In 72 hours,
1,782 minutes,
103,680 seconds,
How many times can you tell someone you love them?
How many prayers can you pray?
How many tears can you cry in three days?
Too many.
Your world can change completely,
Being thrown off its axis, spinning loosely into insanity.
72 hours: she has weeks to live, the doctors all say.
We can’t do much, but we still pray.
Believing in miracles seems like a waste of time.
But yet we can’t bring ourselves to stop trying,
Hoping that someone in the sky will hear our prayers and wake us all up.
From this nightmare.
I make a pact to myself, I will fill every second, with thoughts of hellos, not goodbyes,
Until the second that she dies.
60 hours: not much to say. She’s dying.
50 hours: Her kidneys failing fast.
48 hours: In a crowded room, I have never felt more alone.
30 hours: Hold up, slow down, you say she only has twenty-four hours to live? What happened to weeks? Every tick, tick, tick of the seconds passing by becomes unbearable. Watching as your mother weeps, trying to hold in the tears, trying to be strong, but, now, what’s the point?
24 hours: Time flies by as your holding on, but passes so slow it is as if you are in slow motion. You hold her hand as tightly as possible as if the second you loosen your grip they will be laying her down in the grave
15 hours: I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep, I repeat and repeat as if sure willpower will keep my body going. I tell her “it’s okay. It’s okay to leave.” The words get caught in my throat and I am barely able to breath, or spit out a sad, “I can survive,” knowing with every inch of my soul it’s a lie, but I know I can’t admit this to her, because, it’s time to go.
6 hours: Time is up according to the doctors, just a waiting game now. It’s three in the morning, my hand still in hers. Willpower isn’t enough, I drift off to sleep.
1 hour: I can’t do this...
30 minutes: Memories flooding my head of the words I never said, of the things I never did, never had the chance to do.
10 minutes: Like, go dress shopping for homecoming.
9: Or have her approve my fiancé
8: Or sleepover when I got in a fight with my dad.
7: Or tell her enough times that I love her.
6: Or be a bridesmaid as she married the love of her life.
5: Or hold her hand as my first baby was born.
4: Everyone leaves the room. I can feel it’s the end.
3: Someone, please come in, I can’t do this by myself.
2: I am trembling, trying to find my vocal cords, terrified, I squeeze her hand.
1: Mom walks in the door, breath in, breath out, flat line.

12 years old,
A quiet girl with
A boyish wardrobe,
And a soft smile,
A front of the bus kind of girl,
Who cared nothing about fitting in
Or popularity,
As long as it meant keeping her 4.0 GPA.
A girl who didn’t say much,
A girl who just wanted to fade into the background.
Seduced by the idea,
Of having friends,
Pulled into a world,
She just wasn’t ready to join.
She sat in the front left seat every day behind the driver.
She never spoke a word,
Other than saying a quiet “thank you” as she got of the bus.
Until the day the boy sat down
Beside her.
She smiled as he introduced himself and offered to shake her hand.
And she introduced herself.
Speaking on the bus for the first time.
Every day she sat by him,
Every day he would have a clever joke to tell her,
Or a compliment to give her,
And she found him so mysterious,
The way he had at least five coffees a day
But never had too much energy.
The way he would touch her,
As if she was a novelty.
The way he seemed to care about her,
Even though she knew she wasn’t pretty.
That was probably the most confusing part of all.
But, one day, she knew something was different.
When she sat down he didn’t have a clever joke to tell,
And when he touched her,
It was a hand crushing down on her shoulder.
As he grabbed her hair,
Ripping it out strand by strand.
As he told her, how lucky she was to have him in her life.
And his bus stop was four before hers,
So he had just enough time
To be waiting at her front door
When she got home from the bus.
And he drug her out to the woods,
A place they always went together.
And for the first time around him,
She was terrified.
She knew she shouldn’t follow, but he wouldn’t let her pull away,
He only grabbed her hand tighter,
And wouldn’t let go.
And then he pulled out his knife
Pushing her into the dirt
As she scrambled for something to hit him with,
He grabbed her neck,
The cool blade against her skin,
And she couldn’t fight any more.
She gave up,
As he tried to take off her shirt,
She trembled,
And all he had to tell her,
Was the fact that she was lucky,
Because no one would ever love a fat girl
Could ever love a fat girl.
A twelve year old girl
Without her smile
A twelve year old girl with trust issues,
No friends,
And a 2.0 GPA.

Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl
Don't.
Suicide can not be romanticized and though she might idolize you
Remember that you may not be enough.
Remember that this world may never be enough.
Demons don't just go away, sometimes they just hide in the shadows.
And even at the highest noon they are there. Just smaller. The sun will go down.
She will always have shadows.
Remember that no matter what you do
You are irrelevant in her master plan.
She will plan out her letters in your arms.
When she is silent hold her. Make her know that she is loved, it may not be enough but those few moments in your arms might make her think twice.
But don't assume for one second you will be her savior.
When you see cuts on her wrists do not beg her to stop.
She won't.
She will cut deeper for letting you see her weak.
She will try to be strong.
She will put on a show for you. She will make you forget she was ever depressed.
Remember that sunsets can make you forget that night is bound to follow.
Know that night will follow.
When you get her final love letter to you
Ignore the fact that it is stained in blood.
Do not pour your precious time.into wondering if she suffered.
She will write her apologies in her best handwriting.
Do not read it.
Get in your car and drive.
Drive to the nearest bar and read the letter through hazy bloodshot eyes.
Do not blame yourself.
Do not look for moments you could have done something different.
It'll drive you crazy.
Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl.
Don't.

I come from a family of big women
Hips far too wide, tummies far too plump
Spirits way too large to fit into a normal size body.
Or at least that's what we've told ourselves for generations
We heard the comments, seen the stares
Skipped meals
Spent hours in the bathroom erasing any remnants of food from our system when we do eat.
My great grandmother took pride in her weight
She always felt that eating well could solve any heartache.
And most of the time it did.
A woman expanding not contracting
A woman with a beautiful soul and the biggest heart I have ever seen.
My grandmother spent years in the kitchen
Trailing after her mother learning her ways
Picking up old habits her mother would leave behind,
Like spending hours doing good for others,
Wearing sloppy clothes just because you no longer care,
Worrying about things that weren’t artificial,
And loving yourself for who you are.
She learned that the only way to a mans heart for a big woman is through his stomach.
She learned how to cook like a professional and married a thin man at the age of 15.
Was pregnant at sixteen,
And she began to grow out,
Making space in her body for the new life it contained,
She would find soon enough that as soon as you're big you become Harder to love.
And when he left her, she began shrinking,
Slowly trying to let the space around her be consumed by lovers.
My mother, after years of bullying.
Threw away the habits passed down from one generation to the next like second hand clothing and taught me her own.
Diet pills and counting calories are the only way to get a good man.
We find ourselves weaning even when the moon is waxing
Waistlines shrinking ever so slowly
And I know I have a long way to go before I am lovable.
We’ve learned to love the superficial,
Waking up at four AM just to have curled hair, makeup flawlessly applied, clothes always ironed.
We learned that our worth is determined by our waistline not our IQ’s
Our compassion,
Our spirits,
Or our hearts.

When the bond is severed
Everything goes numb
The passion, the romance, the lust
It all goes away
The connection is bound to be lost for good.
Right now it feels like being kissed by heaven
It feels like dancing moonbeams o the river through the perfect night in the arms of the person you love.
It’s first kisses, first dates, first loves.
I swear or heartbeats were in perfect sync.
When he’s happy, I am happy.
When he’s sad, I’m sad.
When he needs to cry, we hold each other.
Memories so vivid as if they happened just the moment before
They will fade, slowly at first until they are gone forever.
I will not remember this electricity that runs through his touch
I will not remember our first kiss...it’s already fading
I will not remember our first dance in the moonlight locked in his eyes
I want to remember what it feels like to be loved one last time.
One last memory to hold onto.
Please. Before the bond is broken.

Cancer.
A word no one wants to hear.
Unless, of course you are talking about the astrological sign where it is said for you to be known for your loyalty, caring, and adapting qualities.
Cancer.
A word I never wanted to hear.
It was August.
My father and I had grown apart, once again.
We could never agree on anything, it didn’t matter what it was.
Gay rights, politics, the existence of God, these were only some of the topics we argued about, constantly.
I remember saying things like, “I hate you!” and “I wish you were out of my life forever.”
“I hope you die.”
I hope you die.
Four simple words. Horrible words.
Words I only said once out of anger.
Add never between you and die and you completely change the meaning.
Later on, I would wish that I had added the never.
I was listening to the song “I’m Gonna Love You Through It” at full volume trying to block out my mother and fathers fight.
Only now do I see the irony.
My parents left the room.
I listened as hard as I possibly could only to make out the words, Malignant Lymphoma.
My world would completely change that August.
They say that when someone is diagnosed with cancer, everyone around them is as well. I never understood that, it wasn’t me that was dying, until I saw him come home from his first cancer treatment.
He was exhausted, my father, the man of steel could barely stand.
My life became morphed into the what ifs. What if he doesn’t make it? What if I lose my dad?
My life became mutated into a twisted picture as I tried to find every answer in text books and statistics.
18,990 people die from this cancer every year.
My dad always joked he would never make it to see 51…he was 49.
My mom broke down, often, gasping in air as if she would never breathe in again.
As if, she had forgotten how.
I stopped breathing. I had no estimation or approximation of when I would breathe in again.
Malignant Lymphoma. Cancer. Dying.
Those three words were all that I could think about.
I wanted to escape. I wanted to pretend like I was clueless. They say that ignorance is bliss.
I think that was about the time I stopped believing in God.
That night, as I tried to bring myself to pray, the words got stuck in my throat.
I couldn’t understand why.
Soon, treatment began, was unsuccessful, and now the cancer is spreading. .
That’s the thing about lymphoma.
It doesn’t go away.

