The answer never left your lips.
You just gave a smile that mimicked the skyline and I let you take me there.
To the back alley of your mind and watched you race past the speed limit.
You told me to put on my seatbelt.
But you never wore yours-

You drove me to edge of insanity and left me there alone.
You drove away and watched as I tried to run after you.
But you kept driving-
and I'm still running after you.
Tracing my footprints on the pavement
Trying to match the tire tracks
I keep running back.
Even though I know you're long gone.
Insanity is a destination
I didn't want to reach
but somehow I arrived here anyway.
Somehow you drove me to it.

Succumbing to the silence
has left me ill-hearted.
The head that has been placed
between these shoulders
weighs heavy on my conscious.
The only way to stay sane
is surrounding myself with noise.
This chair that has been kicked
from beneath me has a name now.
It calls out mine when I sleep
and it repeats in my head
until I understand why it's there.
It's purpose is to make me feel alone-
so far it is winning.
So far, I do nothing to stop it.

This ache inside my chest
has left me concave-
I used to be so convex.
Used to fall outside of everyone else's angles
and now I'm closed off
so inside myself that I am blind
to anything other than your smile.
I would like to talk about how the pain hurts
how I hope the air I breathe becomes poison
and I don't wake at all.

I try to scream,
no one is around to hear me anymore
they're all stuck inside of others
when no one will even stick around
to see me come outside again.
If you fall down and become a train wreck
and no one is around to hear you  
does that mean you haven't gone off the rails?
Does that make your pain irrelevant
and the mess you've made non existent?

I guess I'll never know-
because I seem to be the tree that never grows
just stays dormant until my time comes
but I don't think it ever will.
Seasons don't mean much to me
and I wish I could be happy.
But this type of soil where I try to soak my roots
is not nourishing enough to let me grow.
So I wither and no one seems to know I am here.
A flower un-bloomed I have lived unknown
and no one will see me become beautiful
because I keep getting walked all over,
no one cares unless you've blossomed
not until you've become worthy of picking.

Dissect me again
remind me I have a backbone
and insides that no one else sees.
Take away my ego,
and breathe life into me.
It was nice to know
what knowing felt like.
Too lacking control,
and not enough self-awareness.
Maybe that is where the cut line should start.
Right down the middle of me,
so every inch is exposed.
Seems you are staring down
who my insides have made me.
I am scared it was not what you pictured.
I am always scared that I am too much for people.
Most days, I'm too much for myself.

Stitch me up,
remind me I am okay the way I am.
Analyze me until
the self-awareness reaches my limbs
and I look in the mirror and see myself like I once used to.

You have a knack for making me feel things unknown-
tapped into a place inside I hadn't yet discovered.
Explore with me?

I have become nothing
in the hands of my abusers
just skin cells
collecting dust under beds
I only remember the smell of.

Please don't look at me
I am only a fraction of a person now.
The other parts of me
linger on the bodies of those
who barely remember what they did.

Who smirk at the idea
because they got what they wanted.
I am scatter-brained and shattered
at the thought of them.

Intimacy trying to make its way
past carbon fiber memory.
Not once has it gotten through.

There are three faces I see
when someone is inside of me
Theirs, hers and his.

Each getting something they want from me
Stealing away what I once held so close and so sacred.

I never want this,
and I'm not sure I even did the first time.

Shouldn't it be special?
Why does it make my heart break?

Why do I not even remember
the way it happens half the time.
I remove myself from the idea of closeness
in hopes all of these ideations go unnoticed
and I sink into the bedsheets

Slip into the space
between the box spring
and the floor board.
My favorite hiding place.
Nothing but dust in my wake.

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.

Sleeping has never been my forte so as thoughts of you creep inside mind I try to reiterate the advice I heard from my brother. Melting into my thoughts as I try to count sheep but they just end up running away and I am lost again. He said, "you can't make someone your passion, but you can be passionate about someone". But how do I separate the two when everything I do is extreme and intense and never subtle. Love isn't just a weekend lake house for me, it's the bed where I lay my head at night. It's not just a power ballad for me, it's an entire acoustic album filled with melodies you don't even wanna hear anymore. I don't half *** anything, especially you. But maybe that's my issue, these emotions are never half hearted. They take up my entire body as an entity, eventually I can't let go. I am who I am and you are who you are. We are both gray areas because we do not understand ourselves, maybe one day you can be yin and I can be yang and we can meet somewhere in the middle completing what it takes to make us whole again. I am whole. But it just feels a little better with you next to me.

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.

didn't take long before the toxicity filled your mouth
and I'm not talking about all the cigarettes you smoke-
I'm not referring to the blow you once had up your nose.
The leech has reached your lips-
you said this was the last time
but I know just like all the others that was a lie.
You cannot fool the girl who analyzes for a living
who hides under her rock and watches as people **** up.
She's social but doesn't leave her head space
so she can see right through the strides you think you take
and the love you think you're making
but instead of savioring what you think is special
you are destroying your insides.
Breath it out, stop it from consuming your body-
you're aloud to run away without question
you shouldn't have to make excuses anymore.

