i am more than the words he spits in
my face when he is too angry to care
how heavy and hurtful they might be




i am entirely too silent and breathing
smoke into my innocent lungs that i did
not choose to inhale in the first place




i am alone in a classroom filled with
twenty-eight other students because i
can't bear the thought of rejection




i am the youngest sibling watching her
oldest brother fall to pieces on the
back porch while her mother screams




i am the only daughter listening to her
youngest brother say he doesn't care
about his family enough to live closer




i am not worth the spare change in
your wallet or an unsealed letter missing
a stamp and return address to home




i am not worth the torn edges of my
unused history book or scarred knuckes
from holding my own hand too hard




i am hardly worth the free time you
have while you're doing your homework
and think it's okay to text me lies




i am quieter nowadays because you
told me one time when i wasn't speaking
anymore that i meant something to you




i am the girl who wants olive skin and
brighter eyes and a golden crown of hair
that might make you think you love me




i am sitting at a table full of people who
say they love me but don't know anything
about me except what i decide to tell them




i am often alone on holidays because i
tend to lose interest in things that
represent temporary smiles and affection




i am telling all these lies with my bitten
fingernails and backwards hiccups but
there might be a little truth in it all




i am no longer talking myself out of
falling for you because i've convinced
myself that you might be worth it

i wanted us
to be how we
once were
so desperately,
so i took you to
the most familiar
place we'd ever
known.

but nothing
was the same
when we sat on
rooftops that
held stories of
the people that
were too afraid
of heights.


his name tasted
like june or
something else
worth forgetting,
with an aftertaste
of mid-july
and a lack of
self-awareness.

he had brilliant,
ever-changing
irises like
kaleidoscopes
and a mind
like a vacant
hospital bed.


and i know
that you find a
strange comfort
in the feeling of
crashing through
already broken
windows,

but my heart is
a wide open
window, letting
anything drift in
and fall out as it
pleases, over
and over again.


my nine-letter
name loses
it's meaning
after saying it
a few times,
just like
everything else.

and all i have
are ebony pupils
that stare and
ivory bones
that crumble,
inverted lungs
that shrink
and a backwards
spine that twists.







(i wanted us
to be how we
once were






but nothing
was the same.)