Your veins are the roads I will travel
As I unfold your body
And plot each point with a fingerprint
I try to leave the land
The way I found it
But a trip always changes the traveler
And I don't want to go home.

You miss people
When they are gone
When they are so gone that
You can't believe it
After they've been away so long that the photographs that you
Have of them start
To feel intangible
When you start to
Think you made
Them up in your head that
They never laid in your bed...

He sits there
A fresh new canvas
Ready for memories to be painted on him
Wanting me to paint him
My hand shakes
Wanting the memories to be beautiful
I step forth
My paintbrush trembles with anticipation

Trying on my sister’s makeup at six years old,
Seemed like the coolest thing,
Using all sorts of crayons for your eyes in different colors,
Like the ones included in my $1.75 coloring book,
I was trying to be beautiful,
But I knew I didn’t need it,
Using mascara on my hair,
Using extensions to make my hair longer,
Using blush as eye shadow,
Drawing on red cheeks with lipstick,
Taking her size B bra and stuffing it with toilet paper,
Trying on heels because I want to be taller,
Putting on a dress and finally be able to fill it out with my stuffed bra,
I thought I was beautiful,
Even though I probably looked like a carnival clown,
10 years later,
I know how to use makeup,
I use mascara on my eyelashes,
I use eyeliner for my eyes,
I use blush for my cheeks,
I use lipstick for my lips,
I have a double D bra and fill it without toilet paper,
I own heels but I can’t wear them because I am too tall,
I have hair to my waist,
I’m still trying to be beautiful,
But I now won’t show my face without makeup,
I wear a mask hoping someone will remove it,
To tell me I don’t need it,
But they don’t because I do,
Because in my eyes,
I still look like a carnival clown.

I cry because happiness is a harder concept to grasp than sorrow.
Because sorrow greets me as an old friend.
Fondly reminding me of my mistakes,
my flaws, and my current inner desolation.
Reminding me of how I failed
and how I cannot fix my mistakes.
While we reminisce over a bottle of melancholia
and a plate of regret.
Leaving me with yet another notch on my belt
of nights I cried myself to sleep
People pass you by because
pretending everything is alright is more
convenient than noticing they are broken.
They are the people that hide their silent tears
at the back of a closet and bury broken smiles
into the corner of a sock drawer.
But soon …There won’t be enough room
for the hidden emotions that you think are irrelevant
and can be dealt with another day,
soon every emotion you hid will come out of the closet
and show its face in the most unpleasant way.
Tears. You can’t escape them.
I cry because she cries,
my best friend, drowning in her own sorrow,
I cannot help but drown with her.
For what is a friend if that friend will not jump
into the murky depth we call depression, sinking ever deeper?
At least we sink together.
Treading conformity, stress, humiliation,
we tread together.
As we sink deeper, we try to grasp
at the bubbles of happiness escaping our lips,
somehow bring them back.
We can’t, because once they’re lost no amount
of pretending can give us the air we sorely need
or the fake smiles to get by without question, day by day.
But at least, we drown together.
So many times I have looked out to a warm sunset
and felt chilled to the bone.
Because if I let go of the railing, life would go on.
Because if I did not exist right now nothing
in the world would change.
It would just erase any memory of all the ***** ups
I collected like stamps and baseball cards.
Because no amount of blankets and soothing words
can warm the icy thought in the back of my head
whispering in the persuasive voice of a friend, “What’s the point?”
I cry for the people who don’t think they matter,
who think that turning to something
to relieve their pain will fix it.
I cry for the people who think
killing themselves will make them feel alive.
For the people who get lost trying to find themselves.
For the people who put on a mask
desperately waiting for someone to see through it.
And for the people who cut themselves
trying to become whole.
Breaking themselves down bit by bit,
holding all the pieces,
and waiting for someone to put them back together.

I cry because this entire explanation is just eloquently realizing that

I am sad.