This is just to say,
I drove to the cemetery and visited your grave today.

A tear rolled slowly down my cheek
And in my legs, I grew weak.

In the air, I felt the warm breeze,
And I knew that you were watching me kneel upon my knees.

The clouds rolled away and the sun kissed my face,
I was used to distance, but this was too much space.

I ask for forgiveness for being such a wreck,
As I touch the dog tags that now hang around my neck

There was no way that I could understand
Why I was left holding a folded triangle flag within my hand.

I cursed the war that brought ruin to my life,
I cursed the war for claiming my wife.

Thought there’d be a few more people,
In the bar tonight.
Only a couple cars in the lot,
You parked yours right next to mine.

I was sitting at the counter,
When you walked in,
Looked around,
And sat at the other end.

I looked up from my drink,
To take in the company,
Other than the bartender,
And all at once I felt a little more empty.

My drink went bad,
In a hurry.
Maybe I’d had too much
Or maybe it was my tears,
That made everything a little more blurry.

I could barely see you,
Sitting across the way.
When you ordered something strong,
And pretended to look away.

I looked down at my alcohol,
Tried to clear my mind,
But when I looked back up,
You were already looking this time.

And my drink went bad,
In a hurry.
Maybe I’d had too much,
Or maybe it was my tears,
That made everything a little more blurry.

No, that drink didn’t taste as good as I thought it would.
And I probably drank a little more than I thought I should.
But maybe it was the tears in my eyes that formed in a hurry,
That made everything a little more blurry.

Because,

My drink went bad,
In a hurry.

Yeah,

I probably had too much,
But it was definitely the tears,
That made everything a little more blurry.

I wonder if we walk into a store in the early morning hours the next day,
Holding hands and stealing kisses, waiting for the doors to be unlocked,
If clerks can tell how many times we had *** the night before.
I wonder if my skin glows where your hands and kisses caressed my skin
In the wee hours of morning when it seemed the entire world was fast asleep
Except for us;
Sharing love and secrets that no one else cared to know about each other.
I wonder if they could tell that every time I had almost fallen asleep,
You kissed my bare shoulder where the sheet didn’t cover
And the moonlight shone over my pale flesh,
Awakening me with such a desire to kiss you with the same
Hungry urge that you kissed me with.
Kisses led to more and before I knew it, the number of times we made love
For the night had climbed one number higher
And we both struggled to catch our breath.

I heard his footsteps coming up the staircase.
My heart was beating inside my chest, loud as thunder.
I had no idea what to do.
I laid still in my bed, not moving a muscle.
His feet walked soft and swift down the carpeted hallway.
The door to my brother’s room creaked open.
The sick feeling in my stomach told me there was nothing I could do.
My brother would be his first victim, and I, his second.
I continued laying completely still in my bed,
Under the blankets, that were getting extremely hot by this point.
I was tempted to remove them, except that it’d be easier for him to get to me.
I would suffer through the heat. Until it was over.
It was all I could do.
I was too small to run away, down the stairs and out into the backyard.
I could only lay flat on my back, making my breathing slow and soft.
I prayed he couldn’t see my chest moving up and down,
That he couldn’t hear my heart beating.
I counted to five, every second my heartbeat growing faster.
One, two, three, four, five.
I didn’t hear my brother’s shrieking. I didn’t hear him cry.
I did hear the man’s footsteps come back out into the hallway.
Instead of moving toward my room, like any other time,
His footsteps carried away from my doorway.
I found this interesting and somewhat bizarre.
This stirred all new emotions inside.
I was afraid, terrified even, but then there was also a sense of relief.
A relief that he wasn’t coming to my room after all.
The sick feeling in my stomach came again.
Only this time, I didn’t know what to feel.
It was a gut instinct. But what was it telling me?
That my time was finally coming?
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slowly, ever so slowly, removed the blankets.
Taking a break in between, I lay still again, making my breathing slow and soft.
I counted to five while laying completely still and listening.
There was nothing.
I carefully sat up in my bed, keeping my eyes locked on the open doorway.
There was no light, black as a cat.
All that kept going through my mind was a scenario where he suddenly stood in the doorway.
Looking right at me.
But that didn’t happen.
I took a deep breath, maybe the last one I’d get, and slowly rose out of my bed.
I could only hope that I’d miss all the creaky spots in my floor, making a silent exit.
I had succeeded. Not a sound.
I skimmed my head out the door. Looking down the dark hallway.
The dark stairs only a few feet away. Could I make it?
I wanted to check on my brother.
But I didn’t have enough time.
I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. Tick tock. Tick tock.
Just the sound of it made me nervous.
I had no idea where the man was. Absolutely no idea.
For all I knew, he could come up behind me.
But that didn’t happen.
I prayed that he wasn’t in the kitchen.
Where the knives were.
My breathing quickened.
I almost wanted to just drop dead right then and there.
So I wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.
I moved out into the hallway,  carefully sidestepping the creaky hardwood floor.
Once at the stairs, I glanced down.
It looked awfully dark, but the faint glow of a night light lit up the bottom of the stairs.
I would have to be more careful. There was a chance he could see my shadow now.
There was some rummaging that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
Where the knives were.
I heard a drawer slam shut. I jumped in my spot on the stairs.
I couldn’t do it anymore. If this freak didn’t ****** me, I’d die just from my own fears.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I started stepping backwards.
Carefully sidestepping the creaks in the floor, making my way back to the doorway of my room.
I stood there, silent. Listening for him.
There was nothing for a long time. My imagination started roaming.
Had he left? Could I lay back in bed and sleep peacefully? Not a chance.
Backing up into my room, I kept my eyes locked on the doorway.
I felt the edge of my bed against the back of my legs.
Slowly sitting down, and applying weight to the mattress and bed frame, it creaked.
I closed my eyes, immediately expecting the man to come up the stairs and into my room.
But he didn’t. I continued sitting. Slowly easing the creaks out.
When all of my weight was on the bed, I carefully lay my head back on my pillow.
I pulled the covers up to my chin, covering my shoulders and hiding myself.
I took a deep breath and lay silently, listening for anything.
My eyelids grew heavy with sleep, while staring at the open doorway.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were loud, thundering footsteps coming up the stairs.
My heartbeat quickened and my throat grew constricted. I tried to relax my breathing.
My eyes were dead locked on the door. Several times, I thought I saw someone walk by.
The footsteps slowed and grew quiet while my heartbeat did the exact opposite.
Then, there he was. Standing in the doorway. Looking into my room. Looking at me.
Could he see me? Could he hear me?
He started coming inside. Toward the bed. My time was now. I wouldn’t be waking up.
I closed my eyes, hoping to make it hurt less.

