I've never written a happy poem.
I've tried, and stopped.
It always felt fake, cheesy.
I've come to realize that I do not need to express the things that make me happy in order to write a happy poem.
I do not need to make metaphors for the joys in life.
I have joys.
I know this.
I have yet to write a happy poem.
But I feel happy.

Fragile.
So very delicate.
Like the Angel placed at the top of the tree.
She watches over everyone, and makes sure they are okay.
She makes sure everyone is happy and safe.
There is no one to watch over her.
She is too fragile.

I'm sorry.
I know our relationship has been failing.
Slowly sliding down the hill and neither one of us cares.
we really don't care.
I wish you would have known.
Known when to say when.
Known when you couldn't take anymore.
I thought you knew.

I am here for you now.
I'm the only one you need.
Embrace me.
Love me.
Feel my presence.
I care.
I care jess.
So do you.
I know it.

I'm sick of being the one everyone takes for granted.
All my life I have been **** on. Constantly by everyone. It doesn't seem to matter to anyone that I might like to have someone to go to every once and a while. I'd like to have someone that comforts me when I feel like I've been destroyed from the inside out. I've taken everyone's bullets for them and they aren't even there to catch me when I'm falling. Or to even pick me up after.
I've always been that person.
I never thought I needed that person.
I need that person now, but I'm sick of being the one who takes everyone else for granted.

Just tryin not to **** my life up.
I've worked to get this far.
Tried my best to see the best but you lead me to the dark.

You won't **** my life up.
You're the devil in disguise.
Someday I hope you see the light and find a brighter life.

I refuse to **** my life up.
Im off to better things.
Continue to **** yourself up.
I won't sit and take the sting.

You can no longer hurt me.
These emotions they are mine.
Im on to better things.
Without you I am alive.

Not sure why I act the way I do.
It's probably due to the fact that I've lost him.
I don't really feel anything anymore.
All those things that used to mean so much, every person who has been with me so long. Don't mean more than a stranger to me. And it doesn't even phase me.
Everything in my life that has vanished has lead me to learn how to be okay with losing anything.
The one who meant everything is now gone and I can't seem to understand how to feel anything anymore.
No matter how many tears are shed it doesn't matter, so I wipe the rivers from my face and tell myself that it just doesn't matter.
When it did matter.
That was the one thing that mattered.
You mattered to me.
You made me feel how I didn't think I could ever feel.
Without you, I no longer feel.
When I was losing you, each limb was slowly  disconnected from my body.
everything stopped, every part of me lost feeling, slowly I learned what it felt like to lose it all.
Now that you're gone, I no longer feel.
You are gone and I am numb.

Why is it seen as a bad thing when a woman believes that she is beautiful?
My entire life I knew I was pretty.
I never felt like I was beautiful.
When I express to you that I am confident in my looks you say you're done with cocky girls.
Why is this a bad thing?
Why is this not celebrated ?
It took me only a trauma event, an eating disorder and a few bad break ups to feel this way.
And I am happy.
And I am beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I compare my love for you to my driving.

Reckless.
Youthful.
Shouldn't be allowed.
Dangerous.

Yet I need it to get to where I want to go.

Everyone drives.
The ones who don't are content with that alone.

I shouldn't be allowed to.

I put my foot to the gas.
Trying to reach you.
Terryfying and exhilarating all at the same time.
But I'm all in.

Stop.

Abrupt.
Shock.
Fear.
Sorrow.

And it might just still be allowed.

I lost myself when the words poured from the top of her head and swallowed me whole.
Drowning every inch, taking every breath.
The black steel barrel and the glossy white casing in which he placed himself has become a Kodak print in my brain.

How could you?

His body trembles from the volcanoes of emotion erupting inside of him.
How is he supposed to handle this?
Flashfloods overcome the grasslands of his face.
They glisten as they empty themselves.
They gaze to you as a last plea, and you have the nerve to tell me?

Stained and impaled for four years, with the knife you never regretted throwing.
Limping through the future with the wound that can’t quite heal.
The third number in my life, almost lost his.
How could you tell me?

