i wish i could turn the pain into something beautiful like i used to be able to. but i can't find the words anymore. i can't find the energy. at times i can barely even get out of bed, let alone pick up a pen. i try to write, but it never feels good enough. i never feel good enough. everything hurts, and not in a poetic way. it just ******* hurts.

i'm a hurricane who makes my homes in glass houses; i never wanted to cause harm, but everything is so fragile and it now seems that destruction is my destiny. my mind is a raging tornado; my mouth a volcano that erupts without warning, the words spilling and killing and burning and destroying. i am an ocean of emotion; so savor the calm before the storm because i will soon transform into a tidal wave of devastation. at times, i don't even feel quite human . i'm more of a storm with skin that is barely even holding me together anymore; the winds inside of me are threatening to tear me apart. i'm a natural disaster; unpredictable and self destructive. i'm a ******* walking wildfire, destroying everything and everyone in my path, when all i ever wanted was to shed some light.

what do you know about love until you not only feel it but it slams into you and knocks the wind out of your lungs but what do you know about pain until he's gone and slams the door behind him and it knocks the wind out of your lungs in a whole different way so you start to fill them with smoke instead and he never wanted you to smoke but what's the difference now that he's gone and you're left choking on the memories and the words left unsaid gripping a bottle of ***** and he's choking on her tongue

depression is not something to be romanticized, but i will write myself & my sadness into as many metaphors as i want if that is what helps me. i will use my sadness to be productive and i will create something beautiful out of something that is not

i'm not filled with stardust or galaxies like you might want to believe, and i don't have flowers growing in my ribcage or constellations in my brain. i'm blood and bones and flesh just like everyone else, except these bones are hollow and this flesh is torn and scarred. these scars are not beautiful or unique and neither am i; i'm just a girl with shaky hands and pale skin and a tendency to self destruct. my eyes are not the forest or the ocean, they're dark and hollow caves filled with fear and regret that have seen more than they should've but hopefully one day they can see the light again. there's no sunset in my veins, it's just blood that's been spilled onto the bathroom floor too many times in a desperate attempt to reach any last bits of hope buried inside of me. i'm not a hurricane or a tsunami or any natural disaster; i'm only ******* human and before i become a metaphor i just want to feel *alive.