To my dear friends who have followed and supported me on this website,
after about a year or two of not being able to write more than a poem every few months at most, I decided enough is enough and I need to get back into the swing of things.
Which I will be doing on a new account! Clean slate and all.
I wanted to let all of you know that you have all been an important part of me growing into myself as a writer and a person, I could not have survived without coming on here every day and writing about anything I was going through and knowing I had an infinite supply of support.
If you still would like to keep up with me, I'll be leaving a comment on this post from the new account so you can find it.
And even if you don't, I still want to say thank you, so much, for being a part of such a special part of my existence.

section 1: the part of me that is ready and angry
thicker, calloused skin, sharper teeth, a louder voice to yell at you when the day comes, although
i am not decided on whether to scream "WHY?" or "*******"
this part of me doesn't care about the judge or jury
i'm there to serve red hot rage on a silver platter
i'm burning with enough emotion to be proved an honest victim
why am i on trail?
force me into something to prove it's happened before, it's not fair and i'll punch and kick until everyone in the ******* courtroom regrets doing this to me

section 2: the part of me that's soft and terrified
i have been naked for months
everyone pretends not to notice, but i see the way they blush when i walk into a room
i hear them whispering, "if she didn't want this, why did she ever take off her clothes in the first place?"
i've said it before, and i'll say it again: i didn't have a choice
i'm transparent, therefore, afraid that the second our eyes meet you'll know that i feel like i've done YOU wrong
what a laugh, in the face of anyone else, but you
i'm afraid that when i open my mouth to tell the judge what you did to me, it will sound a lot like me asking you not to be angry for telling
for someone who was taken advantage of, getting "justice" feels
a lot like
being
*****

i can be the right kind of brave too.

I'm done bleeding blood, I'm way past that now
I'm bleeding concussions, hostile glares, and snarling defiance
I'm bleeding provocation
Radical softness has never been for me, no matter how hard I tried
I have too many rough edges to smile at you and pretend I'm not backed into all your corners
I've had too many guns to my head, next time I see one
It'll be me that pulls the trigger
I've heard the words "wrong number" too many times while listening to a familiar voice
You know I'm all for making mistakes out of old friends and finding mistakes to blame for my recklessness so it's no surprise I don't feel guilty
It's everyone's fault but my own and I'm not agreeing with you, I'm defining myself
By myself
Like Lisa when she said "I'm playing the villain, baby, just like you want"
I'm not crazy, I'm not insane I swear
I'm just interrupted
I'm bleeding growth, strength, in nothing less than what comes natural
An instinctive evil
And if the wound is the portal, I'm glad you aimed for my head and not my heart this time

Not a poem, more of an update.

Basically, I'm back! I'll be posting here again regularly.

Also, 99% of the poems I posted here were about one boy. We ended up becoming best friends and it turns out he's actually a horrible person. Just thought it was kind of funny to log into this account and look at all my old poems and think "******* I didn't even know him at all" and thought y'all might get a kick out of that too. It's weird how things end up.

Let me know who's still around! I assume most of my regular followers completely forgot about me haha. Just wondering if I'm talking to no one here.

Either way, I'm glad to be back and I hope you all enjoy what I have to put out here.

i've been feeling, lately,
like i can't write because the
weight of your goodbye
has fogged up my head
far worse than it was
when i used to lay in my
old driveway and imagine
the weight of your truck
against my chest.
typed out easily with a
smiley face at the end of it
just to tell me that your
departure from me does not
weigh heavy on your heart.
you didn't mean it that way.

the thing is, i wrote about you
day and night the last time
you clouded up my mind
but i still choked on the air
you always made so heavy
around me the next time we
spoke, so maybe this won't
do my any good.

this morning, i awoke with a million different things swimming through my brain's waves and wiring that all could be summarized in only four words, picked at, scraped down, and peeled off completely raw:
my heart is hurting.

if the people at that party could physically see it in action, it would be on it's hands and knees, crawling to the nearest and darkest corner to hide in. no one seems to think you deserve me and no one has any patience and no one is waking up this morning, clutching their knees to their chest at the thought of the curve of his smile, making me want to meet god just so i could thank him for it.  

