A girl with the world on her shoulders;
her brother is her saving grace,
except when she's alone at night.

She refuses to look in the mirror,
as she is still unable to face
the grief and trouble reflected in the glass.

She has been forced to hide her family problems
beneath the linen and lace,
accompanying each day with a new excuse.

She yearns to leave the responsibility
and disappear without a trace;
to succumb to a place that only knows peace.

This time last year I choked on every
breath I tried to take and I broke down
at every other 2 a.m. that came along.
Nights were the only time my eyes were
dry because I didn't want to cry at the
hospital. That would be too cliche
and too much for you to take.

You were supposed to die that night,
nobody expected you to live a couple
more hours and now it's been over a year.

You scared us again that December.
I didn't go to my soccer tournament
because I was too emotionally unstable
and I was sure you were going to die.
You didn't.

You were still in the hospital in January
and now you were hallucinating.
A man died in the room next door and I was
convinced that was a sign that you were next.
I'll never forget the screams of his family.
I prepared myself for that to be us.
It hasn't happened yet.

You got back your remission, but you
lost your ability to walk. You have
become the ever present voice in my ear
and your eyes beg me to save you from
your own personal hell.

But I can't save you. I've tried.
I've spent countless nights thinking about
what I could do better and what I had
already done wrong, but the lack of sleep
never inspired any solutions.

I'm sorry that I'm not your hero.
I'm sorry that he couldn't be your savior.
I'm sorry he couldn't even keep himself afloat.
But most of all,
I'm sorry that I'm waiting for you to die.

alone
a ripple in the ocean,
a single leaf in the forest;
part of something, yet
completely overlooked.
insignificant
an eyelash on the sidewalk,
a step in the right direction;
a tear that falls at night,
and is dry by morning.
gone

It's 12:01 am and you're crying.
It should be the beginning of a new day,
a fresh start, a blank slate.
But instead you're sitting there
unable to control your breathing,
victim to the way your sobs rock
your body and how your thoughts
invade every safe haven in your mind.
You want so badly to cry out for help,
but you know your voice isn't strong
enough for anyone to hear anymore.
And so you wish for sleep, whether
temporary or permanent, and wait
for the tears to subside so that you
can finally close your eyes.

I have been learning how to die:
My ribs are poking through and my coat is getting thin.
Love lies hidden in every rose,
It’s a restless hungry feeling that don’t mean no one no good.
Nothing is permanent in this wicked world;
You must let them go, they were born to go.
There was never meant to be clarity.
Let nothing disturb you; let nothing frighten you.

When the wind blows, the grass bends;
There are so many fragile things after all.
The earth has music for those who listen,
But those songs and bells were the laughter of guns
And their echoes are truly endless.
You said I should learn to sing along,
There’s paranoia in your veins.

Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be,
The world is filled with broken things.
You must have chaos within you,
You can turn a phrase into a weapon.
Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind;
I always have to justify how my tongue dances.

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple:
When you cease to exist who will you blame?

She lies in the corner after he
hit her and screamed, but
his touch is still the only
thing she yearns for.

She’s become dependent
on a love that can never
support her; a narcissistic
excuse for caring.

That’s the worst kind,
when the one person
you should be able to
trust, is a stranger.

Yet she stays because he’s
promised her the world, and
eternity with the wrong one is
better than forever with no one.

Be weary of the boys
that show that they care,
for those are the most
dangerous ones.

They slowly work their
way into your thoughts
until they envelope
your heart with an
iron grip that won't let
go.

And when you plead
for them to just forget you,
they do. But the problem
is that they've left bruises
and scars imprinted on
your skin and in your bones
and all throughout your mind,
permanently etching themselves
into everything you do.

So while the caring boy moves
on exactly as you asked, you're
left to pick up the pieces of
heart you begged him to break.

I am strong now.
My voice doesn't shake when I talk
and I smile more than I frown.
I've changed, but that's inevitable
when you're living on the brink of death.
My sense of humor has gotten darker
but I'm learning to refine it, to refine myself.
I know now that I will be working on myself
my entire life and will always be rediscovering who I am.
I find that kind of comforting:
the bad parts of me now will eventually fade,
and maybe they'll be replaced with worse but
there's still the chance that they'll be replaced with better.
And that's what I'm striving for: better.
Day by day I become more sure of myself,
every second brings with it a new lesson.
I am ready to finally be happy.

I'm tired of feeling alone every time I
open my eyes and overwhelmingly
lonely whenever I close them. I blink
in the hope that happiness might come
in the millisecond between the two but
it never does and I'm left with something
stronger than disappointment.

I'm scared of so many things right now.
Like if I'm making the right decision about my future:
Am I independent enough to leave my home and seek adventure?
What if I'm not living out my life to the fullest?
I don't want to regret these years but I can't seem to change myself.
Am I just as bad as what I complain about?
I'm terrified that I am my biggest pet peeve
and that I will never be able to escape myself.

