i.
"I do not support war
                                 in any context."
My father told me making blanket statements such as this
                     is foolish and naive.
   No one will ever take me seriously
sometimes war is necessary.
                    No.
The pacifist in my bones
             hates bloodshed
                       hates       violence.
The recovering self mutilator in my chest
              was only okay with it
                    if it was directed
                                                                                                 at myself.
War removes
                                   flesh and bone
                                   blood and life
                                   love and hope.
It makes it impossible even to live in the world
even to be able to
                                       breathe.

ii.
"People can coexist
                 once prejudices are eradicated."
Father calls this
                  "liberal propaganda"
   He'd rather bask in his ignorance
Listen to Fox News
                                                 Where all his "facts" are spat at him
By old white dudes and
                        coined hot blondes.
Freddie Gray did not need to die
                                                        Michael Brown did not need to bleed
                             Eric Garner was merely trying to
                                                    breathe.

iii.
"Anxiety isn't just
                                stress."
My mother tells me in the midst of the storm
                                                                       That it is not even
                                                            raining.
She continues to hammer the belief
                     into my brain
that if I would stop stressing myself out
                                                     *I would be okay.
Mom,
                                                                             I'm not alright.
Mom,
                                                                             I seldom get sleep at night.
Mom,                                                              
                                                                             I can't hold on much longer.
Mom,
                                                                             I can't even
                                      breathe.

iv.
"You feel depression everywhere."
                                  This one is true
in part.
Sometimes,
                                                                             depression is a freight train,
bruising your sickly lungs
smashing your broken heart
pressing a knife into your back
                                                                                                       and twisting.
But other times,
                                                                           depression is the absence of
                                                                                                            all feeling
And that
                                                                                                     is all you feel.
                                                         the remainder of the knife in the back
                                                         the shatter pieces of your broken heart
                                                         the shriveled up portions of your lungs
leaving you constricted so tightly
you find yourself struggling to
                                              breathe.

v.
"When I fall,
                     I fall hard."
I sit on the suede couch
                                                                                   in my shrink's office.
We try to gather the scattered bones
                                                                       I lost after falling off the wagon
                                           yet again.
Relapse will never stop *******,                                  not because of the behavior
               but because of how much faith you lose
                                                                                                         in yourself.
Questions flood your body's once stable floor
                                               How could I let this happen?
   &nb

I wish I knew
The reason you stopped trying
To find any remains
Of the body you left behind
Your beautiful soul still lingers
Could I be the reason?
I should have noticed, right?
I was always there for you
Oh, how I wish you knew
You do not go away
And I miss you day by day.
Six months is a long time
It feels like I got the news yesterday
My mind is jumbled with questions
Like
Why is it always the ones that everybody loves
That have to leave too soon?
I miss you, forever
But somehow
Over this last half a year
I have discovered more about myself
Than I ever could have imagined.
Thank you for giving me that opportunity
Even if it was painful for everyone.
But we all embraced each other's agony
And you taught us that lesson.
I may never stop missing you
But I will also
Never stop thanking you.

The morning I walked into church
Decked out in ripped jeans and an oversized sweater
Was the aftermath of the first night
I had ever tasted *****.
To think I thought I could hide my first binge
But as soon as I met my mom
My hair unruly and my makeup smeared
Mom takes one whiff of me
"Were you drinking?"
Me, panicked and on the defensive
"No, I just overslept."
It's funny how we try to hide things
That are bleeding all over our hands
Tattooed all over our faces
The difference is
Sometimes people actively choose to ignore it.
Like when I was throwing up Thanksgiving dinner
I had every tell-tale sign of a bulimic
But my family turned a blind eye.
Nobody asked me why I locked myself in the bathroom for hours
Nobody asked my why I weighed myself 12 times a day
Everyone thought it was wonderful I was losing so much weight
Over a short period of time.
Well I didn't know there was a prize
For losing eleven pounds in a week
For becoming a sack of rattling bones
Stitched together by pockets of fat
I was not a person during that time
And I thought I was hiding it well
But really,
People just chose not to see it.
How can we pretend these things do not exist?
While some people say
That they have skeletons in their closet
When in reality
They left the door open
And we chose to walk right past it.

