The black and white butterfly is now stained red and purple.

When I was 16 my mom decided that the best way for her to feel good about her body again was to get plastic surgery.
Now my mom was always beautiful.
She was petite, had a tiny waist, full hips, and an overall curvy body.
In my eyes, she was perfect and I would've loved to look like her.

But she was unhappy.

Her stomach wasn't flat enough.
Her thighs too big and lets not even talk about the **** she felt was too small.

So cut, cut, cut away.
Tear her open.
Take the undesirable parts away and throw them out.
Never speak of them again.
But add some there.
Too little.
Not enough.
Don't worry about the person under all that skin.

Make them pretty again.
Make them pretty again.

And now look at her.
Hunched over because "beauty is pain."

And the butterfly tattoo on her lower back bleeds and red and purple, the colors of her bruised skin.

I'm lost in this heart crushing sea of emptiness that resonates from you.
Like the waves of an ocean
it ebbs and then crashes again
reminding that I may touch the sand
but I'll never hold it in my arms for more than a few seconds.

Angie-
       ​fickle, effervescent, esoteric, impatient.

Relative of writers and hedonists.

Lover of spoken word poetry, packing peanuts, and emergency exit row seats.

Who feels that words mean so little yet so much,
       ​you will almost always **** at something the first time around (it's okay),
       ​the 10,000 murderous butterflies attacking her stomach when she sees him.

Who needs the TV on, no matter what,
​       to hear that she is not crazy, everyone else is,
       ​the time to just sit and read for a change.

Who fears that she really does fail at life,
       ​the huge spider she's sure lives in her closet,
       ​the actual use of physics and calculus in real life situations.

Who gives away advice like guidance counselors are supposed to,
​       away hair ties like pencils,
       ​love like its cheap.

Who would like to see an actual shooting star,
​       Sarah and Phil Kay(e) confess their undying love to each other,
​       the Doctor be happy.

Resident of Underland.

Acuña

We all have demons
Some we have to make peace with
I make friends of mine

There is a lone cloud in the sky.

The car that just passed
The person inside is waiting to crash.
There are two couples
One can't wait to break up
The other just *****.
There is a lone cloud in the sky and it covers only me.

I am the dark spot on your Sun
But you still say that you like me anyway.
I can't imagine why.

You say that to every happy ending needs a sad beginning
And I am your sad beginning

Every musician plays a bad note before playing perfection
But unless I am that perfection
I will not be played again

You have ruined me.

I wasn't always the lone cloud in the sky.
I was the ray of sunshine
Bursting through your clouds of misery.

You have your happy ending now.
You have played your perfection.
Your sky is blue.

But you keep me in it
The lone cloud
For when you need to stand beneath it with me.

*Most of the time it covers only me.

how dare you?
how dare you shove your maple syrup words down my throat,
telling me what i should do with my black hole of a future?
how dare you neglect every thought my mind has ever had,
erasing and replacing them with yours?
how dare you force me to live in your shadow,
no matter how dark it may be?
has it ever crossed your mind that i don't want to be a shadow,
but my own sun?

the title of being a sun is all i have ever yearned for
in my sixteen years of being the moon.
i dream of my utopia:
i'd be the sun casting the darkest of shadows on you,
forcing you to swallow my words like cough syrup,
pouring every ounce of pain and jealousy from being your younger sister,
onto you.

and now that you're gone,
i regret not absorbing every detail like a sponge,
i promise i'll be better...

i want you to shove words down my throat until they reach the pit of my stomach,
i want you to take me into my blurry future
until it becomes crystal clear and i can see my reflection from miles away,
i want you to reject all my new ideas
(they're all probably wrong anyways),
and i want you to remain the sun,
for i am the moon,
who's light is all borrowed from you.

but now i'm stuck writing useless words miles away from you,
hoping you'll read them,
and understand all the pain you've inflicted on me,
take heed of  all the visible scars that you casted on my mind,
realize all the guilt and agony that has been lingering around my heart,
because once you left our house,
you never once left my mind.

I'm 15
Yet I'm older
And nobody seems to know
That I know things
Know I feel things
I should be afraid to know
I'm 15
Yet I'm older
And I wonder why that's so
Nobody will believe me
When I say
I know
I'm 15
Yet I'm older
Still they see a little girl
I feel hampered by this child
Trapped inside me is a world