“Here, have a drink,” A man slurred.
A tall, red, plastic cup of heavy smelling alcohol hovered in front of me, like a moth around the flickering flame of a candle.
The cup laughed in my face and dared me to grab it; the peer pressure pouring off of the drunk’s lips was like a buzzing fly that wouldn’t leave me alone.
“No thanks,” I told him.
“C’mon, it’s just one drink.”
I sighed, because I’d been down this road before.
Because just one drink can’t hurt anything, right?
It’s just one.
One that allows a drunken ******* who otherwise has no control over women besides offering ‘just one drink.’
But the flashback that started playing inside my head was a movie screen that felt like a drive-in film where everyone was welcome to watch.
Except they couldn’t.
These drunken “friends” on the TV inside my head who I’d been with a few months ago had wandered off with their own boyfriends, leaving me
Stranded and vulnerable, like a car on the side of the highway without any flashing hazard lights warning other drivers that I was parked there.
They abandoned me.
And who knows how long I would have been stranded until a car decided to pull over and approach my vehicle, tow straps to carry me away.
But he didn’t save me from the other passing cars. Instead, he hauled me around a sharp curve of the long stretch of road,
Left me as a wide open target for his own truck to smash into me, leaving me broken and battered, with no witnesses to call the police, an ambulance or a fire truck.
I was left all alone, bleeding and scarred in the dark curve of the highway where this drunken driver escaped without a single bruise or tear on his body, unlike my own.
“It’s just one drink.” The intoxicated stranger pried at me again, feeling his question burn into me like a red light that just wouldn’t turn green.
“No,” I said and turned away from the drunk.
It was the first time I said no to the smell of dark liquor and whatever was hiding beneath and dissolved into the liquid that was harbored in the tall, red cup.
I said no to being victim again to a ******* drug.

Bang, bang, bang.
Say the bullets from the gun.
As I lay in bed,
And hear your other love,
Your video game,
Coming from the flat screen,
In the other room.

The bed is awfully lonely,
Maybe a little cold too.
But with that one thin wall,
Separating our hearts,
We’ve gone to our back up loves.
You with your controller,
And me with my notebook and pen.

Tradition says that the role of walking your daughter down the aisle to her new husband is the act of giving her away to a man who will pick up where you left off in the mission of protecting her.
But the day you gave me away, I wasn’t wearing a long white dress and there wasn’t a man waiting for me at the altar.
You gave me away to the world the day you told me that you needed a break as if our relationship was one that you could just flip a light switch on and off,
But I’ve been in the dark for far too long.
You snapped my spine in half the day you said that I didn’t show love or respect towards you. But how do you model a behavior that you’ve never been shown?
Five years, I tried to make our strained relationship work, for five years, I forgave you for throwing me aside and
Time and time again I tried to love you only to have you show me all the reasons for why I couldn’t.
We would never have the type of father daughter relationship that was described in fairytales or in movies.
You gave me away that day like I was food leftover on a plate of an entrée you were no longer hungry for.
You threw me out, sink or swim into a world full of male potentials,
And I drowned.
I was too worried about finding someone to rescue me from the flowing current and I had forgotten how to tread water.
Years of swimming lessons and I was still reaching for a life preserver.
But I’ve been lost in the sea of men too long.
Being daddy’s little girl is more than just an expression, more than just a role to fill as a daughter.
Being daddy’s little girl means that he wants you too.
Being daddy’s little girl means that we’ll walk down an aisle in between the guests at the wedding and you’ll give me away to my new husband who’ll vow his love for me:
For better or for worse, for rich or for poorer, in sickness and in health
Unlike yourself, where you pushed me away long before we’d reached worse.
You let me go like a balloon on a string without an anchor to hold me down,
Watching me float away without a care in the world as to where I ended up at, whose arms I fell into because I thought he’d take care of me like you were supposed to be doing.
You gave me away as I was just a little girl and I was without the slightest clue of what to look for when trying to find someone to take care of me.
I wanted you to take care of me.
I’d learned from you that distance was far better than being close to someone,
But it didn’t soften the blow when you gave me away.
When I was a little girl, I dreamed of you meeting my new dates and threatening to break their neck if they broke my heart but I can’t help but wonder
Why isn’t your neck shattered?
You took my heart out of my chest and crumpled it like a piece of paper before stomping it into the ground the day you gave me away.
I knew what a broken heart felt like before my first boyfriend did the same.
You left me cut wide open from the wound and I’ve yet to heal.
A hole inside me aches for a love that only a father can give,
The abyss within pains my chest with a void too easy to remember its presence.
And I’ve tried filling it with romantic relationships that meant nothing and guys who only wanted to fill such a space for one night.
You gave me away to the world of males I thought I needed in my life when I only needed you.
But you’d never know that because you gave me away
Like giving away spare change on the floorboards of your truck to a homeless person and I’m not sure if I’m the coins or if I’m the person in need of a home.
You gave me away the day you married the woman who took my spot and she became the most important girl in your life.

To whom it may concern:

I’m sure you have a million questions running through your mind, much like I did before making this decision. I’m sure that deep down inside, you are hurting, just like I was. You may never forgive me for what I did, but just know, I held on for too long. This wasn’t a decision that I made on impact because I was having a bad day. It had me thinking for quite some time and I finally came up with what I thought was best. I was tired of waking up every morning and faking my smile. I was tired of waking up with swollen eyes from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of constantly washing my pillow case from all the mascara marks that had appeared from crying myself to sleep. I was tired of telling you that nothing was wrong and that it wasn’t your fault. All that had been a lie. Everything was wrong. And it was your entire fault.

Sincerely, I’m sure you know by now.*

Imagine waking up and finding that note lying on the soft white sheets next to you. Imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind. Imagine seeing the blade covered in blood on the nightstand that belonged to your girlfriend. Imagine my heart start racing.

I looked around the room. All was quiet like any other normal Sunday morning. But instead of waking up next to Sutton, I woke up to the note that had replaced her.

Sutton had a history of depression and had cheated death only twice as far as I knew, so upon finding the note, I almost had a heart attack. She’d been released from the psychiatric hospital about a month ago. The doctors thought she was better, everyone thought she was better. Whenever I went to visit her after work, she’d seemed happy to see me. I noticed her face light up several times. I’d hold her hand, just to make sure she hadn’t cut herself again since the last time I’d been there. And as far as I could tell and see, she’d been clean. So a month later, when I got the call that I could go pick her up, I was more than thrilled.

After picking her up, we had gone out to lunch, and spent the day together. We walked around the lake, holding hands, talking about what each other had missed. I fell even more in love with her, as if I didn’t think it was possible. She was back to the girl who I’d fallen in love with my senior year of high school. Happy, smiling, enjoying herself, just the way I liked her.

I threw the covers off of me.

“Sutton.” I whispered at first. Then, realizing she wouldn’t hear me, I said it louder. “Sutton.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and got up. I went to the bathroom where the door was closed and pressed my ear against it. It was silent and I didn’t think she was in there. I tried the ****, but it was locked, proving my previous assumption had been wrong.

