I don't know what I expected
when we started hanging out again.
I don't want to be your **** buddy
or cuddle buddy.
I want you to want me
when I'm not naked.
You keep telling me what a mess you were
when you thought that I no longer loved you.
After six months of self destruction,
I thought maybe you'd love me again too.

left on seen,
and pouring my heart out in 140 characters or less
"can we talk?"
ill double
triple
quadruple
message you until you let me
hear your voice again
i know im not good at eye contact
but i can try
if i can see you again
ill grow out my hair
and lose 10 pounds
if itll make me look good to you
outside of my profile picture
**** id write you a letter
if it meant i could turn my phone off
i dont want you to text me your goodbyes
i want you to love me again
you said we lost that spark we had
but you set a fire in me
that no amount of
poetry alcohol or cigarette ashes
has been able to put out

could you at least call me?

I know, from where you’re at in this,
things seem bright.
He’s treating you well,
expressing that he ****** up;
it for sure won’t happen again.

He’s texting you “goodnight beautiful”
every night before he goes to bed.
He’s telling his friends that you’re his girl,
you’re spending time with his siblings.
He’s buying you things,
he’s spending time with you.

I know,
I’ve been there.

I plead that you realize that it won’t always be like this.

Soon he’ll start blowing you off,
no call,
no answer.
If he hasn't already, he’ll start lying about where he is,
who he’s with,
who the girl he was talking to was.
You might found out.

But don’t confront him about it, oh no.
It’ll be all your fault.
You’re crazy.
You drove him to it.
It never happened, why are you demonizing him?
Or he’ll cry and say that he ***** everything up
and you can’t leave him, too.

I know that things seem good now.
I’ve been there.
If you got out now,
you’d really be dodging a bullet.
Don’t be like me.
Please recognise you deserve better than him,
that he doesn’t deserve you in the slightest.
He cheated on you once,
you know he’ll do it again.

You won’t ever listen to me, though.
I didn’t listen when I was warned.
I’m just a crazy ex, you know?
Just like he’ll tell you all of them are.
Every
single
girl
he’s ever been with.

I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
but what you're eating had emotions.
I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
but it's really not necessary for you to eat that at all.
I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
but, in order for you to eat that, we're killing the planet.
I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
but "free range" doesn't mean anything
and "grass fed" just means they had a bit of ground in their cages.
I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
but cows have best friends,
mother pigs "sing" to their babies,
and turkeys can play video games.
I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
it's just that it's super hypocritical to say you believe in animal rights
and are against animal cruelty
when there's a hamburger on your plate.

I'm not forcing my lifestyle on you,
you're ignoring me anyway.

You gave a girl at work
a speech about how ***
should mean something.
You looked directly at me,
and continued to be a **** to me.

If it should mean something,
stop making me your 12am *******
when you can't find a prettier girl
to ****.

"You're the kind of girl
that artists, poets, and musicians
have been obsessing over
since the beginning of man,"
he sighed and traced
the outline of my spine.

I'll laugh and agree,
reduce myself to
your fictional ideals
of a manic pixie dream girl,
if that'd make you want me.

I didn't do my homework again.
I didn't wash my work clothes again.
If I tie my hair back, no one will know that I haven't washed my hair in four days.
If I wear makeup, it'll look like I slept.
I can eat now and just get rid of it later.
I can laugh now and cry later.

I'm completely fine, though.
Nothing to see here.

I got to MEPS tomorrow
and get sworn in on Friday.
My mom never supports me in anything,
but supports this.
I'd feel a lot better
if my friends would stop scoffing at me.
Especially considering,
it's only a few short weeks before I leave for basic.
Some encouragement would be nice.

I think I change
"what I want to be when I grow up"
so much because
I'm not sure if
I'll let myself live that long.

I refuse to let
anyone
treat me like garbage
anymore.
I don't deserve to be constantly belittled
by someone that claims to be my best friend.
I've spent too long getting sick
trying to appease your rollercoaster emotions.

Make me the bad guy all you want.
The only difference between
being on your bad side
and
being on your good side
is whether or not you smile
after insulting me.

Make me the bad guy all you want.
But no one only attracts bad people.
when your friends keep leaving,
the only common denominator is you.

