When I lay in bed, I think of you
I wanna cry my eyes out
When I'm awake, I think of us
I wanna tear your heart up
Not for lying, but for saying
That you loved me and ****
And for playing with my emotions
Like I was losing myself
No more venom in my system
But I'm still not over your presence
You are haunting and consuming
Sometimes I hate my own existence
You were amazing, ******* amazing
But it was all an illusion
Now I'm smashing
All the mirrors
Because I no longer
Feel safe behind closed doors
You were a liar but I fooled myself
Into thinking you were your true self
My heart keeps beating for someone
Who was lying to keep me in their bed
As if I didn't suffer enough
You filled my head
With thoughts of forever
Really thought we'd be together

i have nothing to say to you.
just let me
shoot you with this lovegun
i know it looks like a sawed-off shotgun
but it'll only hurt afterwards, i swear

***** makes me high,
But his words take me *higher.

I'm
      so
         lost
              in
                the
        
                    want,
                            need,
                                   desire.

The thought of him drives me insane,
But in the sweetest way.

He makes me want the best,
The worst and the ultimate,
The rough, the passionate,
The fast, the slow,
The intimate.

He makes me want it all,
The greatest kick,
The greatest high,
The greatest fix,
Even the tragic.

Going...

                     I
                         n
                              s
                                 a
                                     n
                                         e

He's the adrenaline I want,
Making the blood pump faster,
Through my tiny veins.

He's the sugar rush I need,
To satisfy the hunger,
Which I'm trying to feed.

My heart is nothing without it's beat,
Just like I am nothing without him.
My soul is nothing without it's glow,
Just like my heart is nothing without his love.

I sound obsessed. Like a child in a candy store.
I guess he's my addiction. I keep wanting more.

Tragic lover, yes.
Something he loves.

Wouldn't mind giving a bit of everything,
As long as he's the one receiving.

I feel like a princess gone bad.
And I need a prince,
To put me back in my place,
If that even makes sense.

Not sure why I'm saying all this.
I guess I'm just so tragic,
And guess what?
He likes it.

Before last night, I'd only seen the forbidden-fruit curves and
ripples
rendering my skin unbeautiful.
But in the fluorescent indifference of a drugstore
I caught sight of my legs through eyes not my own,
new tapers and bulges swathed in black spandex
even too flimsy for the $15 price tag,
and wondered why words like "small" and "gap"
were heaven to my ears,
while "quadriceps" and "endurance"
have their own quaint ring,
a lovely taste on the tip of a tongue
which has spent too much time
wallowing in self-hatred.

Strength isn't a virtue in women,
we who learn from birth to take up
as little space as possible.
Our shapes always need shaping,
guiding,
sometimes our own voices telling ourselves
we deserve the pain of fatigue
after one mile too long spent running
up the avenue,
forcing ourselves to faint
for a glimpse of thinner thighs,
we deserve to be dehumanized
if we don't inch our way into
the body laid out for us by
Mother Society.

Where is the place for the girl who
hobbles home, skin bruised purple
but flushed with the accomplishment of stopping
every single shot in practice?
Or for the boy whose gentle hands provide
the perfect perch for a butterfly to land upon?

My strength is not an imperfection.
There is beauty in it, and discipline.
These legs can take me for miles if I
take off the iron vest that keeps me
anchored to a Hollywood version
of myself.

Without it, I can fly.

intention to medicate but
that didn't work
you touched my hand, right by the scars

i cut my arm clean off
i don't want scars