“Sutton.” I said into the door. “Sutton, are you okay?”

There was no answer and my heart started pounding even louder.

“Sutton.”

I went back over to the nightstand by our bed and opened my wallet, retrieving a credit card from one of the many slots. My dad had shown me this trick when I had been just a little boy. Taking the card back over to the door, I slid it through the lock on the door and heard the latch move, allowing me to twist the **** and open the door. Sutton was sitting on the side of the edge of the bathtub with her head in her hands.

“Sutton.” I whispered, opening the door wider.

She continued to remain silent.

I went and knelt in front of her. Trying to look up into her eyes, but they were closed. I reached forward to take her hands in mine and she pulled them closer to her.

“Sutton, don’t push me away.” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head the slightest bit.

“I can’t help, if you don’t talk to me.” I whispered.

She sniffled a couple times, and wiped some fresh tears away from her eyes. I took my hands slowly towards her again, and when she didn’t pull away, I softly grabbed them and held them in mine. I squeezed a little tighter and pulled her gently into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

“Talk to me.” I whispered before I placed my lips on her forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s hard to say what’s wrong when nothing is right.” She whispered.

I squeezed her tighter and started rocking her back and forth. After a couple minutes, I pulled her arm away from my chest and examined her wrist, where I discovered fresh blood from cuts that would soon turn to scars. I tilted her chin up, making her look at me. Her eyes started watering from tears that would soon begin to pour. I wrapped my arms tight around her and pulled her close to me, as I heard her begin sobbing. Rocking her back and forth, I rubbed her back.

“I need help.” She whispered into my chest.

“Shh. I know. It’s okay.”

Strangers in every day clothes continued walking back and forth in front of me, as I sat in the most uncomfortable chair there could possibly be, with my head bent in my hands like Sutton had been that day. Holding back tears turned out to be harder than what I thought. We had stood at the front desk, preparing to check her in, when she had suddenly had a change of heart.

“This is a mistake.” She said.

I looked at her, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t need this.”

“Sutton, you wanted this.” I said, “it was your idea. Remember?”

“But, I don’t want it anymore.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I just don’t.”

“Well, that’s not a good enough reason.” I explained.

“Please, don’t make me stay here.” She pleaded some more.

“I’m sorry, Sutton.” I said.

“If you love me, you won’t make me stay.”

“No, if I love you, I’ll do just that.” I explained. “You’re not healthy. You need this. It’s not permanent. You won’t be here forever. Just until you get better.”

“So you’re saying there’s something wrong with me?”

Playing the guilt trip had always been something she was good at. She had me wrapped around her skinny little fingers because I was so head over heels in love with her, but there was no way she was getting out of this one.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No denial.”

“Sutton. Stop. I love you.” I said. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

“No, you’re doing this because I’m broken.”

“What are those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric of my sleeve over the evidence and
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My car scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I actually had a dog,
But they never questioned the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud hovered around me,
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I thought of telling her that often times I felt
That terrible cloud becoming stronger, overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet, warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch, creeping over the surface like the tide drowns the sand.

I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs like a gust of wind creeps under a sundress
And I tried to hold it down or push the cloud away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke. It swirled
To other parts of my body but still it lingered around.


I thought of telling the girl that while growing up,
When it rained, it poured.
One thing went wrong and five others went wrong,
Like a design of dominoes. One tips over and soon
You’re left with too many pieces scattered over the floor.

I thought about telling her that I often
Laid in bed at night, a staring contest with the ceiling,
As I imagined myself floating around the high walls of a church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have even been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.

Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to keep his composure;
My friends who’d dressed in black and sat in the church pews,
Keeping hold of the secret they’d refused to do anything about.
I imagined a lot of hugging and tears, but mostly I heard the lies
That they’d say about me:
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of it open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I was praying, but it was much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.

I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when the dark
Cloud threatened, I could slice my way through the roaring
Smoke harboring rain droplets that wanted to fill up my body of a bathtub
And consume me.

I thought of telling her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. I thought about telling her that
I often held the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging flood waters that wanted to drown me.

I thought about telling her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and my blankets severed as Kleenexes.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the shower curtain that protected my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut myself too deep into what seemed like my own burial,
To where I couldn’t see the light at the other end and it felt
Like the casket lid had closed over me.
I didn’t tell her that I tried to climb to the top of the hole
Where I was buried, only for it to feel like someone had
Stepped on my fingers, the pain making me let go and fall again,
Deeper to the bottom.

I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I thought about telling her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time,
Like tattoos that wouldn’t wash away.

I thought about telling her that I stopped wearing my seatbelt
When I drove anywhere because if I was in an accident,
I would have a better chance at dying.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the straight lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of elevated skin.
I ran my fingertips over them, feeling the wounds
Like a train moving over the ridges of a railroad.

The girl’s eyes studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her skin, smooth , without any ripples,
Then told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the same motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touching what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin is soft and smooth?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I whispered,
Wishing my mother had said the same to me.

“Where did you get those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric down over the evidence.
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My cat scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I didn’t even have a cat.
But they never questioned the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud seemed to hover about me;
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I could have told her that often times I felt
That terrible cloud becoming stronger, overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet, warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch, creeping over the surface like the tide drowns the sand.
I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs as I tried to push it down and away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke, it swirled
To other parts of my body but still it lingered around.


I didn’t tell the girl that while growing up,
When it rained, it poured:
One thing went wrong and five others went wrong,
Like a design of dominoes. One tips over, and soon
You’re left with too big of a mess to handle.

I thought about telling the girl that I often
Laid in bed at night, a staring contest with the ceililng
As I imagined myself floating around the high walls of the church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have even been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.
Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to
Keep his composure; my friends who’d dressed in black and sat
In the church pews, keeping hold of the secret they’d refused to do anything about.
I imagined a lot of hugging and tears, but mostly I heard lies
That they’d tell about me:
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of the tube open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I were praying much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.
I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when that dark
Cloud of smoke threatened, I could slice my way through.
I didn’t tell her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. And I didn’t tell her that
I often grasped the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging waters that wanted to drown me.

I wanted to tell her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and the blanket served as a Kleenex.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the canvas of my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut too deep into a tunnel so far that I couldn’t see the light at the other end
And how I tried to climb to the top of the hole where I felt stuck
Only for it to feel like someone stepped on my fingers,
The pain making me let go and fall again, deeper to the bottom.

I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and I tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I wanted to tell her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of raised skin.
I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the wounds
Like a train moves over ridges of the railroad.

The girl’s eye’s studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her own skin,
Then I took her hand and told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touching what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin has no bumps on it like mine?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I told her.
She nodded her head again, too young to comprehend,
And turned around to run down the hallway.

I didn’t want my daughter to see me as a victim, but a survivor.

