I have bad habits,
and a good heart
the two never balance out beautifully
they don't fall in love like the first time,
when you're awkward and naive and sixteen,
on front porches and wired from caffeine,
they don't hold hands in July when it's too hot to think,
like lovers do at that age, eager to experience that innocent feeling
in color, over and over.
I have bad habits,
and a good heart; the former always wins,
they don't dance under autumn trees like lovers at 16,
they sting like the first heartbreak.
The kind of repurcussions that tip boats made to withstand
storms that even solid land could not endure,
I have bad habits and they make sure to show.
I have a good heart
but it barely matters
because what's a good cup
when the rest of your china is shattered
and even worse,
by your own actions.
I have a good heart, and bad habits,
the two don't balance or dance,
they bicker and bend.
I have a good heart,
but that's merely defense.

Is the best piece you ever wrote your suicide note?You were a writer and you knew how to turn your words into weapons. You weren't supposed to use them on your own skin. What made you wage a war you know you couldn't win?
Why Did you hurt the ones you love and call it art? Did the act of waking up every day burn your insides so much that
You couldn’t bear to stay on Earth for another sunset without collapsing yourself? Is that why you went away? Is it sunny there? Or warm, at least I know you didn’t like the heat but you needed a promising heartbeat and New England winters stole the color from your smile, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw you glow too and that makes me wonder why you left. The leaves fell off trees and you danced underneath, something about that felt like magic. What made you feel so free and where'd it go? You loved October air growing up, and how it filled your lungs,apple pie that just cooled off, but warm enough to heat you up. You used to eat the whole thing,
and now you can't. Did you stop hurting the way you used to here? How can we be sure? You never asked anyone for help, and now you can’t.

I wonder if there is an afterlife for words
Ones we never brought to life,
or ones that tried and tried,
but lost their fight.
I wonder what it looks like.
Maybe there, the walls are white,
and invite every sound that was silenced
and attracted every one never found when
hidden behind fearful human mouths
I wonder what it feels like
if the words have a place to rest
and not have the burden of holding themselves in
when their creator wants to let them go,
I wonder if they know that they are strong,
or if they die before they understand.
I wonder where words go to die,
or if the ones that never come out,
were ever even alive.

Why is giving up so sweet to taste
like cold cream in strong brewed coffee,
I wish that same strength for me,
but instead the way the milk,
though bad for me I know,
mixes in like December's first snow,
leaves me in a trance,
I am frozen in the road,
the way ahead I will not go,
because I have never tasted happiness
and giving up is just too sweet

It is hard to imagine
Seeing a whole person
When the mirror shattered
And left shards in the same shape
As the scars on my arms
That divide me into two people.
one I wish I could escape
one who refuses to give way
To anything other than
Depreciation
Unwelcomed recollection
On times of skin fairer, clearer, kinder

Let the leaves steep before you pluck them out
of the mug I never fixed from the first time we fought, about
I don't remember what, but I remember the way the warmth left my body
like I should have fled the house that night,
I remember it but those are different times.
Now, I fail at reiterating on emotions diffused into summer flights
anywhere but where I was staying, anywhere safe,
I landed not far away,
but hard enough to stay and that settlement will haunt my memories
until I can no longer,
still,
trace the patterns you made on my back,
with my own hands now.
Now, I cannot reiterate.
It might be worse than digging up a grave,
that closure that might have buried you under rubble,
and might have eliminated any chance at air,
so you sit on the floor and ask yourself how you let it happen,
again and again,
I cannot reiterate.
For it brings too much pain,
to remember how lightly you said my name,
and how heavy the blows were when you could not bear to say
anything,
anything is all I want to hear from you now,
but you're gone and I am still drinking tea,
gone bitter from the time gone by,
wondering how I let this happen, again.
I cannot reiterate the way that my soul fought for a shape,
after months of convincing myself I was useless,
like you swore.
I cannot reiterate the pain I felt when I loved you,
but I can promise.


