You knew it was coming
long before I did.
You morphed into a snake and you wrapped your body around mine
as I slept next you at night,
and when that didn’t work
you threw grenades at me.
Your army was weak
but your line of defence was worse.

It was a complete 180,
you kicked me out and closed up shop,
hung up closed signs and shut the blinds.
You knew it was coming
and you knew you couldn’t make me stay.

You were wicked and deceitful,
you said words like
I don’t want you anymore
and
just end it already.
By the time the war was over
I couldn’t tell who had won.

By the time we were over
I couldn’t tell if I had left you,
or you had left me.

I thought of all the ways
I was going to tell you
I never wanted to see you again,
but I never got the chance.
You packed your bags and skipped town
long before I got to give you any speech,
entailing that it wasn’t you, it was me.

But it was you.
It was the way you constricted me like a boa,
and held me on a pedestal.
There were a million a two reasons why you drove me insane,
and a few more reasons
why you made everything in my life worse.

But if
I was the one that wanted to leave you,
then why did it injure me so bad
when you abandoned me first?

Come back and lull me to sleep
with all the excuses why you had to leave me,
and I’ll dream of the will
to let you back in.

I tell myself I am strong,
that I won’t go back,
but I know that if you turned around
I would drop everything to be with you again.
I tell myself I would never let you back in,
but you never really left.

You live in my words and my veins,
and no amount of writing
or blood spilt
could get rid of you.

My heart is still in the same shape it was after you crushed it for the first time.
2. Was it really that naive of me to think that you would come back?
3. You’ve done it before you can do it again.
4. Please.
5. You live inside all the people that know you.
6. That very first week you sketched warning signs across my chest and all I did was wash it off in the shower.
7. We were molten lava and tsunami winds -we would have never made it out alive.
8. I was the one who pulled you out of your wreckage of self destruction. I just wanted you to return the favour.
9. Your name and your face still send bees -not butterflies- coursing through my stomach.
10. I fell in love with the pain you caused me, not you.

I use to be so empty,
I was drained like a sewer
and I was led to believe
that I would always be this way.
But the beautiful thing is,
I didn’t need anyone to fill me back up,
I did that myself.

I use to be so sad that
it was a battle in the morning
just to get up,
but I did it.
I did it -no one else.

I sprouted up
like a tree growing in the shade.
I was a snake,
shedding its skin
on a cold winters day.

Here’s the secret they don’t want you to know:
you can do it on your own.
You don’t need to be propped up
and led along,
because when you think
you’ve done just about all that
you can do,
you’ll realize
you can do so much more.

I visited your grave the other day, and it occurred to me that I couldn't tell you how I was doing.
I assumed you're doing fine, or at least I'd like to think so.
I couldn't bare to tell you that I've stopped believing in Heaven,
I couldn't bare to tell you that I've become the soil surrounding your casket.
I sat there in silence while my fingers went numb and I swear for a second
I could feel my soul sinking into the ground trying to shake you awake,
To tell you I need you. To tell you I haven't made progress. I'm killing everyone around me.
I wanted you to wake up for just ten minutes. I wanted to tell you everything I haven't been able to write nor say out loud.
I wanted to tell you that I'm okay and I wanted you to tuck my hair behind my ear
and melt these frozen tears off my cheeks and look me straight in the eyes to tell me that I'm not.
I wanted to sit there in your arms and scream,
Because every time I try screaming, I  fear that I'll awaken parts of me that are meant to stay unconscious.
But I've been meaning to think about myself for a second and-
I'VE BEEN SPENDING RESTLESS NIGHTS CLENCHING MY FISTS AROUND MY BEDSHEETS,
AND DIGGING MY FINGERNAILS INTO MY HANDS BECAUSE I'VE FOUND AN ADDICTION THAT I CANNOT TAME,
THE SIGHT OF BLOOD DOESN'T BOTHER ME THE WAY IT USED TO.
I'VE STARTED DOING THINGS TO FORGET.
I'VE STARTED LIGHTING PLANTS ON FIRE TO GET SOME SORT OF HIGH OUT OF LIVING.
I'VE STARTED BECOMING THE TYPE OF PERSON YOU TOLD ME NEVER TO BE.
MY PALMS ARE THE EYES OF HURRICANES AND DESTROY EVERYTHING THEY TOUCH,
WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING LIKE THEY NEVER SAW THE TREMBLING IN THE FIRST PLACE?
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SANITY IS AND I DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME
MY HEAD WAS SILENT.
IT'S LONELY YOU KNOW, HAVING FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE TALK TO YOU AT ONCE IN BETWEEN YOUR EARS.
I MET SOMEONE THAT LIVES A BORDERLINE AWAY BUT STILL MANAGES TO SIT
ON MY PORCH AND WAIT FOR ME TO LET HIM IN.
I CAN'T STOP LEAVING DINNER TABLES WITHOUT PUSHING MY CHAIR IN FIRST,
I CAN'T STOP LEAVING PEOPLE WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE.
I FEEL TOO FULL. I FEEL TO FULL OF FLAMES BURNING DOWN EVERY LAST CITY IN MY BODY,
I FEEL EMPTY. I FEEL LIKE IT'S SUNDAY MORNING AND I'VE POURED MY FATHER A BOWL OF CEREAL JUST TO FIND OUT WE'RE OUT OF MILK.
PLEASE DON'T HURT ME, I'M SORRY, I DIDN'T MEAN TO, PLEASE DON'T HUR-
I have a body made of one-hundred sheets of college ruled notebook paper that kids like me used to make scrapbooks out of.
I am a collection of bruises holding up photos of a Father's fist,
My hands were only made to hold those who feel empty when not holding a glass of wine.
Some days I am full of constant negativity and feel the need to rip grass out from the earth
and throw China cabinets to the floor to say that nothing stays pure forever.
I stopped thinking about myself for a second.
I sat at your grave and said nothing.
I was going to tell you all of this but I couldn't bare to tell you I stopped believing in Heaven.
The only time I ever saw you smile was on Sunday mornings.