I hope when we lie down together in one another’s arms
After staying up much too late,
You feel my rib cage underneath my skin,
Beneath your fingertips
As you rest your hands and cradle me in your arms.
When you feel the ridges of my bones,
I hope you’re reminded of the small parakeet
That sat inside a big cage where all day long
You heard her chirp and was reminded of my steady heartbeat.
Only did the chirps quiet when you reached your fingers through
The small openings; wanting to touch its feathers and feel
Them through your flesh.
Are you reminded of the way my heart seemed to stop
Whenever you moved your fingers over my scars?
I wonder if the wounds that have healed over
Remind you of a jailhouse that holds back the monsters
That lie within me.
If the white bars that hold the cage
Remind you of a prison cell where an inmate
Speaks quietly to himself late at night,
I hope you’re reminded of the parakeet and how
It fills the night with chirps, like the prisoner’s voice
Echoes through the cells as if he’s the only one who’s
Imprisoned.
And I hope my scars tell you that the monsters
Have been silenced
For the night.

I was in the hallway,
I heard it all,
From the cursing and swearing,
To the door slamming.
I knew he had left,
But I went back to bed.
It happened so fast,
It was soon morning.
I thought he might come back,
But when I woke,
There was still no sign.
I ate my breakfast in silence.
She drove me to my grandma’s,
I was with my cousins now,
I almost forgot about it all,
Until she came to get me.
It filled my head again,
Then I thought I might see him.
We arrived home and still no sign,
Then she told me.
I wasn’t sure what it meant,
But I took it like I did.
She explained it all,
I didn’t cry.
She went to court.
They probably argued.
But I wasn’t there,
Maybe I thank God for that.
They both got assigned visitation,
And custody,
I learned I would not live with him,
But with her.
I visit him every Wednesday,
And every other weekend.
At first it was just my brother and I,
Until four years later.
She came from Oskaloosa,
She had two girls,
Who later became our step-sisters.
And she, our step-mom.
She’s not evil like in Cinderella,
But quite the opposite.
She buys us things,
And loves us like we’re her own.
My mom has moved on also,
She now dates a man,
Who cooks great food.
And loves us like we’re his own.
So maybe this is like Cinderella,
And we all live,
In a world,
Happily ever after.

An invisible wall,
Placed between two bodies,
In the middle of a bed.

Two distant lovers,
Sleeping on opposite sides,
Together, and alone.

One warm blanket,
A couple flat pillows,
Two stubborn souls.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry it had to end this way. I’m sorry to put you through this.
Nothing I say would ever make you understand the pain I was going through. There’s no way to describe the suffering I was torturing myself with.
I tried. But five years is too long.
Too many nights of cutting my wrist, crying myself to sleep, then waking up the next morning and pretending everything was fine.
Everything wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine.
Imagining your funeral day after day after night after night is not normal.
Thinking of ways to **** myself had turned into an everyday routine.
I couldn’t remember the last time that I was truly happy.
A smile is too easy to fake.
I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.
I can only imagine that you’re going through Hell right now. And I never wanted to hurt you but I couldn’t live the way I was.
I didn’t know how to fix it.
John, please don’t do anything stupid. Mom doesn’t need to lose both of her children. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.
And I know you’re probably thinking half of this is your fault because you’d caught me cutting more than once and didn’t say anything because I promised the last time would be the last time.
This isn’t your fault.
I know people will say that they never saw the signs. But I’m still trying to figure out how everyone has missed them.
Too many text messages telling people that I wasn’t happy and I didn’t want to live anymore. Too many text messages telling those people that I wanted to die.
Too many text messages begging for help.
Too many posts on social media asking someone to save me.
No one ever cares until something bad happens though. Because now I’m dead and everyone is trying to figure out what happened and why.
I only hope that when word gets around that I killed myself, all the people who received text messages or read a post that they ignored, will catch their breath because they know they should’ve done something.
But it’s too late.

Though you are small, and may seem like the smallest grain of sand on the beach,
There are many things to know before being washed into the ocean of life.
Listen to the shells, for they’ve been on the beach far longer than you have.
Make a wish at 11:11. (Don’t worry if you forget in the morning, it’ll come again that night.)
Cross your fingers for extra luck,
Accept a date to stargaze in the middle of an open field in the bed of a pick-up truck,
And while you’re gazing at the stars, don’t forget to make a wish on the one that’s shooting across the sky
And while you’re lost within that pair of blue eyes, get lost within a field of dandelions.
Pluck one that you can make a wish and blow into the wind.
And don’t worry if Prince Charming hasn’t swept you off your feet,
Create your own imaginary prince; he won’t break your heart,
And keep a couple imaginary friends along too; they won’t stab you in the back.
It’s okay to dance and sing in the car, you won’t ever see those people who’re next to you again,
(Unless the next light turns yellow, in which case, the gas pedal needs love and affection too.)
You’ll get nerves, but don’t ever bite your nails or crack your knuckles, back, neck, or anything.
Arthritis isn’t something that goes well with the wrinkles that’ll come too.
Grow wisdom, but don’t forget, you’ll always be a child at heart.
Make sure the length of the dress that you buy for the date would be approved by your grandmother.
Don’t forget to always add sprinkles with your ice cream while on that date,
And why should dessert be saved for last? Eat it first; otherwise you’ll be too full.
And as you’re driving home that night, don’t forget to turn your headlights on,
And remember to wear your seatbelt, no matter how short the distance.
Remember that it’s okay to break curfew every now and then; you may not ever get those moments back.
Keep in mind, if your date is on a Friday, don’t be out too late, or you’ll miss Saturday morning cartoons,
Which also means, don’t ever eat the marshmallows from Lucky Charms until the very end.
And say Prince Charming still hasn’t rode in on his white stallion,
The refrigerator is not who to call to cure your boredom (Unnecessary calories are not your friends.)
Instead, call your mother, because you’re never too old to cry to your mom.
When you see those storm clouds approaching, don’t hide inside,
Put on your rain boots and dance in the puddles.
Don’t be afraid of the waves that are washing up on the shore.

We live in a world,
In a reality,
Where everything around us,
Seems to question our mentality.

Where the simplest thing,
Can drive us insane,
Make us lose our mind,
Be happy or live in pain.

We live in a world,
Where girls sit alone at night
Crying and curled,
Because of some social networking site.

We’re a part of a creation,
Where every male feels the need,
To be the alpha,
And fight anyone and everyone to succeed.

We’re part of an existence,
Full of ignorant and arrogant persons,
Where it’s not getting any better,
It only worsens.

We live in a country,  
Where anything and everything is considered racism,
Where the smallest thing causes the most drama,
Because something is taken for what it isn’t.

We live in a public,
Where only if you have dark skin,
You can throw the word, “******” around,
A replacement name for women, children and men.

We live in a reality,  
Where not remembering what happened the night before,
Is something we consider normal,
Alcohol and drugs have become something we adore.

We live in a society,
Where to get a guy to look at you,
You lose a part of yourself,
To him, someone you thought you knew.  

