I found myself on the floor in a gas station bathroom at 2 am trying to find the person I used to be. The last time I was here was when my mother told me that the person who loves me the least will show it with their hands and the girl who broke my heart had bruised every part of me that she touched for 9 months.
I tried putting the razor down I tried to stop drinking I tried to stop taking pills I tried I tried I tried and still couldn't find the self worth that I knew I ******* deserved to stop.
Giving up on yourself isn't easy when you now love a girl who makes the self rot inside your heart bloom with every beautiful flower imaginable. With trembling hands I touched her silhouette and a year later I still can't stop shaking from the impact she left on me. My breath catches in my lungs when she laughs and my lips curl into a smile every time she calls me baby, ridiculously cheesy I know, but I'd be lying if it wasn't real. And that's what we are, we're real and she's here like you never were.
It hurts to be human but I was put on this earth to love, even though I was taught that this love was a sin, so let me give you all of me so I won't throw myself away to societal values and beliefs and let me be me for once.
I have so much of me to give and I'm afraid if you leave that there will be nothing left, that my name will be whispered under your breath like you were ashamed to have ever loved a natural disaster. And just like a natural disaster, I destroy everything in my path, I've hurt others because the pieces of me that used to care were taken by others and now I just don't give a ****. While destroying others I destroyed myself trying to find the peace of mind I used to have before my dad left and before my grandma died and before I knew I loved everyone a little too deeply and before I found relief in straight lines and bruises and emptiness and it's all too ******* much for someone my age to be dealing with and I'm searching for my escape in the bathroom at a gas station at 2 am.

I can count on my fingers the boys with rough hands traveling up my skirt with their tongues down my throat that only knew how to destroy girls. I can close my eyes and see the girls with soft skin that smelt of cheap wine that spoke the sweetest words to me, but only wanted me as their secret or play toy.
I have started to self destruct, beating my fists on walls until they turn black and blue because I can no longer stand on my own with with these hollow bones and broken lungs.
I try and not think of you when the chorus picks up in that song or when the sun kisses the sky goodnight before it sleeps or when I'm staring at the bottom of the bottle but you're there you're there you're there
and there have been pills and pills and pills prescribed for my failing heart, but I've been smoking my cigarettes not giving a **** about the bomb about to go off inside me. My skin has become tighter around my chest, counting ribs like the days you'd told me you'd stay.
I fell for you again but I am always the other girl I am second I am last I am nothing
I find love in straight lines and giving away the parts of me that should only be for you or for me but my body is not a temple and you are not going to worship it, so why should I?
My first meal in weeks was a bottle of my moms prozac and I found myself behind the wheel driving past the bus stop where you first told me you loved me, not realizing what those three words meant to me. Why my foot pressed down on the gas and why I turned down your street will always make me question my sanity, but I closed my eyes until I heard sirens and your voice whispering my name.
I miss the comfort in your voice, but if you look at the moon and think of her too, leave me at the side of the road like so many before have because I am tired of being the other girl and I am tired of feeling trapped in three words that mean far too much to me.

I don’t think my mom remembers the way she held my face in her hands, my eyes watching tears race down her cheeks. She pressed her lips on my forehead and I could smell the whiskey she had downed, already knowing the different “medicine” (that’s what she called it) that made Mommy forget how Daddy left us and avoid staring at the kitchen knife, to attempt suicide again. She became angry and slapped me across the face with her hand, and I swear I heard the same sound you made when you slammed the door in my ******* face, making my whole house shake.
I remember later on walking into my parent’s closet, a 40 in my hand and a bit of blood dropping to the floor. Every time I thought about you I would etch a line into my skin and taste the alcohol that burned the back of my throat, to remember the way you tasted when you kissed me. The paramedics told my parents that it was a miracle that they could find my pulse that morning.
I can’t write without seeing your name in every poem, making me rip it to shreds, screaming, “I need you.”
I tried finding you in other people, no matter how pathetic and naïve I am, I kissed their lips but all I could think about was how your body felt against mine. I searched for you in the back of my car, where we would spend rainy days with your hands skimming my bare skin and your lips in my ears whispering, “Babe, I’m forever.” Now all that’s left in the back of my car is your shirt and empty antidepressant bottles.
I searched for your blue shade of eyes that always made my lungs stop breathing, I didn’t even realize I was suffocating, and we both knew that was my biggest fear.
I accidentally phoned you, anxiety erupting inside me. Sad and ******, I stared at your ******* name and wondered why the **** wasn’t I good enough for an apology after you destroyed the person I was and left me in pieces. You didn’t even ******* care enough to revisit the person you “wasted 9 months on.”
I always believed that I would become as transparent as you made me feel, I was beginning to believe I would disappear without you.
Sometimes I hear your empty promises echo off my walls while I try to forget the way you held me, like I would once again fade into nothing if you weren’t touching me. But that didn’t ******* stop you from leaving.
And now I am as empty as the bottles I drink because the universe has been screaming at me that she isn’t the one.