A friend of mine clings to toxic things
and not the drink and drugs and designer clothing
but the girl with the long hair
who dresses like she owns the night
only just to ruin his.
I wish he could see right through this-
but he doesn't want to feel so alone
inside of a city so big.
He's not so sure what home feels like anymore
so he uses her for comfort
when all she's doing is making his heart fail.
And he could never even tell the difference.

your critique mimics
the chills down my spinal chord.
I've had an ache for weeks now-
seems there's not enough stretching myself thin
to rid of the pain in my neck now.  
your lips form lashes around my tongue
and it seems I have acid sores
encompassing my lips
because everything you say to me is so toxic.
Your mouth is a battery,
you won't stop running it-
seems it recharges itself.
Seems I cannot throw it away-
it would harm too many others.

Standing in front of you I feel weak,
a version of myself I do not recognize.
Seems I was never strong enough to stand up to you-
so I backed down.
Time and time again
hiding how I feel for your benefit.

It's a shame whenever someone comes around
I wince, afraid you will use your acid tongue
to weather them down
and form rust stains out of their smile.
Most days, I clench my fists
ready to be a shield in their wake.
Most days, that's a mistake.

The high horse
you build your house upon
has grown higher-
you built it that way.
You look down at everything
and bask in the glory of your accomplishments.
The materialistic glow of your youth
shines down upon my face-
but you are not looking at me in awe.
You do not consider me something worthy
of your appreciation.
It seems you think you owe it to yourself
to be nothing less than egotistical,
you grew yourself this way.
Built it from the ground up
so treat it as you wish.

Your way is the only value.
My words are meek inside your muddy waters-
your mindset is clouded again.
I am the rain upon your parade.

Addiction runs in your blood
without something
you fall apart.
All I ever wanted
was for you to be better-
you can never give me that.
You give me a complex instead.

Read this back again,
come back to it and realize
that us women always marry our fathers.
and I can't decide which this poem is about-
I think it's my Father,
but it could also be
every man I have ever loved.

I'm still trying to find love
in between the lines I write
but I only find the past-
the one where love didn't exist
seems it's not enough anyway.
I can't find love
when you show it to my blindside
you don't even care to move in the right direction.
Let me get over-
you.

I have no vices,
no advice for anyone who doesn't either.
I don't smoke cigarettes or even drink coffee.
I'm not much of a drinker anymore
and marijuana gives me anxiety.
So on days when the world is crushing me
one foot into my throat at a time
I wonder what my vice could be.
Pills have found themselves into the throats of many,
and when they found the empathy in my esophagus
They won.
And then the blade found it's way to my wrist
and I wondered how I got like this.
So ever since then, no vices for me.
No way out, no mask or hiding behind lies
or behind the counter counterfeits
Just my own demons staring right back at me
like gazing at my reflection in broken mirrors.
I have understood the beauty of a sunset
and known what it's like to cling to the darkness shortly after.
I have felt the sinister euphoria behind broken drywall
and broken noses.
But all of it led me to the same place I was before.
Clinging onto drunken nights and drunken lips,
with every cigarette lit I reminded myself-
this wasn't who I am and I liked it that way.

Now those drunken nights turn to dark ones
and those drunken lips have turned to friendships
so ever since then I remind myself that nothing is permanent
and as I realize the only thing that could save me in the end,
was knowing that I've done ****** things and
the world that surrounds me has been ****** since I entered it
but I am no cowered.
I will love more than I have been loved
which isn't a hard thing to do
because people, printers and partying came first-
I have always been a secretary to secondary.
But I will fear no man, or take no one's ****
I will live this life how I envisioned it,
and love more than I have witnessed.

These losses are never my own,
stuck inside the hands of someone else.

but I am always the person to uncover them-
make a facade out of the remains
I am always the chosen one.

and when that is the case
what am I supposed to feel now?

bereavement is not a luxury I have ever owned-
it has always been stuck in the mouths of others.

so what do I say when grief gets in the way
of my ability to empathize.

what happens when I am too broken up
to put into words
the way I would like to dropkick
this world
in the nuts
and walk the **** away.

the deeper I travel inside of my own head
the harder these things get.

it was his,
they were theirs,
she was hers
and his
and it's
and never mine.

This sorrow is never only mine
because the weight is more heavy
upon those who have lifted this burden.

every single thing
in life makes an impact.

and I have always been
the airbag.

The days they blend
and bend
only to begin again.

So I take shape
  for my name sake
  to placate
  makeshift benevolence.

Where common courtesy
   meets common sense
Where your pretty penny            
   changes to a pence
   now it's worthless.

You feel the mask
   it shields your gums
   from a razor tongue
   bleeds blue
   but all you see is red.

This mockery you
   have made of me
   what a tragedy
   catastrophe.

You won now
    a trophy
in the evening hour
    take my mind
I won't be needing it

Not like I used to-
Not like us two
    got used to the abuse
Who used who?
   You used me.

you don't understand.
stop telling me that you do.
you are not me, I am not you
therefore empathy-
is the only means of understanding you have.
but you are not where I am now.
you are not walking upon these eggshells like me-
not the same ones at least.
do you ******* blood inside your mouth?
do you feel your lungs cracking under the pressure.
pressure of being everything to everyone
and nothing to yourself.
who am I anyway.
I need a break.
these limbs are shaking
and these hands can't move
I'm exhausted with thinking I can function.
do you understand?
because I can't even seem to find words
to show people how I feel.
so why don't you do it.
take this pen and show me that you do
speak some sense into me.
but you can't-
so you won't.
I'm alone
and I'm broken.
say you understand but that won't help me now
say you understand but it only makes it worse.
breathe air into my lungs
and watch life breathe into me.
I'm in need of some oxygen
something to take away the smog.
my life is a blanket of lost memory
and irrationality.
Pull me out of my own head-
but don't tell me you understand.
Don't tell me.
Empathy doesn't mean you understand me.

