You made daises bloom in the darkest parts of my mind
and laced my thoughts with honey
You make dragon flies flutter in my soul
and the centipedes crawl out from beneath my skin
You stop demons from vomiting blood in my mouth
and the dead no longer hurt me
I do not close my eyes when I cross busy streets anymore
and cutting out of my own skin is option number two now
I do not take pills when my heart hurts

I am not better yet

I still **** at my ribcage and pray for roses to blossom between my broken bones
my spine continues to choke me
and spiders still weave webs intricately between my veins
my anatomy is still in ropes of sugar and fat
that bubble under my skin
I still have poems on my thighs
and fingers still poke around in my throat
and emerge ****** and distraught
it hurts to swallow and fill up the canyons beneath my fractured ribs
and I still breath in crystals of sleep to calm my crying nerves
my stomach remains full of knotted snakes slithering out of the cocoon
that is my mouth
and I’d still choose to die
When all I know is to never hurt you

breath.
exhale,
inhale,
you
are
alive.
suffocating,
falling,
drowning,
no.
breath deeper
deprivation of air is a horribly little thing
horrible
but,
little.
NO
big,
breath
because it is important
it is a horribly big thing
You are alive
blood surges through your veins
air tingles your throat
you can move
dainty
swift
its difficult
but you are alive
aren't you?
yes
slicing your flesh doesn't prove that you are alive
sitting
laying
breathing
being,
proves that you are alive

Do not tell me that I am beautiful
Do not even tell me I am pretty
Because your words will ensnare my heart
and burn like ******
because how can you tell me those lies
those
lies
they hurt almost more than the arsenic I feel when you don't breathe a word
and maybe if you say those words enough
I will loose myself in your smile
and believe you
but then they will only stick like honey
and blister my core
then the moment you leave
I'll be worse off than before

I want to be a poet
but what is
a poet?
do the words tumble out of your mouth like a water fall?
do verses fill up the crevices of your brain?
can you write a book in an hour
because
you
are
a
poet?
Is it difficult
to form words that emphasize the things you see?
can you make anything beautiful?
can you make
me
beautiful?
do you need an exquisite vocabulary
or the talent of a thousand men?
do the words roll of your tongue naturally
or do you examine each aspect of your writings?
do you put thought into your work
or is there even a line between the two?

Poetry.