I don't anymore.

Filling a void
I cannot identify
Trying to make meaning
of days wasted, afraid.
I waste away, waiting
I pray I am not as dreadful
as you used to make me feel.
Part of me used to laugh,
the thought of someone else
dictating how I felt sat lightly on
my lips and made them curl,
like pastel rose hips, I smiled,
no one would make me feel
anything,
but now I barely feel at all.

I'm sorry for pushing you away
hard enough to make you break
My hands are cold and I keep them that way
on purpose, kind of,  
out of habit,
definitely,
I have a fear of going in, and letting people see me.
I'm sorry for pushing you away,
fast enough to make you lose your breath,
My time is not worth another minute of yours,
I'm being honest.

I don't do it out of fear, really,
I think I lied before.
I do it out of misery,
I don't deserve the things you gave me.

I'm sorry for the things I said while I was drinking
I'm sorry for who I become when I'm wasted
I'm sorry for wasting your time by pushing you away
I'm sorry, I have this way about me that makes connecting scary
and I would say "It isn't you, it's me"
But I haven't identified the source of this inescapable misery
I'm sorry for what I said
I'm sorry for everything

low hum, cold rain
i take three extra pills to focus on anything
but you
and how i was so proud to show you off
i put you up on a shelf
made sure you never got *****,
i was so proud to call you mine,
to have something of my own
that i forgot to lock the door to my own home
and let everybody in,
and they took everything
i was so scatter brained with you
trying to make you happy
planning my next move,
i never paid attention to my own pieces
and now they're broken
and i don't even have the energy to put them back together
i was so proud to call you mine
when you barely knew you were half the time

I tried to turn this anger into art
oh, god did I pray for one stroke of beauty
I was blinded by fog and the nausea consumed me
I fell to my knees looking for a single way to make sense of this hate
I don't remember how to channel my energy, the kind that just drains me
Into something healthy, something beautiful, something colorful
I just know that I'm struggling to stay above water
The tide comes in aggresively, and I am looking for a fight
I start arguments with the mirror to distract myself long enough not to collapse
Because I remember you're not coming back,
You're never coming back


*******.

"I would say I care about women's rights, but I wouldn't call myself a feminist"
"I think men and women should be equal, yeah, but I don't want to be called a feminist."
"Does that mean I can hit you?"

The word feminism rattles like a cracking cymbal crashing
just hard enough on pavement to scratch it
but not hard enough to break.
The word feminism manifests itself in our culture
in poisonous ways,
like the food dye in our candy'r
parabens we cover our faces in,
we don't say this word cos' it's scary
we don't want to make too much commotion

while white men in black robes orchestrate the court system
and have police by the neck, inserting money like a candy machine
we fear the word that gives us a step to bring equality

while white men in suits ask us "how we doin'"
and we don't admit that we're angry,
women don't show anger, it isn't polite
when the men in the subway puts his hand up our skirt
and says "hey baby you like that"
no, he doesn't ask if we do, he tells us out flat,
insinuating our satisfaction is a product of theirs
reminding us with a hand on public transportation
that anyone who has a **** can be one and we can't do ****
because we aren't supposed to be angry, it isn't polite

The word feminism manifests itself in delicate ways
we can't ask for too much, they won't take us seriously
****** intergrity? girl, try again
the right to not wear a bra?
Where do you think you are? this is america
An opinion
one that they hear
that isn't facilitated
out a white man's mouth
into a white man's ear
we aren't a filter
won't you raise your voice?
**** being polite,
please, make some noise

The word feminism manifests itself in ways you can't see
if you fear what it might make you lose
you haven't much yet by the hands of the man
so why are you choosing not to grab your sister's hands?
Stop saying sorry when someone interrupts you
stop moving out of the way for men who don't move
put your female foot down, don't say excuse me
you're a woman, angry with every right to be
stop fearing the word feminism
for the connotations are flurries
the word denotes storms we're starting
join us

Nausea dances in my veins
Flirting with my stomach acid
He paces making rhythmic motions
In a strong gut once so placid

But he's strong willed and determined
He won't go down without a fight
Insides feel uneasy now
I felt a sense he just wasn't the same tonight


And then I saw you and it made sense
My heart sank into lakes of acid, waves of terror
My veins cut off all paths that lead them there too.
My brain fell straight down like molten memories
My body was not ready to see you.
And I'm nauseous.

