goodness
I need someone to tell me that there is good in me
That there is goodness inside of me
That there is still hope

I dont feel like myself anymore
The shell ive become
The page intimidates me
My keys laugh at me

My mind flutters
As i take my hands off the wheel and lie back
I roll my eyes back to my skull
And then i realize
Its not the mental health
Or the trauma
Or the experience
Its me

And at this point i dont know if i can change me anymore
My growing phase has come and gone

Will i turn to drugs at this point?
How will i make the pain go away?

What is wrong with me is me
Its in me
Crawling around
Making a home inside my home

How do you evict something that is yourself?

My mind is at war with my actions
Running and running
Dodging mines at every turn desperately trying to keep you happy knowing that one wrong step I will explode into tiny bits and pieces,
amounting to nothing as I once did
saying you loved me out of spite
My heavy boots I pick up with every step I take knowing when I get to you I will regain your trust for the evening
Shooting me down each night in every ***** of my body with your hateful words knowing that your country will win the war in my head and I will forever lose
blood running down my thighs and into my boot
Falling asleep each night with fear that someone else could take my place
Knowing that your ego could fill the entire desert
losing interest in me as you wander away from the troop leaving me in the dark
the dark is a scary place when you don’t know where you’re going
when all you know is one person because one person and one person only feels like home and now youre bleeding out.
I watch as my blood pours out of my lifeless body as my words do on the page describing what hell I am experiencing being under your command and how I desperately need out

But you cannot just simply
leave the war.

Ever since I was little someone was always better than me. In third grade the boys could always run faster and the girls had beautiful long blonde hair and could always walk with grace. I could never understand how they were so perfect. No one wants anything from you in the third grade.
And my sadness never asks for much but it always seem to ask for something that I cannot give.
My sadness is like when you have a cold and you cannot breathe but with me it’s the thought process of ‘oh i’ll never be able to breathe again’. Even though I know I’m being dramatic or maybe I’m not or maybe I am or maybe I’m not as adults tell me when they say to perk up and ask me ‘what do you even have to be sad about’.
And that’s the thing. I can never pinpoint exactly where the sadness started or what triggers it. Nor can I ****** mystery it where I have the huge buliton board with all of the picture of me with tears streaming down my face with string connecting the pictures.
But I can tell you about all the weird times. Like when I was writing a thank you note and none of my words were stringing together like they normally do. As if they were laughing at me. As if they see me hypervenalating in a room full of my friends and me not knowing where It’s coming from or where it’s going.
Them asking me what’s wrong is such a loaded question they should instead ask me where I’ve been. Ask me when and where I was when I felt that I have completely lost control of my life and when I began just going through the motions.  
And I know the Earth is revolving around the sun and the stars are just watching but I just have the aching feeling that I am an undiscovered planet that NASA has somehow not detected (with all of their millions and trillions of dollars why can’t they find this ***** blonde hot mess?) and the Earth is simply turning away from me.
My sadness isn’t humorous but laughing at it is the only way I can explain it to people.

Why do we go back to the ones that hurt us?
Simply because we miss the hurt. We miss the image of happiness that our minds have created for that person. Our brain blocks out the bad memories. Blocks out the fights and the ugliness
And the problems
And the tears
And the pain
Our brains focus solely on the happy times and covers those memories with sweet sugar and makes us crave the sweetness once again.
We crave all of the sugar and spice and everything nice.
We break ourselves down to the point of believing that we are the ones at fault. We will continue making excuses for these people because we are just as broken as them. Craving their attention and wondering why they do not want us back in their lives.
Learning that you have to fall in love with your own words is something not even I have learned yet because the words on the page cannot hurt you, but you can grow from them.
You cannot grow from the teenage boy that you created a jigsaw puzzle out of yourself for just so you could fit his fantasies. The boy that you created a meadow of flowers for when he preferred peaches.
Men always prefer peaches
Though I am not a peach nor can I provide them with my small, pale hands I can provide you guaranteed love and happiness for as long as you’d like.
You become my love story that I can throw on the page when I need it. The one thing you provided me. You provided me eternal feelings that I’ve never felt.
We forever strive to somehow immortal ourselves to manifest peaches from our hands so we no longer feel the hurt that we do and they will willingly return to us and color our empty void. But we cannot. So we continue to damage ourselves further by going back to the ones that have hurt us.

Eyes of blue
Hearts of red
You loved me
Or at least you said you did.

Believe your friends
They can see the toxicity of a human being like no one else
No matter how many times you go over to his house
andyourhandareinhishair
andhishandsaretravelingdownyourback­
andyourlipsareagainsthis
Your friends watch as your cry every night because the only thing he's good at is disappointing you
Leave Him
Ladies we are much too strong to be a part of the male agenda.
We are smart with bright *** futures that will blow everyone else out of the water
We are stronger than our abusers and we will get through this pain and this suffering
We will overcome and we will revolt
We will find love that deserves us if we should do want it
But a man's attention does not determine our worth nor does it effect our confidence
WE ARE STRONG

I find myself on concrete ground in the pouring rain
I find my lifeless body lying on the cold wet pavement stripped of dignity
Stripped of pride
Stripped of hope
Organs scattered about on the ground with some missing because
honestly,why would I need them?
Why can’t others just take what they need from the Jane Doe in the pouring rain?
She’s not using them
No blood can be found simply because bleeding is feeling and I’ve been numb for months
In its place you see the striking confidence mixed with the everlasting wit flooding out among strands of ***** blonde hair slipping away with the rain to its final resting place far far away from my lifeless corpse
I find myself wearing all white and semi-holding a small white flag to counteract with your many red ones that I just began noticing
They were in your actions
They were in your dialect
They were in your lingering glances
Flags of bright crimson and ones the color of sweet wine forever in the hands that at one point fit so well with mine
I gave in to the storm
I let the hurt surround me like as if I am the eye of the hurricane and the world is consuming me whole
But you’re safest in the eye of the storm
Watching all the black and grey swarm around you as it destroys the innocent earth

Maybe I’ve always been the eye and I am now drifting into the storm itself?