and i think it's almost insane, the way this world works. how i stayed on the porch with him until the sun came up even after he said he'd only stay for a little while. how we talked so loudly of loneliness but hadn't even slightly exhaled the word itself. how he's a figment of my past but he made my world feel new again. how all of the people that want me around are pushing me away because of the way he leaves me and showing their teeth because of the way i want him despite that- there is no kindness here- when the reason it hurts is because he is the most warm, tender person and understands the same thing about me.

it's a dog-eat-dog world and i am a 16 year old human, eating a burrito over the kitchen sink in my underwear at 5 o'clock, monday morning.

the sun in me must be heavy
because waking up is getting harder
i am practicing for the real thing
if we're being honest, i don't
want to see my 17th birthday
because since somewhere after
my 13th one, i have been restrained,
arms behind my back, while he
sucker-punched me in the jaw
i have spent the last 4 years
spitting blood and teeth onto the cement
and saying "thank you, thank you,
this is all i could ever want."

i'm fine when i can feel someone next to me
when my words lazily roll off my tongue and into heavy air
when someone's subtle and quiet gestures suggest
that i am somebody they like to be around
i'm fine when the world feels warm
from the love that swarms in and all around it

it's the spaces between that get me
the 53 seconds of time it took between
my thumb pressing the "send" button and the reply
hearing the laughter coming from the other room,
but not the joke preceding it
eating cheap dinner alone in my bedroom
while watching my favorite 90's sitcom

these gaps, these pauses, they are the ugliest parts of me
there is not a second of these moments that go by
that i am not wishing for a reassurance, a validation
a reminder that i am heard and noticed and loved
and that i have a purpose here, and reasons to stay

i need to be reminded that i have reasons to stay

don't talk to me about addiction
when you can still brush your teeth sober
act like you're too troubled to be a friend to me
when you're getting high, you just dont care

when you call, i get that feeling
like i just finished sobbing
choked up and dried out and exhausted
i get drunk and want to talk to you anyways

this is not about me being angry
this is not about how i used to see us
naked at the west end of humanity
the last two living souls, me and you,
naked in the wreckage of the world,
the opposite adam and eve

i should've understood sooner
that there's nothing romantic
about being the villian, no matter
how very much in love you are

this is about me, asking you to let me tell you
about the times i almost jumped off mountains
and then let me tell you why i didn't

there's more to being human
than embracing the mistakes you make
building a home out of apologies and
"i've been ****** up"s and
"you don't deserve this" -
when they tell you that it's okay
because you're only human,
they're reminding you to embrace
not only the bad, but the good too

i used to think you just wanted to warm your hands
but i realized you really do want to watch the world burn instead
what an awful way to have wasted all the love i had

haven't had it in me.

in the midst of all the chaos in my life right now, i have a tiny sliver of hope
in the form of a christmas card, written
wishing you well
            merry christmas,
                   skip

all i can do now is think about
being in missouri city by this time next year
spending holidays with a family i can stand
maybe i'll go to back to school with the comfort
of having someone stand behind me and
understand when i say that the weight
of my fear is too much to hold inside my body
and i will shatter on impact with the floor
if i try to get out of bed today

maybe i will never have to think about
the life i have now, with the mother who
does not and will not understand the words
"e m o t i o n a l  a b u s e"
and the chemical-reliant sister who doesn't
know the meaning of love and respect
and the man who can't step up and be the
adult and tell me that it is not my decision to make
maybe i will never touch another bottle
maybe i will be able to talk to the people
that it has hurt me to love, without a can in my hand
maybe i will love myself in turn of adding back
the half of my life that i have slowly lost
over the past twelve and a half years
father, despite leaving me to wonder why
i didn't know if you were even alive,
the thought of you is the purest thing
in my reach, this holiday.

you’re a lot like the second shot of whiskey,
warm, burning, has anyone told you that your hands
they are are firecrackers, taking off into the night?
and i’m a lot like coming down from the high
and the thought that you and i somehow
ended up in the same universe was the only thing
helping me fall asleep peacefully in my own sheets

but the moon has said goodbye to me,
and the sun comes up to welcome you another day
and i am burning my tongue on my coffee,
desperately hoping you'll text me

i am sitting on my back porch with you
more satisfied from your presence than
the nicotine between our fingers, and i'm
holding back laughter to hear yours first
because it's cold out and the sound of it
puts the warmth back into the air and
i can breathe again.

