You stopped reading my poetry, so I decided to stop writing you poems. All you gave me were rocks to fill my pockets, although the weight kept me grounded for a while. After all, I was constantly drifting away.
I told you I was afraid of the dark so you made sure to keep my life bright.
Then you left.
Lights out.
You never noticed that even 6 months after our break up you're pictures so hung on my wall. Memories are of you are like horror movies and love stories bleeding on my carpet. You made me believe I was making something out of nothing. But before I could blink you disappeared. I begged you to stay but you shut the door in my face. No matter how hard I pushed you wouldn't open the ******* door. I didnt want to go anywhere else because you're the only home I've ever known. So what was I supposed to do when you locked the ******* door? Where do I go when "home" doesn't want me anymore? Broken and scared, I built myself a shelter out of sticks and drug addicts. Now that's where I stay. You swallowed the words "I love you" rather than feeling them get caught in your throat like blood filling up your lungs.  Trust me when I say I can't get the words off my ******* tounge. Of all the things I've left unsaid, I just wanted to scream, choose me. Choose the girl who loves you more than herself. Choose me, because of all the people in the past, future and present, I would still choose you. I wanted to beg, whatever you do, just don't leave me the way my father did. But you are long gone and I'm left to wonder why. Why didn't you choose me? I thought it was clear you should choose the girl with 7 knives sticking out of her chest, still fighting. Why wouldn't you choose the girl crying on her knees, begging,  DON'T LEAVE. But I don't blame you for choosing the ocean.  After all, who wouldn't? I'm a ***** puddle a dog wouldn't even drink from. The walls even started talking to me. Every night whispering "what if". I thought I would be devastated when you left. And I was. For months and months and months. I was a ******* disaster. Leaving pieces of my heart everywhere I went in an attempt to leave you in the past. Yet I just lost more of myself rather than you. Some nights you still coat my pillow in tears. Yet I'm thankful that some day I might forget the sound of your voice, I'll still remember the way you held me as I cried while I opened up about my ****. I'll still remember walks through the park and making love beneath the trees... My memories of you are warm like fire, like growth, evolution, the way nature will keep existing long after our love dies out. I always begged for you to worry about me, to wonder why I was drifting away. But when you didn't fight for me, I started using my own fists. Now I'm coping with the reality that our hearts don't stop beating even when our lovers have stopped giving us reasons to live. I know this is over. I won't beg you to come back, because I know- I already know. This won't last. But all I needed was for you to act like every thing was okay, until I could learn how to live when everything isn't. I still miss you, and oh god, the way our legs tangled together under the covers, my head on your chest. But lately I've been crying when I think of the way you touched me because your touching someone else.
So if you are trying to read between the lines of my poetry, if you are finally wondering how I'm doing:
I'm learning to live without you. Most nights my heart aches. Sometime I think I should have crashed my car the night I was driving alone. But the truth is, I seen the brightest of days with you. And with a little patients, I'll see bright days again. When it comes down to it, I will be okay. I will be more than okay. With or without you.

You need to understand that no matter how beautifully the poem is written, no matter how relatable those black and white letters are; every word I've ever put on paper has been a product of mental illness. I don't care how deep it sinks into your chest, how long it resonates on your brain or how amazing it is that I have somehow put every unspoken thought you've ever had into 6 small words. Not once have I created a poem while thinking, "This one will surely paint a glorified picture of self harm, drug addictions, rehab visits, repeated rapes, abusive boyfriends and five years of therapy into the readers mind." Never would I write with such intention and never should my words be read for such a purpose. If you are searching for poems with glitter masking the truth, you have come to the wrong place. So if you have the guts to read my poetry, then I dare you to have the guts to read with the same pain it was written with. I refuse to write with raw, bold, and honest words only to wrap a pink ribbon over the bloodshed just to earn the title "tragically beautiful." The words I spill out come from a dark world. Admire them in purest form, ugly and appalling to the eyes.  Why would you want to romanticize the filth that I pour from my mentally ill mind?

She changes her mind like the weather.
One moment shes a flower blooming in May but with the flip of a switch
shes a cold January blizzard.

Its already December.
Shes disappointed with the lack of snow this year,
as her hearts been stuck in a dull winter.
With wide blue eyes full of fear
she's waiting for death to kiss her.
Spring flowers have been long dead,
Now shes eager for the return of death.
Maybe he took the wrong turn?
He seems to be running late.
For now she's making snow angels out of wilted petals,
patiently awaiting her fate.

I'm worth something, I just don't know what. I matter to somebody, I just don't know who. I am alive for a reason, I just don't know why. I can beat this depression, I just don't know how. I will see brighter days, I just don't know when.

