You crop up in my dreams so much
that lately
I think I might still be in love with you.

It's been nearly two years
since I've kissed you.
It never worked, it was doomed from the gun.

You drove me *******
crazy. Your hands
were forever blackened with oil.

I'm making things of myself,
discarded home like old receipts.
I haven't been back in a while now.

You must have known that I'd leave.
I love words and you loathe them.
You'll be married soon, I think.

I'm sick for the days in the sun on the beach.
The familiarity of your skin,
your boring bravado, your gentle talk.

I miss kissing you in the dark.
I'm so far removed from the bog—
trekking the streets of Dublin with big dreams.

'Twas far from ambition we were reared.
Big city girl in the smallest pond,
where the fish all slept with eachother.

Slicker. Full of ideas.
All I want is a carvery dinner.
To sit in a souped up car at night

at Ross, off, but the heating on,
old blankets tucked up and
watch the waves lap

over and back
over and back.

I finally decided to talk to someone
a trusted been-here-before adult
he opened the door, I did the asking and now all that's left is for me to open my mouth and speak
But I'm scared I won't know how when I get there
So I'm going to run a little practice conversation here, for myself

I guess you've noticed I've been a little off lately, what with hiding in corners and falling on floors I'll start

I'll be looking anywhere but his eyes
He'll probably nod and let me continue

I wanted to ask how you keep doing this, day after day

To which he'll hopefully give me the secrets to life, but before I can escape
Maybe he'll stop me and say

Have you been thinking about not?

And as I've been raised to tell the truth, I'll swallow my pride and nod

I can't stop thinking about it. It's not that I want to not be here, it's just that my brain says a lot of things I don't want to hear.

He'll be encouraging. It's who he is.

Like what does it say?" he'll ask

I'll bite my lip, and try not to cry

Sometimes it'll tell me that behind the smile, there is nothing left. Sometimes it'll say that we're all going to destroy ourselves. And sometimes

I'll hesitate before continuing

Sometimes it will tell me that I'm failing you as a leader

I may actually cry then.

But he will hug me, and he will tell me that I am strong, that I am enough, that he will not let me slip away

That is what I'm looking for, what I'm living toward
All that's left to do is open my mouth and speak

When she comes
she brings the snow with her,
circling her white hair
in spirals and waves.
When she comes
the sun shines brighter
even behind the clouds
that veil the horizon.
When she comes
I'm always there,
ready to fall in love
over and over again.

The routines come.

But they come silently,
and they slither,
and they crawl,
and they sneak into our lives
one inch at a time,
hiding in those missing minutes and seconds,
hidden in hours and days lost to the hubris
of our own sense of youth and permanence.

And all the time we've wasted is held so high,
high up above our heads,
just out of our reach,
just a whisper of familiar texture on our fingertips,
as we dance upon our tippy toes,
as our arms slowly tire
of trying to reach what we once held so easily,
as we look back on the shadows
stretched out behind us
overtop of our ever-lengthening timelines,
and we realize that time is indeed passing
and that the golden memories are just that,
memories,
and these stolid routines that we never noticed
aren't making any new ones.

The routines will come,
but ****** be if I'm going to sit idly by
and let them willingly take me.

Are you happy?
Your second-hand smile wears thin like old jeans,
and once-glinting eyes drop to the floor to stare dully at my cigarette ****.
My trainers are filthy and yours are clean, protecting soft feet from the cold that we both feel inside us.
It's the start of November but it's been winter for a while.

How long have you been silent? How long will you be silent?

How do you buy new jeans when all your currency has been spent?

Maybe I could be your personal shopper... I'm really not qualified; I was fired from my last position but I think I'd enjoy working here!

I'm sorry this doesn't make sense.
Some of it is missing and some of it almost definitely isn't me.
That's the trouble with painting your face. You do it every day and you forget how you used to look under all those layers, each mask set upon the last.
But I suppose the Mona Lisa took a few attempts, and so can we.

So alone in a room, with my back against a mirror, I put pencil to paper and start to scratch my itch.

When the topic of conversation in class was about finding meaning in life
I struggled to find a reasoning behind why
I choose to keep fighting
the same **** voice that keeps on illuminating
the parts of my heart that don't need extra lighting
For reasons of staying safe
secure enough to keep from igniting
any other demons that make joy seem uninviting

My heart is tired of trying
to heal

My feelings boil over
like a *** of forgotten water
forcing me to clean up a mess that I did not ask for
I am tired
But still refuse to be fired from life itself

Why do I keep fighting
If my life is not something I admire

I have sisters who wage wars on their bodies too
trying to reach a place where they feel like they are somebody to some body
and not a disease
that strips them of all they were created to be
We are tired

Yet I ride waves of urges so familiar to the ocean of darkness that my heart rages
because I just want to feel free
because my future family and clients need me
because honesty is the key to living authentically
And if I'm being honest then I'm able to see
past the reality
that is my eating disorder

I desire more
which means that I am more
as my worth does not come from being the best me for others
but rather it comes from a deep understanding
that my life is my own and not my own
equally

Realizing that my hands are strong enough
are big enough to hold
even the pieces of my soul
that fail to fit the mold
of what is normal

But why can't normal have permission to be broken
Instead of whole

You say let's try, let's make a new
Say all the things that make me into you,
I fall again, head over heels in haste
Open my heart but the pain makes waste,

You say bye guy, just not that into you
A million times guys are better than you,
Re open the wound, I fought so to close
Lined up pieces and your knocking down rows,

You say no more try's , this is final goodbyes
Again head I hang while I'm drowning my eyes
No more kiss, no more hug, no hope no die
Because yes love you want, just not with this guy.....