until your leg brushes against mine
then pulls back faster than i could notice
it was even there in the first place

the space between our bodies is a purgatory

i used to pace my room
in confusion of why i couldn't get over
the single month we spent together
sharing coffee, kisses, stories, bodies
i barely knew your middle name
but we talked again a few days ago
and i asked you, "do you think
if the people we are now were to
have met eachother before the
people we were then, we would've
had a chance?"

inthe moment it took
for you to reply
i finally figured it out
me and him, we are the
connection, as opposed
to the attraction i have
mistaken it for, he taught
me how to love softly, he
talks like he still knows me
and i still don't trust it but
i have never experienced
anything like this and
now i am pacing my room
again, caught on a simple
text message, sent 11:29am,
that reads "yes, i do."

tonight was a godsend

he plays the cello in parks after hours while i'm smoking cigarettes and trying to think of things to write down later
he sleeps in the back of his truck with a blue blanket when he doesn't want to wake up in his bedroom alone
he climbs on everything and doesn't sit still and ***** girls that i can only imagine wish that he would kiss them too
he went to school for massage therapy and he looks like chris from skins and he was manic tonight and said i made him happy and he's sorry that he used me
i told him to do it again

if you could see me right now,
you would ask me if i have slept in the 9 months that you have been away
you would tell me that i look like a store that won't close
you would tell me how different you are now and how much you've learned in your shaved head and caged windows
and when i reached to touch your face, you would say that you aren't there yet
you never belonged to me and you never will
but you still keep the guillotine in your bedroom
and the skeletons in your closet still have skin and hair and eyelashes that bat when you make a wish on one of your own
your laughter still doesn't travel like it used to and you don't smile unless you have to
and *******, i used to lay with all of the smiling parts of you
what a foreign memory

i sleep but not as well as i used to
i keep the lights on in hopes that they might catch your attention
and you're no different than you were
the last time you didn't belong to me

i remember the way love used to taste
it crept up my sternum, crawled up the back of my throat, strangled my tongue, and leaped out of my mouth with a trembling, shaking "i don't know how to feel like this anywhere else so please let me stay"
although there was an eviction notice stuck in between the door and the frame but i didn't open the door, to leave, to see it
and i used to look at people who could find something good and run from it and wonder how they could possibly do that when i ran to every doorstep, pleading for someone to let me in and planting my feet firmly into their ground as soon as they did
there are pieces of myself in every corner of these rooms, every crack in these walls, clumped in bathroom sink drains and i understand now
the more love you give that is unrequited, the less you have to give out again

and i'm only a few drunken, empty i-love-you's away from running dry

i write all day like an adult,
i am learned and i use big words
and i know how to accurately craft
a metaphor about pain and harm.

but at the end of the day
i return to childlike phrases,
“it’s not fair,” and i feel more
of a release from that than
a composition notebook
filled from cover to cover
with a million different ways
of saying that i still,
despite everything,
am not happy.

something snapped in me earlier this month
i think it was the bough that held most of what was rotten inside of me
but it could've just been the breath i was holding ever since the day i declared that your absence was never permanent, but i realized that this time it is
but this is not a poem about hoping that what goes up must come down, and what leaves you has to come back around
it's about how the clouds are looking more like laughing children
and i hear the birds in the morning without mourning you at the sight of an empty chair
i have found truth in a kind of beauty that has nothing to do with you

two weeks ago, all i thought about was what kind of person you have become and if they are anything like the person i fell in love with, but

if i've learned anything about love from you
it's that sometimes it means screaming until your voice shatters and other times it's found in silence
or growing out of old ways and apologizing despite only having fallen so hard, you left a crack in the cement

i've learned that the only reason anyone could ever replace me is because i left a hole big enough in their chest to need replacing
and by the end of it all, i got to laugh and cry and *** and be the truest, most human version of myself in the presence of someone else
i have a whole lifetime to do it all over again

i loved the things that you would do when you were you
that is enough for me

1AM, i was
gently shoved
out of a dream
in which i was
thrown into some
type of parallel
where

you
      and
              i

had never spoke
more than a mere
"excuse me"
walking into school
one morning
holding a glass door
open

i have spent
the last 5 hours
trying to get
this scene out of
my head.