I couldn’t get out of bed today,
my homework from yesterday lays unfinished,
eyeliner smeared on my eyelids
because I couldn’t perk up the motivation
to even wash my face last night.
But, as I scroll down my Facebook newsfeed,
I wonder if I’m doing depression wrong.
Four statuses about how people “can’t take anymore,”
two selfies of themselves crying,
a picture of someone’s cuts.
Each post filled with supportive comments,
of how things with get better if they keep trying.

I used to weigh eighty pounds,
the enamel on my teeth is eroded
from heaving up the heaviness haunting me
every second after I ate.
I hear girls talking about how they “wish”
that they had an eating disorder
so boys will carry them around,
so they’ll have a thigh gap.
Every time it causes a relapse,
and I don’t feel as perfect as people say I should
when I’m laying in a hospital bed.

Though you may claim to be so depressed
because you failed your math test,
or to be completely anorexic
because you skipped lunch today,
this is not mental illness.
Mental illness is
lying to those who love you most
about when the last time you ate was,
wearing long sleeves in the summertime,
failing your favourite classes
because even thinking about all the work gave you panic attacks,
having to bring a list of medications you’ve been on to every doctor’s visit
and explaining what each of the awful side effects did to you.

If you want attention buy a puppy,
call your grandma,
hug your sibling for christ’s sake.
Mental illnesses are not identities to assume
whenever they benefit you.

I'm not your girlfriend.
Don't kiss me on the forehead,
don't hold my hand.
Don't gently stroke my hair-
just ******* pull it.

"All anyone here cares about
is drugs, ***, and alcohol,"
you said,
insinuating that I'm any different.

I don't want your hoodie,
or your bracelet.
I don't wanna spend the night.

I want 2am "you up?" texts,
giving head in the bathroom,
popping adderall and going all night.

I don't want you to love me,
I just want you to **** me.

You're too nice for me,
and I never liked gentlemen anyway.

up and down
loving you
to hating you
in a matter of seconds
im the car crash
after a joyride
i wish people
would stop staring

i wanted you i wanted you i wanted you

you wouldn't have been able
to handle me anyway
i can hardly handle me
anyway.

ill drink some cough syrup
go **** someone that doesn't give a ****
take some adderall to get through work tomorrow

i don't want to be like this anymore

Full of heartbreakers
and nose pickers,
"You forgot to collect the homework"
and "let's skip and smoke in the bathroom."
This whole place smells like BO.
I spoke to you once in history,
no I won't sign your yearbook.

We do accommodate our vegetarian students!
Have a bowl of crunchy water
and pray the lunch lady doesn't slip in a scoop of turkey.

Learn these formulas,
though you'll never use them.
You're ******* useless if you can't do everything in gym.

Don't show your shoulders,
don't be a ****.
Didn't you listen in health class?
Condoms never work.

School makes you panic?
Go anyway,
cry in the bathroom if you have to.
Go anyway,
or we'll make you.

Stop looking at his Facebook profile. Seeing his posts tears your heart open again, especially when they're about you. You know that he is not worth your time.
2. Eat more. You need the nourishment. The number on the scale does not matter to anyone but you. Who cares if you went up from 102 to 108? No one.
3. Love yourself. There is nothing poetic or beautiful about getting ******* alone in your bedroom and stumbling drunkenly to the bathroom to cut yourself open.
4. Teach people how to treat you. Explain your boundaries. If someone doesn't respect them, cut them the *******. They don't respect you.
5. Take more baths. It may force you to look at your naked body, but the warm water calms you down.
6. Do your ******* homework. It may not matter after high school, but it matters now.
7. Stop giving your heart to boys that won't even give your their time. He may claim to love you in the dark, but during the day you're just another **** to him.
8. Pursue that guy. Yeah, you might get hurt. But it'll be a lot of fun in the meantime.
9. Stop acting like you're above high school activities. You have a year and a half left, make the most of it. (Even if it's buying a poofy dress you'll never wear again and going to Snoball with your best friend.)
10. Buy more red lipstick. You feel like you can do anything when you wear it, and you deserve to feel like that all the time.

You tasted like sin-
cold, bitter alcohol
you bought with your fake ID
and stale cigarettes
you stole from your roommates.

We talked about God
and the Bible,
with your hands in
my unholy places.

In church,
they warn me about sin.
Ugly, vicious sin,
that'll tangle me up
and drag me straight to hell.

They don't warn me about sin
with thick, curly hair,
warm, soft skin,
and sleepy eyes
that look at me
like they've seen my soul.

A year ago
you kissed me under the fireworks.
I chainsmoked
way too many cigarettes,
you complained of me tasting
like smokey mints.