To the kid in the hallway telling his friend
"Maybe you need a **** whistle."
And to her response, a sarcastic
"Matt, **** jokes aren't funny."
You're **** right they aren't
Tell me, how is anyone forcing themself onto another person funny?
How are the I don't want tos when her "no" couldn't scream loud enough funny?
How are the ****** thighs and bruised hips funny?
How is the waking up in the middle of the night
How are the flashbacks and her wailing funny?
How is the seven year-old who had so much anxiety she'd tear her hair out
Or a sixteen year-old who kept eyeliner and a kitchen knife side by side in her purse funny?
It's about as funny as a slaughterhouse full of pigs taunting the other pigs
And telling them their approaching doomsday is amusing.
I dug my key into the palm of my hand like a knife when I heard this jeer
Clenching and unclenching a fist
Because I knew if I did not
That hand would go right through your faces.
You do not know the impact of your words
You see, for a survivor
Jokes about ****** assault are triggers.
They bring back every memory
Which becomes a stinging tear behind an eyeball
Fighting not to emerge from its home.
When I say something
Classically I am being "too sensitive"
Just as I was "too sensitive"
When he told me to get on top of him
And I said no
So much courage mustered up in a little body
I could have moved mountains that day
I could have been my own goddess
At seven years old
But he did not care
He was bigger than me
And he imposed that will onto my body
Reducing my childlike frame to the size of a fly
Being swatted by the paw of a lion.
I will not be silent
So when you tell a **** joke and I am in earshot
Do not expect me to laugh
Because there is nothing funny about a slaughterhouse.

Confession:
I wanted to fill your mouth with red roses
I wanted to string daisies and words through your golden hair
We were princesses growing up
Or at least, we pretended we were
The forest behind our house was the only palace we knew
It was the only place we could feel pretty.

Confession:
I never hated you like I said I did
When we got into our big fights
After you told everyone I drained my body of it's red wine
Into the bathtub by the means of a blade.
You may have been malicious in your intentions
Or you may have been a kid who had no idea what to do
I will always choose the latter.

Confession:
Overdose felt like that razor was dancing across my forearm
Once again.
They could have been the same
When the news cut through my eardrum
I didn't feel anything
I didn't cry at first
But I drove for hours
Occasionally screaming that this couldn't be real
A feeling only an experienced cutter would know
Like a familiar old friend.

Confession:
I peaked when
Mom told me not to look at you
As your body lie face up in that wooden bed
With ***** marks from the witch's needle
Covering your arm like black and blue paint.
She said you looked sick
She said you didn't look like yourself
Because you weren't.
But you were still the same kind of beautiful
You had always been
Even in your illness
Even in your addiction
Even in your silence.

They see it
Suddenly the mold I am trying to keep begins to crack
And the clay is ruined from the creases that form
As the pieces begin to fall away
Because life is chipping at each and every one for every second that I breathe
Every single day

Now, the exact people who I was trying to keep out
The ones who I wanted to respect me
Because I respect them so much
The ones who I kept putting on this face for
This false confidence that was the type of bravado a high school football player exerts when he says
"I got this" on the day of his first game
And he puffs out his barrel chest but really he is shaking in his cleats
They are the ones who know how not okay I am.

My extremely attractive (and married...but attractive nonetheless) teacher has seen me sob over my grades
Another, who reminds me of my grandpa, has seen me break down during a movie
That stirred up feelings of anxiety due to my current situation
And still a guidance counselor who, over the years, has been more of a father figure to me than my own father has been
Has seen me completely depleted because I cannot pull myself out of this situation that is draining the color from my skin
And the life from my soul

They do not get it
How am I supposed to just sit here and watch my best friend in this ungodly amount of pain
Because her father just died
And realize that I can do nothing about it
Without wanting to fall apart and come undone at the seams of my very being?

So now,
All I do is cry and sleep
And sleep and cry.
I can feel the remains of depression
Trickling down the back of my neck like sticky sweat
That triggers a nerve and makes every hair stand straight up.

Who am I?
I am just some nervous wreck basket case
Walking talking hot mess
To some, I am just some overly emotional *****
Who cannot keep her mood in check
And who invites pain and drama into her life.
Is that all that my life has become?
There must be more
There must be more

If there is not
Would it hurt me to fall into some indefinite coma that is synonymous to a black hole that will swallow my life
Into an undefined space, somewhere
As if I am just sleeping in limbo.