I'm scared that my newfound anger isn't just a phase.
And how am I supposed to overcome my problems
if I instinctively shut them out before I have the chance to try?
I'm scared that second chances don't exist and
fear that I've ****** up the only one I get.
I worry that true happiness will never come to me again
but I know I'm probably just being overdramatic.

I'm terrified that I'm wrong about her and that
I will be too late to do any saving.
I know she doesn't want to be saved but I still fear
she'll choose death over us.

I fear that I'm wrong about everything.
I'm scared that nobody cares.
I'm terrified of being lonely.

She
identifies
with the
fine china
that will
stay on
the same
shelf
until
it cracks
with
age.

My mother taught me how to
doubt myself; now I look in
the mirror with hatred and
see a girl who's an expert
at disappointment.

My father showed me that
alcohol turns you into someone
you swore you would never be,
yet I drink it now to forget
what he did to me.

I see my parents reflected
in myself, two people I
promised myself I would
never resemble, yet here I am:
an identical copy.

Your sorrow cries out
and breaks every bone
I have left in my body.

There's not much left
after you cracked my ribs
when you said goodbye,
And after you tore my
skin apart when you
said it was all a lie

But I will pick up the remains
of my broken skeleton
and bury the pieces six feet under
the swing you claimed was special,
when you told me you loved me.

Maybe when you bring your next
girl to the same place, you'll hear
my voice invading your every thought
and haunting every inch of your body.

I hope you do,
and I hope it kills you too.

Fall in love with the comfortable
silences shared in the car ride home

Fall in love with the hint of a smile
on her face when she recognizes a song

Fall in love with the way the hair on the
right side of her face is always out of place
because she's forever twirling it around her finger

Fall in love with the way she talks about the
birds outside, as if they are the most enchanting
things on earth (besides you of course)

Fall in love with how she is constantly
writing, and you know it's about you

Fall in love with the way she has a playlist
for falling asleep, yet it always finishes
before she's even closed her eyes

Fall in love with the way
she falls asleep

Fall in love with a writer
and you will discover new
things about yourself to love

I miss your thoughts breathing
down my neck, and your comfort
crawling around my feet. The
temporary release from living,
and just being; but that's all we
ever were: temporary, unstable.
A ship that I took control of as
we were sailing into shore,
we never had a chance to change
the course or our time spent
together. And now we've finally
docked and I knew that as soon
as your feet hit the warm, grainy
sand you would be long gone.
And I was right; I glimpsed back
and all I could see was your shirt
flicking in the wind and regrets
and passion falling behind with
every rushed, forceful step.
So this is my farewell to the boy
I used as a stepping stone, the
casual forever that will never
be fulfilled.

Late September nights filled with
hushed voices and hand sanitizer
instead of essays about Romeo and Juliet.
You fell asleep in plastic chairs to the
melody of a constant beeping lullaby.
A walk to the cafeteria where you found
company in the doctors with circles
under their eyes. During these months
you redefined a "midnight snack" and
the journey was always longer than
the walk to the fridge at home.

Then a change of scenery came, but
the same routine remained. Days
blended into nights and soon you
were in the hospital on Christmas
holding back tears.
One foggy winter afternoon became
the date after the dash on a man's
gravestone; you knew because those
screams only ever mean one thing.
You wondered who would be next
and heard those cries for days after.
Your friends wondered why your
face grew cold when someone's
voice got too loud-you blamed it
on lack of sleep. But you weren't so
bad after a week, you were better right?

Well you were better in the sense that
your heart still beat and you knew the
exact cost of a grilled cheese and chocolate
milk in the cafeteria. But you were worse
in how you always forgot a straw to take
back upstairs and you didn't know her
room number, only the that it was the
third door on the right.

Your mom knew the security guards like
they were old friends but you didn't even
know their names because you were always
ashamed to be leaving. You saw the different
stages of grief on the faces of people in the
elevator and could tell when the last time
they cried was (it was always the night before.)

You knew her medication better than the doctors
and that scared you so you focused on the lines
on the monitor that you barely understood.
You grew used to sympathetic looks from familiar
faces in the halls. You hoped the families on those
couches would only be there for the night and not
the month like you were. You took on responsibility
you never wanted and that nurses didn't acknowledge.

You've grown into someone you don't want to be anymore;
filled with anger and grief. You laugh at everything hoping
you can force yourself to be happy, but it never works.
You don't allow yourself to think about anything other
than the bad and you don't know how to stop.
You can't tear down the very wall you built.

They found it.

they found my words,

my feelings,

my raw destruction of everyone around me.

I can't face them.

I'm not the person they thought I was.

they found me.