We’re all human beings,
Where *** isn’t something we conceal,
But talk about, like it’s nothing,
Something girls now feel the need to reveal.

We’re part of a human nature,
Where girls think the ticket to one knee,
Is having a baby, to make him stay,
But finding out a child isn’t what you thought it’d be.

We live world wide,
That if our pocket is without a phone,
We feel naked,
But still feel the ghostly vibration tone.

We live within a population,
Where we’re more worried about taking the picture,
Than actually living in the moment,
As we’ve been taught through lecture.

We live in a nation,
Where our country tells us to donate there and there,
Where children are being beaten and starved here,
Tell me, how is that fair?

We live in a world,
Where commercials promote awareness,
When that money alone,
Could make the problem occur less.

We live through life,
Where someone can hide behind a screen,
Sending hate, making fun of, and destroying someone,
Because they’re only being a teen.

We live in a domain,
Where suicide has become a voice,
A decision someone has made,
Because they felt that was the only choice.

We live in a world,
Where society has made us ugly,
A trait we’ve acquired,
But can’t somehow flee.

When the rooster calls before the sun has broken the horizon, does it wish you a good morning and kiss you on your forehead, or does it remind you that you’ve survived another night and have seen a new sunrise?

Does your bed push you out into the cold or hold you in its blanket arms and tell you to stay?

Is your wrist in need of cleansing from the dried blood that stains your skin after making love to a thin razor blade in the wee hours of morning, or do you pat yourself on the back because you said “no” instead of letting it **** you?

When you brush your teeth and stare at the reflection in the mirror, does the smeared mascara that’s ran down your cheeks trigger the waterfall of new tears to wash away what reminded you that you lived?

Does your bed call you to its arms, the blankets rub your back and your pillow catch your tears?

Do you surrender again to the razor blade in the comfort of your bed’s love?

I remember spinning  in circles around the brown, hardwood floor,
My tiny hand grasping tight to mommy’s outstretched finger;
The sound of music from the live band was filling my ears,
While the laughter was spilling from my smiling mouth.
My dress was ballooning out like a doily,
While perfume and cologne were sneaking through my nose.
Mommy was twirling me all about,
Like a miniature Cinderella, glass slippers on my toes.

Lay down with me,
Wrap me in your arm,
Hold me tight,
Protect me from all harm.

Replace my pillow with your chest,
Your heartbeat begins to accelerate.
Reminding me of my feelings,
I received on our first date.

Looking up into your eyes,
Yours locking on mine.
You kiss my forehead.
And I float up onto cloud nine.

You say I’m beautiful,
I say I’ve fallen,
But you’ve already caught me,
Laid my heart out, now it’s stolen.

Came to my rescue,
Saved me from any other guy.
Played my superman,
Helped me learn to fly.

Gently taking my face in your hands,
Placing upon my lips a kiss,
My heart skips a beat,
You’re just too hard to resist.

Wasn’t even looking,
When I stumbled upon your frame.
Falling in love,
And Cupid, you’re to blame.

I keep this bottle of pills, filled up to the brim. And I leave them on my nightstand.
I keep the small container without stealing any
Even when my head is throbbing so hard, I can hear my pulse deep inside my ears.
But I keep them; so if I ever want to taste them all in one setting,
The option is there.
I don’t plan to take these pills. I just have them; just in case.
Because you can’t plan death, you can’t sit down one night and say, “I, want, to, die.”
It doesn’t work like that, depression isn’t that simple.
It’s not an impulsive act or feeling; it’s a build down.
And I say build down because it sure as hell doesn’t make you feel good about yourself.
It piles in your head, like ***** laundry that’s been there for days and sits around the floor,
Because you can’t get out of bed.
It adds up, like miles on that old car that seems to cost a fortune every week but you can’t afford a new one.
Because if you could, maybe you’d leave your pillow and see the world,
Travel. Away.
Like a cross country road trip, pushing pins into a board, marking all of the spots in the world you want to stop and see.
But if my arm were a highway, and these straight lines my tourist spots, my blade would be my car.
It’s not a Cadillac or an SUV. It’s been used,
Back when I actually gave a **** about what I looked like.
I don’t cut slashes in my wrist anymore
As if I was a four year old erasing the white ink from her canvas, coloring with a silver crayon.
And I may be lying when I say,
I don’t have a razor blade hidden within the drawer.
Because  I keep that thin, shiny piece of metal that pulls so easily against flesh,
Because,
Maybe someday I don’t want to relapse and start over.
I want to succeed.
But that isn’t something I can plan.

As a young girl myself, I was taught by own mother, that I should never talk to strangers.
It is now that I look back and I see that I spent a majority of my childhood with one.
Every Wednesday, I ate dinner at a table and I spent every other weekend with a man I never really knew.
After the divorce of my parents, joint-custody was given to who I now know to be a stranger to me.
I forgive my mother for trusting the care of this man who is my father to take care of me,
But I cannot begin to think how I would ever intentionally introduce my child to a stranger.
I’ve listened to lectures that I should never open the door to someone I don’t know,
But as a little girl, I welcomed this man through the door of my life.
I’ve heard many times that a man who offers candy or needs help looking for his puppy is not a good man
But a man who gives fake love and wants me to call him ‘daddy’ isn’t a threat to my mental health.
And when my daughter is old enough to realize that she has one grandfather,
When all of her friends have two, I’ll tell her that he died before her time.

“Where did you get those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric down over the evidence.
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My cat scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I didn’t even have a cat.
But people believed the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud seemed to hover about me;
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I could have told her that often times I could feel
That terrible cloud becoming stronger and overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet and warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch. I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs as I tried to push it down and away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke, it swirled
To other parts of my body but it lingered around.

I thought about but didn’t tell the girl that I often
Laid in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling,
Imagining myself floating around the high walls of the church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.
Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to
Keep his composure; my friends who’d dressed in black and sat
In the church pews, keeping hold of the secret they’d known about.
I imagined a lot of hugging, and tears, but mostly I heard lies
That they’d tell about me:
“She was so young.”
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of the tube open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I were praying much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.
I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when that dark
Cloud of smoke threatened, I could slice my way through.
I didn’t tell her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. And I didn’t tell her that
I often grasped the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging waters that wanted to drown me.

I wanted to tell her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and the blanket served as a Kleenex.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the canvas of my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut too deep.
I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and I tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I wanted to tell her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of raised skin.
I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the wounds
Like a train moves over ridges of the railroad.

The girl’s eye’s studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her own skin,
Then I took her hand and told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touched what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin has no bumps on it like mine?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I told her.
She nodded her head again, too young to comprehend,
And turned around to run down the hallway.

I hadn’t ever thought my daughter would notice.

We’re taking a journey through the times.
First back to Shakespeare and his clever rhymes.
He tells the story of Romeo and Juliet,
And if you were Montague, I’d change my name from Capulet.
The story of star crossed lovers,
Who in the end, died for each other.