Throughout the course of our lives, we all make choices -

Some big, some small.

Some decisions are worth little more than the time it took to make them,

But others will change your life forever.

Do not be fooled,

the words you’ve said today may still haunt you twenty years from now.

But the words that will haunt you the most are the ones said but never heard,

for instance, “I love you” or “I need you” or “please stay”.

Loving you was the most lavish form of self-destruction.

Before you, I was built solidly,

I was a product of years of growing in instead of out,

I spent more time on myself than I did working on others.

I made sure I was invincible.

However, when I let you in, you became the termites slowly eating away  at the structure I had built.

Slowly destroying me a little at a time.

I never noticed what you were doing until I collapsed,

as soon as the dust settled I found myself seeing more clearly than ever before.

I was a victim of my own misguided trust.

I had left myself in your hands.

When you boil a frog, if you heat it instantly, it will jump out the *** however if you slowly turn up the heat, it will stay until it dies.

This is why a relationship such as ours lasted so long.

You were such a liar my love,

breaking one promise after the next,

at first so slowly, gradually turning up the heat, leaving me to die.

I had put up my walls so high before I met you but took them down at your request-

I was hooked.

The most dangerous enemy is the friend that will stab you in the back and leave you to die.

I told you that I needed you countless times,

But I was never “good enough”

I hope 20 years from now you find yourself still alone,

Reeking of desperation.

I hope you think of me and wonder how you let me go, call me up one night a few too many beers and let my words rip through your body.

“I do not need you. I do not want you.”

Will echo through your body, just as “Goodbye” did to mine.

My therapists asks if I have ever tried getting out of my comfort zone,
When she says comfort zone she imagines me talking to complete strangers, traveling the world, becoming a trapeze artist.
When I hear comfort zone I think of getting up in the morning, performing in drama class, staying after school to talk with my teachers, catching a cup of coffee with a friend.
You see, my counselor thinks that adventure is the cure of all heartache.
How could I have the energy for adventure when I can barely get out of bed?
I want to tell her
“Going out with friends in my mind is the equivalent of running a marathon in yours.
I’m exhausted.
Social anxiety is a constant demon strapped to my back.
I am constantly paranoid in public that I am the topic on everyone's tongue.
Even a simple phone call makes my voice tremble so badly the other line struggles to understand.
Even looking in the mirror is out of my comfort zone.
Do you have any idea what it is like to hate yourself so much that you don't feel worthy of going out in public?
To feel like you came out of the womb with defects
You see, riding a bull to you is answering a question in front of the the class
Speaking in front of people to me is skydiving.
My words are never good enough,
My voice shakes
I dont need to be thousands of feet in the air free falling towards the earth to feel this rush of adrenaline.
I can stand up here and feel just as much if not more.
So yes. I have thought about escaping my comfort zone.
I do it every day.

I wish I could turn back time,
Force the hands on the clock to spin backwards
Memories flash by, broken fragments of a life I used to call home.
Can you hear me?
Age 15, I come out of the closet. I am stuck in solitary confinement for nearly a week. I lock myself in my room, tears turn into razors, razors turn into release, I begin a cycle that cannot be broken.
Age 14, they take him away. My baby brother rushed out in a flash of white. Mother and father are crying, I do not say anything. It is hard to understand how I could have done something like this. I should have realized that my selfishness stole the spotlight away from him. He is locked up for a week after trying to suffocate himself, he tells me that he no longer wants to live in my shadow. I wonder what day he will take up metal and lead and solve the problem I created.
Age 13, it becomes clear to my parents that I am not quite right. Days pass without me speaking. I’ve lost my voice somewhere within myself there are days I wonder if I will ever get it back. I want to tell them I’m sorry so I apologize in my best handwriting and pray to god one day they will forgive me. I try to drown myself depending on strictly my own weight to sink me, I am saved before I lose consciousness.  
Age 12, things are really good now. Mommy and daddy spent a whole day talking with me. They’ve told me they are proud of me.
11,
Age 10, Mom and dad are at war, our house feels like a battlefield and I am on the frontline for both sides.  I’ve carried my weight, fought for both cavalries, but is clear neither of them are going to win.
9, 8, 7,6
Age 5 – I sneak downstairs. Mommy and daddy are talking about how much I’ve grown…unhealthy…they wonder how many more dollars they will have to pour out on me for surgery. I notice that they don’t want to be around me as much anymore. For the first time I realize that I make their lives harder.
4,
Age 3 –My mother picks me up from my cradle, slowly trying to rock me to sleep. She promises there will be a day when I feel better. Tears stream down from her face.
2, 1,0
I am sixteen now, sixteen and still addicted to the cycle. I am no quitter. I do my best work until the cycle ends itself.

A few weeks ago we took a trip down to Indiana to bring one of my best friends “home”
This was a boy who has been living with us on and off for six months,
His mom he hadn’t heard from in years finally added him on Facebook,
He was thrilled, he couldn’t wait to see her. He had heard through the grapevine that he wasn’t the only child anymore.
She convinced him that she had cleaned up her act, knew how to take care of a child.
He could barely contain his excitement, he packed up his things and was ready to go.
With a heavy heart we drove him across state lines.
Dear his birthmother,
I say birthmother because you will never be his mom though he tries to convince himself that staying with you is the right thing to do.
He feels like he owes you for carrying him in your womb for nine months.
Thank you for not ending your pregnancy like you did to those before him. This was the first, and quite possibly the only good thing you have ever done for him.
Your son is the most loyal boy I have ever met.
This is a teen whose life possessions fit into two garbage bags
I understand that I have no idea what you’ve gone through.
But I do know he sat by your side at five years old through chemo treatments and hospital visits. I know as a daughter of a cancer patient, seeing your parents die before your eyes makes a child grow up far too fast.
I have more junk from birth to age five then the possessions he has ever had in his lifetime.
How dare you threaten to throw his stuff away when we arrived,
His art project thrown on the floor, his arms left empty when waiting for a hug.
As soon as we crossed state lines I saw signs that said "Turn around" and "Is this the right thing to do". I've never been one for superstition but my heart skipped a beat.
He’s never lost his smile in the seven months I have had the privilege of knowing him
Hugging him like he’ll escape
He was not born into our family tree but he is my brother
How dare you act like you are entitled to him.
I hate that we are leaving him homeless without the ability to contact us.
I can tell by the tears ebbing in my mother’s eyes that she feels like we are passing the torch onto the next family
A few weeks ago we spent days finding his things, it was a game of hide and go seek putting his past together like a puzzle.
He has had more homes than I can count on my hands.
My mother has more love for that boy in her ******* then you do in your whole body.
I get it, sometimes the world spins a little too fast and you can't keep up with the blows life is going to deliver.
And yes you are going to fall.
But after you abandon your child for eight years with a man you know will beat him and starve him, how in God’s name can you still consider yourself a mother?
He has been taught his whole life to say little, eat little, and do far too much.
He talks about quitting school just to get a job to pay for your cigarettes that have replaced your chemo to make up for everything you’ve done for him.
And prays that he will never end up like his dad
But how can he not with this vicious cycle of neglect?
He will be the one trapped in the web of the system when this is all over.
I hope your son’s life is worth your unlimited cigarettes.

Dear ten year old me,
It’s okay to cry,
You aren’t as weak as they think,
When they mock you as you fall down,
Stiff legged.
Get back up like you’ve always done and smile and bow.
Because it is not your fault you’re this way.
Be proud.
Because everything passes eventually.
I know it doesn’t help that the doctors can’t seem figure out what is wrong with you.
Even the doctors think you are melodramatic.
That you are acting out this illness for the attention because you “obviously don’t get at home”.
But trust me, you will one day be able to walk again without crutches.
The only odds stacked against you when you walk are gravity and your own inevitable clumsiness.
Thank your mom for that.
You will be able to go to school,
Even though I know you would rather just stay home
And you will be you.
Eventually.
However, your lack of self-confidence causes your determination to falter.
Your God given gifts of leadership and strength have been pushed so far down your throat you have forgotten they were even there.
You have become invisible to your peers,
But only when you’re not their target on the other end of the shooting range.
Without a weapon in your hand, all you can do is dodge their bullets. But if you’re hit, don’t worry, it may hurt now but even bullet wounds heal.
They might leave scars, but sometimes scars can be a sign of strength.
But beware of the best friend,
Because sometimes a hug puts you in the perfect position to be stabbed in the back.
And best friends don’t come with user manuals,
And lie detectors are really hard to come by.
But no matter what they say,
Let it go in one ear and out the other.
Because I know from experience that you will never believe it, but you are beautiful.
You are compassionate, strong, caring, brave, kindhearted, a leader, a friend.
Let your light shine.
Don’t let them tell you that you aren’t worth it.
You are invincible.
Strong enough to hold the weight of the world on your shoulder.
But be ready, because this journey won’t be easy.
You will hit speed bumps, potholes, sharp turns, detours, one way streets, yields, even stop signs before you realize that it is all a part of this game of life that you are playing.
And if the hand you’re dealt isn’t great stack the deck in your favor.
But some rules to live by:
Don’t let your heart become cold,
Don’t forget to be you,
Don’t give up
Be strong.
Listen to mom and dad,
Always turn the other cheek,
And make sure to hug grandma a little tighter.
Sweetheart,
I know life is going to get tough,
But keep your head up, smile, and face the world.
With a heart big enough to have its own zip code.
Because, these aren’t the best days, and these aren’t the worst,
You might not think you’ll ever make it through,
Things just don’t seem fair.
But just remember,
It’s your freshman year,
And you are still here.
Love,
Me.