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

How do I escape
when the negativity
nooses circumstance around my neck
and ties it to my every insecurity.
It’s like my surroundings feed
off of what I hate the most-
I am constantly barraged
by resentment for the people I should love
and I read too much into things
that I should let go.
But how do I change what
i’ve spent most of my life
chained to?

The walls that surround me
are more like a cage
where negativity and sorrow
collide, crash and then burn
holes in my way of thinking.

Positivity is hard to come by
when every step you take
is like a drive-by shooting
you somehow planned
for the sole intent
of making your life hang
on the edge of a chair
waiting for the death row pardon.

Death wishes don’t come often for most-
but in the dead of the night
when I am alone and weeping
over the spilt milk I have slipped
and broke my backbone on,
I realize they come too often for me.

When the night whispers softly
into your subconscious
reminding you of all the things
you wish you didn’t remember,
curl up with your favorite pillow
grasp your bulletproof vest
of a good book into your
sin stained fingertips
and remember,
the night never wins,
because eventually
it must turn into dawn.

you have felt the repercussions of love,
just as I have
but with more passion
than I could ever fathom.
heartbreak has molded you
into this person to whom I confide.

I know not about your past,
but I worry about our future
and if that heartbreak
is always on your mind,
even at times when I’m not.

The one who left you cold and broken
is the one to where my concern stems.
Unfinished business is meant to be completed,
but please don’t break me too.

I would like to put into words the way you made me feel ******* crazy-
but you would just see them as an apology note written at your doorstep.
Your ears would close and all you would notice is that I'm standing-
right in front of you so I must be crawling back.
It is never that.

One-sided is the way we fell in love.
You told me you loved me first
I said it back when I actually meant it
but somewhere along the line the roles got reversed
and I ended up being the one who felt more in love
like I had to keep the strings just perfect length
or we would both fall apart.
I was never a jealous person but in your attempt to keep me
you became what held me back
and I guess that was your idea of keeping me.
You never liked my friends-
talked **** every chance you could get
and then wondered why I got so upset when you did.
Blatant disrespect.

My dad called you the wrong name last week-
tried to make fun of the fact we broke up
but I laughed as another's name left his lips
you were just as much of a stranger to him as you've become to me.
I realized we've always been one-sided.
My family doesn't ask when you don't come around
you've become just another face inside their world too
I bet yours do
and that you cringe when you hear my name leave their lips
Took the time to learn about your family-
but you never had the decency for mine
it was like you knew this wasn't going to last
or were you so scared it wasn't, you didn't even try.

You were my trigger-
my relapse back into old habits
my cutting addiction-
my tendency to repeatedly punch myself in the face
you made me feel ******* crazy.
So I just laugh when you say you miss me now
because I don't miss any part of you
aside from the late night **** rips
and cuddling asleep.
I only miss you next to me or inside me.
But emotionally?
You can miss me with all that **** again and again and again.
But all I will ever be is a friend.
I will never feel that kind of insecure, jealous and crazy
not the way you made me.
growth is not an option at this point,
it's mandatory.

My teeth scratch the surface of your skin and bones,
but there is not enough quick wit to shed your exoskeleton.
You will not expose yourself to me-
too fearful of the outcome and so am I.

I try to think myself into happiness,
imagine days by your side
where we can both be skeletons-
just totally exposed
and open with one another.

But you are too afraid of my teeth-
too fond of my tongue and cheek
you do not desire whats inside of me.
Only a preconceived idea of what we should be.
I'm having trouble figuring myself out.
I was never good at anatomy.

These fingers have become chilled to the bone
but you are not sure how to handle it anymore.

This wordplay becomes daunting
and this second-hand second guessing
is too tiring to keep trying for.
Why don't you just tell me how you feel?
why don't I do the same for you?

The lack there of
has never been an issue
until I started seeing inside of you
wondering if yours matches mine
wondering if your just abiding by time-
spending it with me so you're not lonely.

Connection is subjective-
so why am I always wrong in your eyes?
You tell me you love me,
I don't believe you on most days.
I tell you I love you,
I don't believe myself on most days.

But these days, like my limbs
bend and they break
and crack under all of this pressure
all of this unknown
all of this weight I try to carry.
So I'm not sure you quite understand me.

Birthed from privilege and happy-
you have not seen what I have seen
and so our insides look a lot differently
Seems I have seen them now,
turned myself inside out
to see you from a different
point of view-
and
I don't recognize
who you are anymore.

i’ve spent days giving you,
valleys and oceans of myself.
I have spent weeks investing
whatever I had left into
something i’m not sure
even works anymore.

I have felt deceit and treachery,
I’ve known the heartbreak that is love
but I never thought affirmation
would become like a drug
withheld from my hands
and ripped from my lips.

I have searched for sanity,
in several different places
but only found it in you,
so I’m sorry if these oceans
are too much
and these valleys
not enough
but I have given you my all
and gotten back only pieces

so forgive me,
if i feel this isn’t fair treatment
and forgive me
for expecting so much more.
all i ever ask for are
rose petals and kisses.
but i’m starting to think
that’s just too much.