Now we take a small trip through the rain forest,
Take a moment and play Tarzan.
Take another moment and let me be your Jane.
And when the storm threatens,
We won’t wait for the puddles,
We’ll go out dancing in the rain.

Here we go, under the sea.
Let’s take this trip, just you and me.
We zoom through the big ocean blue,
Like Ariel and Prince Eric, without a clue.
The green seaweed talks through our ears,
Living an underwater life where you can’t see tears.

As we sit alone together in the dark of light.
Only the candle between us, glowing in the night.
I hear the clock strike the new day,
Then out I go, wishing all the while that I could stay.
I’m Cinderella, running through the dark, climbing upon my ride,
Looking down and surprised to see, my glass slippers are still on my feet inside.

The endings may be different now,
No weddings, no ball gowns, no death.
They make you say “wow”
Then you can only hold your breath.

I've recently been contacted about having my collection of poems published. since you all are such great fans and supporters, I invite you to go 'like' my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/courtneyksnodgrass
you'll get additional sneak peeks like excerpts and quotes from the novel that I just finished writing as well!
it would really mean a lot if you guys could go like my page and then invite your friends too. (if you feel I deserve it)
all is appreciated, thank you so much.
~Courtney Snodgrass

I wear your tags around my neck,
my own personal lockets with your name engraved,
where they hang low enough to hear my
heartbeat pulse within the safety of my chest.
The metal is cold against
the skin that covers my *******.
And they’ve folded the fifty stars
and thirteen red and white stripes that protected
your casket, even after your heart stopped beating
into its triangle form, and
they handed it over like a death sentence
given to the wrong inmate,
for a crime he never committed.
I held the shield against my body,
wrapping myself around the cloth,
curving my body about the ripples
which reminded me of the heart monitor
that showcased your breathing
before the line went flat.
But it felt nothing like the way
your body felt folded against mine
in the darkness of your last night home
before you left for your final tour
in the foreign land that was as strange
as the first time we made love,
exploring the geography of our
different maps holding buried treasures
beneath the surface of our skin.
In our strangeness, I lost everything to you,
wandering without a compass.
And ultimately I ended up losing you to
the strangeness of the land, instead of
in the familiarity of my arms.

And I wish I could’ve convinced you to stay.
But I was never good at tug of war,
and Iraq was so much stronger than I.
Standing next to your casket, dressed in a mask of tears,
destroyed mascara and black clothing for your funeral
as your fellow brothers in arms,
who became my brothers too, hold their guns
pointed towards you in the sky; your own salute.
But it’s peaceful to know that your ears no longer ring
with machine guns and you’ll sleep peacefully from here until forever
instead of fighting enemies, even in your nightmares and daydreams.
I am grieving but I am blessed
that you are no longer suffering and miserable.

He’ll come to pick her up,
To go out on their date.
You’ll warn him to keep her safe,
And not to have her home too late.

He’ll smile and shake your hand.
Then they’ll be off for the night.
You’ll wait up for her,
Watching the clock, sitting by the light.

She’ll rush in, smile upon her face.
Telling you about her great time.
And you’ll gladly listen,
Thinking that for one more night, “She’s mine.”

But later on down the road,
She’ll come to you, saying he’s the man of her life.
And he’ll someday ask you,
For your permission to make her his wife.

In her beautiful, white dress,
You’ll walk her down the aisle,
Kissing her cheek, you’ll give her away,
To the man who’ll forever make her smile.

Moving at the speed of sound.
We took that turn just a little too fast.
We were livin’ on the wild side,
No seat belts,
Just watching the night go past.

Thought we were in total control,
Didn’t realize how much we had to lose,
Not a care in the world,
It wasn’t suppose to happen like that,
Didn’t know we were just a burning fuse.

But it wasn’t even our fault.
Just the wrong place and the wrong time.
If the drunk driver had never left the bar,
We’d still be cruising around town,
Instead of being victims of that crime.

The lights grew brighter the closer they came,
Didn’t take in the fact the car was actually in the same lane.
But coming at us instead of moving away.
Getting closer at high speeds,
Pause the moment, say a prayer, then proceed.

Feel the jolt,
Feel the pain,
Feel my legs break,
Feel the blood start to pour,
Feel nothing.

Unconsciousness was welcoming,
Put me out of my misery, for the time being,
Floating up, higher and higher,
Becoming the bystander,
Looking from above, realizing what my eyes were seeing.

His head was laid upon the wheel,
Arm across my chest, tried to hold me back,
Eyes shut, feeling as I was, nothing.
Not even the rise and fall of his chest,
Which alarmed me and sent my mind under attack.

Screaming down to him,
But seeming like my voice was on mute.
Like a loaded gun,
Bullets and all,
But unable to shoot.

He stayed unmoving,
No signs that he might be improving.
I felt helpless looking on from above,
Like there was nothing I could do,
Then came the sirens, flashing red and blue.

See the paramedics stop at the scene.
See the men run out of the bus.
See them take our pulses,
See them begin to move faster,
See that there was still a chance.

As I watched the scene from above,
The drunk driver stepped out of his car,
And was able to walk just fine,
No limp, no scratch,
Not even the smallest bit of a scar.

The medics took out the long straight boards,
And brought them to the car we’d been victimized in,
Cutting both of us out of the vehicle,
Placing him and I on two separate stretchers,
We were apart, the first time since I couldn’t remember when.

Speeding to the hospital,
I kept my eyes on his ambulance,
Instead of my own,
His chest didn’t rise and fall,
His eyes didn’t give me the slightest glance.

Feeling anger all at once,
Feeling more alone than ever before,
Feeling stupid for being so crazy,
Feeling ugly because of the big cut across my face,
Feeling dead.

Your soft fingertips
Hover over my skin,
Like butterfly kisses,
Upon flowers in the breeze.

Your kisses land,
Like raindrops in a suburban pond,
Creating ripples of chills,
Over my blanketed covered arms.

Pulling the blanket up farther,
Enclosing me,
In the further warmth of your body heat,
Trapped inside our make-shift fort.

A slight toss and turn,
And I can no longer feel,
Your warm sunlit rays of breath,
Landing on the back of my neck.

Looking to the ceiling,
And over to your close, limp body,
The muscles in your back,
Rise and fall, accepting my rejection.

“That’s what love does to you, right?” she asked. “It makes you happy, and content, and numb.”

She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the clean, ruler-straight scars; the damage coming only from a dissembled, silver razor blade. She moved her fingers slowly up her forearm, feeling the slight rise in flesh, like a train moving over railroad ties, as the skin healed over, creating the scar.

“What do your parents say?” I asked her.

“They don’t know.” she said in a soft voice.

“And if they did?”

“I’d probably be sitting where I am now, talking to you.” she said. “and living in some sort of mental institute for crazy people, along with others who have these same so-called ‘addictions.’”