When I look into your eyes,
I see a child trapped in a teenage body,
A soul that understands the evil of the world,
More than anyone else I know.
There is something dead inside.
I see it.
Your childhood gone forever.
You were young, so young,
Before your childhood was stolen from you,
Stolen from us.
Both facing the same demon without even realizing it.
You, my dear, are my best friend.
Had I come to you sooner admitting what happened I might have been able to stop it from happening to you.
I blame myself every day for everything he did to you.
If I had let him do it more to me, maybe, he wouldn’t have needed to steal your innocence too.
As I watch you cry yourself to sleep night after night,
I wish I could take all of your pain away.
But I can’t.
It wouldn’t have been ******* away.
At first, it was just a hug that lasted a little too long.
Then it was the bruises.
The wandering hands.
And then, it was a knife to my throat as he tried to rip off my clothes.
I may have been 12, but you were 10, you knew nothing about “relationships” or “true love”
For the longest time you couldn’t even look a boy in the eyes
I only noticed, because neither could I.
This secret we both shared eating us up on the inside.  
To where we could no longer trust anyone of the male population
Not even our dads, our brothers, our grandparents.
We swapped every face with his.
But yet, maybe my jeans too sizes two big were too tight.
Maybe my choker collar tee shirt was cut too low.
Maybe I was sending him mixed signals by
Somehow meaning yes when I said no
And meaning go when I told him to stop.
Or maybe, it was because he knew I was too weak to tell anyone.
That made him do what he did at school, on the bus, in my house, in the woods, at the park.
Every day for two years ripping away a piece of my soul.
Once or twice he even had his friends to egg him on.
To hold me down
To cheer as I was more exposed then I ever wanted to be.
I’ve broken up with every boyfriend I’ve had.
In three years, that has been 2 boys.
Because it takes a whole lot for me to even consider giving a guy a chance.
One lasted 2 weeks before he tried to kiss me and I almost broke his back from pushing him on the concrete.
The other lasting a year helping me to heal everything that monster had broken inside of me until I got so close to him, I didn’t know what else to do but run away.
I know it only lasted because he was too scared to touch me.
And, it broke my heart more than it ever should have.
Because he has been the only guy who ever cared.
Who I’ve ever loved.
But the idea of love terrifies me.
And I know it does you too.
You might be almost thirteen now, with a boyfriend who “loves you”
But I can still see you flinch when he touches you.
You blame it on yourself.
But you did nothing wrong.
We did nothing wrong.
We need to stop blaming the victims.
And one day, things will be okay again.

I will be the first to admit that I am hard to handle.
I am a perfect hurricane.
I will destroy everything you love and everything in my path.
I will make a mess of your heart…of your entire life…
I am hard to handle.
My expectations are nearly impossible to meet,
And once my trust is broken it is gone for good.
I can be a high maintenance *****.  
I will love you and I will hate you in the same moment,
But I promise you if I love you I do it with all of my heart,
And on the nights that you do not message me,
Expect me to wonder what I have done wrong.
Because in the end…it will always be my fault.
I will spend every moment,
Wondering what prettier girl you are cheating on me with.
I will find every reason to suspect that you are lying to me,
Even when you tell me you love me.
I will read between the lines of everything you say.
I will never believe a single word you say.
I will press every button you never knew existed,
When you tell me that you love me and I cringe,
Do not pull away. Just say it again and again until I grow fond of the word.
Please…
Be patient.
On the nights when all I can do is cry I don’t expect you to have a solution,
Just hold me…and tell me while you’re here everything will be alright
And maybe one day I will believe you.
But until then, I will spend hours planning the day that you leave,
I will expect you to leave.
They all do.
I will make a mess of your heart…of your entire life…
So that you do not make a mess of mine.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul
His eyes are the windows into mine
Through his eyes I see every flaw
Every mistake
I see myself at my worst:
Screaming at 2 am,
my terrible need for companionship,
the depression that consumes me,
I see my greed, my jealousy, my fear,
how I wake up in the morning.
Through his eyes I am able to accept the fact that I am not perfect
That I will never be perfect.
That there is no need to be perfect.
I see my pure heart, my desire to give, my compassion, my strength.
With him, for the first time in years, I almost felt human.
Normal.
I feel right.
Strong.
Willing to fight for myself.
His eyes, greener than the grass in the middle of spring, grayer than the skies on a cloudy day, act as mirrors pouring back into me.
The hope I’d  long since forgotten existed within me.
Long before I knew of his name.
I can get lost in them.
He reminds me not to stare too long
Forces me to turn away
I didn't want to look away
He’s hypnotizing.
Many long before myself have seen themselves through his eyes.
Bitter, cold, jealous, mean,
They go insane.
I wonder if they didn't like what they saw.
But in his eyes is where I found me.

His hands were always gentle

Never moved too fast

Never made me uncomfortable

Never hurt me

His hands could also be strong

He held me as I wept

Wiped the tears away

Wiped the bad away

Wiped the world away.

He fought of advances of others set to destroy me.

He had done everything he could to save me.

With his hands he fought off swords, knives, guns.

He protected me.

His hands me at my worst.

His hands held me at my best.

His hands never let me fall, they fit perfectly in mine.

With him time speeds up and slows down

Time is irrelevant when he is around.

I could spend eternity wrapped in his arms, lost in conversation.

His hands have held those before me.

His hands have held the woman he loved as she took her last breath.

His hands made sure he’d never loose me.

His hands held me as if I was a novelty,

a precious jewel that he could not afford to lose.

He kept me close.

His hands know how to slow down my heartbeat or speed it up.

His hands know scars,

Know bruises,

Know causes,

Know triggers,
Know pain.

I’d always been a realist with admiration for an imperfect dreamer.
A compassionate tortured soul with a dark side.
I’ve ached for the presence of his company,
He taught me how to dream….
Sweeping me off of my feet as I landed in the clouds.
You don’t realize how high up you are until you fall…
When I was with him, the night that had surrounded me for so long started to fade,
He was my light at the end of the tunnel...
We were synchronized. In perfect harmony.
Or so I thought.
Love is not a place for “I love you’s”
No matter how much you try to preserve the word, love is a game of chicken
Someone has to give in,
And all of those “I love you’s” will no longer matter.
We held our breath underwater, seeing who would be the first to give up.
We were going to drown.
He went up for air…
I never did.
Clichés and love don’t mix, like oil and water only one will always end up on top.
I was a ship lost at see and he was my lighthouse,
I found home in the creases of his arms…
I’m homesick.

How do you look at the person you've loved for so long and force yourself to walk away?
Push yourself to forget every laugh,
Every kiss,
Every touch,
Every longing glance.
Watch them fall in love with someone else:
Someone more beautiful,
Someone more talented,
Their soul mate
And wonder why it couldn't have been you.
Why you were simply not good enough.
And remind yourself that you let them go,
That this could be you.
But you were too insecure,
Too stupid,
Too selfless.
How do you convince yourself that you did the right thing when every night you are up until two in the morning screaming their name?
When you don't want to wake up because in your dreams they're still yours.
When their name burns like hard liquor at two in the morning
But makes your stomach feels so warm,
Pain can be mistaken for love.
How do you convince yourself that they are better off?
When you are completely miserable without them.
When you still crave their touch,
See the smile on their face and know that you are not the one behind it.
That you will never be the reason again.
How do you act like strangers?
Pretend that you didn't spend hours in his arms planning out your future.
Forget how much it hurts to think of when he promised you forever.
How do you live with the epiphany that
Love doesn't last forever.

Please, do not touch me.
I am fire, and darling I burn.
Do not stand too close or you will be consumed by my flames.
Because I have grown tired of being restricted to just this pit of self-doubt.
I am tired of failing at being adequate in a mold that I was never designed to fit in.
I have let my self-worth be defined by those whose only aim is to put me out.
My flame has been kept for years locked inside of myself
Losing the oxygen it takes to keep it growing
Fighting, surviving, growing dimmer so that I would not shine.
Because the brighter the glow, the more attention it attracts.
And it is was easier to just be invisible.
But this light of mine has taught me that no matter the circumstance,
It will keep glowing.
For years I told myself that if I could only put the flame out I would be safe;
Never having to worry about what they had to say.
Eventually, fire would become ash, fading into the background.
But I realized that no matter how dim the flame, as long as there is chance for a spark, they won’t be satisfied.
In the heat of the moment I rose up from the ashes.
The pressure finally broke and I let myself become who I had always been too afraid to be.
More brilliant than ever before.
A force to be reckoned with.
I broke through the pit and burned down every insecurity.
Growing only stronger
Forever.
My friends,
Do not let them smolder you.
Every word said out of hate,
Out of envy,
Out of lack of humanity
Do not let it run like ice through your veins.
Consuming the fire within.
And if you believe you are too far gone,
Don’t worry.
Fate has taught me that even ashes can rise up again.
It only takes a spark.
To ignite the flame that has been burning your whole life.
It is there, everyone sees it but you.
If they didn’t why would you be such a target?
Use the words they sling at you and use them as kindling,
Relighting the fire inside of you.
Because you are capable of being brilliant.
As passionate, strong, and self-willed as a forest fire.
Escape the pit.
Let your light shine like the sun.
And burn like nothing will ever put you out.
Because unless you let it
Nothing ever will.