I did something wrong
this day, last fall
The October wind took my breath away
I did something *****
this night, last fall
The autumn leaves swept my confidence away
The flickering memories still disturb my somber sleep from time to time

I did something brave
this spring, 6 months ago
March carved out the pieces I let cement in the cold
I did something bold
this spring, 6 months ago
I got up and left, chains still digging at my ankles


But I left,
I did a lot of things wrong,
I have the scars to prove how hard I held on.
But I left,
I did something right.

I'm filling a void I can't identify
trying to make meaning of these wasted days
I waste away waiting for a sign
I'm not as dreadful as you made me feel
Part of me used to laugh
at the thought of letting someone else,
anyone else, besides myself
dictate how I felt
but now I struggle
to feel anything at all

I quit smoking
sure it made the haze in my head softer
and it was already hard to breathe before
but I didn't want the habit already stuck
when I finally stopped wanting to die
I wonder when that day will come
I won't start smoking again
Not because I have hope that it will stop raining
or visions of a clearer future
but because I know that nothing will fill this void
Especially not, now fading memories of a summer
and a lover
and a boy

I wish
I could write
about anything
anyone
anywhere
other than you


*I am tired

The part I hate the most about this feeling
is that it doesn't look pretty in paint
nor does it sound lovely in lyrics
it doesn't rectify the emptiness
when I pour myself into other people's cup
I fill them up to forget what I am full of
things I do not love
colors that do not transfer well onto paper
words that don't make sense
nothing about this comes together
in ways that can expand and commence
this feeling is not a pattern
this suffering is not art
you can't trace a deadly storm that you did not acknowledge
from the start

tied down by chains
I welded myself
steel pricking into my irritated wrists
I am no martyr
I die for nothing
this is all I have to give
my own personal prison
I maintain the walls
I let this happen
I love the fall

Please don't let yourself get mad
You break people around you while blindfolded
Please don't let the sadness manifest in ugly patterns that let you shatter smiles
Please don't let yourself get hot
You'll want someone to take it away
Your sting will hurt another's heart
You could have saved today
Please don't bleed cold blood on others
Whom have reached out warmer hands
You don't bleed honey, you sting and you leave
Please don't repeat his actions and please don't grieve
Anymore
He's not coming back

I don't know how you do it
without even acknowledging me
you make my stomach twist into a ball
you make my knees too weak
I still get sick when I think about
the times we used to have
I still hate myself for holding on
I still get sick wondering where it went bad

Where did you go?
Where have you been?
Does me crawling back mean that you really did win?
Where do I head?
How will I know?
What if I can't because this fog ties me to my bed?
Where did you go?
Why won't you come back?

I tried to write a long piece
about missing you
still writing things about things we would do
the September fog wrapped me up like celafain
I tried to write a long piece
but my hands wouldn't stop shaking

I tried to write to you
and tell you how I've been
but a year later
and not much has happened
you moved on
I moved back
the city feels empty even with the world on my back

I tried to write a long piece
about liberation and hope
and how it gets better if you let it
but a year later,
and I still choke up

so I don't write anymore
I don't sleep anymore,
I don't look for love anymore
and that's something I have had to
learn to store away until the day
I stop missing you, stilll

I run to pretend
I drink to forget
I write to express
I smoke to find rest
I go out to digress

I run to pretend that 6 months have not past since you left
I drink to forget that they have
I write to express the pit manifesting inside me
I smoke to find rest in days that almost **** me
I  stay busy to digress from the truth that you don't miss me