I made a note on my clipboard. The brown, wooded board serving as a curtain, shielding the notes I was making about the girl sitting across from me. The girl with auburn hair, wearing jeans, a pair of converse shoes, and a gray sweatshirt. From the outside, no one would even suspect her as one to mutilate the skin on her wrist with a sharp tool.

“Do any of your friends know?” I questioned.

“No.” she answered in that same soft voice.

I made another note.

“What would everyone think if they were to find out?” I asked her.

“They’d probably be confused. They wouldn’t like it. Then they‘d probably hold one of those interventions, then ship me to the institute for the crazies.” she explained.

“So then why do it?”

There was a long silence. Neither of us said anything. I waited for her answer, as she put together the words in her head before saying them out loud.

“I like it.” she whispered. “I like the way my skin swells up and leaves the smallest rise of a scar.” she paused again, collecting some more thoughts. “It takes away all the other pain I’m feeling, it makes me numb. That’s what love is supposed to do.”

“It’s not healthy.” I told her.

“Is the kind of love between two people healthy? When it’ll all eventually come to an end?”

For the first time since entering the small cubicle after coming into the therapy center, she’d shown emotion. The soft whisper she’d been using the whole time disappeared, rising to a higher volume as she argued my point of self harm and how it isn’t safe. I sensed a hint of anger as she looked me dead in the eye looking for an answer to the question she’d fired at me. She leaned back into the small comfortable chair across from me. She took a Kleenex out of the box and wiped her fresh tears that had began falling down her cheeks.

She took a deep breath. “I’m not depressed.” she paused. “I don’t want to **** myself and I don’t want to die.” She took another Kleenex from the box. “But I know this kind of love won’t ever come to an end.”

“Until you cut too deep.”

I hate how you leave me with these regrets,
I hate the fact that you smoke cigarettes.
I hate how you make me laugh, when I’m trying my best to be mad.
I hate how you don’t miss the times that we had.
I hate the little nicknames you gave me,
I hate the way you make me feel so empty.
I hate how all you want to do is get high,
I hate the fact that I can’t call you mine.
I hate how you send me emotions into whiplash,
I hate our attitudes when we clash.
I hate how you still say you love me as your friend,
I hate you for bringing things to an end.
I hate when you don’t know that you’re flirting,
I hate how you try to comfort me when I’m hurting.
I hate how I can’t sleep because you’re on my mind,
I hate how you casually come up and wrap your arms around me from behind.
I hate the mixed signals you send my way,
I hate when I want to leave, but you want me to stay.
I hate almost everything that you seem to do,
I hate how I'm still in love with you.

It takes both hands to count the number of times I’ve been ***** but doesn’t count because I didn’t say ‘no.’
Both hands to recall the men who I felt obligated to sleep with because I had turned them on it’d be ‘mean’ to leave them that way.
On both hands, I can remember the number of times the smell of alcohol on his breath made me want to ***** as he kissed my neck before thinking that I wanted it.
Both hands to count the number of times I wasn’t strong enough to push him off of me before he pushed inside of me.
Both hands to count the number of times he told me to ‘calm down, it was alright.’
I used both hands too many times to run my nails down his back, making him think I was enjoying myself; hoping to end it end sooner.
On both hands, I can count the number of ******* I faked on a different man’s mattress in a different position than the man before.
On both hands, I can count the number of times I said I liked it from behind the most so I wouldn’t have to see his face.
On both hands, I can count the number of men I thought might sleep with me and actually like me instead of using me as just another way to get laid.
Both hands I can count the number of times he finished and I got dressed in the dark so that I could leave and never hear from him again.
On both hands, I can count the number of times I’ve cried myself to sleep, feeling ashamed of the number of men I’d wished I’d said ‘no’ to.
Both hands I can count the number of nights I’ve stayed up only to cut another slash through my wrist and let his memory seep through the wound.  
On both hands, I count the number of times I didn’t want to have ***, but felt guilty and pressured into doing what he wanted.
Both hands I can count the number of times I’ve been *****, but didn’t say no, didn’t struggle, only cried in silence after it was over.

The dark and dead of night,
Behind tall, black gates that shed no light.
A once in a full moon hanging in the sky,
Leading the way where underlie,
Bodies thought to be dead, but are more alive,
Living all around you, as strangers in disguise.

And walking through the cemetery, over crackling, fallen leaves,
Past peaceful, resting strangers, labeled as just another one that grieves.
Seeing headstones shimmer names of the dead,
While dew covered grass hide where tears have shed,
Over bodies that no longer lie underneath,
But haunt us in the comfort of home and in our sleep,
And they’re watching you stand at their gave; watching you weep.

Wounds that cut you so deep,
Hit you in your core.
Leaving and never looking back.
Exiting straight through the door.
Trying to figure out,
What the Hell I even stayed for.
There won’t be any blood,
No guts, no gore.
I’ll just leave peacefully,
You can have your little *****.
Don’t even beg for me to stay.
I’m not coming back for more.
I know you’ve made mistakes,
You can just stay tuned for what’s in store.
See my broken heart?
See how it’s tore?
This heart has gone through Hell,
I’m done with losing battles, it’s time to win the war.

I could always tell when it was just me in bed, instead of the two of us. I opened my eyes to the darkness and the alarm clock glared the time at me. 1:46 in the morning was no time to be awake on a week day but all too often, I found myself awaiting his return that never came. Lying on my back, I looked over to the mess of sheets and comforter next to me that harbored the absence of my husband.

The house was quiet and I couldn’t tell what room he was in, if he was in a room at all, but rather casing the walls, his invisible gun between his fingers as he secured our fort. I threw the covers off of me and stepped cautiously into the night. He had closed the door after leaving the bedroom and when I opened it, I could see the dull glow of the light above the stove coming from the kitchen up the stairs.

I was careful walking down the stairs as not to scare him if we both came around the corner at the same time. Peering over the railing, I could see Kenny at the dining room table. He was shirtless and hunched over with his forehead resting in his palms on the table. The dull yellow bulb softly illuminated the kitchen and Kenny’s shadowy figure paced on the floor next to him with each breath he took.

My bare feet were quiet against the hardwood floors as I stepped off the final step. I heard the faint sniffle of Kenny’s nose as I stepped into the yellow light. I took a deep breath and leaned against the counter next to the sink.

“Kenny?” I whispered and when he didn’t answer, “Baby?”

He stayed quiet but I knew that he could hear me. I watched his back rise and fall; his breathing steady, letting me know that he wasn’t in the middle of a flashback. I walked over to him and squatted beside his chair at the table.

“Kenny, baby,” I said quietly, then cautiously rested my hand on his bicep. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” He said, “it’s the same thing every time, Maggie.”

He kept his head in his hands and I saw a few tears drip to his thigh where his boxers didn’t cover.