Some people think that they have the right
To go throughout life pointing out imperfections
Everyone has their own flaws,
But people need to think and realize: I am the perfect me

I might not be a Barbie doll
I might not have perfect hair
I know my body is not ideal
Sometimes it just isn’t fair

I might not be the brightest girl
Sometimes I struggle in school
I might not be Valedictorian
But I’m sure not a fool
I know I am the Perfect Me

I might not be the most athletic
Sports might just not be my thing
I won’t always get first place
But in a competition, the best is all I bring

I might not be the perfect daughter
Sometimes I speak my mind
Some days I’ll admit I’m a little lazy
But I have never gotten behind
I am the perfect me


I am not the most organized girl
Some days it’s a balancing act to get everything done
Some days it would be so easy to give up
But I know sticking to it will pay off in the long run

I am not the most valued girl
Some days it’s as if I weren’t there
I am not always the one they go to
But nevertheless they still care

I am not the most popular girl in the school
Nor do I have the favored styles
I might not have the best ideas
But with individuality by my side, I can go miles
I am the perfect me

I might not have the best self esteem
I don’t walk with my nose in the air
I will admit, your words do hurt
But I try my hardest to realize, I shouldn’t care

As you can see I have my flaws
I am not afraid to be one from the crowd
Some days I feel a bit insecure
But I have every right to be proud

Shoot me down
But I will only stand higher
Tell me I am wrong
And that I don’t belong
And I have one thing to say, I am the perfect me

Tell me? Is anyone perfect?
Does anyone have the right to judge?
I know I am far from perfect
But I will continue to stay strong

We have all either been on one side of the story
Being bullied or the bullier
And I want to ask you, what made you feel good?
About telling someone their not good enough?
-=
All of us have fought our own battles
And some of them have been lost
We have all had our bad times and struggles
But still we only stand stronger

Be a hand when someone has fallen
Be a shoulder to cry on when someone’s upset
You never know how much it can help them
Or how much they need it in the end.

I only stand stronger when you say those things
My scars only seal open wounds
They are within my sheet of armor
One that I’ll never undo



White, black, Hispanic
Blue, brown, green or hazel
Short, tall, thin, thick
We are all beautiful

Love me or hate me
Judge me or criticize
Blinded by seeing
Only what’s on the outside

Everyone in this world is imperfect,
Everyone is a shining star cocooned, ready to fly
Everyone has their own flaws, even though some want to deny,
The next time someone tries to point out your flaws, tell them, bold and strong
I am no less than the perfect me!

If I could, I would give you everything your heart desires and multiply it.
If you wanted a book I'd give you a library.
If you wanted a game I'd buy you the store.
If you wanted light, I'd give you the stars
If you needed a person to listen I'd stay up 24/7
I would walk to the ends of the earth for you.
I am not rich, so I cannot buy you the world
Nor can my hands create something beautiful.
I am not someone you can show off to your friends.
I am far from perfect.
But
I will love you
I will listen and be there to support you even when you are at your worst
I will love you the same when you are at your best
I will give you a permanent place to stay.
I can't give you much,
But I will love you with all of my heart for today, and tomorrow, and forever.

They've told me that this is just an illusion
Reality is a bitter conformist
That I am seeing love for the first time through drunken eyes
That this cannot be real…
Maybe...maybe they're right
but I would like to think that this is reality for just one moment
Maybe I could will it to be true
Because love has never tasted so sweet,
His voice seeps honey
His hands, so gentle
His heart so pure
His love, so passionate
We are Yin and Yang
He is everything pure and innocent and righteous
And I am everything dark, and strong, and brave.
We are polar opposites but exactly the same,
Words are pointless when silence can fill the empty holes in your heart.
He makes me forget my compulsive need to fill the silence.
He knows how I eat, how I sleep, how I wake up in the morning.
He understands every laugh, every faked smile, every tear.
We understand that he will never be perfect,
but neither will I.
He is my other half,
needing me as much as I need him.
Without him, my chest tightens
my heart sinks,
my blood boils,
my body aches.
But with him, I don't feel butterflies
Tornadoes rip through my stomach
But I feel completely at ease
I swear we fell in love just for the juxtaposition
His touch is electric
So welcoming...so warm
They tell me that he is poison
That he will corrupt me
That he’s evil
Bipolar
They tell me that I am foolish
That we cannot love each other
But he sings sweet melodies into my heart.
I will not let myself forget how it feels to be in love through drunken eyes,
I will force myself to remember.

She tells me happiness is a choice.
That one day I can just magically wake up and everything will go away.
That if I tell myself I am happy enough times it will come true.
A "self-fulfilling prophecy"
She tells me that I am a victim of circumstance
And that the key to being happy is letting go.
The synapses in my brain scream otherwise, pleading for serotonin.
You see, depression is a disease
Thoughts struggle to travel from neurotransmitter to neurotransmitter.
Synapses feel as vacant and as large as the grand canyon you see
It's so easy to get lost in there.
I wish it was as simple as choosing to be happy
I'd choose to be happy.
I ask her,
When did I choose to feel this sad?
Did I just wake up one morning and decide, "Oh, i'll choose to feel like wanting to die today"
They tell me I've been here before.
They tell me that this is an illusion.
I have been here before. I just cannot remember.
I cannot remember being this sad.
But I choose to sit in class struggling to recollect even the simplest things.
I choose to hate going out.
I choose to stay up all night
It's just a choice.

They asked me how I saw it coming -
How I knew to build up my walls, to slowly let go.
You just do.
You know it's over when they forget to text you back,
When hours pass and conversations that used to take five minutes one message after the next take hours to complete.
You feel like you're running a race you cannot win.
You know it is over when you find yourself doing things to distract yourself from thinking of them because you know they aren't thinking of you.
You know it is over when their touch no longer makes your heart skip a beat,
When you know you aren't the reason behind their smile,
When they start to use "I" instead of "we"
"I need to go out"
"I can't talk today"
When you kiss them and they keep their eyes open
Complete indifference
When you ask them to go out and they say they are too tired
When silence becomes so uncomfortable you try to fill it with trivial information
"You know I cheated on you, right"
Words that never need to be spoken become said.
When there is no longer enough passion to even argue
Or pick up the phone
Or say hello.
When two people who gave each other promises of forever can pass by each other without a second glance.
That's when you know it's over.

If it was just for attention, we wouldn’t try to hide it.
If it was for attention, we’d do it on our face.
Take the razor and paint a pretty picture
Of the life we never wanted.
If it was just for attention
We wouldn’t lock the door
Of our bedrooms, our bathrooms.
We would do it,
At the dinner table
With a butter knife.
If it was just for attention, if you noticed
We’d say “yeah, feel sorry for me yet?”
We wouldn’t say “it was the cat”
Or “just a scratch.”
If we did it for attention,
Why would hurt this bad?
Every day you wake up with a constant reminder of the things that you did,
All of the tears that you cried,
All the fights that you lost to the monsters screaming inside your mind,
“Help me!”
Help me, two simple words.
A cry for help most people never heard
Before she buried herself in the ground.
But yet we knew,
We could see it behind every bracelet stacked on the next.
The way she always wore long sleeved shirts in the summer.
The way she grew silent as if her soul was being crushed into a metal form.
Like being put in that casket.
What people don’t realize is she was one of 13 million kids from 6-17 every that **** themselves every year.
That is 13 million people that needed help,
But yet, in our society if someone wants to die,
They’re crazy.
But what is crazy?
Crazy is killing your best friend by ignoring her cries.
I am crazy.
She had schizophrenia.
And bipolar disorder.
And dysthymia, which is basically just a complicated term for depression that doesn’t go away.
And yet, she never knew it.
She never knew that it was curable
Because every second she thought about herself.
All she thought was “attention seeker”
She never got help because she didn’t want them to know how bad it was,
Or how much she needed them.
And, I know she told me once before,
“I want to die.”
But yet, I heard stuff like that all the time,
Not from her, but from people who don’t know what it’s like to wake up every morning, but yet never wake up.
To be addicted to the razor like a drug
Every cut, every little bit of blood that bleeds out.
Is one less thing, you have to worry about.
So don’t you dare tell me I am an attention seeker!
Because, if I wanted you to know.
I’d do it, on my face.