Four years.
Countless tears.
I miss you more
with every breath I take.
My chest heaves and I
crumble under the burden
of living without you.
How am I supposed to make
it when the only person who
kept me going is gone?

Just like that. Gone.

No heart-wrenching scream
or desperate plea will ever
bring you back.

And I hate myself for that.
I hate myself every
******* day.

The guilt eats me alive
and tears at my will to live.
Regret fills every crack in
my body that formed
since you died.
Grief doesn't even begin
to describe this hollow
feeling that I can never
chase away with any amount
of alcohol or drugs, no matter
how hard I try.
And I try, oh do I try.

I'm sorry I didn't try that night.
I'm sorry praying didn't help.
I'm sorry.

I've lived for 1,485 days
without hearing your laugh,
and now I find it hard to
smile even once a day.

It's been 2,138,400 minutes since
I've had insignificant conversation
with you, and I struggle to
make small talk lately.

I've gone 128,304,000 seconds without
a shared glance across the room
and I don't remember the last time
I looked someone in the eyes.

Hey God, am I allowed to break down now?
Is this a convenient time for me to fall to
pieces or do I need to make an appointment?
Can I cry now, God? Has this test ever
been passed? It sure feels like you just
gave up on me and sent me to Hell early.

Am I still alive, God?        Do I even want that answer?

I know I've sinned a lot and I'm sorry but
it's truthfully a miracle that I'm still breathing.
She's not. Breathing, that is. You stopped that
in November. I remember that, God: her cold hand
in mine and the overpowering sound of oxygen.

Are you sorry, God?

Because I think you took the wrong person.
I think you meant to take me--I swear I heard
you calling my name and I was ready and
then you ******* took her away.

Did you make a mistake, God?

Everybody does.

a year ago i didn't know the turmoil i would go through
and i didn't know the kind of happiness i would experience.
a happiness so great i could never explain in words, and an
appreciation for everyday life that came out of nowhere but
what seemed like second nature to me, enveloping me
with every inhale and exhale.

i found friendship in places i least expected, i found
distraction when i needed it the most, and i learned that
i have to set my own standards or people can and will
walk all over me.

i learned that it's okay to want to be wanted, but
that i cannot let that define me or i will end up feeling
more lost than when i began.

i learned that it's okay to be lost, and it's okay to not
know how to seek help even when you're trying with
every fiber of your being; even when absolutely nothing
is working, the sheer will to keep going is enough to
keep you alive.

it's important to remember that breathing is involuntary and
so that's one less thing you have to try to do and your heart
pumps blood all by itself and so when you think you aren't
doing anything, your body will take over and let you do
nothing and you are still alive.

and when you look at life like that, any effort you put
in can only be a positive no matter the outcome because
you did more than was physically necessary to get by
and who cares if you ****** up for god's sake you're alive.

the sun will still come up tomorrow no matter what you did
and you may not see it because of the clouds or you may sleep
through it because you were up so late trying to fix what you
think you did wrong or you may be too busy looking down to
realize it but the sun will rise whether you do anything at all or not.

this past year I learned the importance of giving that extra
effort, and how much joy it can bring.
but more importantly, i learned the necessity of not doing
anything at all in order to stay afloat, and that everybody does
it sometimes and even if they don't, they do.

we weren't made perfect beings,
you can't expect yourself to become one.

help

I haven't prayed since you left us.
I remember the phone call like it
was yesterday, and I still get anxiety
whenever I hear that ringtone or
feel a buzz in my pocket.

"Their car what...? Oh my god.
Crushed? What about them?"

I was so naive.
I remember thinking that someone
had stolen your car, trying to
piece together fragments of a
conversation I relive everyday.

"She's gone. Her and her dad...
and her mom? They're gone."

I was so ******* naive.
My worst thought was that you
had been kidnapped. The fact that
you could be permanently gone
had never crossed my mind.

As I watched my mom cry sitting
in that front seat, I began to do the
same without knowing how truly
agonizing this would be.

"What happened mom?"
"They're gone."
"Gone? Where?"
"No, Annie. They're dead."

My dad's hands tightened on the
wheel, no doubt wishing it was
the neck of a bottle. My brother
gasped next to me then became
very occupied with the wrinkles
on the back of the passenger seat.
Mom turned back around as her
body was overcome by silent tears
at first, then very loud heaves of
grief. But I knew she was grieving
for herself, because the family that
had come to be my own was now
gone and she had to take care of
her own ****** up kid.

I remember one tear falling, from
which eye I don't remember, then
another, as I stared out the car
window. They silently fell until
we arrived at our destination,
which was our last "family" trip.  

I don't remember much except
for how I didn't sleep more than an
hour those couple of days, but instead
tried to find a song that could come close
to what I was feeling.

I haven't found one.

Then the funeral service came and
there were girls sobbing with lines
streaking down their faces who didn't
even know your favorite time of day
or how you winked in between silent
conversations or the way your laugh
rocked your entire body and I sat there
unable to form a single ******* tear.

