When you told me I didn't love you
I simply thought how would you know
For I remembered the spaces between your fingers
And the crease between your eyes
How dare you tell me
I never thought of you as mine.

The first thing that you forget, when you stop talking to someone is the sound of their voice.
So I suggest with every voicemail you receive, save it.
Whether it be from your grandma or your aunt or your boyfriend
You'll miss them sooner or later if they leave you.
When It's a healthy time for you, and you miss them a lot,
You'll still have their voice.
The way they spoke, every lisp every stutter
You'll hear it in that old voicemail.

I once loved a boy.
Some know most of  the story, some only know half
But only he and I know every end and out of that year and a half.
I still have his voicemails,
but they aren't only the happy ones.
Matter of fact, he only left me a voicemail when he was angry or when he had news he couldn't keep to himself long enough.
I deleted the happy ones after we broke up.

But I didn't do it because I was angry,
I did it because I wasn't worthy.
And yet, they're still in my trash bin waiting, ready to be recovered.

Because some days, I wonder if he's happy.
Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he got his GED.
And it was because of me.
Because some days I wonder if he misses me
Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he loves me and always will

See, I have a problem: I'm a hoarder
I horde voices.
I horde the sound of laughs and cries,
I horde the angry and the happy times.
I take them all and keep them close.
And I try and keep phones for as long as I can.
Because when the phone goes,
So do the voices that I hold dear.

So darling if you wonder if I still have every old voicemail you've ever sent me the answer is clear.
If I miss you, I press my phone to my ear.

But now it's been so long that your voice scares me.
The old voicemails sit and take up my data since I'm too afraid to delete them.
That means your gone forever
And while I may have broken your heart I hope you forgive me
And I hope this voicemail makes you smile.

Once upon a time there was a girl.
She wasn't preppy or outgoing
Rather, she was depressed
She would sit on her room and cry for random periods of time
All just waiting for people to bust through her door to help her smile
But she knows deep down she has to learn
She has to learn to help herself
To let herself smile even when she's sad
She has to learn that she needs to find techniques that help and soothe.
But until then she'll keep looking for new hiding places to cry
And she'll wonder how she can lift herself from the mud
Without help of those around her

I think my problem arises from a chaotic childhood.
No, I'm not saying it was traumatic but
I learned at a young age that I didn't belong anywhere
And I think the problem with my relationships today
Is that I felt that being lonely so long,
And finding someone like him
who wanted me dearly
And wants me still
instilled in me a will to never be alone again.
But it seems, it comes all too natural to me.
My problem is that I want to be with someone.
I want to belong to someone.
I want to be the person that someone comes home to...
Maybe that's just my fatal flaw?
That being so alone even in a house I used to call home
No four walls feel quite right
No pair of arms reach the core of me
I guess I've made a bed and begun to live
In the halfway house of sin
Making my way to strangers beds to see which one will be strong enough to wed
But sadly that's not the point of one-night stands.
That once the deed is done we follow the path of the walk of shame
Carrying our heels and dragging our dignity down a road to what we supposedly call home.
Not all the girls along the road are hoes some are simply misguided fools.
Such as I, when I was kicked from a bed after laying by his side
I had a little too much to drink and stumbled my way home, to face the mirror which hung on my door like a veil
To face a friend with a past like mine
To tell her all just to be told I was an idiot.
It's just my flaw
That I fall for words instead of actions it will surely be my fall
For no amount of painted skin or blanketed lies will stop me from adopting another vice to add to my collection.
Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and *** my god I've become such a mess.
The lonely girls are always easy targets.
You bribe them with drinking or drugs and a promise of a passion filled kiss to soothe the raging monster inside them,
Now you have them at your mercy.
Eventually, they go numb and forget that they are lonely.
They forget that they want to belong to someone
That they want to create a home for someone
And the four walls of different rooms become sanctuary maybe a night or two,
As this turned nomadic soul turns to her vices
And waits for the one night stand that tells her to stay

I shiver
Your touch no longer warms my soul
It's more comparable to the winter of '14
When even looking out the windows
Made you familiar with the ice outside
                     I hate
The fact I no longer feel safe
I can't confide my secrets in you
I can't even say I love you
Because that gives you a power
You'll most likely abuse
                      I blame
Your absent mother for your lack of love
I came into your life
And you expected me to save you
But I couldn't even save myself..
                      I apologize
That even though your to blame
I was always too timid to stand
Against your rigid ways
So maybe it's my fault

Maybe I just didn't love hard enough.

I haven't experienced true love, but I'm a fluent speaker of the tainted.
The kind of love where no matter what they throw at you you're still there because you have no place else to be.
The kind that my daddy taught me.
That if you love a woman then you harm her and her children.
See, I've never experienced true love,
And because I was raised in a home without it, I'm at a loss of how to find it.
I don't know how to go about finding the love I want: the kind of love where we can just talk about nothing for hours.
But I certainly know how to attract the poisoned love that my father injected into my veins.
I know how to find the abusers.
The detached.
The lonely.
And no matter what I say I can't fix them.
And I don't want to anymore
Because I'm standing in my meadow waiting for a prince who probably won't come,
Or rather,
I'm waiting on the peasent to prove to me I don't need the knight or the prince at all
Just that I need to drain the toxins from my mind and heart and find it in me to love the one who offers me nothing
But yet brings me everything,
In return for one thing:
Me