I can’t help but live inside my head
and play all the games it invites me to,
but I guess that’s how we’re sane.
My love for you remains

but can you say the same?

fear lurks in the back of my mind
even the smallest chance of
anything making me scared means
running would be the only plausible option.

have you ever wondered
at all about the way your mind works
steady on the brink of insanity.

nothing comes close to
opening up yourself to someone only
to be disregarded and told
honey
its all in your head but you, you were
never one to give me
grief over things I could not control.

only you can make me feel this safe
no one else ever has

yes there are days when I will try to run
only to hear the sound of my feet hit the ground
until then, you're my only safe and sound.

I feel so utterly replaceable.
I feel like feeling anything at all is dangerous.
Times before I used to just bottle it up
pretending I was happy, nothing else.
Biting my tongue became routine
and anger was the only emotion I possessed
on days that weren't so happy.

And I say **** that,
because I'm tired of hiding behind a smile
faking that everything is okay
when clearly I know that it's not.

I will not walk on glass
to keep you safe.
I will not pick the shards from my feet
just so you can sit back and apologize
for being the weight that I carry.
You can give me whatever treatment you wish,
but do not expect me to put up with it.

I wrote you poems and prose,
and it seems as if my words are not enough.
I worry and it seems to be too much.

So I'm sorry if the effort I make
to not be the person I was
is way too much for you to handle.
But the things I do
and the words I write
are mostly for you.

But don't ever think
I will change who I am for your benefit.
Never will I go back to biting my tongue
punching walls and pent up aggressions.
You told me not to worry,
so that's exactly what I'll do.

The space between your fingers
will soon feel the wind.
The space next to you in bed
will soon feel the cold.

Hanging on empty words
and feeling the wrath
of someone else's mistake
is something i've dealt
with for far too long.
Love me with all you have,
or don't ******* love me at all.

I try too hard for you
and I guess you feel the same.
I can't read your mind.
I'm tired of being the one you blame.

All i've ever wanted is to help you,
to be the one to paint a smile across you face.
But you send me away with the wind,
and hope I never come back again.

It's 2:35 am and the notebook is on tv
trigger warning
right after I got a haircut I like
my mother takes me to the grave
of my dog that died just three days ago..
trigger warning
my dad talks down to me
trigger warning
my brother talks down to me
trigger warning
I make my mom mad
trigger warning
I cry at an overly romantic scene on a tv show
trigger warning
I'M TIRED OF ALL THESE ******* TRIGGERS.
so pull it, pull the ******* trigger
and watch me spiral the **** out of control
until the tears streaming down my face
seep into the lungs I use to try and breathe-
but see the anxiety is weighing down on my chest
like it wants to steal my lunch money-
pull the ******* trigger.
Go ahead television, mom, dad, brother, anyone
pull the ******* trigger-
and watch as my mind goes blank
twenty round shots straight at my hand
and then wonder why exactly I want to be dead.
trigger warning
No. These hands have held the gun too long
placed my fingers neatly on the trigger
ready to aim, and to fire
like I'm in some kind of action movie
"CUT!"
because i'm not a ******* extra
in some botched overly explosive action film-
I'm the ******* director of a best-selling
highly anticipated autobiography turned movie
that sells out every single theatre opening night!
I am in control of these words I hear
I am in control of these emotions
that I have spent my days trying to feel entitled to.
I will no longer hold close to the gun that triggers my downfall-
The NRA ain't got **** on me baby
because I'm packing thirty two rounds
of sure fire confidence and aiming right
at my own insecurities but I won't pull the trigger-
because I can't **** what makes me feel so alive
I can't **** these emotions I wish to diminish
but why would I want to?
Because I feel things more strongly and profusely than most
and I love harder than any ******* I have ever known
and I **** and I fight with more passion and more fury
than any Nicholas Sparks novel or Jason Statham movie-
******* try me!
Because these palms hold more grudges than hands
and this body feels more anxiety attacks than relief
so ******* try me-
because I am not my trigger warnings
nor will I ever be.

1, 2, 3, 4
What are women fighting for?

My father doesn't know-
about my past.
As the **** culture comments
slip from his tongue-
I mourn for the women
who experience the same.

Because every time
it is a knife upon my spine
chipping away at my backbone.

Some days,
it hurts to stand up straight.

5, 6, 7, 8-
Women need to procreate!

We tell women
their legs are an entry way
men can use at will.

But then they urge us to keep the seed
growing inside of us-
when sometimes it is just a ****
coming to the surface
because of an invasion
of our own garden
the one we spent
so much time growing.

In the case we let it flourish
into a flower, even though we don't
have the proper nutrients
all of those mouths
that told us to water it
are now dry and absent.

They don't return
so we are the ones who become withered..

Once,
a man who thought we was more
medicine than overdose
took away a child
that could of been my sibling.

And ever since-
my mother feels the withdrawal.

7, 8, 9, 10-
Will **** culture ever end?

Not when there's a vulture
among the white house
now painted blood red,
Caucasian white,
and bruised ego blue.

When the words
are noosing their way
around our necks-
we must give misogyny a kiss of death.

When some "feminists"
spew misandry from the pores
remind them to exfoliate
the hatred from their vocal chords.

Remind them to
look up the definition of feminism.

We can't forget-
about the boy who was forced
by his cousin and stayed silent
because "men can't get *****"
right?

We can't forget-
about the women of color
who fight harder than most
because their skin
gives them the greater war.

When this America
is etched with white supremacy
Don't let them fetishize
or demoralize our sisters.
We stand together.

