i love you more than words can say
but ive hardly the mouth to speak your name

I left my body behind years ago in the dark but I still look behind myself more often than not
I thought I didn’t have the strength to lift you into the light but I feel the sun trickle in every time that you cry
Long ago I learned
You didn’t have to rhyme to make someone’s heart skip
My words were never meant to be smooth
I couldn’t make them less jagged if I tried
In another universe you’ve never tasted a gun on your tongue and I can fix all the scars your family left behind
We have hearts made of hairline fractures and I’ll hold yours together the best I can
A tight grip with blood stained hands

drugs have never revealed to me anything close to revolutionary
i did not discover the truth of the world
the answers to lifes questions
of death and love
did not appear
all i discovered is that sunlight is harshest the next morning
and that we were drifting farther apart
that blood dripping off my arm looks like the sea
lulls me in
the sound of voices tears my brain apart
i want to drift back into the abyss
and forget

i wanted to live a life of neon signs and tie dye shirts but im living this life of the suffocating afterglow of psychedelics and trying to work an 8 hour shift at a fast food restaurant the next day. sometimes i only paint one of my hands and sometimes im ready to drive away from this town and never look back. I hate talking to my parents because of how manipulative they are and their lack of empathy is extremely disturbing to me along with their extreme religiousness and materialistic behavior. i can barely write anymore and even this is an extreme chore and i want to quit. all i can write about is how everything *****. how i cant stand the sight of myself and how i have no talents or hobbies. how

you broke my heart once again i cant say that i didn't see it coming. the little things that added up to my paranoia, suspecting that you didnt love me. i like to think maybe if we met at a different time... when my mind was less shattered and your bones were healed. maybe if we were different people and it was different times. but right now its january and you said goodbye. you said sorry and i ignored you for 3 days. im too tired to keep writing about heartbreak. i just wish i couldve kissed you one last time.

I Want It Real
Sequel To My Sisters Term Paper

People say my writing is good while I just think its words at best. I write about the things I know well, i don’t think I could ever write anything other than that. I write about my experiences, maybe just twisted a little but in every sentence you could find the truth about me hidden somewhere. I wrote my stepsisters term paper about my heartbreak, she got an A and a standing ovation from her professor. he asked where she learned to write and the funniest thing is that i was never taught. I just did. I wrote about how you broke my heart, maybe more than that, you left severe internal damage. Trauma to my head and left my lungs gasping for air. The sad thing is that i absolutely KNEW that it was coming. I even debated if I should be the one to do it, I didn’t think you had the courage too. But in the end we found out who the real coward was. Or maybe i was just selfish. Months passed and I was still head over heels for you despite the scars that remained and bled occasionally. You seemed to feel the same and now, we are back together. I couldn’t be happier to be in your embrace as an actual part of you again but i would be a liar if i said that i wasn’t afraid of you. Afraid of a repeat of what happened, completing a circle of pain that left me days without a shower and days without a dry eye. But now that I can safely safely say that I love you, I have to think about the productivity behind what happened. Maybe the heartbreak healed us. Maybe the pain was medicine, bitter as it was, and we just don’t know it yet- that time is actually a cast for what is broken. Cause we are not shattered anymore. Though I am timid, I know that this time, we are more real. Less lovestruck.. more in love. It is real when I sit on the counter and you patch up my knee from falling down. It is real when we can lay in the dark and just talk. It is real when we are uncontrollably laughing from comedy in your bed. I don’t feel like a child lost in love but I feel safe and stable when you are near. It is real in my heart when I say that I love you and I leave for the night. It is real when I shield my eyes from the light to look towards the future. I don’t know what will happen but I’ll keep your hand in mine and this healing love close to my heart.

Some things you look back on and it feels like it didn't happen. It all feels like a haze or a dream even though the scarring it's left on your mind is very, very real. I remember seeing his smile, her laugh, the way my friends eyes crinkled in delight when they spoke. The beginning of the summer feels like a haze and sometimes it's all I have to keep me warm when the winter comes.
I as a person don't feel real sometimes. The question if really anything matters at all crosses my mind more frequently than I'd like to admit. Every passing minute turns into a new memory and the future is so uncertain, it's hard to let go of the past and look towards it. When I was a kid I thought I'd have everything figured out by now, you reach adulthood, you get in your own, then you realize how unprepared you actually are. How scary and cruel the world can be no matter who you are. I'm afraid that as I reach the looming hardships of a life on my own, I'll forget what matters, I'll forget how to be happy. Maybe that's why photography means so much to me, these frozen moments in time. Happy days and beautiful things frozen forever so I won't forget. I won't forget the sunsets or the times when things were good between friends.
Memories mean so much in the hardest of times and I find myself in reflection of my past when I'm depressed. Flashbacks of taking him to the hospital. I can hear the clicking of instruments and the color of his hospital gown. The hours spent in a chair next to his bed, the blood in the IV, small details that seem insignificant but stick to my mind like they are covered in glue. I can still hear the raspiness in his voice as he told me he loved me for the first time in that hospital corridor. Fluorescent lights buzzed and reflected in the coolness of his blue eyes and I can still hear the stutters in my reply echo in my head. That is a memory taped to my wall, his disgruntled profile lying in a hospital bed. Memories on clothespins scream of a better time, when everyday was a gentle laugh and not a silent car ride. I can see my lipstick smeared on his cheek as we baked cookies in his kitchen, the smell of cinnamon clinging to our clothes as we lounge with friends in the living room. I carry a photo from that day in my wallet I keep it close to my ID as part of my identity, I won't let these days that meant so much fade away from who I am.
I have files and drawers and boxes and books full of photos, each one a bookmark in my mind of a better time. The brown depths of my best friends eyes in my laptop, the light trail of a man’s cigarette in my drawer, a smile in a box, a laugh in a book, moments trapped forever in film. Memories and stories keep me going, they fuel my drive to survive in the harshest of times. The hope that someday things will be clear and happy again keeps me moving forward with memories tightly clenched in my fists.

But-
Even as memories bring comfort, they can also bring pain. The most sweet of memories can turn into poison when things change. They turn bittersweet and as you reflect on all the sunny mornings spent in his bed, you can feel your heart begin to split and crack. I remember the day he broke my heart, I could hear every word he said but the whole time I had music stuck in my head. The sound of my sobbing and the cracks in his voice accompanied by music, it all felt like a terrible, terrible movie. I remember the snowfall that night when he drove me home and I swear on everything the earth has to offer that my heart was 20 degrees colder. Days pass and turn into weeks and the photos on your wall become like ghosts. Ghosts of a better time, of a sunnier day, and the pain they bring outweighs the assurance they once gave you. Even as they brought you comfort, of hope for the future, you look at those frozen smiles with tired eyes, you look at these pictures of past love and you feel your hands unclench around the memories you once held so tight. It's time to let go of the good times to make room for new ones and the tears you shed as you take down each photo seem to be the most bitter. There is now empty space on your wall, free of painful things, beckoning a new day to fill the void. An empty space free of memories, it  gives you peace. Amidst all the pain and uncertainty, a new hope begins.