The house is overflowing with hostility and you just keep pouring more in.
In public I ignore the constant internal struggles although there is war inside of me.
The four year long war presses on although my heart begs for its end.
Although I may act as a stone, I am not.
Although I may speak as if I am fine, I am not.
Although I may seem as if I do not remember, I have not forgotten.
Although I may seem like there is no wall, there is.
Although it may seem as if the respect might have been regained, it has not.

The burden you were soon relieved of was felt as soon as you happily passed it on.
Only being received by the 15 year old beingforced to hold the plate.
The 15 year old who you treat as a friend.
The 15 year old who was once your daughter.
The now 19 year old girl who still cannot forget.

How could you?

Multiple times you have been taken from me without my approval.
Spinning, black, nauseating.
The foreign hands touch me.
No.

Face in the dirt.
Dark.
Dizzy.
What is going on?
Stop putting my head there.
Swept into your arms I am dead weight But of course you can manage.


Multiple times I have put myself in the position where they can act upon the morals that they don’t have.
He does what he wants.
Stop.
He accomplishes his goal.
And leaves naked in the night.


Black.
You carry me in, knowing what happened.
You look at me straight and I can’t see your face.
This is okay though, right?
Multiple times your morals have vanished.
(no).

You say lets go somewhere else and we walk to the porch.
Bromine, Oxygen, Thymine, foreign to me.
Testosterone.
Stop it.
Testosterone.
No.
Get out of my house.

I’m coming to Nebraska and I’m staying with you.
(No).
Pacing. terrified.
No.

I love you.

When all else fails, believe that there is something greater out there.
Some all encompassing creator that loves each and every one of us the same.
He hears everything, sees everything, and he will forgive you.
Forgive you for everything you should never be forgiven for.
Forgive you for the pain and suffering that you have put many through.
He will forgive you because everyone deserves to be forgiven.
I will never forgive you.
And I don't believe in him either.

The most suspicious people are the guiltiest themselves.

The ones who hurt the most learn to trust again because they're been hurt.
They believe in love because that's how they were hurt.

The guilty ones are hopeless.
They do not deserve love.
They will ****** and scrape every last bit of happiness you have and take it for granted.
They will blame you for their actions.
They will hurt you because they secretly know the pain that they have caused.
They put that pain on you.
They are suspicious of you because they themselves are guilty.

Never trust the suspicious ones.

Never.
I hope you can learn to trust.
Because love is trust and the guilty don't love.

Don't love the guilty ones.

You just scattered the pieces.
How can you break what's already broken?
The comforting clench of the hand around the knife.
Those eyes.
The chill.

But those eyes, they make me believe.
In love.
In you.
I believe.
Yet I cry.

The stick of the point indenting my skin reflects the light of the situation.
Your eyes.
"I would never hurt you."

I hate you.
My eyes.
Filled with the tears from my non exsistant heart.
The heart that is yours.
The heart that is yours.

"I would never hurt you"
"You're the one thing I care about"
My eyes glisten as they stare into yours.
"I hate you"

The words snaked around my neck.
Suffocating me.
****.
The way you made me feel.
The games.
The bruises?
That night.
That knife.

Never in my life did I think I would ruin a pillow over someone.
As I crumble into whatever you call what I am now, the only thing there to catch me is my pillow.
As the floods escape my eyes, the mascara rivers destroy my comfort. Leaving me with only a reminder that you hurt me.
That I thought you loved me.
That you exsist. And I can't be with you anymore.
The constant reminder before bedtime or before nap time leaving me with the most painful dreams of when we were happy together.
Dreams of the days I never thought would end.
I hope for the day when I go to sleep and don't notice those stains.
I hope for the day when I no longer think of what I can't have.
I hope for the day where I no longer want you.
But for now Im just reminded that Im the one who is no longer wanted.

I never knew this could feel so good.

When you said you didn't want me anymore I thought you were lying.
I thought you were trying to push me away because you didn't want to hurt me anymore.
I thought you wanted me to feel better.