Last night was the first night I felt something in a very long time.
Rusty razor blade in hands I navigated my thoughts - a nightly ritual needed for survival.
Cutting away every problem
A surgeon dissecting myself, removing the worries that have been malignant for so long -
I was dying with them
My hands no longer trembled
One incision after the next, blood doesn't come at first.
Flustered I state until crimson red beads surface slowly and pool over against pale skin.
My thoughts get quieter
I took a deep breath - I could feel the oxygen filling my lungs.
It didn't burn like it had moments before.
It felt like I was surfacing after days underwater
Just one more -
5,6,7
I was losing feeling in my hands
10, 15
In my feet
30
I start to feel dizzy
Red pours out of me
So beautiful
My heart rate so slow
My mind so quiet
So this is what heaven feels like?

The clock strikes midnight again tonight,
I am up to welcome another never-ending day.
Sweaty palms curled against silk sheets,
Screaming profanities into my pillow.
I don’t know how I got here.
Or how misery and loneliness can make such good company
But it seems like solitude will be my lover, my best friend, and my companion for the foreseeable future.
I don’t know how I got here.
I spent so much time planning out my future
But somewhere along the way
I took a detour off of a cliff.
The synapses in my brain seem to have stopped firing,
Completely.
The night seems endless,
Repetitively checking my phone for an answer to my prayers.
A simple “I love you” can do so much.
But the words never come,
And I loose myself.
My thoughts are killing me.
I feel like I’m drowning.
I don’t know what happened between then and now
But I would give anything to go back there.

She stares back at me,
A face I no longer recognize
Sullen expression
Sunken eyes lined with deep crimson shadows
Eyes that no longer have any vibrancy to them
Lifeless.
Her disheveled hair looks like it hasn't been thoroughly brushed in weeks.
She attempts to smile back at me but even a blind man could see that misery has taken over her heart.
The walls she has begun to put up to protect herself have begun to crumble.
An innocent victim captive of insomnia and depression
Drowning in her own despair.
Never have I seen a face so lost at sea,
I wish I could guide her back home to me.
She looks feeble, her skin has grown so pale as if the moment I look away she will disappear out of thin air.
Her face could tell stories better than her words ever could.
Her face cannot lie and tell you that she is fine unless carefully edited.
She applies each layer of makeup carefully, erasing every trace of misery
Using eloquent detail as carefully as Vincent Van Gogh would have applied to any of his paintings
It is her mask to cover her hollow shell.
She makes sure to cover the deep creases littering her forehead,
Whites out the deepened pools below her eyes
Edits her construction to make her seem whole.
Silly girl to think that this facade could be maintained forever
She can hide it from the rest of the world, but she cannot hide it from me.
Tears stream down my face, and only then do I realize how lonely I have become, talking to my reflection for some essence of companionship.
I wipe away the tears and continue the facade.

Mom, do you remember all of the times I confided in you?
Crushes, school, and how to be “cool”  
I needed your advice.
You have always been there for me. My rock. My support. My superhero. My friend. But it seems that kryptonite hit superman and my rock has turned to dust.
You know, I have always been a carbon copy of you.
All your flaws, your attitude, your dimples, your insecurities,
The way you can’t move on,
Your rigorous mood swings,
Your smile.
I’ve never wanted to be anything other than just like you.
Mom, do you remember how close we used to be, it seemed we were inseparable.
We used to be able to finish each other’s sentences,
But now it seems like I am speaking a foreign language that you can’t comprehend, as I watch our relationship bend into something that even I cannot recognize.  
We were each other’s support when things got tough
You taught me that life was not a perfectly paved road.
Life is Michigan roads after a hard winter, covered in potholes filled with disappointment and speed bumps of living happily never after.
And I could handle it as long as you were around.
Our family has always been dysfunctional, split in two.
You know dad and I never got along, he’s always loved your boy, his son.
It’s always been us- just us
And that was enough.
But the day that she passed
You left me.
Not in body but in mind.
And now I’m alone.
I was there when she died too, you know.
Watching your closest grandparent die isn’t easy. And neither is feeding her, changing the bedding, helping pick out the casket, helping write the obituary, speaking at the funeral, being a pallbearer, laying roses on the casket, the list goes on.  
I haven’t gotten one good night’s sleep since she died. 7 months ago. Every night being tormented by nightmares.  
I was 14.
Mom, do you remember how you became silent, building up walls to protect us so that you couldn’t hurt me like grandma did when she left.
And, as always, I followed in example.
Every silent stare, Look of disappointment, Frown or Broken promise you slung at me helped me to build up my wall brick by brick until my hands were calloused and my heart was cold.
You gave up.
And I don’t want to follow in example, but it seems like that is my only option.
The role of mom was cast by different actors.
My counselor.
My friends.
My teachers.
Myself.
The words I love you became non-existent. Replaced with echoes of: it’s all in your head, things will get better, or nothing.
No amount of slits on my wrists, failing grades, fake sick days, or pounding fists could make you act like you care again.
Mom do you remember me saying, help me. If not, I will say it a million more times to get you to listen to me.
I am starting to doubt my ability to save our relationship.
Can’t you see that I am struggling? When I say I want to give up please don’t look the other way. It is my way of saying as politely as possible that, that I want to die.
I can’t manage to be strong anymore.  
Momma, do you remember the day you got angry and left? I cried for hours until you came back home but it feels like you left me and never came back.
Please tell me you love me and tell me you care.
Give me one reason to hold on to this world I have grown to hate.
Just, please save me.
Mom do you remember when I said goodbye?
I meant it.

Monophobia

Or the fear of being alone

Or the fear of waking up in the middle of the night by yourself knowing that you have absolutely no one to confide in.

From an early age I was taught that my self-worth was defined with how many people found me desirable.

I found myself hopping from one relationship to the next

As if the moment I found myself alone

I was worthless

It became my favorite game.

I soon figured out that the more you “put out” the more attractive you are.

Here, I will give you my body in trade for a momentary ounce of affection

Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you need me.

Your voice sung melodies into my heart.

I fell in love with your voice where you fell in love with my desire to please.

Giving you everything you want,

Until I have nothing left to give.

I should've known that the well is only worth tapping when there is water in it,

When you told me I was too fat for you,

I shouldn’t have immediately went on a diet.

When I found out you had been cheating on my the whole time we were dating,

I should have left you.

When I found out you were  going to be the father of another girls baby,

I should have kicked your *** out.

When you started treating me like property,

I should have killed you.

But I blamed myself,

Took ever bullet,

Every punch,

Did ever chore

Palms forward,

Ready for more.

They tell me that this is wrong

But they don’t understand watching three am pass by,

Alone every night,

They don't understand nightmares and insomnia.

I am told that misery is better company than being alone.

Plastered everywhere you look.
Covergirl, Cosmo, Seventeen,
Every commercial you will ever see.
Photo shopped models enticing you to starve yourself.
Anorexia and Bulimia are well known cures for being “too fat”
So that you may one day look as beautiful as a person who only exists through computer enhanced images
As real as the antagonists in your favorite novel
Confused with the protagonist.
Though they bring no empowering messages to the table.
Take your self-worth
Divide by every extra pound you have that is above your BMI,
Add your cup size
But subtract your IQ
And then multiply it by how much you can bench
Put it to the power of how many boyfriends or girlfriends you’ve had
But to the negative if your dress size is above a six.
Because if your bigger than a six, no one could ever love you.
Once you have found your total
Only then will you know your “true value.”
Surprised.
Me either.
From the day we are born
We are force fed the mutated idea of a perfect person
Because only beauty queens get on TV.
And singers have to be pretty, right?
Dreams are dictated by looks.
Supermodels, Bodybuilders,
Lusting the lives of those who are artificially flawless
Comparing ourselves to everyone we see.
Think about it.
9 out of every 10 teenage girls are unhappy with their body.
We spend countless hours finding exactly what we are not.
We are not thin enough.
Not tall enough
No pretty enough.
We forget to remember what we are.
Strong, Capable men and women
Who are ready to make a difference!
So my friends
Put down the magazines
Turn off the television shows
And take a stand.
Shed the newest clothes
Be a trend setter.
And maybe, just maybe we can stop the next generation
From feeling worthless.
Be proud of who you are
Thin, Thick, short, tall, big breasted, flat chested,
Whatever race you are
Look in the mirror every morning before you go out
Find every flaw you can see on your beautiful face
And tell yourself.
I am the most perfect person around because
I am real.
And beauty comes from within
And in all actuality
We are all imperfectly perfect.

One day it just stopped
The world that was spinning far too fast finally fell of its axis.
I woke up and I didn't feel like the world was collapsing in onto my shoulders.
I didnt want to rip my heart out of my chest.
But I didn't want to live.
It feels like I am drowning.
My lungs slowly filling up with water
I watch everyone else take a deep breath.
I can’t breathe. I can't breathe. I can’t breathe.
I am numb.
My eyes once vibrant seem dull.
Lifeless
There was nothing.
Going numb is not poetic.
I have to remember to make an attempt
I feel empty as if I made a bet with the devil and the devil won
My chest seems hollow.
It echo's with every heartbeat
I cannot bring myself to get up.
My mother pulls me out of bed
She asks me if I had taken my medications as if anti-depresents could save me from this emptiness inside
"They are what caused this"
She asks if I've cut recently.
I want to tell her that I would take the sensation of pain over nothingness every day.
I feel like a guest in my own home
A tourist in my own mu
Begging for anyone to help me escape the clutches of oblivion.
Nothing matters anymore.
There's just silence.

