I'd like to thank

*****
for giving me the confidence to ask her out

Drunk texts
for the brutal honesty

Flannel shirts
for hiding my scars

My cats
for always being the cover story

My brother
for never telling my parents

My best friend
for finally telling my parents

That girl in my art class
for calling me kind

That guy I dated
for calling me selfish

My counselor
for telling me to mind my own business

The boy who said he loved me
for teaching me what love isn't

My bedroom
for keeping my sobs concealed

My headphones
for keeping my **** private

My ****
for keeping me from ******* that guy

That guy
for ******* me anyways

Guilt
for killing me

Guilt
for keeping me alive

You said I was a god and I believed you
thought you would always pray to me
thought your devotion to me was eternal

called you crying because my word is divine
even between thunder storm sobs
called you a sinner because fear
is the root of fidelity

but I remember when you said you were an atheist
realized I was just as human as you
decided you didn't need my wrath
you walked through my fire
stole my halo
became your own savior
and now I am alone and godless

you were the only one to ever love me
but you have denounced your faith
and if God doesn't exist
then who the hell was I

When you
wake up in the morning
do your bones
ache?
Have you forgiven
yourself?
Because I
haven't,
and I don't understand
why you get to
feel less guilty than
I do
even though
you're the one
who's done wrong.

I keep writing these poems
emptying my chest onto paper
thinking somehow
this will make it feel less hollow
thinking someday
these words won't be so tortured
but every scratch of pen
every patch of black or blue
covering something that just
didn't fit right
looks so vacant
and everything I say
is starting to sound the same
I am pulling words from a thesaurus
trying to rephrase the ache
into something I haven't felt before
trying to justify
why I haven't been able to fix this yet
talking myself into a fire
this ink is gasoline
and combustion
is something I am all too familiar with

"She will never
love me
the way I am now."

The corner of my room with the mirror has always put me on edge,
I feel like I'm going to see something in the reflection that isn't me
and there are voices at night,
I can hear them whispering and
I think this house is haunted
because these demons couldn't have come from my head,
they say things I can't repeat out loud,
and these malicious beasts have been feeding
on guilt and blood and *****
and it seems like they are only getting hungrier.

They are trying to **** me.
I have watched them scheming,
scratching pen over paper,
throwing out any idea they can think of
because nothing is inhumane
to creatures that are so clearly inhuman.
I have tried to get rid of them,
hung crucifix in doorway
because faith is a kind of submission they do not know how to compete with
but they slide in between floorboards,
promise to stay quiet this time,
and although I don't believe them,
I do not bother arguing.
I know they will not yield to my flimsy cries of hope
and if I have to settle on sharing my home with strangers
or not having a home at all,
the choice seems clear.

I know that their plans still hold true,
they have already picked a date and a weapon,
but I am too tired to fight.
I have tried running away
but the moment I step out of bed my legs quiver and my knees fail
and my stale mind tells me it is not worth the effort.
I think they have started poisoning my food
because I am always fatigued
and coffee and pills cannot suppress
whatever it is they are doing to me.

When I stand in the corner of my room and look in the mirror
I see eyes that were once bright
now turned bloodshot and heavy,
hands shaking as they try to
rub the bruises out of my skin,
scars, everywhere.
I am starting to look like them.

Did you think of me when you said you loved her?
Because I was the first person you ever said that about
and you were drunk as **** but you meant it,
you say you still do.
You say you still love me
but you don't want to anymore because
she's here now,
but if all you needed was someone to
be here
then I don't ******* understand
why I wasn't enough.
I don't ******* understand how you can say
you've loved me so extensively
and then love her more so quickly.
If loving her means letting me go
then what the **** did loving me mean?
You
are broken bottles
and I had started seeing my reflection in the shards of glass
and I wonder if she's ever seen me.
I wonder if she's seen the scars on your knuckles
from broken mirrors,
wonder if you would tell her
that I was the anger that put them there,
that I was the one who wrapped gauze around the wounds.
Have you ever cried over me?
Have you cried over me
like I have over you?
Has your chest been hollow
like mine has?
Have you hated yourself
like I do?
Have you felt guilt?
Your pain
is the pulsing of my heart,
I can only feel it
when I think about it
or when life is still for a moment
but it is always there
and I know this,
and it kills me.
You know nothing of
the aching you have caused me
because I keep it buried
in the bottom of my heart
along with the nights you fell asleep holding me.
Does it feel the same when you hold her?
Do you feel safe with her body pressed against yours?
Is she home yet
or are you still settling in?
Maybe if you give her that bracelet of mine
that you used to wear
she will seem more familiar.
I wonder if you realize she looks like me
or if that's something you did subconsciously.
Do you ever mistake her eyes for mine?
Do you ever think about my hands when you're holding hers?
Do you remember what my hands feel like?
Did you think of me when you said you loved her?

