inhale
barely living, surviving
day dreams of being hit driving
crying myself to sleep
doesn't work to count sheep
hating who i am
minds a broken dam
thoughts flooding inside
i just want to hide
i never want to wake
nothing to give or take
feeling done with it all
fist punching the wall
am i mad
or am i sad
i don't know anymore
my inside is sore
i can't be fixed
feelings so mixed

exhale.

last night i woke up cold
adrenaline like nicotine in my blood
the dream itself was black and empty,
heavy like ice water,
& i was there alone
w a i l i n g  : brokenhearted

my stomach is in knots
and i feel so sick thinking about you
holding anyone that isn’t me
and i don’t understand why you thought it’d be a good idea
to tell me that you’re falling asleep at night
with another girl in your bed,
even if you’re not kissing her goodnight,
i tried to drown out my sobs all day with
modern vampires of the city on vinyl,
but it still feels like someone
sunk fangs in my lungs

it’s only been a week, the cuts from your nails
from holding my heart so tight
are still fresh
and i never asked you to stop,
i never told you i wanted to try
to be more than friends again,
i never tried to paint your hands red,
but all you could seem to do is defend
yourself and repeat that you’ve done nothing wrong
“you said we’re just friends
you said we’re just friends
you said we’re just friends”

and we are just friends
i just wanted you to understand and acknowledge
that it still hurts

and you can say you’re sorry, you said sorry,
but i’m sure she’s tucked in beneath your sheets right now
and you’re still repeating in your head
i’ve done nothing wrong
i’ve done nothing wrong
i’ve done nothing wrong
we’re just friends
we’re just friends
we’re just friends

and i’m glad you’re comfortable,
i’m glad you know you’ve done nothing wrong,
i’m glad you have someone to hold at night,
i’m glad thoughts of me don’t rip your heart out,
i’m glad you’re okay with being just friends

i’m glad you’re fine,

but, i’m sorry,
i’m not.

i look at the sky
tiny dots amongst
nothing
blank space
outer space
the tiny dots appear to flicker
they exist as
only source of light
if the night bears no moon

i see distant heavenly bodies
burning hotter than a thousand campfires
a million matches
they burn blue
red
white
across the void of the galaxy
light traveling billions of miles away
in some predestined way to reach my retinas
i try to process the idea of exactly how much space
space needs to take
i can't comprehend the simple complexity of this universe
nor fathom the vastness of it
working like a preprogrammed machine
it bares little creatures in a water-filled planet
they have their own little worlds
their own little stories
separate from the narration
that keeps together the force of gravity

do not forget
that you were made by the same Being
who made the stars
the same One
Who crafted each gaseous heavenly body
each He knows by name

don't you realise that the fire inside of you
burns hotter than a thousand suns
a billion supernovas
you burn not only red, white, and blue
hues can't quite describe
the brilliance of your mind

i try to process
how much space
it would take for me not to feel your warmth
i can't comprehend your simple complexity
the constallations in your eyes
change every night
because each day
you're a new mystery
for me to fathom

do not forget
that you were made by the same Being
who made the stars
why wouldn't He make someone
just like them
someone who shines brightly
to cut through the darkness
why wouldn't He?
but ah
He already has
don't you ever forget
that He already has

the sun in me must be heavy
because waking up is getting harder
i am practicing for the real thing
if we're being honest, i don't
want to see my 17th birthday
because since somewhere after
my 13th one, i have been restrained,
arms behind my back, while he
sucker-punched me in the jaw
i have spent the last 4 years
spitting blood and teeth onto the cement
and saying "thank you, thank you,
this is all i could ever want."

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that when i was six, my mothers eyes were verdant fields illuminated by her laughter.
it's that my father came home that night, whiskey absorbed into his tongue, lavender lingering on his skin, the last two buttons of his shirt still undone.
it's that i always thought it was a tree branch caressing the windowpane at 2am.
when she was crying to the walls for help.
it's just that when he left, she started sleeping with the light on,
and her eyes died with winter's approach.
when they were together, her skin was a canvas for violet hues that burned like gin against your throat so she could never hug me.
it's that, last november when they healed, she painted them again - but this time in red.
it's that my mother didn't wear lavender.

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that my older sister doesn't leave her bedroom. i wonder if she misses the sunlight, or maybe if that's the problem.
it's that she told me that if people were colours he'd be red.
because she sees him in the sky when it sets.
and in the leaves that have been kissed by autumn.
it's that it's been a year, since she wrote that letter with scribbled letters and scattered thoughts,
talking about the way he said her smile reminded him of old movies,
and cotton candy.
and that she still loved him.
it's that last summer she went outside to feel his presence,
in the graveyard by the river - accompanied with lost lovers and broken hearts.
and it's that she came home and took a blade to her left wrist - heartbreak oceans leaving the sink painted scarlet.
it's that when the doctor asked her why she did it, she replied with:
"i forgot what red looked like."

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that once, my therapist told me about his wife.
and that she left him because her heart didn't beat for him anymore.
it's that when i told him my cat ran away last week
he smiled gently but with his eyes,
and replied, "don't worry, she's coming back."
like he had recited that phrase to himself a thousand times this week,
it's that i saw hope peck him on the cheek,
and ignite his eyes,
it's that i know they did that when she laughed like honey was melting into her tongue, or when she told him she loved the way his right eye was more green than the left.
it's just that, during my last visit,
he asked about my cat again,
and i had to tell him, "it's been months, i don't think she's coming home."
it's that he cried sapphire pools of misery,
because his eyes told me
he knew she wasn't.

it's not that i don't love you
*it's that i do