I've never been in love before,
nor has anyone ever been in love with me,
I think.
But I think I might be able to love you,
and I think you might even decide to love me back.
Not yet, of course.
Right now I just like you.
Right now I am just very much in like with you.
And I think you're in like with me too.
I think.

I build up my hopes
higher & higher & higher,
Until I am hanging off a cliff.
I hold on for as long as I can,
but my fingers finally slip.

I know sometimes I sound like a black hole,
and my poems are only of unhappiness,
But i swear there are good days.
It's just that if I were to put the good days and the bad days on a seesaw,
The bad days would outweigh the good ones.
Their weight would keep them planted on the ground while the good days float 3 feet above with a smile on their face and a stupid halo around their head,
No fear of the word "fat" or worrying about taking up too much space,
And sometimes the bad days would get so low, they'd take their feet out from under them and hit absolute rock bottom,
Because what's the point of that support if it won't ever be good enough?
What's the point in living a life where nothing you do is ever good enough?
But the impact of the fall is so forceful that the bad days bounce back, Causing the good days to slam onto the ground while the bad days get just a sliver of what it's like to be in the limelight.
Sometimes the darkness needs to have their moment, even if it's only a millisecond long and they end up breaking their tailbone on the fall back.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I seem to have a lot more bad days than good, but I swear I'm okay.
I find the strength to fight back and push the darkness upwards in attempt to save it from its bad reputation.
Turn it into art.
Offer it some adjectives and shiny words to make it feel better.
Share it proudly with the world to show that not every day is a good day.
That most of the time I am a mess
With a head consumed by a thick, dark, fog
Weighing me down so low that my thoughts are being dragged in the dirt on the playground as kids stomp all over me.
Giving me black and blues that only cause me to become darker.
But I will not let the bad days bring me down.
Instead I will bring the bad days up.
Because even the longest, darkest, tunnels have an opening.
Whether it be a small crack, or a staircase of light,
It is this darkness that gives me a purpose.
It is the darkness that gives me a light.
It is the darkness that gives me a voice.

August 6th, 2016; I had a body forced onto me.
His ***** hands grasped my body and pulled my hair.
I said stop with a nervous laugh.
He pushed his hips to my back and started to nibble at my neck.
I turned around and kissed him.
He moaned into my ear and I felt disgusted.
And then he pushed me onto the couch and was on top of me.
I said no.
He pulled at my shirt and bit my lip so hard I could taste blood.
"Our friends are outside, let's go chill with them."
"I'm not interested in your friends," He said while grinding his hips against me.
I said no.
He breathed into my mouth and I forced my head to the side, blocking his fiery tongue.
I squirmed and I pushed.
I said no.
I know for a ******* fact that I said no.

You are going to miss people.
You'll catch your wandering afternoon thoughts bumping into old memories
That feel warm at first but then start to sting.
Like the way he called pants "dungarees" and you made fun of him for it every chance you got.
Or the breakfasts you always looked forward to when you stayed over.
Like the corny jokes and those obnoxious glasses with the mustache and nose attached.
Or how he could literally fix anything.
Like when you were crying and he would tickle you until those sobs turned into laughter.
Or the way he looked at grandma and you would think, "That. That is love," even if he would say she had a big **** after.
You are going to miss people.
Their laughter,
Their love,
Their knowledge,
Their love,
Their happiness,
Their love,
Their strength,
Their unconditional love.
You are going to miss people.
But the law of conservation of energy in physics states that energy can neither be created nor be destroyed, but it can change form. I don't know why but that's the first thought that came to my mind when I heard, "he's gone."
Because although he may not be here in the way that he was, he is most definitely still here in other ways. He is the flicker of the lights. He is the smile on your face you catch yourself doing for no reason at all. He is the laughter that makes your head tip back and your cheeks hurt. He is the wind. He is the sun. He is everything. He is loved. He is missed. But he is with us still.

I awoke at three in the morning,
My heart raced and my fingers twitched.
The candleabra flickered before going out,
Leaving me in the pitch black.
I pounced out of bed and crept slowly to the doorway,
The faint sound of jazz luring me out to the hall,
And to an eerie trail of buttons.
Tiptoeing slowly,
Down the stairs,
Through the corridor,
And into the kitchen.
There.
A horrifying sight.
A minion in front of my fridge,
Repeating over and over;
"You've run out of milk".

He did a line on the dashboard.
He did a line on the kitchen counter.
He did a line on the patio.
He did a line in the bathroom.
He did a line on the dining room table.
I tried to count the amount of times you pulled out the vial of coke,
but I lost count after eight.
We drove around; I was high on THC and you were hyped on *******.
I had to refrain from grabbing for your hand multiple times.
And when I complained about wanting fireworks we ended up in the grocery store five minutes before closing so you could get them for me.
You kept getting closer and closer to me after each one went off until finally you took my hand and I had the dumbest grin on my face.
Lit up by shadows of sparks and fire.
And then you did another line.
And my grin faltered.
And the fireworks went *out