I am scared. I am scared of failing, of never prevailing; of being let down and being let go. I'm scared of you hurting, of never really learning, of not being here to get to watch you grow. And tomorrow: who knows what it brings; thousands of things, that seem to sing, and scream, and claw at my head. Making my eyesight swallowed in red. And it's  said; I won't forget you I know that it's true. But the days pass by and I'm almost through. Why can't you, just come with me when I go? Just drop everything and come and hit the road. But I'm selfish, for even thinking such things. The emptiness consumes me and I want to just scream; your name, my anchor, my truth. The one one who made me believe, that's you. And I know, I overwhelm you and put the stress in your back. And I say things I shouldn't and I never relax. And you get quiet or maybe don't reply; and sometimes I sit here just waiting and die. It's not your fault.. I know I'm too much. I guess I just have an issue with trust. I have an issue with forgetting, with just letting go. Especially when I remember everything you don't know. I'm okay with being loved how I am now. Of sometimes hitting cold shoulders and frowns. Of watching you drown; even when I throw you a rope. Even when I try to give you some hope; a smile, my shoulders to lean. But I don't know if you listen to me or anything. I tell you I love you, that you're my whole world. I don't just say this to you to give you a whirl. To hear something back; though I admit it'd be nice. I haven't heard it for awhile; maybe once or twice. See the truth is, I'm pathetic. But it's the way that I am. Holding onto your words with both of my hands. I'm terrified, to ever let you go. Though I have a friend similar and she says she knows; that when I go, it'll never be the same. That you'll forget my name and from where I came. From who I am, and how I act. She said that all I'll see is your back; as it turns from me and walks out the door. I think if that happens I'll just sit on the floor. Give me a jacket to hug myself and a pinwheel to blow, spin round and round and see where it goes. Because that's what I'd be like; just spinning round and round. Waiting for you to come back around. To visit, to text me, to call me goodnight. I'm not gonna hold you back from your life. I want you to grow, to meet somebody new. To have a best friend who can be there with you. I want you to go on adventures and laugh in the sun. Someone to be there to let you have fun. And not be so protective as I always was. Let you lean on them and give you their love. I'm preparing for my last night to be a final goodbye. Just because what if it is, and I never got to cry? Or tell you how I love the color of your eyes; your humor.. There's so many things. So many things that I'll always sing; and keep in my heart. Together forever and never apart. Well, I guess apart. And like I said I'm scared. I know you'll see this and won't say a word; it's not how you are, of that I'm sure. Just know that I spent an hour, lying in my room. Trying not to call you and tell you I love you. Trying not to text you, just to say sweet dreams. Trying to not think of you and everything you mean; to me. I'm terrified and I have been every day. And I will be every night until I go away. And I'll probably sit in my room there, a few hours up the state. And write about the way you are on another hundred page.

Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.

i need you more
than you need *****
i need you to hold me and tell me
a little good news
i can't play more than two notes without
breaking down
flashbacks of how you used to keep me
safe and sound

i must have been safe in the womb
you must have wanted me,
when i lived inside you.

all i'm saying is,
nine months must have counted
for something
something more
than this.

i look for you
in the faces of strangers
they have your eyes,
eager and sad,
the eyes of instability,
the same brown as an old bruise.

i often wonder why i didn't
inherit your eyes.
perhaps it's a metaphor for all the differences between us?
there must be a reason
more significant than the obvious.

it's easier in the daytime,
when i don't have to think of you.
when there is enough light to keep me concentrated
on the endless distractions
that keep me smiling,
for there is always something to
smile about.

but nighttime is a different universe,
the moon, a lonely thumbnail.
it reminds me of how you used to chew your cuticles
and place them neatly in a little white pile
while we would watch an endless stream
of ****** infomercials.

sometimes you don't realize how much you were in love
with someone's naked habits
until they're gone.

when i was sick,
you would always make sure the washcloth on my forehead
stayed warm.

i miss that.

just the fact that you exist
keeps my heart afloat
and puts my mind at ease.

one thing is for sure:
it's easier
to replace something
than to change something.

for a long time she turned away from the mirror
and watched herself replace
scars with *****,
validating it because at least
she was only hurting herself
one way and not both.

for a long time i moved away from my mother
and turned into a doormat disguised
as a magnet that attracted
people that used me just as often,
and loved me just as little and wondered
why i still felt the same level of worthlessness at the end of the day
that i felt as a little girl.

for a long time i pushed people away
and to this day
i wish someone would have told me
how childhood abandonment will stick with you
through the long haul of adulthood,
but no one did and so i watched people leave
and wondered why they left, where they went
and for the people who stayed, i wondered
why they were still here, and how much more awful of a person
did i have to be
to get them to leave me.

"you wanted this." some would say,
when they found me drenched with sweat and blood and tears
sobbing on the floor
"get up. stop crying. you're being pathetic."
and i agreed with them, because i didn't know
any better.

it's easier
to replace your feelings with somebody else's
it's easier to blame yourself for why others left you
it's easier to assume no one will ever love you
more than they love getting drunk and having fun

but a good friend of mine once told me,
the easy thing is very rarely the right thing
and that maybe she should take her own advice
and that in retrospect, yes,
replacement is the signature replica of how you were raised
but real change,
that is the true definition of a life transition.

The moment you finish a good book

Is like the moment you step out of the shower

You savour it while you can

While also still knowing

That nothing lasts forever.

I guess it’s a good thing

I am a creature of a repetitive nature

So I can always go back

To good books and showers.

(While also still knowing

That nothing lasts forever.)

Maybe it started when I used to beg you to play barbies with me and you'd
Sit down for five minutes and then make up an excuse to leave.
Or maybe it started shortly after your mother died and I used to come into your room
And brush your hair back with my tiny three-year old hand and say,
"Mommy, I dusted your bedside table for you." Hoping I could maybe
Do something nice to cancel out the bad in order to get you
To stop crying and pay attention to me.  
Or perhaps it started when I used to sit at the bottom of the stairs in the dark
And listen to both of you fight for hours about nothing, wondering
If other peoples parents used words as knives.
Or perhaps it started the night of your birthday, right after your brother died
When your friends had to carry you inside the house and you were so drunk
You could hardly make out a mumble,
I had to check on you a thousand times in the night to make sure you were
Still breathing.
Or perhaps it was the time you told me about your childhood abuse,
The trauma that had never left you,
The attempted overdoses  you  made sound like you wished hadn't failed.

Or maybe there was nothing that started it, maybe
I had always had it.
Whatever word you want to fill the space of "IT" with,
Is fine by me.
Because I sure as hell can't put a finger on it.

But it's there.
It has been there for as long as I can remember.

*The presence of absence.