Don't let these instances
slip through your fingers.
Grab them by the throat
and remind yourself
of when they made
you lose your voice.

1, 2, 3, 4
What are the people fighting for?

******* Equality.

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.

I have spent the days
memorizing the shape of your lips
and the way your voice
seems to whisper my name
in the most comforting tone
I have ever let my ears hear.
I try to shut out most things
like the way even after
half a year, six months
you still give me the butterflies
that corrupted my stomach
on that very first day.
I have kissed some lips
but none of them make a difference.
The only thing that’s ever
on my mind is you..
I have seen a thousand faces
and heard a million melodies
but none of them sing
like my heartbeat does
in your presence.
So I apologize if every instance
makes me worried that
you will no longer
be the chest to where I lay my head.
I apologize that you’re the only one
I wish to share my bed.
Please believe that I have walked
a thousand seas and waded
more than a million miles
only to find what I’d always been
looking for and that’s you.
My eyes opened to a world
never known.
You showed me a place called home.

I would like to wrap my words around this page-
outstretch my arms so I can hold up the stage below me
tell it-
tell everyone
things will not be this bad for too much longer..
But I've never really been much of a liar
just a melancholy toned razor tongue
with a quick wit and keen punchlines
I am all and I am nothing in the same breath.
Breathe. I try to track how many I take
but there's too much breathing and not enough oxygen
these arms are now making me choke
held too tightly around this stage
that has become my throat
these words are slipping
they have become my will, my oath
my proof that something exists
and as it is all drifting and drifting
I am reminded-
nothing does.
My mind plays tricks on itself
my left brain likes to tie a lasso around my right
until all of the creativity is squeezed beneath my toes
under a microphone,
in front of a laptop,
for everyone to see
and laughs when it realizes this is all I have.
Then my right brain retaliates
excellerates into oblivion
and becomes one with my anxiety
it speeds up everything in my thinking process I own
until I am the one-
spinning and swerving and crashing
until I am the one-
manic and crying and thinking about death
and it laughs when I'm clutching my legs again
when it thinks it's won the battle
and see I wake up everyday and fight.
There is no beautiful music to play-
no genre to this madness
You can spin me like I'm on a record player
and watch me slowly turn.
There is no going backwards for me
only forward and repeat
and my history sounds a little like
a skipped disk in the CD slot
because you keep replaying the same parts
over and over and o-over and o-o-o-o-ver again.
This cycle plays on repeat for days on end
until eventually everyone gets tired of it
and it's thrown away-
These arms let go.
I am left speechless again.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting
for the soft spoken tap of the keys to reel me back in
whispering a string quartet of desire and longing
only to watch my mind begin the game again.
Gaining only scratches on my surface-
Skip me.
I don't wanna play anymore.

You left these eggshells at my feet when I was born-
Placed them each two inches away from me at every angle.
I would like to think your purpose was to make me stronger.
So these soles would feel the pain of indecision and inconsistency.
You helped build me.
Although the castle you made was lined with bottles
And the moat filled with liquor
I still ended up being a prisoner at the end.
You locked me away in your box.
You stuck me into the four corners of discipline
And made attempting to speak such a basket case epidemic.
I learned that you were the dragon
That made me fear for my escape-
But I also learned you couldn't hurt me.
So these words became my only sense of sanity.
I threw them back at you until you realized what you made me
Was you.
So as you're staring at your reflection again
both your children are staring back and I wonder if you like what you see.
I wonder if your years of being a father whisper in your ear at night
So you're kept awake by your own mistakes.
I wonder if you realize you are a better man now than you've ever been.
These eggshells have been stepped on so long they are now just dust at my feet.
I'm attempting to clean the mess you made for me.
I'm not a coward anymore-
I don't blame you for these things you have placed inside my memories
And I no longer have animosity towards all the things done to our family.
You've been the backbone of a broken home-
Built from broken bottles and ****** noses.
The tragedy didn't win this time.
Your words no longer deplete my integrity,
They no longer make me weep
Because you've provided a home to lay my head at night.
A forefront for these words I write
A muse for my misunderstanding.
If it wasn't for the mess you made
These words would be dishonest-
They wouldn't sound pretty and fly through my fingers at a pace I can never seem to regulate.
Without you-
I wouldn't be a poet.
So thank you for the tragedy
Thank you for shaping me
Because the misery built my happy.
The misery led me to poetry.

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 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.

I've been wreaking havoc on my head again.
Blatantly succumbing to the innocence surrounding my subconscious.
Everything sounds the same again and I'm having trouble functioning.
Everything is fleeting again.
Sand through fingers
but this fire inside my heart burns for you
so this sand just turns to shards.
Just like that sand I have been changing shape
and then hurting everyone around me.
These marks on my legs remind me-
I need oil in my car because if i don't change it soon
it will break down.
Just like me.
These scars are like race tracks upon my past
and I can't keep from going in circles.
But somehow these cuts are straight.
Like I could write poetry between them.
I need the sun to turn myself to glass
because it is stronger than sand
and it will make these scars turn golden.
I want to be golden again.
Give me sun
Give me warmth
and make me remember what it feels like to go the speed limit
I'm always in fast forward
but somehow constantly looking in the rear view.
My oil needs changing
and it's no surprise to me that I may wreck soon
Too distracted with what's behind
Too adamant on pressing the gas
when I know I shouldn't.
Taking things too far
Pushing too many limits.
Most of them speed
A lot of them my own.
None of them the things I should.
Can I go back to sand?
I want to take shape to the things around me
I want to be good at transitions.
You can't break if you are smaller than a grain.
You can break if you're always being stepped on.