Over sweetened
Fall decay
Covered up in caramel
Flannel sheets line freezing beds
That rot from the inside out
I, too unwind this way
And walk on red, yellow leaves the same day
In black boots I bought to repel the rain
I chew on candy apples
My teeth are weak where they start at the roots
They glisten on the surface
Someday they grow too fragile
To stay in place
Fall decay
Covered up in caramel
I miss the feeling of holding hands
The empty half of my bed looks quite a lot like hell
Fall decay
Covered up in caramel
I have a feeling in my gut
From swallowing my pride and ignoring your call
Fall decay
Over sweetened
I wish I'd taken care of these cavities

Like turning off the light but leaving on the lamp,
you can see the corner of the room where it is,
where the boxes of pictures collect dust,
where the old letters start to rip
but you keep the lamp on
for fear of losing sight
of boxes you hide
from yourself
you lie


you miss him
and you pretend you don't
you feel it every time you kiss another
inside you tighten up and get a chill in your bones
you put the memories away but will not throw them out
becuase in the back of the room you still see the door by the lamp
and you still wish he would come through it and say he's figured it out

I wish I could scrub my veins clean
of the tar and memories
I would scrape the sides clear
of everything you whispered in my ear
all lies, cliche
I hate feeling this way

Crimson winds in Early September
blew my own smoke back into my face
so I got a double dose of ashes, burning my surfaces
I stopped digging into my skin with metal
but filled my lungs with tar
and I can't tell what's worse
Forgetting to take in sherbert skies because
I'm too high
or being there but not caring in the first place

You will never see the basement of the church,
I spent months there begging for answers.
I will see the steeple.

You might never collect all the flowers in the garden
I spent weeks tending to the seeds.
I will reap the most vibrant yellows.

You will never hear the beating of the drum,
I spent months tuning it out.
I will strum my own strings.

You might never face the consequences of your past.
I may never heal.
But I will be better than what it left me.
I will rise up and I will feel again.

I wove a basket for you that I filled with my own flowers,
The summer drought killed my roses.
The summer rain drowned my daisies
But in the fall I die once more,
in the basket, I am reborn.
I wove you a basket you did not take,
so with my own heart I will make one,
in this basket I will keep
the flowers whose roots run deep.

I planted them myself,
for me.

I remember the first time you called me fat
I forgave you

And for that, I struggle to forgive myself

I remember the first time you called me annoying
My chest fell into my gut
The feeling of my stomach acid eating at the words I pushed back  down my throat with whatever simple starch I could salvage
Is something I'll always remember

I remember the first time you said I broke your heart
And just how mine stopped
And how in 3 weeks it'll be a year since I gave my body away to a stranger and you held it over me like a plague in medieval times would've spread across my weakened body
I remember it strongly
I remember our first kiss,
I remember our last,
I remember the day I knew I didn't love you anymore,
If I could get that feeling to pass,
Because it's unfair you're happy,
When I'm still stuck in January when you told me in bullet form everything I did wrong
And it didn't make sense how I tried to leave but you wouldn't let me
Nd then you left
It isn't fair
You're gone, you're there,
And I'm no one, I'm nowhere

Suddenly it's 4am
I'm purging into my pillow again
I realize no one's come in since you left
Nor has anyone tried to

Suddenly the sun is rising
Bringing light to memories I hid
Under layers of makeup and laughter
Were months I pretended I was healed
And in that light I realize,
I never lost the feeling of what we had
Our days are faded images in my scrapbook mind, my attic stays dark and shady,
But early twilights in late August wipe clean the wool I've let cover them comfortably
Suddenly it's 4am
On the first day of the 6th month since you left
And I realize, I'm still there, acting like it was a theft,
And just like a crime, you'll do your time, but justice would be served, you'd come back

