I'm what remains of a broken girl.
Maybe more cracked than broken, but broken none the less.
Shattered glass of a porcelain perfect girl,
My sharp edges ready to slice whoever gets close enough to glue my pieces back together.
I couldn't let anyone see the ugly remains of my transparent silhouette.
All that was left of my blown out dandelion,
No one wants to keep the stem of the dandelion after they've let their wishes dance in the wind,
But oh how the stem wishes it could dance.
I'm the one that tried to turn my pain into poetry,
But all that came out of it was a wasted notebook full of torn out pages and the same broken girl.

When my neighbors had rushed out of their apartment they left only their cat behind.
We didn’t realize until we walked into their emptied space,
to see the cat,
laying there,
hungry,
dead on the floor,
looking more bones than skin.
And oh how I longed to be replaced with it,
my lifeless eyes instead of its own,
my hunger making me look more bones than skin,
more bones than anything else,
dead on the floor.
But no matter how many times I wrap my fingers around my wrists,
or let water slip down instead of anything else,
I still can’t die.
I still don’t know if I want to die.
But every time I close my eyes I see my neighbor’s cat,
I think maybe if I were that cat people would understand,
Understand that it wasn’t my fault.
Understand that no one left anything for me,
And I was just trying to fend for myself until someone found me.
But no one will find me.

An ode to my cat and the night I fell asleep crying and watching the great British baking show.
2. An ode to the snowflakes that always seem to make my mother smile
3. An ode to everything I’ve ever hated and all the people who made it worse.
4. An ode to Netflix and every show thats made me laugh like I wasn’t sad.
5. An ode to black nail polish and it amazing ability to make me feel just edgy enough.
6. An ode to my zodiac sign even if I don’t believe in her I’ll always be a scorpio.
7. An ode to every Arctic Monkeys song and the way they make me remember what I said I’d never forget.
8. An ode to Thursdays because they’re the loneliest day of the week and I can relate.
9. An ode to every poet who has inspired me to keep writing for just one more day.

I wonder if these people I pass in the hallways everyday remember.
Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it.
Do they remember the things I said to them?
Do they even remember my name?
If I remember it so vividly,
you’d think they’d remember at least a little.
Right?
But I guess not.
So to that girl who I gave all my secrets,
and to the boy who I told my best jokes,
and to all those people who I’ve talked to,
listened to,
made memories with,
I remember you,
no matter how much you’ve forgotten me.

My skinny jeans will never be skinny enough,
just like how I can only wrap my fingers
around my wrists so many times,
How the lie "I'm not hungry"
is easier than actually eating,
and how my parents still thank me after I eat
the dinner that they made
and my brothers voice cracks every time
he asks me to "please eat lunch"
and still packs a snack in my bag.

I've been fighting to survive my entire life.
Just trying to stay alive
But I forgot the most important thing
surviving is not the same as living.