I cut myself again for the last time the night before last, proceeding to fall asleep, hoping I wouldn’t open my eyes this morning.
Waking up to a floored mascara line so straight down my cheek, I didn’t know tears could glide so unbent.
Ruler aligned cuts stand ***** like railroad ties over the flesh of my wrist.
I walk around, careful because I’m concealing a secret that only I can possibly know.
The bracelets hugging the veins in my wrist are nothing but a fashion statement working to disguise the cuts that haven’t yet turned to scars.
I walk around, half hoping someone notices, but still praying they don’t.
The feeling as if everyone around me can hear the thoughts whispering inside my head as they grow louder the more I try and look someone in the eye.
Can they see that the dam inside my eyes broke and was put together when I focused on keeping the blood contained from my wounds?
Gambling with the idea that the people I walk by and next to and towards know that I tossed and turned too many times to remember.
Risking and hoping the **** Band-Aids won’t draw attention to the damage I’ve done to my skin,
Until I take them off, allowing the cuts to breathe,
To heal into scars.

******* for making me fall for you.

        ******* for making me notice the corruption in today's world

                ******* for making me notice you

                        ******* for being flawless

                                ******* for having ocean blue eyes

                                       ******* for having the gosh **** cutest laugh
                                                  
                                                  *******
                                      
                                      
******* for making me fall for you and not doing a **** thing about it

Dear Diary,

I've been doing it all wrong.

I don't think we can purposely set out to "find" ourselves by going for volunteering sessions, or choosing to live alone away from our families, or forcing ourselves to meet new people when we don't really want to.

It's kind of just like...like the way we forget how to breathe or walk when we're conscious of doing it, or how love unexpectedly just happens from a friendship when we've been wasting our time overturning chairs and rocks. Like how that one time we turned the entire house inside out searching for that particular item, only for it to somehow find its way back to us a year later behind an unsuspecting dusty cupboard.

I'd love to be the best person I could be right now.
But I've learned that it takes time. It doesn't happen by force.
And I should enjoy my life while I'm at it.

Love,
Girl-who's-finally-at-peace-with-herself

He asked me if I ever worry my
life is like The Truman Show and
one day I'll wake up and realize
everyone around me was an actor,
that everything I thought I had
known until that moment was a
lie. But god I worry enough for
a whole village and if I added that
to my list I would never sleep
never eat never brush my teeth. I
do not know how to steady my
hands anymore when I think
about how you told me you were
in love with me and you didn't
mean it didn't mean it didn't mean
it.

All I have are words and maybe an attempt at a poetic expression.
Words are my only tools to create the imagery in my head.
But it's more than enough and it does suffice.
Except on those days when not even words can express what I truly want to say.