And suddenly,
I realize,
This is real life
And you aren't

What brings storms to August evenings
the humidity from months before
clumps like a cloud over barren grasslands
we beg for rain but run for cover when she delivers
this thirst cannot be quenched with quick, violent floods
for they reach only the surface
penetrate our drying soils, she does not
when she leaves our muddy skin to now soil, steep and rot

What brings storms to August evenings
when we have just started to like the heat?
the light is harsh and white and yellow
the thunder breaks the streets
What brings storms to summer nights
when we have just began to swim?
To land we must now go
because the water's getting sharper
the waves are mean
we begged for rain
not storms that drain our land
What brings storms to August evenings?
the ones we wasted inside anyway

Do it out of love
or do it not at all
for the power in your heart
should not pull on the strings of mine
it should dance with them, tangle them
in a web that catches fallen pieces
when my paper skin loses integrity
it should color them
when the grey has covered everything

Do it out of love
or do it not at all
the force that drives your lips to mine
should not derive from the same place
that drives you to work in the morning
or to bed at night
for these are chores
and I have been there before
so I ask you to do it out of love
not habit, nor chore
do it out of love
I've never had that before

I spoke in broken notes
that came out flat and frugal
words got caught in hardened chords
each time your name rang through them

There was no music in my voice
no melody to soothe me
I could not carry a whole line
without a script to keep me moving

I spoke in broken notes
when I spoke of our older days
I spoke in battered, ugly shards
of words I'd since tucked away
I spoke in broken notes,
the sounds were all but lovely
but at least I spoke a word or two
that's better than nothing

The scrutiny is toxic,
it builds up like tar in her weakened lungs
she can't breathe
when everyone else steals the air right from her
and replaces the purity with rotten words that make her blood curdle
the scrutiny is toxic
she tries to brush it off
but it won't work
she can't breathe
please stop the scrutiny

The last time they fought
he told her that her ego ran her life
maybe he was right.

Was her mind too much
and that is why she hides
it away in a cage so no one else can
but still she craves the light so
she spends her time looking good in every one
forgetting to nourish her mind.

That is not the girl I know
faux passions
dragging out interactions for the sake of a boost
who knew she could turn out like this?
That is not the girl I know,
it is the girl he said she was,
and that is not the girl I loved.
I want her back, please.

Falling in half love
With everyone I meet,
Scared to go in past my feet.
Afraid to open up
Hesitate to divulge the feelings
That hang as painful cliches
But hurt just the same
as if they were open wounds
I still wonder what healing is like for you.

Or if you even had to.

The Spring this year was cloudy,
Darkness ******* my sunlight
Many mornings were stormy
and bitter were most nights

That was until I met you.

I met you in July
and then the heat stopped burning
I met you by accident
and then I suddenly stopped hurting.

I'm so happy to have met you.

The energy you give delivers light
You make my heart feel light again,
It bounces every morning,
waiting just to see your grin
You make me want to shine again
and I can't thank you enough for that.

Please stay for a while,
It's been a long time since I've shined so bright.
I might not dull out again with you in my hand.

I'm giving up on myself today
I'm jaded and sleepless and need a break
I'm giving up on my goals today
I'm sorry and hope you can forgive me
I'm giving up on myself today
I'm sick of this fog surrounding me
I'm giving up on everything today
I'm empty and can't fill up again
I'm giving up today,
and will try again tomorrow.