“I want this ******* ringing in my ears to stop,” he said a little louder, “when I close my eyes, I don’t want to see someone’s body torn to shreds.”

“I know,” I whispered, “I wish I could help.”

“I wish every time you rolled over in bed, I wouldn’t roll over too and almost choke you because I think you’re an enemy.”

I’d never heard him admit to almost hurting me. I’d known that he’d sometimes thought I was the enemy and almost pinned me down to choke the life out of me, but he always realized what he was doing. He’d never gone as far as putting his hands on me.

“Maggie,” Kenny whispered to me, bringing me from my thoughts, “sometimes I wish I would’ve died over there.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I said, interrupting him quickly.

“It’s true, Maggie,” he said, “I can’t stand living like this. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

A car door slammed outside, a teenager arriving home late and Kenny pushed his chair back, stepping around me to look out front through the living room window. I sat back against the cupboard of the kitchen, feeling the cold floors beneath my bare thighs where my underwear didn’t cover. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging them as tightly as I wish I could hug Kenny.
I could hear him walking through the house, looking through different windows, before he finally returned to the kitchen, peeking through the small window above the sink. I looked up at him from my spot on the floor as he leaned against the counter.

“I think it’s safe now Maggie,” he said.

I didn’t bother trying to tell him that we weren’t in any danger. I wasn’t looking for an argument at two in the morning. I looked up at him again as he stared into space, focusing on something, if anything across the kitchen.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” I asked him softly, touching his shin that was beside me.

“Sh, no Maggie, I think I hear something,”

I wanted to tell him that there was nothing outside, there was nothing inside, nothing was going to harm us but before I could, he gripped his head and ears, and his face displayed his pain. I could tell that his ears were ringing and in his head, he’d told me before, it sounded and looked like bombs going off.

“Make it ******* stop,” he said, “please make it stop.”

He was gripping his head harder as if trying to get inside his skull. Slowly, he slid down the side of the counter to where he sat beside me, his knees folded up as he tried to get the ringing to quiet down. He was beginning to surrender. I unwrapped my own legs and put my arms around him, stroking the side of his head with my thumb. After a few minutes, he began to relax and lean into me. I hugged him tighter and felt his entire body begin to loosen as he rested against my chest, tears landing on my T-shirt. A few more minutes passed and he’d completely laid down against the hardwood flooring on his side, his cheek now on the thigh of my outstretched legs. I continued stroking his shoulder, his neck and his head. I could feel his tears coming one at a time, landing on my bare leg. Kenny rested his hand on my thigh, hanging on as if he was about to die in the battle of his own head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

These flower petals,
Flutter to the ground,
Each one with your name,
Slowly falling away from me.

The breeze sweeps them away,
Carrying them through the air.
Past towns and cities,
Where you’ll never be.

Traveling even further,
Being lost within nowhere.
Never being found,
No longer able to see.

The make their way to you,
Landing softly in your hands,
Giving you the courage and strength,
To make your way back to me.

I want to replay
the roles of Juliet and Romeo,
Sneaking over for each other's company,
Feeling your skin against my own,
Draping me in your cologne.

And I want to wake up,
With my head upon your chest,
Surrounded by the warmth,
Of your button down shirt,
And the protection of your arms.

And nothing else.

You built me up,
Made me feel invincible,
Like a skyscraper.
Nothing could knock me down.
Not one chance at breaking me.
It must’ve slipped my mind,
That one who creates,
Also has the power of destruction.

For every yellow cab maneuvering
Through the city streets,
Holding people who sit in the
Backseats, dreaming of what
Heaven might look like.
For every skyscraper standing
Within New York City,
There’s at least two people
Who stand on their roof tops
Dreaming of how it feels to fly.

There’s no rocky, narrow shoulders,
Lining each side of the highway,
Waiting for sets of tires to roll,
And pull over on.
There’s no rest stops,
Every few mile markers,
Offering you a place to stop,
And take a break from the same scenes.
A few too many sports cars,
Who’re just in a hurry,
Passing all the semis,
In a race to get to the finish.
No overhead signs for information,
Telling you which way to go.
Just one at the end of the journey,
Telling you that you’ve completed the drive.

these don't happen often,
memories of moments
that cannot be replaced.
they're like winning the lottery,
the full moon in the sky,
or falling in love with someone's face.
they're mental,
not hard copied photographs.
the kind that can't be captured with a flash,
but rather measured by the sound of a someone's laugh.

You’ve taught me that,
Life is like a game of tetris.
All my errors pile up,
And all my accomplishments disappear.

You’ve turned my life,
Into a show that’s off the air.
The same re-runs keep playing,
But the endings never change.

You build me up,
Then one by one,
You remove my pieces,
Like I’m some kind of Jenga game.

A song stuck on repeat,
I’ve finally learned the lyrics.
But yet, I just can’t find the skip.
To stop these flowing words.

Dandelion dust,
Falling like leaves,
Floating away in the warm Spring breeze.

Eyelash landings upon soft skin,
Reminiscing on old memories,
Seeming to be lost within.

Making 11:11 wishes,
For soft, light, fingertip, kisses.

The other day, my grandma asked if I was still having trouble,
And I don’t think she realizes that depression isn’t just something I can turn off and on.
It can’t ever be cured completely.
So in response to her question, I knew my answer:
I’d never be completely untroubled. My war against depression would always rage on.
But instead of being on the losing side, I was finally ahead in the battle.
Some days are harder than others, but the fight will never end.

I’ve walked through graveyards in the broad daylight,
Not to feel like I’m alive,
But to search for a place to die.
I want to know what section of the cemetery I’ll be buried in.
I’ve walked the grass between the headstones,
Reading the different names,
And in the far corner underneath a shade tree,
I used a shovel one night to dig out six feet
Of dirt which lies in a pile beside the rectangle hole.
I’ve knelt beside my plot and wondered if my casket
Would keep me warm after having left the cold earth.
The grass that surrounded my future home tickled my legs
As I prayed to a folded paper headstone that I held between my fingers.
Wrapped within the creases, rested my beloved razor blades
And written in the tear stained white space
Read the word, “depression.”

I threw the folded paper six feet under and stood up to refill the grave.

Silence can be so loud,
And that’s what drives you mad.
The fact that I don’t care anymore,
And you lost something you never even had.

Now the pedal’s to the floor,
Driving all through town.
Yelling you can’t take it anymore,
You’re becoming lost and I’m nowhere to be found.

You begin to panic,
And wonder what went wrong.
This is how I’ve changed.
Loving you has made me strong.

Speedometer begins to climb,
You ask and ask.
But I’ve disappeared forever,
Gone like whiskey in your flask.

You buy another bottle and you drink it down,
While your speedometer continues to soar.
You speed around this ghost town,
Eyes grow damp and tears begin to pour.

Your vision begins to blur,
So blurry you can’t see.
Inside, this feeling is familiar.
I remember, every time you laid your fist against me.