even in a universe
where you had
never squeezed my
hand twice, like a
pulse, or sat on
your porch with
your cigarettes we
shared and two
glasses of orange,
i left my lipstick
on everything
you'd have thought
i would be more
permanent --

even then
i spent the rest
of my dream
thinking
about how
7:45AM
looks so
good on
you.

that feeling throughout your body
after soaking in a hot bath
where you're warm from the inside out
and your legs feel like they'd
collapse under any wrong movement

that's how it feels to be
in love with
the memory of you

i was a moment away
from texting you to ask
if it was cold outside today
in my south east texas town

it hit me all over again

every road sign, a sigh
to the fact that i am unable
to enjoy the weather
to enjoy your company

you make it clear that
you will not be coming back
to tell me how the weather
changes

when i feel the dull burn of a car window rolled down in 50 degree weather, when i am showing someone else my favorite books and films, when a boy is holding one hand and a cigarette is holding my other, i will think of someone who tried to better themselves and that it's okay if it isn't because of me.

when i approach my first day of college and there is a hand held out to me in an attempt to meet my acquaintance or a nerve-calming crack at the teacher by an upper classman, i will take that as an invitation to get right what i didn't in high school.

when i find a friend that will take me to the hottest parties a suburban chemical factory can hold, but who won't sit outside and wait the 40 seconds i have left of my cigarette to keep me company, i will gently decline and decide that i deserve better.

when i hear a sound as demanding as a freight train cutting slowly through the calm small-town winter night, i will think of the conversations between me and an old dear friend, on a front porch lit by a giant christmas star. i will smile fondly and choke back the nostalgia.

when i think of my adventures through the year 2014, although achingly transient, i owe it to myself not to pull my hair over what could have been, but instead pull my arms around the people who deserve it, and hug a little tighter, love a little harder, and demand a lot better.

in 10 years
your body will be
covered in ink
and i will look back
on the days i used to
make the most intimate
c o n t a c t
with the flawless
ivory silk you called
skin, a version of you
that was young and
pure

there's a slam of a front door
that sends a signal to my lungs
to tell them that they need nicotine
and another to the dry throat that
says it's time for a cup of coffee

i conduct a symphony of
slowly getting out of bed

taking the first sip of coffee
always reminds me of that
first kiss we shared on
new years at midnight,
i knew i would regret it

lately, the drinks i pour in
the evening feel worse than
a burnt tongue, because it
slides down my throat, into the
into the stomach, into the veins,
into the brain that usually tells me
do not think about this tonight but

i am drunk
i am obsessive
i am harmless

i have grown so exhausted of
always being the wrong kind of
brave

you said it was the weather
when i asked why it is i'’m so cold
what you forgot to mention is
that it was the middle of the
summer and whether or not you
would be back by the time fall hit

well, fall hit and the leaves
crunching beneath my shoes sound
like door slams and i stay up thinking
if you weren’t around to hear it;
did it really happen?
you don’t call the next day and
i know for sure it happened

you say i should move on,
i picked the boy with your fingers
and spent the night thinking about the
way he would look on top of me
and spent the morning hoping you
couldn’t read minds,
because mine wasn’t on yours
this time and im sorry,
you say you will call and i think about
the way winter will hit without you around
to see, because it's happened but
this time it won't leave bruises

but hell, it isn’t going to work out
and i’m not what you need
i’m far away, and full of dirt and bugs
but i want you
we’ll **** other people
and maybe even have fun
from time to time
but i think about your smile
and it’s stupid
but i curl up inside of it at night
pull my covers over my head
and dream bitterly about
of a life without such
distance

a million poems later and
i have not written anything
that could convince you
to love me back.

unhappy man with the rottweiler grin
find your shadow's darkest part and
tell it that it does not own you anymore
and this hurricane of a 16 year old girl
is not the reason.

