I look longingly at all the bridges i see as if they are an unrequited love, the thoughts of driving into oncoming traffic race as the cars pass, i know i can't leave
How cruel of me to leave this world after my mother worked so desperately to give me a good life, how inconsiderate
But is it not better to have a dead kid than a failure?
At the very least she could say “she could’ve done great things”, at the very least she could ponder what i could’ve been
What could i have been?
I cling onto anything i can assign meaning to because i can't find meaning in myself
How much longer can i take this for? What am i waiting for? I’m clearly waiting for something
I am either floating or sinking, i can't get out of the water and i don't know how to swim

solitude makes for great company
it never runs out of things to say
i am never truly alone as long as i have myself, right?

there is a moth in my room
desperately searching for the moon
something to be guided by, something to follow
fluttering in a panic, seeking some semblance of hope
a pitiful endeavor

are my desolate attempts to find meaning
in anyone who isn't myself just as forlorn?
but what am i but a moth stuck in a bedroom?
what am i but an amalgamation of miserable attempts to find the moon?
my existence, just as this moth's efforts, is insignificant

we will die the same; confused, alone and
ignorantly hoping we will one day find the moon

its been two years  and i still cant hear your name, or see a mini cooper or listen to blond by frank ocean without feeling my chest implode
but now, maybe i can start to rebuild the house in my chest, with all the fragile pieces of the worn out frame of my body,
maybe now i can listen to pink and white and nights and seigfried without hearing your voice collide with mine as we sang along
one tap at a time
i will learn to live without you on my mind

no matter how much i say i don't want a relationship, i know my heart and body yearn for anything that feels like love

sure, maybe the abuse wasn't my fault, but the repercussions of how i dealt with it are
yeah, maybe one day i'll be better, but "one day" doesn't exist right now
nothing besides this moment exists; not the past or future
but isn't it queer how mistakes still exist even if yesterday doesn't
isn't queer that mistakes i have made determine how i feel right now, what i felt yesterday, what i will feel "one day"
so sure, maybe one day i'll be better

i say this to myself every week
when i feel the weight of all my trauma
when my collar bones begin to break
i say this to myself
when i feel my future fall through the palms of my hands
when life gets to be too rough on the soles of my feet

hey, it's me lizeth
i feel really sad
n i guess i just wanted to let you know that i'm okay
today is hard,
i'm thinking a lot about what it use to be like when i was happy
and it's really hard because i have
everything
but nothing is
enough