back when we were fourteen
the heat blazing outside
and that stupid game was still popular
i'd lie on your lap
you'd rest your controller on my head
mine on my stomach
my chemical romance blasting in the background

it's fuzzy at the edges
my ground feels real but i'm sane enough to know better
real you wouldn't hold me like this
so gentle and tender
saying everything right and still making me laugh
your actions scream dream

when the blinding light returns
and i'm out and about
i see you
and i know you're real because you look away

i noticed that my poems are often
how should i say it?
accusatory
but what can i say
i'm the hero in my own story

is it selfish of me to want to go through my depression alone?
you took my mental health into your own hands
intruded without my consent
you always talked about my burden upon you
which you placed on yourself
you only heard me speak and never listened
your ignorant filter blocking out my pleas
when the thin and wiry strands on your head turned grey
you blamed me, and i blamed myself

when you got into a relationship of your own
i'll admit it was hard for me to let go
but i tried
and it was unfair that my temper often turned sour
when you bragged about your healthy relationship with a bigot
but i tried
you tried to place jealousy into my anger
over him taking your time
when in reality, it was my neutrality which truly upset you

i was sixteen when i decided that
i needed to be a big girl and make my own choices;
codependency never suited me, i'm an archer at heart.
i kept a secret affair from you
not out of spite, you never crossed my mind
but simply because i wasn't ready to tell you
that was my choice.
you took that from me.
now i've always been a bad liar
it's lost its effect at this point
but as my friend i would have expected you to respect that
turn away, let sleeping dogs lie.
give me a month and i would have come to you
you took that from me.
your screaming voice still haunts me
but not as much as her teary eyes and the aftermath that followed.

guess what? i lied again
and you knew, again.
it wasn't me who had the second chance, rather you
be a good friend
i'm begging you to turn away
but, of course, you didn't.
my relationship shattered (or at least it appeared too)

my actions turned fox-like
we met, we smoked, we fell in love again.
5 or 6 times that summer at least.
i'm not sure you knew but i don't care anymore.
yes, the relationship failed
but guess what?
it ended on my own terms.
the liberation of that was inexplicable.

i still see you sometimes.
we take the same bus and its unavoidable
i still sneak around even though my need for that charade
ended a long time ago
and i suppose you still hold the world on your shoulders
no one asks you to but still you persist
we're just strangers now
and i can truly say from the deepest pits of my heart
that losing you as a friend will always be my happiest memory.

there is a certain bitterness that fills my throat
when i watch romantic movies
two pretty girls fall in love and live a beautiful life together
overcoming adversity and battling through
despite everything against them
i'm sure i threw my shoe the last time
in my heart i know its fictional
that relationships don't work like that
i should know, I've lived through them
but even when the lover eventually dies
it scorns me
why did their love work but not mine?

picture the word in your head;
a sweet lullaby passed down the years
or a word shared between families at a meal
flowers and the fae and all things beautiful enveloping
a warm summer night at the beach
surrounded by those you love and bursts of color

now imagine the person attached to it.
dents under her eyes with a lack of moral sanity
low ambition and a dizzying sensation
uselessly attached to a person
who will leave at a moments notice
the fae stopped answering her calls when she fell in love
and her love stopped answering when it inconvenienced
a once dewy skin now stains at the fingertips
and hair that floats in a lake
with an addiction that she chose

when the tears overflow
shaking me to the core
hysteria, they call it
i don't realize that i am pulling my hair
until the strands are wrapped neatly around my fingers
and pulled from my face
mad woman syndrome i would have been diagnosed
if i lived in a different age
and i suppose its a fitting name
how else can i describe my world falling internally
white noise in the air
and flashes of lines clouding my vision
when i wake up and my voice has left
will i remember that i screamed