the replacement was as good as any,
tiny cracks beneath clothing so pretty, hidden beneath frills.
she was enjoyed, and adored, and yet
still she was just that.
the replacement.

so the second the better one has returned to its shelf,
she who served as a backup was once again discarded,
because everybody has favourites, and she was never it.

the backup friend who's no longer needed takes a final bow.
the last choice takes a leap of faith into the arms of death, so tender.

it feels like i'm no longer alive
and
am just getting by
on the scraps of  something i don't quite understand
unsettling something settles
and suddenly

>> throw yourself out the window.
walk into traffic.
those containers in the mirror cabinet, take them all. <<

huh.

what you did is back then,
when the future was where i am now,
and the past is where i resided, and
anything in between then and now,
was enveloped in static.
because
after what you did,
i couldn't remember anything else,
and
the static between times
became static in my ears
and my brain.
and the static tells me ...
die, or suffer.
...
...
...
...
huh.

and i lay on my side oftentimes
when i am able to talk to you
and in that starless night under cover of darkness
i love you, i love you, i love you
and you love me, you love me, you love me
enough to listen to tired, whiny ramblings,
mostly asleep,
you let me breathe.

a friend you used to know and a girl you used to admire
one in the same clung to memories of time with you
where conversations weren't left dead,
talk for hours, laugh until stomachs pained and eyes teared up,
while now those tears are not joy,
but a deep sorrow that scars brought on,
scars from things too terrible to put into words.
a girl you used to love and a person you used to care for
one in the same drew breath from reserves not her own
on borrowed time, she held tightly to you,
and although it hurt you to be there for her,
there was nothing else you could do but cling to the past
and she hated it
you hated it
your shared comfort in each other under uncomfortable sheets
shaking hands to skin,
tears as you ravaged each other,
just to destroy each other some more.
a person you used to comfort and now only a shadow
one in the same disappeared at some point
and you can't even remember when,
but you let her go,
and she let you go,
it left you both uneasy, but at least now you're both free
from the shackles of using each other
using bodies that barely fit together
souls too big for your selves
hoping it would be enough to rock against each other
using it as a crutch, a means of escape
freedom, you clutch it in closed fist
the uneasy of her unknowns, in an open hand.

If i were to disappear, would you look for me?
If i let my wings spread across the sky, would you follow me?
If my wounds were deep, would you tend to them?
Or, perhaps, would you turn away?
Would it be too much to bear, to witness, to lay your eyes upon?
If i were to begin running to the sea, would you run with me?
If i screamed into the nothing as loud as i could, would you scream with me?
If i asked you to love me with all your heart, would you love me?
Or, perhaps, would i not be the girl you were looking for?
Would it be too much to care so deeply, so tenderly, so fully?
Would it break my heart?
Or, perhaps, it would break yours?

people always represent love with roses
for the simple fact of a flower with thorns
because love can hurt.
there is yelling
and there is hurt
and there are times where all we do is cry
but i cry those tears for you,
and we apologise to each other (although too much)
and at the end of the day youre mine
and youre mine
and i would give the world to be nearer to you
in a heartbeat
i would give everything.
for you.

i had my heart broken
what felt like one too many times
in my short life on earth,
and although i resented those who broke it,
and resented myself more for allowing it all to happen,
over and over and over...
it was worth it
seeing as i have my love,
and he loves so hard,
and so fully,
and i feel it so deep within myself
it makes me cry.

it was all worth it to have you.

i am comforted by thoughts of him,
the fire inside my soul when he's on my mind
is far more comforting than i could have thought.
and the way these thoughts present themselves to me,
can be a lot to handle,
and i dip inside myself
and god do i wish it was him instead,
to lay over me
and share in this passion in togetherness,
rather than in two separate places,
alone.
and although poetic now,
the act of touching,
is almost entirely lacking
in poeticism.

tiny, she was 8 years old,
and she asked,
"do you hate me?
is the reason youre so cruel to yourself
because you hate me?
am i the reason youre so mean?
is this my fault?"
and i hugged her,
and i cried,
and i said "no.
i could never hate you.
it could never be your fault.
i didnt mean to make you think that it was."

if there's a space in front of me,
why not jump?
if there's a pen in front of me,
why not write?
if there's a rope in front of me,
why not pull?
if there's a note in front of you,
why not read?
...
and if your arms are open for me,
why
not
jump?

the hands on clocks,
they follow me endlessly,
and when i think i have the time to rest,
the hands, they catch up,
and i am on the run again.

