I held a match to the rose you gave me
but it wouldn't
*******
burn.

I tried so hard to leave you
but you wouldn't
let me
*go.

I am a broken porcelain girl.
Not an angel,
a ghost.
And you will die like me;
*slowly.

I should have left you so much sooner.
I should have walked away on Valentine's Day
when you wouldn't stop talking about her.
I should have let go of your hand,
I should have dropped that stupid bear at your feet
and thrown those flowers in the road.
I should have told you not to touch me if you tried to pull me back.
I should have walked to IHOP in the cold,
I should have gotten a table in my brother's section
and told him he was right,
you were an *******.
I should have bought heart shaped chocolates and eaten them alone in my room
and listened to Adele on repeat.
I should have rejected your calls,
I should have deleted your number from my phone
(even though I had it memorized).
I should have broken your heart,
because you sure as hell broke mine.
******* it,
I should have left you so much sooner.

On the floor
in my living room
with my head on your chest
and your arms around me.
The tv was on.
I don't remember what show.
I remember the beating of your heart.
I remember how shallow your breaths were.
I fell asleep.
When I woke up,
I rolled over.
Glanced over at you,
said good night,
walked upstairs.
I wonder how you felt.
I don't know why I keep doing this to us.

I woke up
to the sound of hail
on a tin roof.

Looking out the window,
I was still in a dream
until I saw my journal on the floor
and remembered why it fell there.

The window shattered.
Water in every form
poured onto my desk:
hail, rain, the steam from my hot breath.
Wind whipped through the room,
tearing my paintings off the wall,
reminding me that
I never liked them much in the first place.

The louder I screamed
the stronger the storm became;
my vocal cords are no match for a hurricane.
Please stop,
I whispered into my folded arms.

Silence.

I opened my eyes.
The window was not open.

When I used to have bad nights,
I would lie awake and cry,
curled up in a ball on my side
clutching a blade so hard my knuckles were white
trying to fight
but I didn't know which voice was mine.

Fall asleep too late,
in my dreams I would suffocate
and have bloodshot eyes when I'd wake,
but reassure my mom with my arms around her waist
yeah, I'm great.


Now when I have those evenings,
I try to keep from screaming,
but I can still feel your heart beating
when I read your messages that I can't bear deleting,
and I write all these texts to you that I'm not completing
because I told you to go away but I hadn't planned for your leaving.

Close my eyes when the darkness recedes,
the nightmares are always you and me
and I take Tylenol to make your memory leave
but my hands are red and they will never be clean
*I'm sorry for the times I made you bleed.

The night is dark
and the wolves are hunting
but the fire burns hot
as it illuminates her face.

Her hands find warmth
reaching toward the flame,
but her back is exposed
to the bitter wind.

The fire does not protect her
against the chill of night,
and only when she turns to walk away
does she feel its heat on her neck.

The cold dark has taught her
that a fire only lights one side.
The only way to be safe
is to find a warm home deep in these woods.

With your hands woven
into my spine
you led me into
the dark
where the icy wind
slipped my shirt off
leaving me exposed to you,
wishing I could walk away
but the trail
of breadcrumbs we left
has long since disappeared,
and now
that I am lost
beside you
I only wish
to have you closer,
but once daylight
touches our skin
and we are graced
with artificial smiles,
I will
shrug away
from you
again.

Looking at myself now,
I am not sure that I recognize
any piece of who
I used to be.

Our cells are constantly
replenishing and replacing,
and technically speaking,
I am not at all
the person I once was.

I understand that I
am a collection of my experiences
and that everything I have
done has led me to this moment.
I do not know what has come of
the choices I
made opposing this.

The patches of my skin
that only said yes
when they meant it have
peeled away and are
replaced by the fresh
tissue of compliance.

If I am
the sum of my experiences
then why are there no
scars on my thighs from
the times I smiled?
If I am
the sum of all of my experiences
then why is there
a fracture in my arm from
anger but not from love?

If I am really
the sum of all of my
experiences then
why does my body
only show my regrets?