maybe you should listen*
1. don't ask me if I'm alright
2. I never am, and
3. you can take that any way you'd like.
4. I'll love you, but
5. you can't leave once I have, because
6. that's the way to make me never okay again.
7. if you want to hurt me, just
8. say 'you'll be fine'
9. as you walk away.

The title will not come
But the words flow fast
Stanzas breeze by
Poems progress
Short stories
Are written
As if I’m possessed
Prodigious outpouring
As if I am being chased by death
But the perfect unifying theme
Does not present itself
The art will not find its name
The work is left untitled
But it is finished all the same

I can't face people,
Or share my fears with others,
I write because that's the one thing I'm good at,
I get to express my feelings.
When I look in your eyes,
I get lost in their depths,
But by penning it down I find ease.
When I write,
It feels as if it's only me and my paper's.
Filling all the pages with my black ink.
I feel proud of my capabilities.

i'm not filled with stardust or galaxies like you might want to believe, and i don't have flowers growing in my ribcage or constellations in my brain. i'm blood and bones and flesh just like everyone else, except these bones are hollow and this flesh is torn and scarred. these scars are not beautiful or unique and neither am i; i'm just a girl with shaky hands and pale skin and a tendency to self destruct. my eyes are not the forest or the ocean, they're dark and hollow caves filled with fear and regret that have seen more than they should've but hopefully one day they can see the light again. there's no sunset in my veins, it's just blood that's been spilled onto the bathroom floor too many times in a desperate attempt to reach any last bits of hope buried inside of me. i'm not a hurricane or a tsunami or any natural disaster; i'm only ******* human and before i become a metaphor i just want to feel *alive.

maybe it’s music
maybe it’s art
maybe it’s poetry
maybe it’s a joint
maybe it’s the color of your eyes
or maybe it’s the taste of your lips
which act as a frivolous distraction
an attempt to fill the void
to give me the sense of fulfillment I so desperately crave
I will continue to indulge myself in intoxicating heedlessness
until I have found what I am looking for
or fall to my grave in the process

it'd be nice
to have someone
who would
love me
for
who i am
not
despite
who i am