I want to permeate your mind
figure out what keeps you up at night
I want to sink into your skin
and find the things that keep you burning
I want to pick apart your brain
and understand your reason for living

I thought my curiousity for the soul of another had died
I thought I would never crave to see someone's insides again
But you are different
You are new
You are you and
I want to know every single bit,
please let me through

In school, I was always getting spoken to about the length of my sentences; I used semicolons more than anyone else my teacher had ever met and he always asked me why I didn't just end the sentence and begin again; I always told him that I was scared to end one if I wasn't sure it was finished yet; what if it wanted another chance? What if it was ready to start again? I wrote an essay in which the entire introduction was one long sentence, it went on for two pages and I had to rewrite it three times because it was not concise enough. I grew worried that I'd end up the same way the rest of my life; what if I was always too scared to end things because I wasn't sure if I would be able to start from scratch? What if I held on to one thing for too long and lost the chance of another one hatching and what if I never learned how to start fresh? I was always used to starting over, but it's different when you're older. You don't start over with the same white heart, you start over, carrying the bruises you got from fighting for years and you start over knowing that any move could be the one that ends your sentence and you start over knowing you're creating run-on after run on but you don't care as long as your words have somewhere safe to go; you don't care as long as they know they're welcome there, because god knows they weren't anywhere else.

Remind me* what warm, sandy days in early July are like when the creases in my mattress make their mark on my skin so deep I forget how to stand up straight on my own. Remind me what 72 degrees at 50 miles per hour in my hair feels like when the shades will not open themselves and the piles of ***** dishes and wrinkled clothing have created their own escape route from my bedroom. Remind me what holding hands with someone who would rather hold your soul feels like when I crave human touch but shut out everyone that comes within a mile of my heart because I'm just so scared to break again. Remind me what hot chamomile tea on a dewey August morning tastes and smells like when I am buried in pillows and have my eyes glued to the computer screen because they're too tired to search for anything beautiful; they couldn't stand to see something beautiful anyway, because they'd deliver the message to their owner that what they see is that which she is not. Remind me what laughter, on a trampoline, at 2 in the morning, that makes my stomach hurt feels like when the nostalgia sinks deep into my skin and draws blood, and I feel as though things won't ever be as golden as they once were. So please, remind me that better days lie ahead. Remind me how it feels to work for something, to put your heart and soul into a work of art when I feel like my insides have collapsed because trial and error is my only experience with love and error seems to have ******* all hope. Remind me that it isn't me who is broken, that it is the world who needs my love and remind me that if I would stop giving up, that I could feel all of these things again. Remind me to get up and try, and try, and try again. Even when the white walls hurt my eyes and the blanket clings to my skin, remind me what it feels like to live. And don't let me lose that feeling again.

I turn 20 in 3 months.

3 days ago, I **** my pants.
Yikes.

What? Ugh, I know. Well heck, dude.
It was an accident.
Or it was laughter mixed with Corona.
Or it was nervousness taking over,
lactose intolerance teamed up with people intolerance,
**** did it smell, but
we did try to make the best out of a sticky situation,
for lack of a better word.
The air was stale, but at least I could breathe at that point.
It's in our nature to coat our ugliest metals in gold.
Why do we do that and feel bad when the copper starts to shine through?

I beg you something, I plead.
Stop calling  anxiety beautiful. Please.
What's beautiful about air stabbing your chest like
shattered glass as you hug your own knees for comfort
and beg it to make it to your lungs in time to breathe?

What's so beautiful about bloodshot eyes so red that customers tell your boss you're surely high when you'd give your left leg to be low enough to calm down, even if for a minute.
What's so beautiful about burn marks from coffee pots your dropped while you were shaking?

And what is so beautiful about freezing in the heat,
or not being able to distinguish between the two because goosebumps cover your entire body. Anything over 72 degrees and you can't breathe
because the air

is just
so
heavy,
it sticks to your muggy lungs
but you still tremble from the cold because your body forgets how to adapt to certain situations as it's too busy remembering how to function at a very basic level to keep you alive to experience every aspect of this attack so tell me what is so ******* beautiful about colors getting trapped outside the fog in your brain like prisoners of war, the kind of fog that you can't even see but that ***** the vibrancy out of things you used to use to fill up your empty parts, so tell me what is so beautifully tragic about your favorite grass being grey instead of green?

