do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when their face is illuminated by that 5pm glow,
those golden rays coloring their face,
accentuating perfection
on an already perfect canvas?
do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when they’re excited, talking about something they love,
and you’re encompassed by the bubble they share
because the words can’t tumble out of their mouth fast enough?
do you ever realize
just how beautiful someone is,
when you see them in their element,
writing or teaching or just speaking to a group,
and you know that can’t see you watching
but how could you help yourself cause
oh god
you’ve never seen something
quite so beautiful.

it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that i've become incapable of being optimistic,
lost the ability to believe in empty cliches like
"it will get better."
it,
this mysterious pronoun has had a year and a half
to get its **** together,
to get better.
it hasn't been able to tell me
what the hell is going on in my brain.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that my thoughts are smoke rings swirling around my head
clouding my vision,
tainting my decisions,
inhibiting my inhibitions.
it's hard to see the light when the spectrum is in
black & white,
the same monotone colors like
the dimness of my phone screen as
grey tears fall on it, dissipating
the smoke rings around my head.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that sometimes i stand in the shower with
the water so hot i can
just
barely
take it but
isn't that the irony of it anyways?
the only time i can feel,
the only time i can breathe
is when i'm being drowned in a torrent of hell-water.
don't worry, satan approves of my
misgivings.
it's not that i'm depressed.
it's just that my words clot in my veins like stones
jabbing at my insides to be let out,
crawling up my throat,
begging,
no--
demanding
to be let out or else.
or else what? you may ask.
well the answer is or else
i may never see the sun again,
i may never smile that smile
so many say could light up a city.
it's not that i'm depressed.
just maybe a little sad
sometimes.

dear mom,
there are so many things i would
like you to know, but i fear your
judgment. there are so many
times that you've ruined for me.
there are so many memories you
have taken away from me. yet i
still love you.

what makes you so different from
a toxic lover? what separates this
heartbreak from the one before?
what satisfaction do you get from
taking my friendships away, my
family away? why must you break
my heart worse than anyone else?

love, bailey.

All I ever wanted was to be a part of you life.

To be able to call you on the phone just to hear your voice.
You never answered the call.

To send you random, long and rambling text messages of my Love.
You never replied.

All I wanted was to be able to spend time basking in the glow your presence.  
You kept me in the dark.

I wanted hear your warm, rich laughter and be held close by your side.
You left me alone in the cold.

But what did you want of me?

You wanted to give me just enough food to keep my love alive.
My love died anyway.

You wanted to hold me as an emotional hostage beholden only to you.
The ransom was my heart.

You wanted To leave me entombed in a pergatory
from which I’d never be able to escape.
My soul ached for release.

You wanted to dangle happiness in front of me with no intention of ever letting me grasp it.
I fell into an abyss void of all hope.

sometimes i need to sleep,
and my words will get misspelled,
and my head with get wavy,
and my music will surround me.

i'll get this high that i've never felt,
and it lets me live, momentarily.
it gives me meaning to my life.

the separate reality that is sleep deprivation
that makes me see spots in my vision,
and makes me stumble,
and makes me appreciate the music distracting me
from the problems of my day.

the sleepy texts i send before my eyes close for a few hours,
knowing i'd have to be awake sooner or later.
i find myself taking naps that i call rest
because no one cares enough to see the bags under my eyes.

or how puffy and red they are.
or the scars on my body growing more and more prominent.
or the way my smile seems forced.

no one sees me.
and i think that's okay.

Here are two pupils
whose moons of black
transform to cripples
all who look:

each lovely lady
who peers inside
take on the body
of a toad.

Within these mirrors
the world inverts:
the fond admirer's
burning darts

turn back to injure
the thrusting hand
and inflame to danger
the scarlet wound.

I sought my image
in the scorching glass,
for what fire could damage
a witch's face?

So I stared in that furnace
where beauties char
but found radiant Venus
reflected there.