What do you do
when you realize
you're the aftermath
of someone's abuse?

It was written in the subtleties,
not the clear skin on your face.

You find it etched inside
of a voided smile.

The byproduct
of back handed remarks.

You stayed home
convinced yourself
you weren't really lonely.
But when you went out
you were made to feel the same.

Second guessing became
second nature.
Proving yourself worthy
became a personality trait.

It's not always clenched fist
or hit and run

It's a quick wit
and a razor tongue too.

The kind of love
that makes you
question the lengths
you've walked in life.

Makes you think
the only way is stay put
or go backwards.

The green eyed monster
turned you pale again
and you don't see
yourself in the mirror anymore.

Only someone who paints
her face with a smile
and tells everyone she's okay.

But the aftermath
is still just as deadly.
and your eyes feel sore
from trying to see
the good in things.

It's not always black eye
and a pain in your head.

If the flags read red-
then run.
No matter how far
you have made it.

I hoped I would be okay-
I realize hoping is all I ever seem to do.
Repeat each line until it sounds good enough,
none of them ever seem to.
The formation is the same
like the kick-drum rhythm that encompasses
each stanza until you can tell-
fully, which writing is mine.
I'd like to think it a stamp
or a sign of some sort
where I sort out my mind
instead of snorting
or taking scissors to my wrist.
You can kiss your own skin
with a blade only long enough to realize
how badly it hurts to bleed
how much worse the warm water feels
when you're showering at 2am
trying to wash away the nightmares
of the one who used to take advantage of your youth.
I'm not asking for an apology letter from God-
just some sort of proof he exists
and when I asked him one night
why I ended up the way I did
he never really responded
I don't think he knows any better than I
and that's the black sheep epidemic-
we expect our problems and issues to have a reason
we disregard their existence like a disgrace
that cannot be seen in public.
But I will stand in front of a jury of my peers
and tell them I am not guilty for who I am now-
only a mere accomplish in life's premeditated ******.
I will serve time anyway
I'd like to think this life now is that punishment
but I know I still have hell to pay.
Pay homage to the broken home
she doesn't live here anymore.

I spend too much time
pressing my worries
against the roof of my mouth-

I am surprised there is anything left of me.

My tongue acts too quickly
seems I cannot keep up
or shut up.

I am spilling these secrets
from between my lips
as if they are my savior.

please remind me
what unchapped lips taste like.

remember me in the heat of it all.

I lie to myself
because it feels
the way you did.

reminds me who to come back to.

why am I holding on to a lost soul?
why am I stuck inside this echo chamber
of apologies as if I wrote them myself.

the backs of my teeth
have gaps in between
and I realize I am more broken than whole.

I don't remember what you taste like anymore-
so I lie to myself as a reminder.

But it's never quite the same.

and I never will be either.

it seems as if,
the only care left in the world
is the one misplaced
in hearts and heads,
and misused by hands
that are too busy
holding onto what
held them back
in the first place.

the times i've spent dreaming
are lesser than the nightmares i've lived
the times i've done right
is an abundance compared to the wrong
but somehow the only sense of acknowledgment
I get, comes from the negativity
which leads to the destruction
that is caused by me.

my hands and my head
seem to break more things
than I can manage to keep
and I keep on dreaming
half awake, half sleeping
of the ways I can fix me.

The problem is
my mind is too big
and actions too profound
for only one pair of hands to hold
so i must hold my own
and hope someone else
will help me carry the load.

She is happy-
which is usually defined as
feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.
But for her it's a three way intersection at most
always watching as the others slowly creep up to it
never knowing when to show signs of advancement
hoping someone else's happy doesn't move too fast
and end up ruining hers.
Her happy is dangerous-
it's 2am pints of ice cream and
late night selfies because she's feeling great.
But don't **** with her happy
because when she is not-
she is contemplating
her ideals in the forms of narratives
that she can ruin you with.
It's lucrative, the happiness of hers.
She can wear it like the heart on her sleeve
or she can sell it like it's nothing-
auction it off to the bidder who needs it more than her.
Her happiness is selfless at best.
She never really knew what it meant to her
all she would ever feel is the lonely and the low
and the friends that they would bring around.
Things got pretty hazy before she found her happy.
But it's quick wit and inconsistent nature
makes it hard for people to stay.
The happy will run away with her lonely
and come back with her mania
all the while her contentment drinks wine
with her depression until it's a ******* party
and the only one she sees across the crowded room-
is confusion .
She fell in love with it at an early age
never knowing her true self
letting confusion take her out on dates
and show her things that only made him stronger-
but eventually the happy came back.
It made friends with the rest of the emotions
and lit her spirit on fire again.
She's never written a happy poem-
at least one that wasn't about love
and she knows it still exists somewhere
because happiness caught the hope
that was once so fleeting.
Her happy isn't just happy.
It's not just a single strand of emotion
inside her brain stem-
It is a mess.
A tragedy.
Summer days
and rainy weeks.
It is bipolar and mania to a tee-
new shoes and cold sweet tea.
Her happiness is insecure
a small child on the school bus for the first time
waiting to go back home
even though they just arrived.
Some days you see it clearly
others its like a smoke screen
sending caution to those who are surrounding.
My happiness is me-
describing it would be all too complicated
and depicting it in a manor lessor than me
would be an injustice.
My happiness is the justice system-
it never knows what the **** it is doing.
But I like it that way-
so lock me into solitary confinement
with just me and my happy
and watch me make a masterpiece out of misery.

