There was a time when you and I
were impossibly tied to one another,
when we reached the ends of our ropes
we had no place to go but each other.

Years of the world trying to pull us apart
had only made us more tightly bound,
but when it came time for us to part
there was no way we could be unwound.

The problem with knots is when they get too tight
and you no longer want them teathered,
you're left with a single heartbreaking choice:
one end needs to be severed.

A rope that's cut will lose its strength
and the ends will begin to fray,
so one would expect it to loosen in time
until it finally falls away,

but even though my end was cut
the day we were torn apart,
the piece of me that remained tied to you
became the chains that still bind my heart.

Crushed cigarettes live in sad places.
Lit cigarettes often come and go between my parted lips.
Suburan houses contain dark circles and drug problems.
I can't stop staring at the boy with curly hair.

You never want your daughter to have to go through what you went through
So you tell her, "do not party, do not drink, do not hang out with those people, especially him, do not sneak out of the house, do not get caught up in drugs..."
You tell her that how mad at her you will be if she does these things and how disappointed you will be for her disobeying you
Only because you are trying to protect her from what your mother could not
Not because you don't understand her and why she would and all the temptations and fun that could've happened, but did not
You scare her so much that when she does go to that party and drink too much, or when she gets caught up with that boy, not a man, and he uses her home as a hotel, or when she experiments and goes too far with a drug, with something to take away reality
She will not come to you
She is too ashamed of the disappointment and too afraid of the punishment
That she will not come to you
So her guilt and depression grows like a **** until she cannot house it anymore
So what do you do and how do you protect her from what your mother could not

It's not the kind of sadness which makes you want to cry all the time,
But the kind of sadness that overwhelms your senses so much,
You began to question your sanity
You lost touch with all your emotions.

Venlafaxine in the day
A little white pill,
Promising you no more break downs.

Sertraline in the evening
Two little blue pills,
Selling you dopamine and fake smiles.

Quetiapine in the night
Three little pink pills,
Swearing that you'll be in control.

Those lies they feed you
False hope sold in crazy little pills,
I still clutch the bottle of gas
Dreaming of normalcy,
Cradling a razor blade on broken skin
I smile like a fool.

You are allowed to be angry.

You are allowed to be angry that you missed out on childhood.

That the sound of a slamming door terrifies you.

That the slightest touch of a hand makes you flinch.

You are allowed to be angry that it took you years to be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

You are allowed to be angry at the way you were treated.

You are allowed to be angry at people who hurt you.

You are allowed to be angry.

I couldn't figure out the missing
piece of me until I was driving home
from my childhood home and realized
I didn't actually have a home.
My childhood home was filled with
so many ghosts and a father
who couldn't stay sober for the
sake of my mother, brother, and me.
My home away from home was
filled with so much pain that
I caused on my own
seeing as I was nothing
but a train wreck these days.
I was missing a sense of warmth
in my heart because I had no where
to run. But maybe it wasn't about
running, maybe I should have made
my own home inside my own heart.
Maybe my own body and soul
would be the only home I could
make sure would never crumble.

i wrote poetry
he partied
i would overthink
he would oversleep
too lost within the oblivion
of trying to numb away
life
while i was here
thinking about "life" too much
writing about it too much
i enjoyed wine
on a quiet Tuesday evening
he enjoyed liquor
on a wild Friday night

surely
truly
love does attract
"opposites"
i loved him
and he loved me
but he didn't want to live
life
and i
wanted to write about it

we're sitting
in a ***** garage
blasting music
with lyrics
that i am so appalled by
this is his life
this is
it isn't mine

i am
the quiet
Tuesday afternoon girl
who writes her words
to figure out
life
while he is trying
to forget about his
on a Friday night

these lifestyles
we tried to clash
for far too long
so sadly
too long

i left
with love still
beating inside of my heart
because you could never
love me
the way you love
your Friday nights
like you couldn't love
my Tuesday evenings

love is so
crafty
and deceiving
it brought us to meet
we both understood
that life is sad
yet only i
could see its beauty

and our lifestyles
were too different
to sustain the life
for one another