Playmates since the age of three
Hide and Seek is the favorite game
Between two best friends.
For ten years secrets were traded like Pokémon cards
And I thought I knew everything about her.
I could have told you her favorite color was blue
She always wanted to be a teacher
And her worst fear was to not fit in.
But I couldn’t tell you who she had a crush on
Because that was one secret that was never traded with me.
Or any other soul.
Had she trusted me
Would she still have looked down the barrel of a gun?
With her own finger dancing with the trigger?
Trembling hands shook as bad as a stage 10 magnitude earthquake
Complete devastation.
As I was handed an envelope with my name signed as carefully
As the love poem it contained.
About the girl that she was in love with.
Since the age of three
That she had been playing hide and seek with
For ten years.
But
Little did her parents know that every time they sent their child over to play?
They were sending her off to war.
Filling her with such strong post-traumatic stress disorder that she couldn’t cope with her own identity.
And I always wondered if my parent’s words echoed through her self-loathing mind as she pulled the trigger
To silence their conservative “opinions”
About
*******
And lesbian feminazis
Or man hating queers.
Echoing
Through my mind since the first time she came over.
Because my parents never felt “right” about her.
At her funeral
I sat in the last row.
I was silent.
Because I didn’t have the courage to say goodbye,
Especially in front of people who would never understand
What it is like to be alienated against the rest of society
Because love can only be defined by the attraction between a man and a woman.
But today
Sitting in the field we used to play hide and seek
The goodbye finally escapes my heart that hasn’t beaten right in a year
Because I have been wishing I had had the courage to tell you,
That you are the only one who has had my heart for ten years.
And I never loved anyone the way I loved you.
But I was so lost in my soul
The words couldn’t escape from pressed lips sewn together by my parent’s misguided hands and the fact that they would NEVER understand
That liking girls was not a choice
And I have spent every day since the day you left
Trying to find where it says in the bible that gays are ****** to hell,
But I am praying that you are now cradled in Gods embrace.  
Because no matter how many times we played hide and seek
Neither of us were found buried in the closet.
The two man hating queers,
That my parents could have never accepted.

I cannot promise that there will not be bad days
But I promise to hold you through the night until the sun rises to bring on a new day.
I cannot promise that life will not feel like it is holding you at gunpoint
That friends will never abandon you
That you will never fail
But I promise that you will never have to go through it alone.
Fate has a funny way of ******* up plans but I will be ****** before I let you go through this alone.
As long as there is blood running through my veins
As long as my heart is still beating
I will be right here
And that I can promise you.

My mother is the strongest woman I have ever met and she has the purest soul.

My mother has worked in the jail for twenty years: been spit on, swung at, cursed at, abused physically and mentally by inmates and she still works 12 hour shifts at our jail without resistance.

My mother taught me to address a police officer by sir or ma'am.

My mother taught me that respecting your authority is a responsibility.

That any crime is a crime nonetheless

And to never, ever pull a gun on a police officer.

I thought that these things were common sense.

If we really need someone to blame for the supposed injustices carried out by police officers Blame the parents who forgot to teach their children how to act.

As of today multiple police officers have been slaughtered by outlaws desperate to bring the "law" into their own hands

Officer Raphael Ramos, an officer in NYC who had only been on the force for two years was assassinated 5 days before Christmas.

He had two sons, one younger than myself.

I imagined christmas morning,

Did his son wake up and rush down the stairs to see a tree with many gifts underneith without a father to his side?

Who will teach him how to shave?

Who will be there for him after his first broken heart?

Or the first time he gets in trouble?

How miserable of a holiday season this must have been for him.

I imagined my mother

A woman who has spent countless anniversaries, Christmases, and birthdays in the jail.

How many times she missed a concert recital, a football game, just to keep us safe.

I imagined her slaughtered.

I imagined a bullet-wound in her skull and

I wondered what she'd be remembered for...

As a girl scout leader of ten years

As a loving mother

As a wonderful wife

Or a "murderous" police officer.

And cried when I knew it would be the latter.

Some might not agree with the actions taken by a select few police officers.

But justice is not a perfect system.

Rapheal Ramos was murdered for someone else’s crimes.

I'm sure Raphael Ramos’s children can't breathe.

I know I sure can’t.

****** does not justify ******.

Especially the ****** of those who have sacrificed all to keep you safe.

That. In itself. Is THE injustice.

He told me that he'd always stand by me
Sealed his promise with a kiss
I found myself in his arms
An archaeologist discovering my ancient history I'd long since forgotten.
Buried myself deeper into him until I forgot who I was before
He could make the world go away faster than anyone else.
It only took one touch but
Fate has a funny way of breaking promises.
He was my savior crucified for my sins
He was suffering but he still made sure to rekindle the fire inside of me that had been out for so long.
He always told me he was my angel
The protector of those who choose not to fight for themselves
I never fought for myself.
One touch and it all disappeared
One kiss and I was forgetting my name
He was fighting in my corner every time.
How I wish I could go back to those days
You never know that that last kiss is going to be your last, how I would've held onto him longer
You never know that last touch will leave you wanting more.
You never know love until it’s gone.
Winter winds are as unforgiving as they are cruel.
The only way to know the beauty of snow is to feel it burn your flesh.
How unfair fate taunts happiness in front of those who have never truly felt it.
Consumed in the bliss of a single moment,
over far too fast.
I wonder if the world wept when their savior was taken from them
Open armed as if trying to take all of the pain away.
I like to think that winds whipped across the air
Families were ripped apart
I am sure the world broke out in chaos
At least that is what the world deserved.
Distractions are easy to find
I told myself that if I wanted to hard enough
I could tuck away the memories
of his touch
of his smile
of his heavenly laugh
Just...forget
But I fell too hard...to fast...unable to get up.
I met someone new
He told me he was a demon
Helped me slowly sink
Helping to **** the fire that once ran rampant in my soul
You cannot fall planted deep underground
I loved him but still wanted my savior -
They say misery is the best company, right?

I was raised to keep my head down
To turn the other cheek.
To never raise a fist.
To speak softly and carry a big stick.
But to never use it.
These were the things my parents taught me.
For years I only knew how to be submissive
How to please
How to never speak up
These things were supposed to keep me out of trouble.
But I soon realized that silence is even more dangerous than passion.
Silence is an excuse for others to take advantage of you.
And passion in small doses is enough to keep the danger away.
I learned that you can have fire in your eyes
But to be careful when letting it escape your lips
I learns that fire burns
It needs to be controlled.
But is useful in moderation.

You traced every contour of my body
Every wrinkle of skin that I hate
Every cellulite budge that I find repulsive
And told me that I was beautiful in skin that I have been fighting my whole life to crawl out of.
In your arms I feel whole
The weight of the world is no longer my own
I feel weightless.
Pushing myself deeper into you
So deep that my problems no longer matter
You make it all go away
You make me feel beautiful through long nights
Through tragic days
Through pain as well as glory.
You make me feel like I can do this.
Thank you.

She tells me that I am a failed experiment,
One part tragedy and two parts disappointment.
She tells me that I need to DIE.
She’s more than just a voice inside of my head
She is a completely different person.
Renting half of my brain
How can the one thing that’s mine feel like a shared space.
I am split in half
I loose control, loose footing in a life I falsely call my own
I lose time, seconds, minutes, hours, days
I cannot function with her
But I cannot function without her
I “wake up” and my legs are bleeding,
The blade in my hands.
I wonder how long it will be before she kills me.
I cannot stop her.
My friends call her Spider
She is a black widow, eating her mate after he has served his purpose.
She is manipulative.
Capable of killing in just one bite.
I am passive, she is aggressive.
She is destructive, angry, jealous, violent,
Unstable - A natural disaster, I am the eye of the storm.
I am the end of chaos.
However,
I am shy, and weak, but innocent, feeling destroyed by crimes I did not commit.
We are yin and yang, 2 parts of a whole
Both wanting different things...
Wanting this body as our own
Doing everything we can to make the other submit.
Mirrors are my worst nightmare,
The girl I see is no longer me.
Coated in black makeup,
Dressed like I’m in a punk band.
I do not remember getting dressed this morning,
I am not sure how I got to school.
When did I do this assignment?
Wait, that was today?
Where am I?
What is my name?
Why are you screaming?
I can’t take this.
DO NOT SCREAM AT ME WHEN I DON'T DO WHAT YOU ASK
I have no recollection of you asking
Why are you mad at me?
We fought?
When?
What did I say?
No...I'm not making this up.
I am so, so sorry...It’s just been a “bad day”
If only I could tell you what's truly wrong  and not sound insane.
It’s more than just forgetting
It is a lapse in the conscious - a constant tug of war that never seems to end.
I have spent most of my life faking being functional.
I cannot sleep, she and I do battle in hopes that one of us will reign victorious.
How do you **** something that is inside of you?
Help me
You cannot see the destruction of my mind
I am standing in the middle of the wreckage and you claim that I am "making this up"
It is impossible to survive this way.
She cuts this body leaving her mark so that I can never forget that I am not alone.
It’s wrong to feel this empty, hollow, beating myself up just to know I’m alive
She tells me it’s time to go - But quitting would release the monster forever
She is not safe
I am far too weak to contain her.
I am losing myself to her again…
Goodb-….*Hello

When I was twelve years old
I learned the difference between consent and cohesion
Cohesion is consent after being pushed to say yes
Only giving permission when you feel like you have a gun to your head
And consent is a mutual agreement
For years I fought off his advancing hands
Greedily grasping for any part of flesh
Pleading him to stop
Forcing him to stop.
He beat the word stop so far into me
I grew silent.
Eventually I was pleading for his fingers to trace my thighs
I felt content in his pleasure
“If you loved me you’d do it” echoed through my skull.
He taught me that love means always saying yes
I did it. Every time.
Years later
After falling in love for the first time
The word no was buried so deep in myself
The word please seemed as sweet as chocolate
But when he kissed me, he stuck his tongue down my throat.  
I didn't stop him.
Simply wiped away his spit when he was done
This was the beginning of a relationship I would pump out give and give and give until I had nothing left
Because that was the only way I knew how to show him I truly loved him. I learned to find pleasure in between his gasps.
Grow aroused at his satisfaction.
I learned how to grow silent,
Hoping that he would see the discomfort in my eyes and just
Stop.

