I will lie here in my bed
Contemplating with my head
How it is you tick
What drives your soul
What makes your mind work
Because it isn't your heart
That stopped ages ago
I will try to look inside
Your misty eyes for the answer
I look for something mechanical; a clock, a pacemaker
The thing that makes you tick
The thing that gives you life
It isn't your brain
That stopped last night
When I told you how I felt
But still you seem to move on, working fine
With no heart, no smart
And so I will lie here in my bed
Contemplating with my head
How it is you tick

It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.

I used to wonder how people fell asleep in class
Now I wonder how they stay awake

I used to wonder how people failed their classes
Now I wonder how they pass

I used to wonder how people were alone
Now I wonder how they have so many friends

I used to wonder how people were sad
Now I wonder how to be happy

I used to wonder why people cut
Now I wonder how they live without self harm

I used to wonder what it's like to stay up late
Now I wonder what'd it be like to sleep enough

I used to wonder how they thought something was wrong with school
Now I wonder how somebody sees something right

I used to wonder how people want to die
Now I wonder how they stay alive