Day after day you're
critiquing, pulling apart
anguishing over pointless details

You scold, you demand
your silent booming voice is ugly
never stops reverberating between my ears

Torture and twist
even after they tell me,
"You look sick"

You paint cold purple
streaks up and down my skin
You deny me time and time again

Each rib has been counted
scrutinized through my skin-
but it is never enough in your eyes

I feel insane, wishing I could
scream and shout
out of my head to drown you out

Today I love you
as you're an old friend
Tomorrow I hate you
as you put me through hell again

I've tried to silence you
yet I always give in
ending up in my own prison.

I don't remember what
movie we watched that
night but it was before we
got those christmas lights
and there was an airport
( I think). Your room was
a plum house, your bed,
on the right side of the room
against the wall, Why do I
remember knives? Were we
eating? This is what I do daily,
pilfer my own caverns for memories
and try to piece them together
but for the life of me I can't
remember what we were
watching.

some people are just plain *****-*** crazy
and i can't help feeling bad for them
but if i feel bad for too many people
all i do is feel bad all the time
and that just don't work
for this girl
some crazy people i have to let slide
i can't let them use me as a foothold
every time
footholds just get stepped on
and that just don't work
for this girl
that just don't
work

what am I supposed to do?
I’m high on ativan
but that’s a secret
and it’s not the kind of person
I am anyway;
I promise, sometimes in life, there are acceptable exceptions --
a big fat scary monster has swallowed me up
whole
and I feel like Pinocchio
in the musky dark,
in the stomach of terror;

did you know
I bought 3 books today,
they’re classics
and were on sale,
"how perfect," I thought, "something to read on the plane; something to read over and over again for a whole year abroad."
but my suitcase is empty
apart from the three paperbacks,
intimidating me
and I’d honestly rather die and never hear anyone talk ever again than pack for a whole year

this is a poem of fear
but that’s a secret, though I’m sure
the consumed ativan
clearly gave that away;
— I’m moving
to the complete opposite end of
the world —

I figured it out. Why I  love you so much and why I hate myself for it. I really am disgusted at how I let you treat me. Last time we broke up it cut me deep, I didn't get over you for a long time. I cried myself to sleep for well over 2 months. You ripped my heart out and left me empty. True, I moved along to other things, other people, but you were always there. You were hiding in the hole where my heart used to be. You put me through hell and then just when I was getting used to being without you, you decide that you want to see me again. You get close to me, you let me kiss you, you kiss me back and pretend that it means something  to you. You let me start loving you again and for a while things are good, you tell me that the world makes sense now and things feel right. ****, I just can't resist those beautiful lies, so I believe you and I let my guard down. Bad idea, just when I get brave enough to trust you with things I can't tell anyone else you run away. You can't be with someone so far away. I'm too damaged, you can't fix me so why waste anymore time on me. So you stop caring altogether. I accept that you won't be mine, I try to be just your friend but, every time I talk to you you act like I'm keeping you from so much more important things. So I stop talking. I think of you and sit silent. And that's when it happens. . . inspiration. I write. And that's why I can love you and hate you at the same time. I hate you because of what you put me through, and I love you because what you put me through gives me the insight to create. You're my muse. Anything I've ever created that was worth being created was inspired by you. So, I'm going to keep loving, you'll never be able to stop that. And when I write my first play/novel/book of poetry I'll make sure to send you the very first copy, make sure you read the dedication, "To my beloved muse, thank you for shattering my heart and letting what was inside of me out"

i am incredibly foolish & repetitive
foolishly repetitive
repetitively foolish;
there is a pebble in my heart,
small but firm,
impenetrably set still,
demanding to be felt
coercing the blood supply to soak it all up
as if blood can seep through
a pebble
it cannot; but it won’t stop
demanding attention
it is smothering
and relentless;
i have shortness of breath
and my heart pounds
like a door slammed shut
and then opened
and then slammed shut
it’s almost as if i can feel the pebble
rattle within the walls
with
each
pound,
welting the vulnerable tissue;
open,
slammed shut,
open,
slammed shut;
we all forget how to cry
when we most need to