A little girl,
Ten years old,
Who knew nothing of *** or ****
But that didn’t matter
When he picked her out.
It wasn’t because of her nonexistent figure,
Or her my little pony tank tops,
It was because of what he saw in her eyes,
The first time he touched her.
As she winced and couldn’t meet his eyes,
He knew right then and there she would never be strong enough to stand up for herself
So that boy,
Two years older,
Thought it was okay
To steal her innocence.
A ten year old girl
Buying a pregnancy test from the gas station,
Paying the clerk a little extra,
So that he doesn’t tell her mom,
Burying it deep in her pocket,
Until she gets home.
Feeling criminal for her deceitfulness,
Paying with the money,
She had saved in her piggy bank for an American Girl Doll.
The one she would never get,
Because she was more worried about being touched again,
Than being a little girl.
She sold all of her toys,
To buy those bras that hook in the front,
Hoping that he would be too stupid to figure out what had happened
And stop doing it.
A ten year old girl,
So afraid of love,
That she beats up on the other kids
So that they will stay away
And won’t hurt her.
A ten year old girl,
Coming home from school with bruises on her chest,
Because his friends helped him grab her.
Terrified that her mother will see,
And that she will get in trouble,
So she spends all the money she has left,
On makeup,
So that nothing looks wrong.
A ten year old girl,
In fifth grade,
Stapling her bras for the sense of security,
Until she realizes she is only helping his game.
And she can’t understand why he laughs when she cries.
She cannot understand why he laughs when she begs him to stop.
A ten year old girl,
Thanking God she wasn’t pregnant.
A ten year old girl,
With cuts on her wrists,
Because she didn’t have anyone to go to.
The brightness and curiosity of her eyes drained,
Resembling an ocean without water.
Shaking as her father touches her,
Hugs her,
But she can’t tell him why
So he blames it on himself.
She can’t explain why she turns up the music,
To drown out her heart wrenching sobs as she gives up her last piece of life.
A ten year old girl,
With a suicide note in one hand,
A bottle of pills in the other.
A ten year old girl,
With nowhere to go,
Because of what he saw in her eyes.

The Boy.
His smile.
I had always been caught up in it.
He was far too good for me.
And I accepted that.
It was the middle of seventh grade
My life was ripping apart at the seams.
I was alone.
My friends had left me.
The boy, my “boyfriend” hurt me.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Cried. All the time.
But that’s what I deserved.
I was alone.
I couldn’t smile.
My life. Was. Ruined.
Mom was in the hospital.
Cellulitis.
I had had enough.
Given up.
Suicide notes.
Typed hundreds of times.
Cutting.
Contemplating suicide every night.
My life. No meaning.
Struggled to even look myself in the mirror.
I went to the talent show.
To read my poem.
He was there.
Perfect.
Just who I wanted to talk to.
We had grown close.
I sat down next to him.
He started playing his guitar.
Days later.
I got the courage to tell him I liked him
He “liked” me to.
Wow.
Days later we were “going out.”
He gave me self-confidence.
Even though he had little for himself.
He mended my broken life.
Getting cut once or twice himself.
I was happy.
Disaster struck a year later.
Fighting.
Broke up.
Crap.
Lower than ever.
Dad’s cancer.
Grandma dying.
Grandma dead.
Best friend’s suicide attempt.
Best friend’s cancer.
Crying.
Cutting.
Suicide attempts.
He was there.
Not in the way he used to be
But as a friend.
Came to my grandma’s visitation.
Helped me when I couldn’t smile myself.
Courage.
He helped me to live through every day.
Stopped cutting.
Counseling appointments.
Put on the right meds.
I might still be unable to look at myself in the mirror.
I might still want to give up.
I might still struggle when things get really bad.
But.
Whenever I want to give up.
I know that he would hate me.
He can’t hate me.
Razor in hand.
Tears in eyes.
I cant do it.
Not now. Not ever.
He wouldn’t want me to.
He is one of my best friends.
Could tell him anything.
And have him not bat an eye.
No matter how horrible.
Without him, I wouldn’t be here.
Without him, I would’ve been six foot under.
Without him. I would’ve been nothing.
Life is far from perfect.
Nowhere close.
Cry. Often.
Still struggling.
Not as bad.
He saved me.
He saved my life.

619 Miles
9 hours and 38 minutes
The distance that separates myself and the girl
I can’t take my mind off of.
Because
It is said that for one person
There is another built to fit perfectly
Woven together on a planet of billions
A soul mate.
Now that is cheesy and completely absurd,
Especially for an asexual….
But I’ve never felt this way,
About anyone.
Especially not….a girl.
Heterosexuality has been the one term that has defined me
My whole life.
For 14 years I was sick at the idea of being anything but.
But that word is floating further into oblivion.
Echoes of my parent’s homophobic hatred.
Palms start to sweat as I blush like crazy,
Staring at a computer screen that has never been more important
My heart seems to leap out of my chest.
And, it is just so absurd for me to feel this way,
Because she is just so amazing,
And I am average at best.
But it is insane for me to care about her as much as I do.
Having known her for 24 hours
But she gets me, through each letter we seem to read unwritten messages.
As I get to learn more and more about her
The more I wish she was here.
Because she is the one girl I’d actually take the chance with
The one I wouldn’t be afraid to tell my parents about.
My chance to escape this closet I've hidden in my whole life,
And it is impossible to comprehend
How she could ever feel the same way.
Why she would ever feel the same way.
Because 9 hours and 38 minutes
The distance that separates myself and the girl
I can’t take my mind off of.

From my bedroom window,
I can see a lime green ribbon
Constricting itself around a tree.
Lynching the last inch of life
From a being
That stood strong for a half of a century.
As each leaf wilts and falls it is a reminder that nothing is ever permanent.
Everything dies eventually.
In our family,
Green is worn proud
Above our hearts
The star of David guiding us on our way
But something to be ashamed of.
A color that condemns our family to endure your sympathetic stares
That follow us everywhere.
It is as if we are the main attraction of your circus:
Come see the dying, the crying, and the bald.
But to us, one ribbon wrapped around are hearts
Represents a million words wrapped into one.
Especially the ones never said.
The I love yous
The I need yous
The I’m sorrys
And the goodbyes
It is an endless cycle
Of CAT scans, and chemo, and radiation, and surgery, and blood tests, over and over.
If only to slow the process of
Cells detonating themselves
In a body that was never strong enough to fight it.
Strong arms cannot hold the weight of their daughter’s broken hearts
Or their sons missed football games,
Or their wives plan less anniversaries
When they carry their own mortality
We never knew that our man of steel,
Would become our man of sleepless nights,
No longer able to carry his children to bed at night.
The only person to guide through our disjointed lives
What ifs become your safe haven as well as your nightmare?
And your reality becomes mixed with fatality.
And eventually, you don’t know the difference.
Prayers become a lost hope,
Church becomes a last resort
And treatment becomes useless
Because it is a diagnosis that no one can escape.
I never understood “When someone is diagnosed with cancer, everyone around them is as well.”
And dad know that when I look into your lifeless eyes
Mine will mirror it.

Countless poems scattered across my desk

I am trying so hard to relive the memories

They will be gone in the mornings light

I do not want to forget -

Tell me that I will not forget how it feels to truly feel loved

To feel happy

This is stronger than any emotion I’ve ever felt

It has consumed me

Tell me I will not be empty

Hollow

Raw

When this all over

I hear that this process can be painful

I’ve hear the slow agony in the voices of others

This loss is not poetic

this loss is 2 am

This loss is screaming

This loss is an angel with its wings being burned off

This loss has be the death for many before myself

This loss has been too much for most to bear.

I need to remember this feeling

As much as it hurts

Every touch

Every longing glance

Every moment just right.

The joy...the pain…

I will not lose it

Not this time.