An emotionless corpse.
Just like you.

Someone told me what the last words
were in the car. I didn't ask, but of course
I found out just the same.

"Hold on..hold on and pray...pray."

I don't pray anymore.

Sorrow flows in her veins,
anger runs in her family.
She yearns to cut off every relative
and cut out every capillary,
to forget every moment
she was surrounded by the
hatred that seeped into her skin
and settled within her bones.
She's sick, she claims, infected
with an invisible disease capable
of killing her from the inside
out.

She wrote a note to him
outlining the way he
made her heart beat,
and why, because of
this, she couldn't stay.

She wrote a note to him,
slowly and methodically,
carefully planning
every syllable and
letter that graced
the page to him.

She wrote a note to him,
and realized how
much she cared for
him, and knew she
had to let go before
it was too late.

She wrote a note to him
and when she got
to the end of the letter,
she artfully signed it,
*insincerely yours.

Her house hasn't been a home for months now,
filled with ghosts that are burdened with life
and whose words scream with built up tension.

She goes unnoticed in a room full of chaos,
only looked to when the mood needs to be lifted.
How does she tell them that she wants to be lifted,
not in spirits, but from every thought and burden.

Her heart aches with every breath
and she feels her chest might collapse,
leaving her heart dark and untouched forever.

Lie to me and tell me you'll never leave,
that you love me and forever is a reality.
Promise me that everything will be alright,
when we both know it never was and never will be.

Be my knight in shining armor, and let me
discover the aluminum foil and the dents.
Become a professor, but instead of teaching biology,
help me learn how to love myself.

Ah, loving oneself, what a daunting task;
but so is loving someone else.
So when I confess that I just can't do it anymore,
please lie and tell me you know I'm strong enough.

it's funny how i kept going back to you.
i was told time and time again how you
didn't want anything more, and I tricked
myself into believing that I didn't either.
I truly believed that I was content with a
weekend romance mixed with friendly hello's.

But I was wrong.

I wanted you to ask me how I was doing and
I wanted to tell you that I'm falling apart.
I was drawn to your calm state of mind because
it seemed like everyone around me was moving
and I was standing still and I wanted to stand still
with you.
I wanted to have someone who felt the same and
I thought it could be you but I didn't realize that
I couldn't make you want that too.
You didn't want to be tied down by a girl overwhelmed
by her dreams and you didn't want to spend time
talking to someone who had the potential to ruin
the tranquility you had so carefully established.
And I understood that, but I couldn't accept it.

But I am finally accepting it.
I'm letting you go and I will be better for it.
And maybe if I keep telling myself that enough,
I'll believe it.

I sit here tonight with raw eyes, no not
from tears like the night you betrayed
us, but from never-ending thoughts
circling around and around, begging
me for answers to the question: why?

Why would she stay when every muscle,
every instinct, every ounce of her being,
is screaming to run?

Why would she ever think that she
could fix you; a monster with a heart
that only beats for yourself.

How could you hurt a family that
had no support? How could you make
all of those ******* decisions that are
going to **** her?

I hate you for making her so sad,
for taking the light from her eyes.
I hate you because now her only
comfort is her loneliness and I
hear her cry at night.

When will it all finally come to an end?
Will it be when my throat runs dry and I
can't yell for help any longer? Or maybe when
blood stops flowing through my veins
because there's no longer a heart to pump it.

I've come to the point where I don't
care how it happens, I just want
an end.

What is a home that
relies on strangers to
keep the peace? It's
barely even a house,
with foundations collapsing
leaving nothing but
broken memories and
empty promises.

A house that had
doubt hanging from the
ceiling and grief dripping
down the windows.

Angry hallways and
insults screaming from
the scales and mirrors.

Rooms with lying walls
that told you all of this
is normal.

Addiction was waiting
at the door for you,
ready to take you just
like it's swallowed
everyone you used
to know.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
Some people prefer to say passed away,
or went to a better place,
but I'm still having a hard time believing you're
gone so I guess I'm trying to convince myself.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
That was the longest week of my life,
watching you but unable to talk with you.
I remember holding your hand knowing
that I was going to wish I could do the same
in one hundred and twenty two days.
I was right.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
We cleaned out some of your apartment today,
but it took us 10 hours to get through your closet
because we didn't want to let go of any piece of you.
But we did, we gave away 15 bags and 2 boxes of you.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
I found two pennies while we were working,
I know you were there watching.
But even if I believe that with my entire heart, it doesn't
take away the ache that has grown within me since you died.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
You brought happiness to every single person you talked to,
and I know you would want everyone to do the same.
I'm trying to let my sadness go, but it isn't easy.

It's been one hundred and twenty two days since you died.
I didn't think I would make it one hour without you,
but you held my hand through it all.