I know now that is not what it was.
When you said you didn't want me anymore I told myself you did. I rolled in the thoughts of eventually getting you back.
He just needs a break.
He will realize I'm the one for him.

No.

When you said you didn't want me anymore I told myself I wouldn't talk to you.
You're lying. Pushing me away.
He can't possibly push me away.
You know this.
I love you.

Anger.
Tears.
Pain.
What am I even doing?

I do not love you!
When you said you did not like me anymore, finally.
The truth.
No more fear.
Im free.

I never knew this would feel so ******* good.

I wish I could say you are a piece of me.
I wish I was a piece of you.
I don't know if I ever was.
Did I make it up?
Was I wrong?
The distorted thoughts consume me but contain the most vulnerable memories I have.

I was never a piece of you.

This is where I was wrong.
I let myself believe in a person that I knew didn't want me.
I knew you didn't want me.
It was clear.
The distortions that I believed became me.
They became my "love" for you.

I did not love you.

I can truly say you were a piece of me at one point in time.
When I barely knew you.
When I didn't know the true monster you are.
The manipulative soul that I let take mine.
The manipulative soul that I let manipulate me.
I let you consume me.
Every part of me.
Destroyed.

When you were a part of me I couldn't get enough.
It was nothing like the nights I lay crying in your bed.
The nights I lay crying in my bed.
The days I lay crying in my bed.
The entire days that I cried.

Too many wasted tears.
I had hoped you wouldn't waste them.
I hoped they would fix you.
I hoped they would make you want to fix youself, for me.

I was wrong.

You haven't been a part of me since I relied on you.
It's hard for me even to remember when I could do that.
It's hard to recall the times you were actually there.
You actually did care.
But you were not invested.
You never let me become a part of you.

And I will not be consumed in these distortions any longer.

It's strange,
The things that fuel us, that make us strong.
The things that make us feel strong.
The things that make us feel better.
These things can be deceiving.
These things can change our lives.
It feels as if these things change us.
It feels as if they change who we are.
One person can make all the difference in your life.
One person can change the way you think.
They can change your perspective on life, on your future, on yourself.

How do we know if these people are supposed to remain in our lives?
How do we know if this change is good?

It sure feels good.

Born into lies and raised in confusion,
Unaware of how life is supposed to start.
Tossed into a world where new life is unexpectedly complicated
But it is expected that she grow up not knowing why.

Thinking your mom is the one person who has always been reliable
And only to learn, the ones held closest, have the power to unwind the world around you.
The full spool of your life is being pulled and you can’t help but to spin.
Your existence sloshes, as the giant waves peak and shatter into smaller droplets and you are what is left behind.
Left alone and covered in filthy debris that is inevitable and not your fault.
You are evidence.
The one reminder that everyone wishes would just disappear.

The child of a lie.
This is the only truth you now have.
Thrown into the stream of doubt and untrusting
The stone in the pile of what seemed to be full of gems.
Sifting through the suspicions that have been gathering since before you could remember.
The tides rose to meet the shore but you never quite reach the sand.
Sunken down among the mud while the rest gets sifted, cleaned, and claimed.

I am left with the filth that you have created for me and am unable to skim through the pages and pages of lies in which I have been living in.

I’m screaming as the words tear my insides apart.
Shredding my very comfort, clawing at my every wish.
This monster I have created is claiming this body. My body.
As my words slice my toungue and grasp your face I can do nothing but watch.
And hope you forgive me.
I hope you leave.

You find it somewhere inside your pure heart to calm and care for me still.
Yet I can’t find it inside the scraps of my body to comfort you.
To show you that I still care.
To show you that I still want you.
Do I?

As I shrivel and curl into the ball that I wish I could be in forever, There you are.
Swaddling me, embracing me with your arms, in your love.
I need you, yet I do not deserve you.
I need you.

I continue to attempt to take every last piece of enjoyment from you that I can.
There’s no way anyone can handle this much pain.

“We aren’t right for each other”.
“I do not know what love is”.
“I do not love you”.

I take every last breath and every last tear from your shriveled eyes.
You curl up and hope to be swaddled.
There is nothing you haven’t given me.
Nothing left for yourself.