To the boy who broke my heart.
Thank you.
Because you have given me something so much more sweet.
The way her eyes reflect my ear to ear smile as we joke about
Our futures.
Who we want to be when we grow up
And who we don’t.
The way she can always make me laugh harder than you ever could,
My stomach sore.
But not from the skipped meals you forced me into.
Because I was never beautiful enough for you.
The way my parents confuse my heterosexuality for homosexuality
Because my “love poems” are always about her.
The girl
Who knows my soul like the back of her hand
My darkest secrets.
My biggest flaws.
And she doesn’t use it against me.
Romantic feelings are not the key to life I always guessed they were
when you have found the person who can make your life worth living.
Your best friend.
The one who kissed the reflection of you engraved in my wrist.
And no I will never be gay.
But I love her.
She always knows what I need to hear.
When I look like I have never looked in a mirror she still udders the word beautiful
And knowing that I will never believe it she still tries.
She is just as stubborn as I am,
And she has dedicated countless hours to repairing me,
The job you always said you’d take in the first place.
Telling me that the most broken are the most beautiful.
And I know that is true,
Because she is broken just as much as I am.
She has put her problems aside for me,
Spent countless hours rewiring the desire to go back to you.
And now I cannot help but realize that I deserve better.  
To the boy who broke my heart I am happy now.
I am enjoying the small things for the very first time.
As we go camping and I show her the best way to light a fire,
And she does my makeup to where for a moment I feel I am beautiful.
The Monsters cracked after we have stayed up for an exam,
The late night conversations that are always the ones most memorable.  
These are the best moments of my life,
And they weren’t shared with you.
To the boy who first broke my heart.
Thank you.
But gratitude is not forgiveness, and I would not advise coming near me again.
Because she has had a target on your head since the very first tear.
And I know that even when you’re gone she will always have my back
Because that is what true friends do.
To the girl who has made my life complete –
I adore you.

Confessions to My Best Friend.
1.I found fireflies in your eyes the first day we met.

2.We both know I am the ugly friend. I will take that title gladly. You are the most beautiful girl in the world, trust me. My memory has spent hours retracing your face trying to recall your voice back to consciousness. I've played it back so many times you sound like a broken record, it doesn't sound right anymore.  

3.I know how perfectly pathetic it is to still consider you my best friend.

4.I know that line sounds like teenage angst, but I promise there is more to this story than that. Give me a moment.

5. You've taught me that everything comes to screeching halt. I have long since given up the idea of our reunion

6.I check, no, stalk your facebook constantly to make sure you’re still happy.  
7. I hate the fact that I have to use the word stalk like some stranger seeking out your profile. I hate that I have to break the rules set by your parents. I hate that I am not allowed to stand by your side anymore. I have memorized the last post before I expose myself to pictures of us.  I know not to scroll back that far. I have perfected the art of protecting myself.

8.I know trying to move on is futile. I have never been fond of being ****** over twice. Fate always seems to switch out my full hand for a loosing one. **** best friends. You know what, **** friends. It’s easier that way. (Excuse my language)

9.My worst fear and biggest hope is that you will forget about our friendship, take our seven years and erase them from your memory. Maybe you will forget about him to.

10.I wish he had ***** me. Now this seems sick and twisted unless you know our backstory. I wish I would have been enough from him. I never said no, ground my teeth in to dust never letting my vocal cords betray me. I prayed that he would stop at me. Your parents blamed me. It’s okay. Your parents are right. I know I could have given him more. No amount of therapy or self-love could ever place the blame somewhere else.  I would have given him anything if he would’ve agreed to contain the destruction and keep the casualties at one. But a war cannot be solely fought with two hands. I wish I could have kept the nightmare to myself. I tried to protect you. If you get anything from this know that I tried.

11.I know you toss and turn at night trying to glue the fractured puzzle pieces back together to fix your broken psyche. I am sorry I am not there to help you glue the pieces back together. I know it would never be perfect but I would pour every ounce of my being into fixing it together.

12.I have written hundreds of poems strictly about you, some of them have won me medals but they always feel forced. I try so desperately to pump life into the lines but only those who know what happened can read between them and get the whole picture. Our friendship feels like a sick inside joke never told. This is the only real poem I have ever written about you. It is not written to sound pretty, not full of clichés and lines that fit together. No. It is as raw as the cuts we’d get from falling off our bikes. It is as raw as cuts on arms. It is as raw as suicide notes. Trust me. I will take the blame for those to.  

13.I have not prayed to God in a year. The last day I saw you was the last day I believed such a being could exist. No amount of church can make the past a brighter place.

14.When you told me I was no longer allowed to talk to you I felt my whole life collapse around me. I cannot rebuild. I cannot move on. I cannot stop the destruction of my sanity, nothing is safe anymore. I am afraid to touch anything in fear that the purity will be corrupted by my hands. I see you everywhere I go, in turquoise, and teal, and rainbows, and storms. I see you in stars, and constellations, and my little ponys, and skyrim, in cancer ribbons, and vampires.

15.I burned the draft of the story we were writing together about vampires and demons. I never got a chance to thank you for helping me come up with a plot and letting me test it on you. Your character drove the book, now I do not dare to pick it up. I know how cliché it was using our friends as characters. I have given up writing it in fear that someone may think I am crazy believing monster exist. I am a failed poet and most certainly a failed author. Break character. Make sure everyone knows that it was just a story, that I am not crazy, just my methods.  

16.I will not deny that I am angry with whoever wrote me into the script as the bad guy. I was never a bad influence on you, you taught me how to cuss, how to fight, how to be myself. I taught you to let go, to be strong, to hold on. I don’t see how our friendship was malignant on your health but as long as you feel better now, I will take my punishment with open arms ready for more.

17.I loved you. I loved you as a sister, as a friend, as my world. I still love you the same. I have a stack of pictures in the hole of my mattress hoping that maybe one day my dreams will come true and I will wake up and this past year will have been a nightmare.

18.Yes, it’s been a year since you blocked me on your Facebook without explanation. And maybe that is the worst part, trying to dream up what I did wrong, where I hurt you, where you stopped caring.

19.I realize that you will never see this poem, but my only hope for relieving this pressure on my chest is to get it out, to make it stop suffocating the life out of me. For the longest time I hoped you were miserable in a life without me. I wanted to know that you hurt half as much as I do. That’s the thing with poets, we have a habit of making everything revolve around us. But this is to us. This is to friendship. This is to staying up until three am to finish this. This is to brighter futures.

20.There is nothing in the world I want more than to be by your side. My existence has feels like the beating pulse behind a bruise without you. This is the last poem I will write. My words cannot paint a better situation, a better ending. I love you, and if you ever need me I am just an add away on Facebook.

I'm the girl who talks others out of suicide, because I don't want them to lust like I do
I am the girl who wipes the tears away from their eyes, just because i don't  want them to cry themselves to sleep like i do
I am the girl who solves fights between friends just because I doesn't want to see their friendships die like mine did
I am the girl who helps others live through break ups, because i know what it feels to have a broken heart
I am the girl who begs her friends to stop cutting, but constantly aches for the blade
I am the girl who tries to mend a broken heart, when hers has been broken for years
I am the girl with double standards, because no one is as insignificant as me.

Walls are not meant to keep others out,
but to keep yourself in.

“Come on, get up.” There are days when I do not leave my bed. It is not taking a stand, not a hipster statement, it is exhaustion. I’ve spent the night dancing with dreams of ending my survival. Surviving the night was a fight in itself, I am not ready to do battle with my demons all day.
2. “Don’t call me after nine.” I won’t call you. I won’t call you when I have a gun pressed to my chest. I will keep my phone in my hand with your number typed in it at 2 am but I will never call, no matter how bad things get. I will tell myself that it is not a big enough problem to bother you with.
3. “Stop apologizing” Each move I make is overanalyzed like I am playing a game of chess. I am afraid every carefully planned move will end a friendship, end my life. I do not want to leave this world suffocated in regrets, and I am sorry if my saying sorry is too inconvenient for you. To me, an apology is one less tie keeping me here.
4. “You’re life cannot be that bad” Yes, the grass may be greener on my side of the fence but last time I checked life wasn’t a competition on whose existence was plagued with the most tragedies. Tell me what the point system is for each disaster life has thrown at me, I will turn each list in at the end of the month. Tell me where I stand.
5. “No one cares about your problems” You’re right. I’m sorry.
6. “People won’t want to be around you if you aren’t happy.” I didn’t realize my life was a play I had to memorize the lines for. I will get right on that.
7. “Pretend” I will put on my best mask. I will change my inflection. Not even my best friend will know when I am hurting.
8. “Happiness is a choice.” I can choose to smile even as my world collapses around me, but even if I were frowning the context wouldn’t change. I am still destined to fall in the rubble.
9. “It’ll be okay” Though this may seem like a comforting proclamation I don’t exactly remember the last day I was “okay.” Okay seems like another label slapped on the same ****.
10. “Just do it then” Fine.

He asks me why I cut
Fingers lightly tread the battered remains of my now feeble wrists
A question I've answered a million times in my head
Desperately wanting someone to ask
As if my jumbled thoughts might sound better outside the contents of my skull
My explanation catches in my throat
A conversation a million times rehearsed rings silent
He waits.  
It is impossible to explain cutting to someone who has never purposely taken a blade to their own skin
Much like it is impossible to explain the addiction of a  ****** addict to someone who has never been high
It is an escape
It is taking back control of a world that spins far too fast for its own good.
And for many it is power,
Feeling so insignificant in this world
A pawn in the hands of fate on any normal occasion can dictate life or death with a razor in their hand.
It makes you feel something when you no longer feel anything
It is a tattoo marking every day you've been too weak to carry on but survived
They are tragically beautiful scars tracing our bodies
That most of us would rather die than give up.
All of these things make no sense to a normal person
But I am so far from normal.
But maybe my silence is enough to make him understand
This taboo isn't worth fretting over.