No roof to find shelter under, no umbrella to keep dry, no gentle arms to fall into; I learned at an early age to dance during tornados, to laugh in pouring rain with lighting nearly striking my feet, and to find beauty in bruises from being stranded in hail storms. The weather was always bad, but I embraced it. Maybe it's begun to pay off, because for the first time in forever

I think I see the sun.

He didn't grow angel wings and go to heaven. He put on an astronaut helmet and found peace in the stars. A tiny soul floating through the galaxies, just waiting for mommy to join him. His dreams were to big for this planet. Curiosity, love, adventure, and fearlessness. He was soaked in those traits as he grew in my womb. The unknown was calling and I don't blame him for answering. He was concieved by two souls who desperatly wanted more than life can offer. We created something too beautiful for human form. All I can do is hope that the night sky is full of kindness. It brings peace to know he left this earth knowing nothing of pain. An artist like his mother, I know my son is painting constelations in the sky and sprinkling stardust over my head. One day I'll have the guts to put on a helmet of my own, and he can show me the universe through his eyes, resting in my arms for eternity.

Im never good enough unless I let people **** me.
I thought when I met my boyfriend he would actually respect me.
But If I don't get naked he just neglects me, why do I need to have *** for him to love me?

He says the drugs turn him on,
but he can't stay hard enough to get me off. Give him some lotion and ****,
all interest in me is lost,
now hes anything but soft.

Does this mean I'm gross?
Should I shave better or wear less clothes? Im over reacting, I know.
******* I hate all drugs,
I can't stand the lows.
Do I just let him touch me?
I can't spit out the word no.
My body belongs to him, but I'm sick of going with the flow.
I need to make it clear I have a voice of my own.
Falling in love with him gave me a rare sense of hope.
I thought I would finally have some control,
then I realizef I'm still a piece of meat,
an eager to please ***.

I felt his love was pure and I wanted it all to myself.
I thought dating a man who preaches how much he cares meant it mattered what I felt.

I got away from the party rapes and bottles of *****.
I thought a relationship meant i would finally get to choose.
Why am i still being used?
Maybe he'd understand after stepping in my soulless shoes.
I can never win, the outcome is inevitable, I was born to lose.

So do I lay down and pretend I want the ***,
or watch him choose **** when I refuse to say yes.
Would he notice me if I had implants in my *******?
Maybe I need to be a tan blonde with no heart in my chest?
We all know those women can **** the best,
I can't compare so I just lay down to rest.

And I don't mean going to bed,
I mean 6 feet under with a grave stone at my head.
Even from the casket all I can smell is ****,
the reason for his shiny upper lip covered in sweat.
I asked him to wait on taking a hit,
but he smoked it and failed my little test. It's obvious its the drugs he loves best.

I needed to see if what I felt could over power his want for drugs.
Of course he didn't choose me, but his drugs left pain in my lungs.
I didn't know I would fall apart so young. It's looking like all of my abusers have won.

I should of just put out because now he wants to sleep on the couch.
I should have let him *** in my mouth, because now he's scraping a pipe and I'm just trash waiting to be thrown out.

But that's just how I feel on the regular,
so used to being alone, even with him across the room,
this feelings so familiar.
I promised another abusive relationship would never happen again
but his actions are scary similar.

I know he won't ***** me over,
but I'm a girl who let a drug user abuse her. A girl beaten in the street, wishing he would shoot her. Forced to be a freak in the sheets, a girl who said yes even when it bruised her.

Is it happening again?
Or am I just selfish for not pleasing my man?
Now I'm over thinking
Deep down I know his love is an ocean surounding my land.
My protector, drowning out all of the bad.
After all, he even held me while I screamed with a blade in each hand.
I try to remind myself this but my brain calls *******.
My mind is built in a shape that reality doesn't fit.
So when he says I'm his baby I can only hope he means it.
Fearing he will think I'm not worth it, I work so hard to stay atttactive.
Going days without food, I eat like a ******* rabbit.
I'm dizzy and might lose consciousness,
my sleep pattern is ******* eratic.
This migraine has my brain mushy and muffled like tv static.

This pain in my skull is dragging me to sleep,
my body aches, from my soul to my feet.
I should have opened my legs and tried not to shake.

I denied him what he wanted,
thinking my man would love me fully clothed.
I can't help but wonder,
is it wrong to keep my legs closed? 
I dont ******* know.

Being in love has left me on the floor cold and shaking,
other men see what they want and take it. Never been given an option,
so used to my body being taken.
He made a promise that he's different, but what if saying no is what'd break it?
I thought a relationship would give me more choices.
Yes or no,
a question I was never asked by my dozens of rapists.

It all feels like a repeat playlist,
I know he loves me and I'm trying to embrace it.
But even completely clothed,
I'm feeling helpless and naked.