I know I am hard to deal with,
the way I word the way I am feeling.
How I tell you I don't want to eat another thing for the rest of my life,
how I tell you I want to die, or slice lines into my skin until I can see blood coming up.
But the way you ignore me after I tell you,
like you are scared of who I am or the way my head works; hurts me
It makes the empty feeling I tell you about more noticeable,
and you promised me on metal swings,
when I heard birds chirping at us,
when I felt the sun slowly soak into my skin,
that you would never hurt me.

I can't rewrite the chapters of you
That have already been written,
The ones with torn pages and
And coffee stains and faded ink.
But I can promise to hold the pen
That will write the next few
Chapters, the ones with daisies
Pressed between the pages and
Smiles between every paragraph.

little marks little marks little marks
memoirs of before
broken hearts broken hearts broken hearts
feelings ; shred and tore