Don't want to do this
don't want to be here
don't want things to get better
just want them to end
just want to drink myself to death
just want to die
want to be gone
want to slice up my arms
want to bleed out
want to wake up in a hospital bed
want to stay there forever
want to stop trying to recover
want to get worse
want to die
want to die
want to die

Don't know why this is so hard to write
don't know why my chest aches so much but it does
don't know why there is nothing I can draw or paint that looks like how my head feels
don't know why I want him to love me so bad
don't know how much longer I can go on
don't know if I want to go on
don't know how to tell them I have already given up when they are telling me to keep fighting don't know how to say I already lost
how to say I'm empty
how to say I am bleeding out slowly
how to peel back these bandages
how to let my wounds show
how to show them all the places I tried to stitch my skin back together
they aren't holding because my mom never taught me how to sew
don't know why I hate myself so much
don't know why he doesn't talk to me anymore
don't know if I should call him
don't know why I want to call him
don't know why she never ******* texts me
don't know why she claims to want me
don't know why she would ever want me
don't know where to put my hands
don't know why they're so sweaty
oh God why are they shaking
don't know why God never showed himself to me
don't know why no one ever showed me God
don't know why I need someone to love me so badly
want someone to hold me
why won't anyone fix me
why are people not fixable
why am I so broken
why am I crying

I'm starting to think that it's rare to find someone who doesn't have a piece of their heart left in someone else's hands that maybe there is no such thing as a true love just the love that comes last just the love that nobody else has to try to one-up I'm starting to think that maybe my dad is still in love with my mom and his new wife doesn't mind because maybe when you get older you realize that there is no such thing as wholeheartedly loving someone only loving them with the pieces that are left and maybe my girlfriend is still in love with her best friend because I saw the way he looked at her and I tried not to be jealous when they went off on their own at that party and I heard a girl say that she calls their relationship "complicated" and what the hell does that make me am I the complication and I'm trying not to be jealous but I've never made her laugh like he does and I'll probably never know her like he does and maybe all I can hope for is for her to love him from afar and love me up close maybe he is her house back in Mississippi and I am her new apartment maybe if she puts up curtains it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when my last boyfriend said I reminded him of his ex it feels like the piece of my heart he was holding starting bleeding like maybe an artery sprung a leak because I am like her but not quite she is mural and I am replica she is mountain range and I am photograph she is morning walks on the beach and I am jar of sand I knew he was in love with her I could tell by the way he said her name after he ****** me I thought maybe second best was good enough I thought maybe if I do my make up like she does he will call me pretty today the ****** up part is that it worked the sad part is he didn't know why it hurt so bad maybe I am just hypersensitive maybe my girlfriend only loves him as a friend maybe by complicated she meant he loved her but she couldn't love him back but that's what I've been saying about that boy that said he loved me I keep telling myself I don't love him but on lonely nights he is the one I want to talk to he is always there in the back of my mind I wear his jacket when I want to feel safe because my girlfriend will probably never know me like he does maybe I will love him from afar and love her up close maybe he is my house before my dad moved out and she is his new place maybe if I hang up some paintings it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when he said he loved me

You're going to miss me when I'm gone
and the way our fingers
traced each lie on skin

I have a pocket full of regrets
and an empty heart
so where shall I begin?

your beauty left me wanting more
but you're the flower
I should've never picked

Some things are better off admired from afar,
causing thorns to lose their power, but your pain
made me a willing addict

I tried to pick up all your pieces
and assemble them
the best I could

but in the end, beneath the pressure, you crumbled
you were more fragile
than I truly understood

I ****** up
And I'm sorry
But I thought you'd understand
How wrong I was,
Instead you took the knife that was already stabbing me
And twisted it deeper into my chest

I now feel the pain you asked me to endure
And I'm not sure I can forgive myself
For what I've done to you
But I also can't forgive you