but you take my hands into yours and we run,
and now time catching up feels not so scary,
because at least im running from time less alone.
at least im running away with you in dreams.

the hands on clocks,
they follow me endlessly,
and when i think i have the time to rest,
the hands, they catch up,
and i am on the run again.

but you take my hands into yours and we run,
and now time catching up feels not so scary,
because at least im running from time less alone.
at least im running away with you in dreams.

i preached of you like they were my last words,
or as if you were my favourite book,
or a movie i watched a million times and swore up and down was good,
to friends who weren't a fan of the same genre.
i preached of my faith in you,
and although these words fell upon deaf ears, i preached still.
because you have been safety.
comfort.
home.
and i picked you apart,
and my mother hears so much about you,
and at this point she has got to be sick of it,
but i continue.
i continue.
i.
i bet.
i bet that i
am just your secret.
and that's okay,
sometimes i just wonder why.

one day, a cup ramen and tap water.
one day, a burnt pizza, because i'm stupid and forgetful.
one day, a single hot pocket, cold in the center and tasteless.
one day, a bag of chips and a 99 cent arizona tea.
one day, a zebra cake.
one day, a 50 cent soda.
one day, nothing.
one day, a passing thought about stealing from the store.
one day, a lingering thought about stealing from the store.
one day, a startling fear that i'll starve to death.
one day, a cup ramen and tap water.

she whispered to me of sacrifice,
of the suffering i must endure for a beauty unmatched,
and although it means nights feeling empty inside,
at least the goddess of a failing practice will love me.

and what on earth is the point of being,
when there's still that creeping, sinking feeling,
a fire in my soul always reduced to embers,
and hopes crushed to dust beneath heels,
of people who preach of their status above mine.

and what on earth is the point of living,
when i am belittled so often in my despairity,
that words of "others have it worse" from people close,
eventually became words of my own,
and i poisoned myself so willingly.

and what on earth is the point of continuing,
when all i see is bleak and dreary,
where in my sadness over trivial, unimportant things,
like spilled coffee or being unproductive,
have me ready to pack up my backpack and leave?

you left the faucet on,
and like a *** on a stove it boiled and boiled
and it overflowed,
and i hope it ******* scalds you
i hope it burns and burns and burns,

he says,
with the passion of stars dying,
in their final breaths explode,
that i am his.

he says,
with the love nobody else felt so deeply for me,
in due time surely i'll marry this man,
that i am his.

and i say,
after all my talk of nothing being guaranteed,
with an absolute that i will never make for anyone else,
that i will stay always.

stars taken down from the heavens spun
spun in the darkened corners of my vision
as i told you
and you looked at me,
sick
sick
sickened
by my repulsivity and utter lack of love
for the girl that I had let waste away
in many a dream.
and still i work to frame a perfection i can doubt to have
in this lifetime and more
because if not perfect,
what left will i have to be?

and there is someone i love,
he, patient, while i not so.
**** the universe for making me so uncertain,
when what i failed to realise that i was always,
always certain of you.
there are stars within your soul, and you are my light.
you are my sun. my stars.
and i will do anything for you.
**** anyone who gets in the way.
mine.
such a small word, and yet it fills my heart to overflow.

what's a good way to say i love you?
what's the best way to really explain to you
the love that i feel for you?

maybe...

no matter where this goes
whether there's more in store for us or not...
you're not HIM,
you're not the villain in my story, and you'll always be far from it.
you could never hurt me the way  HE did.
and although your words carry more weight than HIS ever did,
not once have you ever weaponised your words against me.
and you're real to me.
you're real.
so ******* real.

even from here, you're real.

and although my selfishness is something i despise so often,
this agreeable warmth is something
i almost want to myself,
because as long as there is someone to love me,
there is also someone to save me.
and although you cannot FIX me,
you're still going to be there,
and you're still going to hold my hand through a rough patch,
and if i am possibly to fall,
you'll laugh, sure,
but you'll still pick me right back up.

its because you love me,
or whatever.

and tonight,
thats not so bad
and tonight,
i love you
and tonight,
you are so ******* perfect.

mon étoile.

if there were better words to say it,
i'd say it all.
were there a better way to show you,
i'd do anything.
but i love you.
i love
love love love love you.

mon
étoile.

all i ever pray for
with waning courage,
and a cracking voice,
is for someone to save me.
someone to hold onto me
and not let me go
because i am so
so close
to falling off the edge
and at this point
darkness springs to envelop me
and my happiness is swallowed
and drag me away...
I hope he drags me away
because hurting others is the one thing I'd rather die than do.
please. ******* save me. someone.
im begging.

