i cry to feel emotion

to sympathize
to confirm my mortality
to express joy
to release bottled up
     hate, sadness, guilt

but the worst is when i cannot cry
i beg the tears to trickle down my face,
only for me to wipe them away

the absence of them
makes me feel like
my sentiments aren’t true
     they’re fraud, phony, insincere

if i can’t control or understand my own tears
why should i expect someone
to dry them for me?

because i can’t explain
why they’re present in one instance
and absent in the next

it will tear away
your skin
     gnaw on
your bones
     and set your
soul aflame

this hatred
     inside of you
will spread
     until you are
consumed
     in a fiery rage
that should've been
     extinguished
at its first spark

     who will
come along
     and save you?

who will
     smother
          your soul?

there once was a young girl with green eyes
who wore her soft blond hair
in braided pigtails

at the age of seven,
she watched her older sister
stand in front of the mirror before school
and pinch her stomach with a disgusted face
          neither of them ate breakfast that morning

at the age of nine,
she watched her older brother
make fun of a girl with glasses
for reading on the bus
          she went home and hid all her books in the attic

at the age of twelve,
she watched the older girls at school
with straight hair and short skirts
put makeup on in the bathroom
and discuss how boys would only like you
if you looked perfect, like them
          the next day she arrived with red lips, short shorts, and no braided pigtails

at the age of fourteen,
she watched her father hit her mother for the first time
her mother cried when she saw her standing in the doorway
and told her daddy didn't mean it
          the next year, she told herself that her boyfriend didn't mean it, either

at the age of sixteen,
she was paper thin and empty
with straight blond hair, red lips,
purple flesh, and lifeless green eyes
          while staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror,
          she thought to herself "at least i'm normal."

there are good types
of feeling small

like when you're in a big city
with tall buildings
and throngs of strangers
surrounding you,
painted with possibility

or when you're wrapped up
in someone's arms
and that person
feels so massive
and you feel so little
and protected
and safe

but this sensation
of small,
this feeling of
insignificance,
like an ant
that could be squished
and no one would care

is not
a good feeling

Time isn't wasted at the end of the day
When you're in bed thinking about all the things
You could've done,
You could've said,
All the empty boxes left on your to do list

Time is wasted
When you're standing on a rock at the edge of a waterhole
And decide to not jump
When you're sitting in your car trying to justify reasons
For not going in
When you anxiously hit backspace
Instead of expressing how you truly feel
When you ignore your heart that's screaming
"You deserve better."

It's lost in I could have and I should have,
In missed opportunities,
In letting fears override judgement

Time is not necessarily wasted
In passing minutes, months, years
We waste time by
Counting seconds,
And by letting seconds pass
When we could've made
Those seconds count

I'd rather have scars on my cheeks
   And a crooked nose and
Bad skin and boney hips
   Or boring eyes and boring hair and a boring mouth
And someone tell me
   “You’re beautiful,”

Because I’d know they meant
   I am beautiful in the way that I talk,
In the way that I listen, in the way that I love,
   In the way that I am

Than have

   Pretty lips and pretty teeth and
Pretty hair and a pretty nose
   And ignorantly believe
That being beautiful in the way that I look
   Is enough.”

Don’t forget to get away every once in awhile,
To lose yourself in a book
Or in the woods behind your home
Ride your bike into the sunset,
Sit on your front steps and count the cars passing by,
Lay on your roof and gaze up at the night sky,
Drive along backroads with the windows rolled down
Listening to nothing but the sound of rushing wind

I hope you take the time to be alone,
To sort through the cluttered shelves of your heart

I hope you take the time to be silent,
To close your eyes and just listen

I hope you take the time to be still,
To quiet your mind and experience the beauty
Of simply Being

In a world that tells us we should always be
Connected, on the go, and doing something worth sharing,
I hope you know it’s okay to
Disconnect, slow down, and keep some memories
Between you and the moment you shared it with.