Now I'm chain smoking
way too many cigarettes,
praying you'll text me back,
praying you'll see me tonight.

We can get drunk, if you want.
I won't complain about cheap beer.
You can get high, if you want.
I won't complain.

Just text me back.
Just see me.
Just tell me that you'd still love me
and I'm not wasting my time
again.

Maybe I miss you.
I'd never admit that, though.
Maybe my underwear
is still carefully sorted
into what you took off of me
and what you haven't seen me in.
Maybe some days
I can't wear things you've touched.
Maybe you still slither into my thoughts
while I'm writhing under the covers.
Maybe I still think about
every
*******
day.
Maybe I spent an entire trimester of poetry class
writing about you.
Maybe not all of my poem were about the bad,
it wasn't all bad.
Maybe I never stopped loving you.
I love myself enough
to keep you out of my life, though.

Drunk and belligerent,
you got out the words
"I miss you."
I spent weeks pining for you,
wondering what was so wrong with me
that made you not love me anymore.
Weeks of crying,
weeks of avoiding you,
weeks of remembering the
few
good memories
instead of the innumerable bad.
I told you about the new boy
that holds my hand
and calls me beautiful.
I'm happy
and you're pining.

What comes around,
goes around.

It's 1 o'clock in the morning
and I'm not lonely.
I don't crave the touch of someone
that decided they don't want me,
nor the affection of someone
that probably doesn't know my last name.
I don't long for a warm body
to lay beside,
it's hot as **** in here anyway.
I'm texting boys
that I want nothing from
and I don't care what they want from me.

It's 1 o'clock in the morning
and I'm not lonely,
so why am I so ******* sad?

I can be 18
if it'd give you
some peace of mind.

"You'd be really hot if you actually ******* shaved. Hairy girls are disgusting," you snarled.
"*******," was easier to say than
"I smell like vanilla. You smell like 3 day old body odor."

Don't talk about it.
But talktalktalktalk.
Talk to the coworker you hate,
and the cute one,
and the one that is always worried about you.
Don't let anyone know that you let your heart get ripped out
again.
Make awful small talk
because you're stronger than this.

Don't tear up
when people ask what happened.
Say "I got dumped"
with a sarcastic smile.
Don't allow yourself to feel crushed
all over again
when they look at you with pity.

Don't let anyone know
what a shock it was.
Don't tell anyone
that you wrote ***** love poems
you can never show anyone
about him the night before.

When people ask if you still love him,
don't grace it with an answer.
Don't stammer out,
"I could have."
It won't hurt any less.
Don't talk about that time
you almost told him you loved him
at two in the morning on a school night
as he traced your bare rib cage
and you ignored your phone.

Don't think about how
he did this so he "wouldn't hurt you,"
because he did
and bad.

Talk about his Oedipus complex
and how he wouldn't *******,
how you thought he was different
and you meshed so well together.

You're a whole person
and don't have another half.
(Or at least keep telling yourself that.)

Don't waste ink and computer space
writing about him again.

I tried to reconcile
with the boy that shattered me,
instead of the person
that tried to help me fit the pieces
back together again.

Don't tell me some things wrong,
that I did something wrong,
then ignore me.

We wanted to fix this,
you have to let me try.

Let me try to soothe
whatever you're over thinking about.
Most of these "problems"
are entirely inside your head.

i stuffed toilet paper into my underwear
without caring.
i flushed a little, lifeless body
down the drain.
it wasn't alive, anyway
i knew it was inside me
and carried on anyway.
being reckless
finally killed something.
you'd have gotten rid of it
i'm too young to be a mom.
my mom was exactly my age
when she had me
and look how I turned out.
i know people
that are trying desperately
to have children
and i didn't even cry
over mine.

Happy, but heart racing
Focused, but mind everywhere
I can do anything

I want you to always feel
like you do
when we're lying in your bed
at 3am,
naked and panting,
completely crazy about each other.

When you trace the outline of my ribs
with your fingertips,
wrap your arms around me,
and kiss my shoulder.

I said that I hate for people to see me naked,
so you pried the blankets away from me.
You kissed the parts of me I hate
the most
and called me beautiful.

I like your stupid puns
and your stupid white boy hair cut.
I like how you confide in me,
how you've made me feel comfortable enough
to confide in you.

I'm always waiting for something,
this mood swing to end,
for this day to be over.
When I'm with you, though,
I never want the night to end.