your words would set me ablaze,
a firepit for a stomach as it churns,
it burns,
and i am all warm inside

and all you did was give me the time of day.

all you did was speak to me so kindly,
and then
my face was red
and i shook.

maybe 5 am isnt the best time to rile me up...
not that i was complaining.

and so
if i kissed you now
would it hurt us?
and not the kind of hurt of passion bruised lips,
not the hurt of our lungs when we refuse to part,
but the hurt in our minds,
the ache in our hearts
when we know this will never work?

i want to be the perfect, slim doll
so that way your agreeable warmth
envelops me so entirely
and so you can lift me
so that the things you do to me in a night full of physicals
look pretty on skin of glass
your shirt hanging off of me
like drapes to the window
and the aftermath of ruthless movements
still shows in the way my slender legs wobble
i want to be the kind of skinny
that look good after i've been ruined so completely.

i learned happiness from someone else
found my light in a boy i could never begin to love healthily
and although we talk,
he's no longer enough
and my courage shrinks smaller with every day that passes
and i thought maybe cutting myself open
and finding that small coal of a sun in me
would help me
would show me its there
but its dead
gone
goodbye forever

in another life
i was probably happy without attention
from boys who just wanted to ***** me.

this is not that life.

to be fair,
the sunlight i found was not pleasant,
and it burned me like any sun would had i gotten to close
i tried my best to be there, but i was there much too often
and i didnt protect myself!
how silly!
with the lack of protection when being so close to him,
i burned,
and the brilliant ball of flame that was the man i had fallen for
hurt me without knowing it
and even now,
whilst i imagine ripping my sun-burnt skin off
and  relieve myself of the pain of his kindness,
i would still let him be close.

i would still let him be close
because although i know what he wants of me
i know the sin he sees in his mind when he speaks to me,
pretending to be lovers
is still better to me
than just being his friend.

i will depend on the sunshine that others provide for me
all of my life
and although its unhealthy,
nobody's ******* healthy.

the truth is that i cant be my own sunshine.
but i will not cry anymore over what could have been.

i honestly wish the situation
would pass quickly
and honestly i wish i had a say
but she is the one its about
not me
i am her sister
but my opinion is not relevant at all
and i am just a watcher.

for two weeks,
i had stayed comfy in my home,
because April showers sure do pour.
if i had known me coming back were a problem,
i would have stayed home again today,
because what would i listen to your scolding for?

although I am having a difficult time
without a home,
he feels so much like home that sometimes,
I don't even notice anymore.

at this rate it seems
almost impossible
to find a place to be, that I can call home,
because it's been so long,
since home was a place,
and it feels like it'll never be a place ever again.
so for now,
my home is you.

Someday my bones will protrude,
pushing up like daisies across the fields of my skin,
because I have died over and over,
every day I died,
and this one last time I will be beautiful and sunken in,
and this last time Ana will have controlled me;
when Ana said she wanted me dead,
I knew she would someday make it happen.
Because I cannot afford to be saved,
someday I will be the one the funeral is for.

maybe you just hate me,
giving my love like it's just nothing,
surface level loves making me go crazy,
please just say you hate me.

a shard of broken glass
will not lie and tell you it won't hurt you.
if you mess around with broken glass,
you already know you could get injured...
yet why is it that a piece of glass
is more honest than a human?

honestly i lost the joy
that comes from opening presents from a big bearded man
which - now that I think about it -
is creepy.
i grew up and situations became worse
to the point where christmas is full of horrible memories -
three christmases spent homeless,
one spent fearing for my life,
and many of them pretending things weren't as bad as they were.
basically,
i spent this one alone
because that way nothing can hurt me again.

Maybe I opened more social medias,
maybe i did it to gain extra attention.
Maybe it's a way to cope,
with the ****** things that have been done to me.
I cope with these horrible memories,
by making myself an object for the internet.

Honestly, although I will tell you it wasn't your fault,
not even I now believe that.
You were so scared then -
so fragile -
you were so small to carry all that hurt and sadness.
I promise you that I'm trying to do better,
for you, little me, for you,
and maybe someday I will truly be just that:
Better.

i know im not actually a burden but -
do you hate me? am I annoying? do you want me to shut up?
i know its just my head being mean but -
you deserve better than me, you dont deserve this mess.
i know i can get better but -
i dont deserve help, I'm only going to get worse.
I know I should be medicated but -
i dont have the money, and do I really deserve it?
I know I could just escape the void, but -
it calls my name, it beckons me.
I know maybe people do care, but -
maybe I'll really do it.