You try to turn something ugly, something vengeful into something to roll into a ball and cradle like a blanket or a toy, something pretty and controlled,

and you end up cold on the tile floor of Cumberland Farms
in tears
at 20 years old
warking your mother up at 3 in the morning
with a screaming ringtone
only to forget how to speak
when she answers and her voice cracks
"what's wrong? what's going on?"
And you don't know
but you konw you have coffee to make
if you hands would just stop shaking
please for a second
and that's why you smell like coffee now,
because more grounds get on you than in the filter anyway,
you just never stop shaking
but when someone asks what's wrong and you can't identify the source you do your best to forget what's even causing this in the first place
so tell me what's beautiful about any of this.

About your heart beating so fast you
swear it's racing someone else,
maybe racing to get you some help,
but what would you say when they arrived?
Where did this derive from?
Every single hair on your body rises,
it's so hot,
you can't breathe,
but you still freeze,
or are those nervous bumps?
You feel every chill like waves under a full moon

Tell me what the most beautiful part about a girl you can't kiss is,
is it the chase? The same one that pumps through my blood.
I'd chase anything for one long breath I didn't have to fight for.

Please stop calling anxiety beautiful.
Please stop coating my copper in gold.
Please don't tell me that it's something tragic but that it makes me stronger,
because when you end up on the floor of a convenience store, crying into coffee you already ruined twice,
you'll hurt the person who was only trying to be nice.

My stomach drops
My heart stops
And starts again
And stops again
Unsteady beating
My skin is peeling
My face is stinging
My hands are clinging
To anything that feels real
I'm breathing sharp air
My lungs feel heavy
My eyelids pulsate to a steady beat
I can feel every single drop of blood course through my veins
My stomach tightens
My fingers ache
I can't describe how this feels
Just please hold me until it's over

Elevation decorated with hues of green, shades of blue
Shapes and sounds that ground the climbers on the mountain

Inside the hardened lungs of the hikers among
is the newest, freshest air
The river that courses through each dip in the Earth
carries sediment as it sculpts
It bends and it breaks the ground that held it in place
it creates a new path to call it's own
It made a new place to call home

Elevation decorated with crinkled water bottles,
elevation drowning in bug spray
elevation soaked from the sweat that rolls off
the bodies of those who finally reach the top

There at the top, elevation and she coexist
Together, they are in rhythm
They breathe in for four, they take in some more,
they exhale the world left below them

I can count the number of times my body has been violated on both hands,

But I need both hands to do so, though and while that might sound horrible,
I've grown to know that saying "no" does not mean "stop" to someone who insists on trying,
what I've learned is that my body was never mine to begin with,

I grew sick with a task of delivering pleasure to someone else at the cost of myself and what I learned is that
waving that white flag cuts you open and
causes you to bleed on your white sheets
you already bleached stains out of twice that same week,

My body was never mine to begin with,

but I'm taking it back.

I'm stealing my body back from the fear that stole it every night I agreed to have *** to avoid getting hit.

I'm stealing my body back from every night I said no and you still did it.

I'm stealing my body back from the paralyzing thought of what people would think about how I got into that situation instead of why you did that to me in the first place.

I'm stealing my body back from the haunting, cemented, cold look on your face when you said "I do what I want"
I shrunk into my skin,
I swore I would never feel safe in my own bones again.

I'm taking my body back because it is mine.
I'm taking it from every person who stole it from me,
even if temporarily,
at ages 6, 9, 10, 14, 16, 18 and 19.

I'm taking it back for me this time.
It is not your temple or release.
It is not your garden or your sanctuary.
My body is mine to keep.

When you read those corny books about breakup they tell you that no matter how hard you think it might be, you'll get over it. You'll get over him. You'll get over her. You'll get over late summer nights where you swore you would never need anything else. And you felt solace in a book that promised happiness at the end of the road and so you tried to stop missing him. You tried to stop missing her. You replaced them with other people. You kissed that short, skinny boy with greasy hair to see if his lips compared to the ones you grew used to. They didn't. You kissed that tall, chubby girl to see if her lips made you sing like the way you were making music for all those years. They didn't. Nothing you tried to replace your first love with was the same.