There are people who have sadness
deep inside their bones,
swimming through their veins,
coursing through their lungs.

Addicted like a dead-beat to alcohol,
like a ***** to crack,
addicted to waking up each morning
and feeling the stab of the knife being driven into their chest
because they deserve it;
addicted to the sadness.

Despite their lips cracking into a pathetic smile
there is sadness in their irises, on their pupils,
screaming to be noticed
but not pointed out.

There are people who have sadness
written in their notebooks,
on the inside of their wrists,
their thighs,
their eyes,
and they are completely content
letting it live there.

Winter is brewing inside of me,
even on a hot summers day.
A snow storm festers inside of my heart,
You can't get in
and you can't get out.

It’s not fair to you or I
that I lay here letting my words fester inside of me
while you lay on the other side of the bed,
tired and waiting.
It’s not fair to you
that someone else made me close off my heart
to them, the world, and you.

Winter is brewing inside of me
even when I have you to keep me warm.
Spring is starting in my heart,
and I can’t let it out.

These last three years have been a prime example
of why not to fall in love,
because it takes too many months to piece your heart back together
after it has been beaten to death by a boy
with pretty brown eyes and charming words.

But if I could promise myself anything,
it would be that the next time I let another touch my lips
they will have to jump high fences and run marathons
before they earn that right.
The next time I let someone hold my hand
I want a five page essay on their theories of love
and a detailed description on how not to break a heart.
When another boy whispers sweet things into my open ears,
I will hook him up to a lie detector
and wait to see his lies.

Because the next time I trip and fall into love,
it'll be forever.
The next time I feel like dragging a blade across my wrists,
I'll kiss your lips instead.
When I feel like putting a rope around my neck
and hanging myself out to dry,
I'll pick up the phone and let you whisper sweet words into my ear.
The next time I have a bottle of pills staring me down after midnight,
I'll grad your hand and let you take me away.
When I feel lost or let down or like I've reached the end of my already short rope,
I'll turn to you.

I can see right through you.
You hide behind walls with thick bricks,
behind a sheet of mean,
underneath a blanket of humour.
You are as thin as the shear light that shines through the clouds
(you are transparent, I see right through you).

You have memories that have
punched holes through your bones
and made you break,
but you built yourself back up using rusty nails and tape.
You have stories that you've never told
but I've pieced together enough to know,
some of your secrets are never coming out
(but I would listen if you wanted me to hear).

I can see right through you like a worn out sheet.
I don't care that you're transparent,
I'll cover you up.
I'll patch up the pieces after I've cracked them open
(we all need to be cracked open).

I'm sorry I wasn't there
I'm sorry I wasn't there
I'm sorry I could never be there
(I'll always be there)