Burn me -
everything I have:
my lungs, my body,
my soul, my sanity

Engulf me in your flames -
along with my all:
my memories, my sorrow,
my happiness, my tomorrows

Leave me in ruins -
among ashes,
among matches,
and an empty cigarette packet.

I wrote my way out of the dark pages of my life.
I know what it's like to see your life hanging by a thread;
scraping your skin with your fingernails to stop yourself from crying;
weaving scars on your skin to get some high out of life.

Smiling on the outside, but tearing up on the inside.
I've been there,
disguising last rites as declarations of love;
holding out for that one guy for some unjust reason.
I was once told I was beautiful on the inside,
I used to scoff at that thought.
I couldn't be beautiful,
my metaphorical skin was sewed and patched, ruined and defiled
and there was nothing beautiful about that.
It took me a while to see that beauty for myself.
I was once that one girl sitting in corner at midnight
contemplating suicide over family tiffs, unrequited love, loss, loneliness, and every other
stuff that I couldn't deal with.
I can't look at my left wrist
without feeling some sort of disgust because of the tallies of pain
I left behind.

I had this habit of saying 'I'm always good' whenever asked
but I got tired of seeing illusions as reality,
I was tired of escaping my own life. I was not okay and I needed help.

I wish somebody had told me
this sooner:

MELANCHOLY IS NOT TRENDY, DEPRESSION IS NOT COOL,
CUTTING IS NOT A FASHION STATEMENT
SADNESS IS NOT ATTRACTIVE

It's actually sad that we,
teenagers,
advertise sadness as if it's something to be proud of.  

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
YOU DON'T NEED VALIDATION FROM PEOPLE
DON'T LET HIM TELL YOU HE LIKES YOU BETTER WHEN YOU'RE BROKEN.
NO, SCARS DO NOT MAKE YOU ATTRACTIVE
SOME SCARS AREN'T WORTH HAVING
CRAZY IS NOT ****
**** IS NOT ALWAYS ****** SHEDDING A FEW KILOS WON'T MAKE HIM LIKE YOU ANY MORE THAN HE DOES
UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS DON'T HEAL --words I wish I'd  heard sooner

You are not broken beyond repair

YOU ARE A PHOENIX,
A PHOENIX MUST BURN TO EMERGE.

this is an open letter to anyone who has the audacity to try and love you like i did.

dear whateverthefuckyournameis,

i apologize in advance for spilling my boiled blood on the hem of your skirt. what you need to understand, is that you are standing on ground previously reserved for my feet, so forgive me for any bitterness that seeps through the cracks in my clenched fists. i don't hate you, but i can't be your friend. you probably don't know about me, and if you do, let me commend your bravery. i have a tendency to set my problems on fire, and in my bouts of anger everything looks flammable, especially girls with paper complexions. i'm sorry. i have never been one to walk away, so i don't know how to explain to you the holes in the bottoms of my shoes. but i have been further than you will ever go. this is not supposed to be an angry letter, but lately that's the only thing coming out of me. i don't even know your name but the thought of your hands reaching for him makes we want to break them. i will douse your dreams in gasoline and strike the match against your cheek. but i know that's not right, see, the poison crawling out from the end of my pen belongs to a scarier version of myself i try not to know. my heartache is an insatiable war cry in the dead of night, that will stop at nothing to shatter all your windows. it shames me to admit that i've found a sort of twisted satisfaction in using passive aggression to breach your armor. i am sick with missing a set of arms i was not privileged enough to know. i speak with all the grace of an atom bomb and wonder about the rubble at my feet. you are white picket fence and i am barbed wire. some girls are lions, some are lambs, and i learned to love, teeth bared and snarling. one of the only things that keeps me going is the hope that one day i'll learn how to love something without making it bleed. i may have never been his, but for a time he was mine, so please understand why i taste acid when i think about your mouth on his. again, i am sorry. i know it is not my place to be so full of resentment, but there is a part of me that sincerely hopes it bothers you to know he dreamt of me before you were even a thought. there is a side of me that thrives on the image of the color being drained from your face when you read this. but i am trying to learn how to be softer. this letter is the manifestation of a self-inflicted war that has been raging in my chest since he first told me about you. you will try to be good to him, and you might even succeed. if you ever find yourself singing him to sleep, like i did, don't ask if he wants to hear another song, just keep going until his breathing slows.

- m.f.

this is a series of brief letters to the pieces of my body

dear body,
we don't always work together very well,
but i swear i am trying.

dear hands,
the callouses and crescent moons in your palms
will not be for nothing.

dear knuckles,
aren't you tired of painting yourselves black & blue
every time words fall short of the fire burning behind my sternum?

dear feet,
you know better than to follow roads that lead to dead ends.
there are better places for us to go.

dear eyes,
you have sunken so far into my skull
it shocks me you see anything at all anymore.
you're fixated on shades of gray
but i promise the world will regain its color soon.

dear knees,
stop crawling.
this broken glass is from his bottles.
get up. no more blood.

dear shoulders,
it was never your burden to carry. let it fall,
and try your hardest not to feel guilty.

dear neck,
his hands will never make a home here,
and you are worth more than one night of empty bruises.

dear spine,
stop waiting to be warmed by fingers
that would reach for another body if they could.

dear tears,
do not waste yourselves.

dear ears,
you have been filled with ghost songs for too long.
stop listening for things no one is saying -
it will make life much simpler.

dear mouth,
i know these secrets have been threatening to break my teeth
but please do not open your gates. i am not ready.

dear skin,
we have never been close friends.
i am sorry for the scars.
i am trying to learn how to be comfortable in you.

dear mind,
if i could wish you into an etch-a-sketch
and shake you clean of these bad memories i would.

dear heart,
i hope you can forgive me for being so careless.
i feel how tired you are. rest is on its way.  

dear body,
you will one day see a grave,
but it must not be by your own hands.

- m.f.

i want you to imagine standing in the middle of an already collapsing house, and having everything suddenly flip upside down; or after years of homelessness, picture yourself being told you had somewhere you could stay for good, only to wake up just before being handed the keys. these are some of dangers of making places out of  people.

1. don't ever turn a human being into a home unless you are prepared to be evicted without warning.
2. when you start to notice their arms taking the shape of a roof over your head, you have two choices: run, or wait for it to cave.
3. if they ask you to stay and burn with them, you have the right to say no.
4. it is not your responsibility to save anyone, and it is not your fault when you can't.
5. salvaging the photos from a house fire will only re-break your heart every time you pull them out to look at them.
6. when the basement floods, hold their hand.
7. if you are not a strong swimmer, remember that the difference between love and codependence is that one of then will drown you.
8. love will never drown you.
9. i knew this from the start but let you hold me beneath the waves in spite of it, just so you could stay afloat. i can't do that anymore.
10. i don't think i'll ever set foot on your hardwood floors again, but i'll pray that someone new moves in soon.

- m.f.