And that is the point.

When you fall in love for the very first time, they don't tell you that it's going to hurt when it ends. Well, they might but hell if you'll believe it. You're blinded by something that we would all beg for another chance to do over and I swear to God I would do it the same way again. You were blinded by a force so strong you simply cannot move on in 3 months. Today was supposed to be your 3 year anniversary.

And it wasn't.

When you fall out of love the first time they don't tell you how or when you will get back up. They don't tell you that you will check his Twitter every day. You will see if her Instagram pictures of you two remain. And they don't tell you how badly you'd rather take a knife to the gut when you see they moved on already. It feels the same anyway.

When you fall in love for the second time, though. Everything is different.

When you fall in love for the second time, you wish everything was different. You beg your brain to not **** this one up. You bargain with your heart to let yourself have one night to enjoy what it has for once.
But the games you let sink into your blood and permeate your idea of love come back to life when your heart starts to beat again. You notice different things about the second person you love, like how their hair never stays in their hat the right way or the way they fall asleep laying on their back but always end up on their side holding you really tightly and how you finally feel okay with them, for once, even if it's just for a night. You notice that their hands are a different shape than the first person you love and that they might shape clay differently and it might not hurt you as much as before and you notice you're absolutely terrified of replacing someone else's hands so you use your own to push them away as hard and as far as possible.

And for the second time, you ****** up.
For the second time, with someone new,
you broke all the rules and you hurt someone who loved you.

They don't tell you how to fall in love a second time because they're so shocked you could ever love again after all those nights you spent screaming into your pillow until you lost your voice and fell asleep remembering that one park you used to hold hands at 16. But they will not tell you how to feel that way again because something sunk it's teeth deep into your skin and its venom changed the chemicals within you and now you see love as a game and I'm sorry because it isn't.
I'm sorry you have to hurt people to show them you're changed and I'm sorry that you are stuck in this wave of not knowing who will come into your life and make you sing again.

When you fall in love for the first time, it is in that one park and you swear it's the best feeling in the world. You swear you can fly.
When you fall in love the second time, please don't let it go, you know what it feels like already to watch love die.

I cut myself deep enough to see the bone when I was 16
I fell in love that year as well
They don't tell you what to do after you fall
Because they don't know how hard you will
I cut myself that night in July
I went so deep they had to put me on a lifeline
I am alive now
with skin made of steel
and no one comes in anymore
I fell in love
and you felt me up
you took away my right to say no
overcome with fear
I begged you to stop
they don't teach you how to tell someone
that this has happened before
and every single time
the strength it takes to say no
leaves your throat like a plague
fed by fear and starving for a sound
they don't tell you how hard it is to say no
with your mouth
when your head tells you to be quiet
and the man that haunts your ghostly body
tells you that he does it because he loves you
trigger warning: they don't give you a trigger warning before they hurt you

they just do

The devil on my shoulder has the same mannerisms as you
So I naturally gravitate towards all he promises to give me
A life with no pain, a bed and a name
All at the cost of losing who I became when I loved you.

The devil on my shoulder swears he loves me back
So I naturally give him chance after chance
It's a disease, to see only the best in people
When they could easily rip your heart out and dip without a thought
All at the cost of losing you and getting lost

The devil on my shoulder smells an awful lot like you
Worn out hoodies and the same pair of jeans
the cheap cologne your mother gave you in January
The devil on my shoulder says he's heard of you before
But you scared him away and he's never been terrified before

Talk all day
Type our fingers sore
Refresh, refresh
We beg for more attention than we get
We share so much that
We know everything about each other
Our thumbs are raw
You can see the bones
I typed you novels
You called my phone
We talk all day
We don't take breaks
So why don't you know
I'm not okay?
Why can't you look me in the eye?
If we talk all day why can't I talk to you in real life?