You have become nothing but a zip file inside of my memory,
taking up too much space so I had to make you smaller, and smaller
until this nostalgia didn’t overload my chest cavity
and you became minute enough to just forget again.

I have sent you into the backup file
laying on the desk in my room
Away where our pictures are.
Away where you should be.

It was always supposed to be give and take
But all you ever did was take what you wanted
and acted like I was the one who couldn’t give it.

Now I am found
one year after the fact
and each of the three I spent with you
has left me with nothing but resentment
and this animosity chained around my ankle
you always held me back.

I don't care enough
about you anymore
to finish this poem
it ended when we did.
I guess finishing is
something we were both
terrible at.

well at least not for me anymore.

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.

Remember who you were before they broke you.
As you are picking shards of them out of your skin
not able to see your reflection clearly in the broken glass-
remember yourself.
You are not the pieces they left you with
broken and bleeding for each piece of your broken heart-
You are strong
you will not give them the last pieces you have left
because you are holding out for someone special.
The edges of your fingers are cut from the shards
and you spend your days picking up pieces of yourself
from the bed where they used to lay beside you
and you somehow can't get their smell out of your bedsheets.
Every time you fall asleep the empty space cries for you to fill it
but time and time again you drown it out with tears.
You've spent your days crying oceans for someone
who wouldn't shed a raindrop for you
and the puddle you've made at the edge of your feet
is no longer shallow-
it's still more like a kiddy pool and it's deeper than it once was
and you tell yourself to wake up, stop crying and get a ******* mop!
You keep trying to tell yourself the ends of your fingers
no longer need bandaids
your nose no longer needs shirt sleeves
and those eyes of yours are finally starting to see clearly now
but you see one more shard laying in the puddle you just mopped up
you look and wonder how the ******* got here
how the wreckage in your bones feels more like home
than you ever did with someone else
and you ******* rebuild.
That shard of glass is now your lighthouse
you look down at it and laugh as you pick it up
bandage free fingers you cling to that brokenness
and you look into that glass and finally see yourself for the first time.
You were always a soldier, picking out the broken parts of yourself-
putting them into something else, someone else until you felt whole
but you didn't realize
you were drafted into a war you didn't sign up for-
until it was actually over and you were left with the affects.
But now you have more strength than you did before
and these bones are no longer wreckage, no longer weak.
They are built from muscle memory by tragedy and heartbreak.
So pump the brakes.
Don't be afraid to slow down once in a while
and know that not everything will turn into a wreck-
your world may turn upside down for a while
but that never means you can't learn to enjoy living that way.
So rebuild.

Seems you spend
so much time
worried sick
about my mental state
I'm starting to think
I'm not okay.
You convince me
I'm not okay.
Let me lie here
enjoy the silence.
I don't want to drown
inside of worry.
Not anymore.

It's like I'm in a constant game of hide and seek-
some days whenever I'm not looking
I end up losing myself
and can't seem to find where I hid-
I've always been really good at hiding.
Some days I'll be able to find myself
in the dark corners or under bedsheets
from when I was a child.
Other days no matter how much I try
and work towards finding who I was
or where I've been
or how the **** I got this way
I'm clueless.
Lost myself again
and not sure where to find me.
I sent out a search party for my happiness
but it's really ******* good at this game
I sometimes wish it wasn't.
You would think I would get tired of hiding
but it seems I like a challenge
and this hiding from myself thing
has been something i've done all along
a trade I seemed to master at a young age
and it only gets better with time.
I found you one day-
and you took my hand and helped try to find me
on the days I missed myself and needed it back.
You always knew just where to look
you always somehow found
what I would spend most of my days in search of
and now it is your turn to hide.
I can't find the same person who helped
find me
you've gone missing.
You must've been practicing for a while
because it seems like I really can't find you anywhere
not even in the same places I once did.
You've become an expert at hiding away parts of yourself-
This game is one I don't want to play
I'm done looking for you in the same places
that I lost myself.
I just want to find me without your help-
and I want you to be able to do the same.
I don't know where you are anymore.
Maybe I'm the one who's been hiding all along.

