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Some days, I avoid the mirror,
as if its glass might speak.
As if it might tell me all the things
I already whisper to myself.

I tug at fabric, shift my stance,
try to fit into spaces
that never seem meant for me.
Like I’m always too much, or not enough.

I trace the outlines of who I wish I was,
sketching softness into strength,
erasing the parts I’ve learned to hide,
as if beauty is something I have to earn.

But I am not a mistake,
not a problem to be solved.
I am a story still being written,
a masterpiece still in progress.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠀⡄⢠⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⠟⢠⣾⡇⢸⣷⡄⠻⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀­⠀⠀⠀⠚⠛⠛⠃⠐⠛⠛⠃⠘⠛⠛⠂⠘⠛⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢻⠏⢠⣿⣷⡄⠹⣿⠋⣠⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠙⣿⠏⢠⣾⣿⡄⠹⡟⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛­⣛⠋⠀⠋⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀⠙⠀⠙⣛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
╔═══════════════════════╗
⣰⡟⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠉⠻⣦­⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⢻⣆
⣿⣦⣤⠤⣴⣿⣴⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣿⣦⣿⣦⠤⣤⣴⣿
╚═══════════════════════╝

I don't know what I was looking for,
in the honey draped lights flashing
in my eyes
And the sound of music
that keeps on playing and playing

And the wind that laps over my face
as the world turns,
Like horses running on axis,
weaving through the lines of shadow
and fireworks
And in their trail, I found
stardust that shimmers and shimmers

I found it confusing sometimes
In the endless mirrors and lights
that spirals in my mind
Like vines coiled around poles
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀     ⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢠⣾⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢠⣾⣦⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣉⣀⣴⣿⠋⠙⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣉⣀­⣴⣿⠋⠙⠃⠀
⠀⢰⡟⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠘⠃⢸⡿⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⢸⡿⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠹⡇­⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀

And the looming sweetness that lingers,
like pink foam swirling in my mouth

I smiled towards the dying sunset,
thinking it would last forever
I try not to close my eyes
and not be blinded
by the world slowly slipping
away

Before the music dies
Before the yellow stars burn out
You might not hear my voice
or even remember my name
But I just want you to know that

I was here

════⊹⊱✦⊰⊹════════⊹⊱✦⊰⊹════
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀­⠀⢰⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.
The whirlpool of emotions pulls me under,
and I am tired of treading water
I am tired of trying to stay afloat
I am just a girl who wonders of what ifs
I am just a girl who feels too much,

who knows where you are hurt,
even when you haven’t said it out loud
Maybe if I learned to hold myself a little gently,
it wouldn’t ache this way
Maybe happiness isn’t built from sadness,

no matter how familiar it feels
I am just a girl who wants a quiet place,
to love and be loved,
without asking for it
I am just a girl, still searching
cautious and well in reach
the badminton flying thing
unfolds into the air

yet props have commented on
without equity
upon the game and
sit
still while a grunge era
          
is reborn

and fallopian tubes
become the cause
of my paranoia.
it's okay.
i promise.
its almost over.

she was wrong.
now,
i can't see the grace in
the birds landing,
sending a gentle ripple
in my quiet, little world.

the beauty in
the roses dancing;
a ballet,
a classical piece
in my silent, hopeless world.

maybe i'm broken
because when the birds sing
i hear a haunting melody
they sing to me
like the voices in my head
bringing me closer
and closer
and closer
until i'm driven ******* crazy

all i can see in the roses
are the thorns that ***** me
while i silently wish
they would ***** me all across my throat

maybe i'm broken
but that's okay
all of us are

because at some point
the tape will peel off
the glue will wear down
but

it's okay
i promise
it's almost over
we
          are
not
         the
same


        and i hope
we never are.

       you
worthless
     hopeless
undeserving
      awful
monster.

we
          are
not
         the
same.
it is to look into a glass box at people
When the glass box does not exist
It is hollow like the shell of
A crab who has long left,
Like the love of a
Love that has been since long loved
It is to wonder what bridges the vast canyon
From you alone to them laughing;
It is to ask and to become the buzzing question of
what is so wrong that we cannot do this?
(you)

It is to eye into a glass and
realise you do not know what should be there
It is like a wonder that has no
where to be and nowhere to go
like the awe of a new morning
that quickly vanishes with harsh night
It is to ask what must be causing headache
it is to ask what must be causing heartache
It is to question why to try in a land where
the only person you know is
(you)
Do you ever feel like you do not know what you are doing?
when words fail you
silence smothers you
fears surround you
you borrow inside yourself


                   waiting


                              till that special friend

                         brings you back

your heart and mind
Forget when I wrote this
I have loved you
From the moment our eyes
Met across the crowded street
On that scorching summer day

And though summer
Soon came to a bitter end
I have loved you through
Every season ever since

And I guess I always will
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