I don't know how to say
"What so wrong with just hanging out with me?"
without coming off too harsh.
Wanting to see you outside of school
more than once every two weeks
isn't clingy,
we aren't in middle school.

Honestly, I don't need anyone or anything,
but a little support would be nice.

I've never wanted kids.
Who knew something
the size of a sesame seed
could change everything
so fast?

I'm so tired of relapsing
into things I should have been done with
years ago.
Maybe this'll be the last;
I'll give up
on the notion of recovery
for good
and just let this finally
**** me.

I try to recover.
I really do.
But then you do things
like scream at me
because I wouldn't buy you a whole pizza
and I'm reminded why this all started
in the first place.

I'm sorry that I freak out
over things that I should just talk to you about.
I'm not used to someone liking me
this much
or being treated
this well.
I guess I'm trying to find some way
that you're just like every other guy
I've been with
and that's not okay.

There's no point in loving
or even liking
a girl like me.
A girl with gashes
on her thighs
and thin, white lines
up her arms;
who won't let you **** her
until you turn the lights off;
who you might lose
at the drop of a hat
because I'm not very good
at keeping myself alive.

I'm tired of those
who are supposed to make me feel better
making me feel like ****.

I can't just not be around you.

I can't say anything even vaguely critical of you.

I think you can read my mind.

You were the catalyst
for this relapse.

On one hand,
I can't stand you.
I want to set your stuff on fire
and scream-
oh god, I want to scream-
until you feel
what I feel.

On the other,
If I hated you that much,
I wouldn't be trying
this ******* hard
to fill the gap that you left.

You stabbed me in the back
and are apologizing for messing up my shirt.

If you don't want me around,
if you don't want to talk to me,
if you don't want to see me
when I'm not naked,
I'll find someone that does.

Just let me know,
for I hate wasting my time.

I miss singing along
to ****** pop songs,
riding around,
thinking we were going to last forever.

I miss your family,
your little siblings
climbing all over me,
them viewing us as a unit that would always be a part of their lives.

I miss the safety,
when you'd calm me down
after  panic attacks,
thinking nothing would ever hurt me as long as you were there.

I do not miss you.

I promised myself
that I'd never write a poem
about you.

But you stabbed me
in the back;
I just apologized for
getting blood on you.

Breaks aren't permanent, right?
There's still an us, right?

I looked at the pictures in your snap story,
the ones with your arms around that girl,
on a continuous loop
for the 24 hours they were available.

I know what that look
that was in your eyes means.
I've seen it a million times.
Does what I know you did
count as cheating
if it's during a break?

You said you needed time.
Yet, I so desperately
want to speak you.
I'll apologize again,
who knows what for.

Call me "***" again
and make me smile
because it feels like those muscles
aren't working
on my own.

We can't fix anything
without talking.
Oh god, come online
and speak to me.

I can't remove the knife
by myself.
At least take responsibility
and clean up your mess.

the only time
that I don't have
nightmares
is when I sleep
next to you.
my dark circles
now almost look
fake.
I've been too scared
to sleep
for weeks now.
caffeine
can't comfort me
like you do.

I told a boy to go pray today,
and maybe his bad luck is God's way
of saying he needs to get his *** to church.
He grinned
and asked to go with me.

Drinking down menthol cigarettes
and eating uppers as candy
because Lord knows we won't be
eating tonight.

You kissed my sunburned lips,
got my number,
and left with a "let's hang out soon."

We're both bad at conversation,
but our bodies
got our points across.

You said you're not cut out for
a relationship.
But kissed the broken skin on my thighs
and made me feel something for once.

You said you get attached to all the wrong people.
But went silent
when I said that I do too.

I don't know what I want us to be.
I don't know of we'll ever be more
than this.

I just know that this
isn't working.

You made me very happy
and very sad
and this isn't healthy.

A year ago,
I wanted the wonderful words you said about me
tattooed on the underside of my eyelids
so I could be reminded of how much I mattered to you
every time I blinked.

Now I want them written in Crayola marker
so I can wash them away when you realize
for the last time
that I was never good enough for you.

It's not a relapse if you enjoy it.
It's not addiction if you still like it.
It's not your life so don't worry about it.

I deleted your contact in my phone.
I won't get notifications if you message me on Facebook.
I may still know your number,
but I'm not answering if you call.

You admitted you don't want me
and I refuse to to get hurt again
when you change your mind
*again.