I let you be.

I am fine on my own.

How do I see what everyone sees?
How can I act like the feelings aren't there?
How can I lie to myself if I can't lie to you?

Can't go back to square one, but I've taken at least 8 steps back.
I can't ever get you off my mind, I still wish I could be around you all the time.
Im blind, can't see.
You overcome my everything.

You were my everything.

But those days are gone.
Feeling changed.
**** went down.
Why do I feel like my life's been flipped around?

How do I see what everyone sees?
You try to lend me your eyes.
As many have.

Show me what I cannot see on my own.

I just wish you would take my eyes, and actually see.

Uncertainty
About you
About me

I need more
Praise
Respect
Love

Uncertainty
Do you love me?
Do you still want me?

Do I?

Its impossible to read the signs that you don’t send
1 hour later, two hours later

I can’t express to myself how much you care.

Do you even?
I’m uncertain

I write you poems you never read.

I paint the page with my heart and the pain you have caused.
I spill each word out over the tops of my lips and cradle them in my hands.
The new life in my palms, wanting to grow, wanting to be a part of something that isn't.
I cradle the newborn words in my hands, in hopes that maybe you'll take them.
Maybe you'll listen.
I cradle my comfort, my anxieties, my thoughts.
The beliefs I once had, the anger I once felt, The anger I still feel.
The love I once felt.
I was numb.
experiencing extreme joy and anger at the same time.
But I cradled those words.
I know you wont see them.
But I wrote you many poems.

Nothing can describe the feeling that courses through my veins, through my head, through my stomach.
I cry and shake and puke over the fact that your body has been contaminated.
The foreign hands that layed everything on you is like poisen that I have swallowed.
Making me sick, making me shake.
My insides explode and I can't handle it.
As my clothes dampen with my tears and wish I could drown in them.
Sink deep to the bottom where there are no tears, no emotion, no pain.
I cry from the hurt, the disbelief, the betrayal.
And yet I do not hate you.

I beat myself up and drive myself crazy with the thoughts of the poisen on your lips and covering your body as you throw it upon yourself and yet I do not hate you.

The daily tears, insults and bad memories are not enough because I do not hate you.

I deserve better and yet you are all I want.

But I wish I hated you.

- the girl who you used to call yours

My only true friend is my therapist.
A person who I have to pay to have listen to me because no one else will.
I don't want anyone else to have to.
And she doesn't even know half of it.
She doesn't know the pain I feel.
She doesn't have any reason to care about me.
No one else does.
I pay her to listen to me.
And yet I think she's the one person who actually does care.

What if what I see makes me happy?
Is it bad that I find joy in the lies I see before me?
Is it bad that I ignore the pain I am put through?

If its bad then why do you call it love?

Is it bad to love someone who hates to love you?
Is it bad that the one you give all of your love to loves to hurt you?
Is it bad to want to take the pain from them because you feel they have more pain than you do?
Is it bad to hurt for them because they are not blind?

Or am I just hurting for myself?

When will I see?

I am constantly finding myself to be this easily agitated, but overly loving person, and that is because of you.

*******.

I've been attempting to search for the girl I once was and can't find what I'm looking for.
You took the best of me and left me with this.
This person I do not want to be.
This weak soul.
Weaker than I ever thought I could be.

I used to be strong.
I chose not to fight back because I thought you needed me.
I wanted to help you.
To be there for you.
But you made me this person.
And I hate who I have become.

You aren't even here to help me through it.

When I finally need you.

My Arm is on fire and it doesn't even hurt.
I did it.
But was it me?
The tortured memories inside my head blind me to the point where i don't know who I am anymore.
This person, foreign.
Alien.
You.

Red.
Relief.
But is it?
No
Am I?
Crazy?

More red than before.
Relief.

No pain.
I want to feel it.
But I can't.
You don't feel it.

I feel you.

Pressure.
More.
Red.
Relief.

Is it relief if I still can't feel?

My arm is on fire and It should hurt.

I don't even have to tell you not to put me out.