summer nights are best spent with you.
greedily scarfing down ice cream,
watching our feet touch the sky from old playground swings.

and the ones in your mom’s car
-the soft music, the hard music
singing to melodies that we’ll never know.

each night, we feel each’s wishes.
i, i want to give you fairs, and cotton candy,
and hold your hand as we walk along the sidewalk.

i want to twirl you around,
because though we’re very summer friends
i want to keep you forever.

our feet scrape the gravel,
toes tap the sidewalk,
noses breathe in the air.

distinctly, i remember something
-us in a concert,
our shoulders brushing as we danced.

i remember laughing with you in the water,
because i hated being short,
so naturally i had to climb you.

i remember every year
we laugh away these nights,
until they become memories.

they, were, definitely,
polaroid worthy.
you’d give a blank look.

and then spring would come again,
and we’d be sitting in your mom’s car,
watching the sunset again.

remember this?

it’s getting cold.
her work begins to pile up on her desk,
paper cascading around her off the table,
sitting ignored as she thumbs through a book,
humming softly.

and she feels ever colder,
because though she knows the sun will touch her face one last time,
she feels the impending sense of everything changing.
her freedom, her sleep, and all those books
-piling up around her in dizzying towers she can’t seem to hold upright.

each poem has become an ode.
no longer does she right those summer love poems,
notes of dreams and pining and romance.
she’s grown lonely,
and grown up.

each ode is to who she was
-the kind girl with the widest eyes and strong opinions,
this new girl with no focus,
drifts and watches the ink run down the page.
she’s so worried, because she doesn’t care.
and doesn’t care about that.

tomorrow will be better,
she says, sighing with tiredness repeating over and over again.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.

but the pounding in her head won’t go away,
and all the doubts sink in
-you’ve lost your edge.
-you’re not doing enough.
-you’re never going to do enough unless you break.

her heart seems to beat colder,
slow down and she’s not that old.
she’s young, and she feels herself,
the brightness and ambition disappearing,
and they’re replaced by content and a sense of emptiness.

when someone sees your scars or cuts, do they really see?
do they see the metal pain, or do they see the physical pain?

when someone sees your blade do they see the metal that scars your skin, or do they see the words that scar your skin?

when someone sees your tears do they see your sadness, or do they see the demons running around your head causing pain where they step?

when someone sees your progress do they see you using coping skills and no cuts on your wrists, or do they see the feelings you fake and the cuts on your thighs instead?

iloveyou
without a space
there’ll be no room for mistakes
no it doesn’t make sense
it’ll make no difference

i touched your soul
and scribbled my name on it
love, you’ll never get lost again

with depression comes manipulation. you end up lying. you lie about how you feel or you let out bits but not whole truths. they believe you.
with self harm comes manipulation. you know you have eight blades but you give up five. you have twelve hiding spaces but you give up eight. they believe you.
with progress becomes manipulation. you use the coping skills and say are helping. you cut in different places. you lie about feeling better and let your emotions out somewhere else

She runs away in her sleep
Only to find paradise
In her lover's venomous kiss