I have stopped eating as much as usual

It just does not seem so necessary

And besides,

This way my empty heart has

My empty stomach to keep it company

Right now everything is scary
It's new, foreign
A little foggy and unclear
But there is so much potential
You have so much talent
You're not sure what exactly is going to happen
But neither am I
All I know is that
Through these last few crazy years
We've stood by each other
Solid, faithful
Always there
So strong
But now you're scared
And you've closed your eyes
Shut out the love and support
You cut the chain to the anchor holding you safely in the harbor

Your mom is blind
The kind where she can only see fuzzy outlines of shapes

You're blind, too
The kind where you can't see how much I love you

If my skin could talk,
it would tell tales about every mark, blemish and scar.
It would fondly remember the day each freckle arrived,
and how the sun had kissed it and
left a permanent reminder of that day.
It would ooze hard work and the
sweat that accompanies such accomplishments.
It would rave about all the wonderful places it has been and all the people it has touched and been touched by.
It would profess its love of texture and materials.
It would call out, begging to be near to another,
Longing for the warmth and love of affection.
If my skin could talk,
It would not worry about being anything but itself.
It would not be concerned with its hue
or that it had a different amount of melanin than another.
It would not hate when it came into contact with something not like itself.
No, instead it would draw the outsider in
surround itself with this foreigner,
learning the marks, blemishes and scars of the new individual, recognizing similarities and embracing contrasting characteristics.

If my my skin could talk, it wouldn’t see; it would feel.

I didn't mean it like that
I didn't mean to make it sound like a personal attack
I didn't mean to fill your head with thoughts that shouldn't exist
I didn't mean for you to think like me
I didn't mean for you to be afraid
I didn't mean to hurt you
I didn't mean to cause doubts
Because doubts eat at your insides
They gnaw your vital organs
And to live,
You have to get rid of the doubts
And that would mean
Getting rid of me
And I certainly did not mean that.

I don't want you to be in your bed.
I want you to be here
Talking with me
Letting me calm your fears
Pet your hair
Tell you it's going to be okay
That I'm just a stupid girl who doesn't say all the right words
At all the right times
I want you to wake up
Please
Wake up
Come here and let me fix this
Fix you.
I don't want you to be in bed
I don't want you to be asleep unless
It's with me
Forever

You know those blank pages at the end of a book?
The ones there just to make the other pages with numbers line up?
Yeah. Those.
Those are for me.
I get to fill them with all the things that the book didn't say.
All the emotions and double meanings woven
Between the lines.
Scribbled hastily in the margins
The can all be neatly compressed into that
Great
White
Expanse at the end
All the words there mean more than any plot a chapter could hold.
These paragraphs tell a different tale.
One without page numbers or punctuation marks.
One that is constantly evolving.
Something only I understand.
Only I can see all the things I made up.
The things I let bloom from nothing into nothing.
I create stories so fantastical no would could believe them.
No one can understand.
It's all assumptions and hurt.
Compilations of innocent, mistaken gestures.
The paper holds a ticking time bomb. Waiting to explode and destroy every relationship I've ever had.
Because probably, none of it is real.
I am the protagonist and the antagonist.
The villain and the hero.
The winner and the loser.
No. Just the loser.
The stupid girl who created a magical world she couldn't escape from.
She allowed letters and words to imprison her.
And the worst part?
The words aren't even real.
But I'm still stuck between The End and the back cover. In those stupid, empty pages.
Trapped in my own delusions.