i notice these moments
more than anything else
you can call me "beautiful"
we can make love to my
favorite songs, but even
though i take that home
with me, it stays in the
bag i brought instead of
the pores in my body.
there's a silent movie in
my head that replays
e  v  e  r  y  s  i  n  g  l  e
gas station, back road
beaten up motel moment
that makes me certain that
you are a front cover to
my back one, & in between
the two of us, we'll create
a story that'll put the bible
in the drawer next to the
motel bed to shame.

concealing the smiles
to seem less eager to please
in a smoke filled garage, you're holding
a can of beer that seems to be
sweating even less than i am
maybe it's nervous to meet your
lips, too

this is a night that leaves you
weak in your knees and begging
for just one more hand to brush
against your shoulder as it's
trying to route around you
to find the perfect spot on
the pool table, and that's
the only form of in-the-way
you're going to be tonight

they like you
don't worry

i've never been to
a confessional but i
told you i loved  you
while you held me in a
dark bedroom and i
think that's close
enough.

some days i'm depressed because i don't understand myself.
i don't get why i wake up angry most mornings, or why the world around me feels so loud when i don't even get out of bed.
some days i wonder why your absence makes me want to *****, when i'm not sure i even miss you.
i'm trying to find the connection between the two.

there's this moment, every morning at about 8:30 when i'm smoking my first cigarette of the day, when i feel every cell in my body collapse and rearrange in strange ways i don't understand just at the sight of a patio chair that you could be sitting in.
there's this single sigh of desperation when i almost wish you were out of jail so you'd call me over to make love with such incredible intimacy and passion, then forget to follow through again.
you haven't done that in a while, i think you meant it the last time you said you didn't want me and you never have.
i still think you'd like me better if i were still in your bed.
i think i'd like me better, too.

it's been  t w o  years
so i  don't  remember
any  specific  things  i
used  to  note when  i
would lie   next to you
and  find  the   perfect
metaphors   for   your
perfect  features.   the
only  stories i  have to
tell now are  the  ones
about how  i  think  of
you every  single  day
s       t       i       l       l
but  after  t w o  years
i have   finally   started
to  address   the   pain
of being    second best
and   lately,   not  even
the thought of    y  o  u
r      h  i  p  s   pressed
onto hers hurt me more
than how i feel on days
i eat,    or the  sight  of
myself      in the mirror.

"hollow"
would be an
understatement
if i were trying to
describe how i felt
lately.

i have no words left.

last night, i slept in your
blue plaid pajama pants
and woke up with them,
and myself, soaked in
period blood.
i cleaned myself off,
cleaned my bedroom up,
and found an old towel
under my bed that we
used to use to wipe off
whatever mess we made
on top of it.
i melted in a bathtub full
of too-hot water and
scented bubbles while
the song my grandfather
used to sing to me as a
lullaby overpowered
any thought i had about
impurity and sin.

my body shatters upon impact with any
innocent glance belonging to someone
i feel is capable of the damage
i have become so fragile under
sometimes i feel like the dishes
you smashed against your walls
and other times i feel like the
dripdripdrip coming from your
bathroom sink faucet, it's there
but you don't notice it.
the point is, all i am are fractions
of you while the real me is
trapped in every empty sigh
you released every time i said
"i love you" in hopes you'd repeat
but knowing you wouldn't

your teeth are still dug into my
shoulder, your nails have made
a graveyard of my back
i am going to pull every single
one of them out and i hope
i hope you feel it

i used to listen to flatsound's album
scotland, i wish you had stayed
in the passenger seat, back and forth
between home and the place i wanted it to be
where i couldn't ignore the winter
and the dull pulse of abandoned laughter
throughout houses that look like
what i feel like on a bad day

and today was a bad day
i want to travel backwards
to a time i can remember actually trying  
walking the few streets home from school
anticipating telling you how my day went
so you could call me and say,
"i'm happy for you, princess"

i don't try anymore and
it's been a long time since
you have been happy
about anything except
******* me

i'm sorry that all i can give you
doesn't include wanting you around

only missing the times that i did