Scream in the air to not cry.
Stomach twists like tangled vines.
Tears rise but refuse fall.
Violent sobs shake my all.

Legs give out after a while.
Back slides against cold tile.
Of course I'm okay.
Can't you see?

I'm just okay.
And this isn't killing me.

Be brave
You already are
Look what you survived through
The wounds of your past have closed
The seemingly endless chapter ended
The dark bruises faded lightly
The battle left you scarred
And your still here
Be brave

would anyone like to volunteer to stuff me with leaves until fall colors pour out of my eyes?
stuff me until you suffocate all of my insides,
put me in a room filled with tree bark and suicide,
pop pills in my mouth and watch me turn into a maple,
i'll open up my legs if you promise not to bloom
because i am already rooted around you.
lights dance around your collar bone
you are looking through me
i see nothing
i see everything
i see a sad goodbye
i ask you to water me so my roots can grow stronger
but you fill me with whiskey, get me more than tipsy
i know it's cliche, but i'm love drunk on you, baby
stumbling and stuttering and hoping that even after this tree dies
after every vein in every leaf has been bled out...
you'll still remember me fondly

i always seem to be sitting
in the middle of intersections
like a traffic light that hasn't
hung itself yet, always
seem to be waiting in the
middle of the ghost town
of where our love was first
built. there's a hospital
down the road where the
waiting room chairs are
much more morbid than
the hospital beds and
every electric heart rate
line sitting on the screen
of the heart monitors flatten,
make long beeping sounds
like an alarm clock, like a
wake up call; they make
long beeps like the ringing
i hear inside of the phone
when i call the owner of
the voice mail i've seem to
have made a home out of.
they took every place
we kissed and turned it into
a church that closes on
Sundays and holds a choir
full of people that lost their
voice in their own war. i've
been in the line for the
confessional for about two
years now because every
time i go up to say how
badly i want you to feel it
back, i let the girl wearing
your t-shirt cut in front of
me. the sidewalks only
seem to crack when they
remember how it felt
when you walked on them,
when you gave the ground
its purpose. one of these
nights the traffic lights will
come to their senses,
drop into the intersection
and crumble right next to me
because it's not like they have
anything to stop or at least
slow down because this is
a ghost town, & nothing is coming back.

There are pleas
that disguise themselves
in trees
that whisper in the dark-
Like a crinkle in a kiss,
or the words that you'll miss;
too late for meds,
too late for sleep
this time.

We ride on the beaches
with cool kids and leeches.
We **** blow off the ground
because there are times you feel,
and some you fake
when everyone is around.
The bodies in red
that you leave in your head.

The trees tesellate
into nooses and goodbyes.
And I swear this isn't the first time
that you've loved me
like it's the last time;
when I've been something to lose.
The love you have
is the love you refuse.

Your cries are milk-
I wish your cancer was mine.
To be a mistake.
To be left behind.

Yesterday
I cried myself to sleep
at the pain in my head
the pounding
the twist of my stomach

Today
I wear dress instead of bow tie
don't think I can stand the stares in the hallway
don't want to explain to my dad
get called cute
force a smile
remind myself they say it as a compliment
turn red anyways

Tomorrow
I will lie to my therapist
tell her I'm improving
say I'm 3 months clean
won't tell her about the drinking
won't tell her I almost killed myself
won't tell her I still want to
won't cry

DRINK COFFEE AND READ POEMS, talk more often, maybe even to a therapist. let yourself be heard and seen, let him ask you questions, let yourself ask him if he wants to go look at the stars with you but don't let yourself think about it too much if he says no

and to be completely honest
things are never picture perfect
things never end up movie-like
our lives don't have automatic background music
and your palms will get sweaty if you hold his hand for too long.
sometimes you'll **** during ***
or you'll snort when you laugh
sometimes you'll cry when you don't mean to.
plans will fall through
or you'll be too sad to make plans
and most days you won't wake up stunning
even if you're waking up beside someone you want to look pretty for

but we keep on hoping

I wish I could find it amusing to see
How an unevil man is rendered demon

By the cloaking of his good intensions
By female addiction to victimization.

I hold out my broken heart.
You scream at the sight of blood,

Squeeling: *"Murderer! I can see your red
Hands from here! Holding some poor

Thing's
Heart."

i'd like to start an adventure
to start a time in my life
where i stop caring and thinking
and start moving and going
and telling you what i mean

yeah, the ocean will be there tomorrow,
but we know our sunken chests and fluttering hearts
might not make it in time for the view