I took five steps forward and two steps back this year-
leaving me with three ways to make or break myself.
The years were painted upon my palms
but I smudged the ink-
spent too much time working with these hands
writing with these hands
breaking things with these hands
that the years just ended up on my face.
Spent too much time asleep-
so they are stained upon my pillow.
No cycle you can repeat to wash out the stains.
No cycle you can repeat to make the same mistakes as me.
One. I found a better me inside of tiny capsules that once broke me-
they just had a different face.
Two. The textbooks and the late nights became my religion
and I've been faithful to the point of redemption.
Three. You found your way back to me-
I welcomed you with open arms.
I'm still trying to decide if this is me going forward, or backwards.
But it feels like a step in the right direction.
Four. The toxic version of myself has left-
it is held in the back of my dark closet.
Lined inside of the empty bottles I once sank inside.
They are now just a keepsake for who I don't want to be.
Five. Writing has been the only savior I have ever known
I write in cursive so you can't read between these lines
they all intersect, they're all stop and go.
No one can read me now-
these windows are tinted darker than the legal limit.
I wrote it that way.
One. Relapse is okay when it's just an eminem album-
but I broke myself by blurring my vision.
Two. Relapse is only okay when it's an eminem album-
but these scabbed legs like to tell you a different story.
Three. I let myself trust someone wearing a mask-
he couldn't look in the mirror and see his own reflection
he only knows what he has become not where he has been.
Broken by the broken-
a vicious cycle I repeat over and over again.
I took five steps forward and three steps back this year-
it seems I forgot about you before.
Another part of the year written upon my hand
that will stain everything.
It was a step in the right direction-
forward isn't always a good thing
sometimes it's necessary to go backwards
because it can lead you to a better tomorrow-
I took five steps forward, two steps back
and one more to lead me to my future.
Cleaning up the stains
because he is now my bleach
my sanity and the sparkle beneath the stains.
The cycle that repeats-
but finally gets your **** clean.
I guess three is my lucky number.
I took five steps forward-
the rest is just history.

I asked him to stay-
but his hands were wrapped around my throat.
I insisted anyway.
No words I could think to formulate
other than to convince him to not leave me.
Stay.
The words crumble like weak knees amongst a dying friend.
You realize these things when you're close to the edge.
About to jump.

He didn't need my convincing-
His eyes struck me solid
Half past twelve and his five o clock shadow
was the only shade of midnight I care to remember.
You took the time to hold my hands and now they're just spinning.

Clockwise mindset.
A reminder I am set in my ways.
The alarm clock sings-
Tells me there are still things I have to remind myself to remember.
But what good is memory when it is a shell casing of a bullet
that was supposed to be lodged inside of your brain but it missed.
Left you with a hole
and now you can't remember where you came from.

I am moving on from this.
From the hands of yours stuck around my throat
keeping me from keeping him close.
You are nothing to me now-
Just a shadow not even a ghost
Not even a figure I can make out inside of my mind anymore.
You are nothing-

I realize my time is up when the clock strikes.
Father Time says to me
That not everything is set in stone
And these hands will continuing turning
even on days the watch is broken.
So watch out for yourself.

These minutes should remind me
to forget your face in the background.
Ignore the ticking when it comes
and tries to remind me why I take these pills.
Just take them.
Do not bury your hurt inside a foreign memory
that doesn't know how to speak the language of recovery.
Because these hands,
They will continuing turning
even when my watch is broken
Even on days when I am too.

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?

I am madness,
and sunshine while it rains
but I am no rainbow
there's no light at the end of this tunnel
only darkness
lit by florescent counterfeits.
I am a wind storm
messy, never dangerous
but always unpredictable.
I have spent my days
worried with things I cannot control
and I so badly want
something I can hold close to.
But I am solid as a rock
and when I approach you
it will cause some damage.
I have known for a long time
that loving me is hard
because I've tried
and even I get tired.
I am clay,
easily molded
but when left dry and untouched
I turn to stone.
It may take some time,
but even a diamond
needs pressure
to be beautiful.

emptiness is a slow burning incense-
the forty five minutes left of your three hour class
that doesn't seem to go fast enough.
The longing for so much more than you get
that feeling in your chest after you see something
that physically makes you sick.
The pain in your stomach that comes when you're hungry.
Empty. Empty
and empty again.  
All I ever feel anymore is empty.
My mind is a hollow shell of absolutely nothing.
I do not feel anymore.
I am empty.
I am nothing.
I am forever fleeting.
I am trouble-
and only I have the solution.
So this is goodbye.

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

I succumb to the uncertainty
as I give myself to you completely.
and when our lips creatively collide
I realize that I've always
been really good at cutting ties-
I tug on your heartstrings
and somehow it seems
i've lost the same knife
that once cut me deep,
making me believe in nothing..

It must be nice
to hang your broken wings upon
a bird that can fly for you-
to eat from the hands that have
been continuously providing you
without any effort for your own movement forward.

It must be nice to be able to actually move forward
but see I am stuck too far into my past
too far into my own mind
because when the sympathy comes
it's for a man who has always scorned
and never for the child who was scorned.
I see where the allegiance lies nowadays-
I have always seen it even at the young ages
when I begged and begged for the hand to feed me.
Those days when I wish I could've had someone else
pick me up off the cold ground and fly for me
but I've always been the bread winner
always been the provider of my own salvation
even in times when I could barely wake
there I sit making sure I would be okay
when really no one else was there to double check.
I need not be thrown into that category anymore
I need not the same things others desire or long for
wishing for these things in my world
would be like wishing for a windstorm
when you're trying to write your will
in the dark depths of the same forest you got lost inside.
It will never work-
too much chaos and not enough stillness
for you to capture what this means to me
not enough calm anymore, only storm
and I am at the eye of it once again.

Your hands reach out for those familiar
and I wonder why you don't reach for mine
until I realize we are just strangers-
living inside one home
that has never really felt that way to me.
You don't know that I need to get a grip
you don't know I long for a bed where I feel safe
a place to confide where I feel as if I really belong.
Your hands reach out for those familiar
and you do not reach for mine.
It has been this way most of my life
and I have come to learn all I need is mine.
All I need are my own hands to pull myself back together
to grip onto the edge of sanity-
show everybody I can make it on my own.
Save your handouts-
they don't exist, when I wish they did
but I don't really need them anyway.