I'm a wreck
I can't be alone
Yet it's all that I want sometimes

I break
So fast and so swiftly
I'll take no one with me
And yet I am wishing
Someone would save me

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

I've tried to conform
So many times before
I've failed again and again

They'll love you for the moment
Then throw you back where you began

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

We're so beautiful
When we're wasting away
We're so precious
When we're broken

And I pray
This won't take me from you
And I'll stay
Stay right here in loo of it all

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you

This time I won't lift you
With my slow and shaking hands
It's imperfect, yet wonderful still
The feeling of living for myself
And not you
Not him, not them
Just me

I tell my professor that I'm struggling with depression
He tells me he didn't notice.
Like it is something I am supposed to wear on my arm
If I am not covered in cuts or darkness
It's not happening.
I've learned
When someone feels like they don't have choices
They resort to the best way of surviving
That they know how to.
For me, that's faking it
Plastic face, ripped in half
I am tearing myself to shreds
Behind clear eyes.
What you don't see is the scars on my chest
That I get from scraping my skin with nails
Any perceived blemish must come off
I hide the holes with makeup and clothing
Dressed to impress.
What you don't see is the nearly infected patch of skin
Under my hairline
Because I can't stop reopening the wound
I keep it concealed.
My body is not a canvas on which I paint
My compulsive habits and depressive symptoms
For all to see.
I survive the best I can
And it almost comes off as if I'm thriving
Sometimes I forget there are days
When moving my limbs ***** the life out of me
I fool myself into thinking I'm fine
Until I get hit with a tidal wave of triggers
They always seem to appear in threes
I keep trying to arrange the broken pieces
So I look pretty
Isn't that the best thing that a woman can be anyway?
Or so we're taught.
I tell my professor
"I'm trying."
He thanks me for explaining things to him.
Submitting to my own guilt
For speaking of pain,
My mouth forms a small smile
After all, this is the way
I have been taught
To survive.

The smoke in the air tells a story
As she ***** on a cigarette.
She sits in a park, alone at night
Waiting for someone to tell her to go home
Before they call the police.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
She remembers the days before she needed this fix
The days when she was happy.
Times before her ex-boyfriend tanked her self-esteem
Times prior to some guy picking her up when she was
Down and out
He used her for his own selfish needs
Left her feeling *****
He covered his tracks to make sure
No one would believe her.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
As the way it crawls down her throat and chokes her
Reminds her of the era
Not long ago
When bulimia was her best friend.
Why does she still wish at times
That she could purge her life away?

The smoke in the air tells a story.
Of the times when her ex brought her Marlboros
And they polished off a pack when her parents weren't home.
They were such a cliché, with cigarettes after ***
But that's exactly how she wanted it to be.

The smoke in the air tells a story.
About the week after her grandfather suddenly passed away
She was on her ninth day without sleep
Chain smoking provided her with some relief
And so did passing out in an empty lot.

The smoke in the air tells a story
Her story
My story.
So I suppose one more pack couldn't hurt.

Life*
is just a larger
dirtier version
of high school...

(No one really gets ahead)

Hey pretty girl,
Who asked you
To take on the world?
They don't know what you've been through
That you had a child
When you were one yourself
You grew up so seamlessly
Even when you got little help.
You work two jobs
Care for the homeless
In the most extreme way.
I have learned more from you
Than I can ever repay.
Still, you never consider yourself
Unlucky or unfortunate.
Just because we are different
Does not mean a thing
People seem to think
That you're beer and I'm champagne
That isn't how it works at all.
My parents say
You've made questionable choices
Like they haven't?
I don't understand
Why money is so important
Just because we come from
Separate sectors of the financial latter
Does not mean
We lack a friendship that matters

The body breaks
My hands begin to snap at the wrist
My bones splinter, inch by inch
My skin removes itself from its tissue
My eyes can no longer see anything but darkness

The mind manipulates
My brain pretends things are there that are not
My hallucinations have never been so real
My PTSD has never been so confining
My mental illness has never isolated me this much
My thoughts have never been so tricked by fear

The heart hurts
My feelings lead me to become emotional
My conscience leads me to become guilty
My expectations lead me to become broken
My love for another leads me to become sterile

I fade
I die out
I become dust over the ocean
Over the grass
Over my fleeting bones
But You never will.

Now as my loneliness rages
And fire burns away my shell
I will learn to rely on You
You alone
I will soldier on
With You as my commander.

I had someone
who should have been a friend
ask me today
"Can't you just have a normal relationship
for once?"
My response
though choppy and unrehearsed
was
"I mess around with who I want to.
That is 'normal'
for me."
If I do not judge you for being abstinent
why do you insist on criticizing
my choices?
Plus, I do not know
when you got to decide what is 'typical'.
***?
Yes, I lost my virginity at fourteen
and shockingly,
I am regret-free.
However,
sometimes I do wish
that some sense of normalcy
would return to other areas of my life.
I wish I could remember what it looks like again.

I think I'm going crazy
From torturing myself with pictures
From reading your emails until I can no longer breathe.
For last night I ran away in my sleep
I was fast and went far and seldom looked back.

It started when I went for a walk
And turned my phone off
To escape reality.
And yet, these misconfigured beings
They chased me all the while.
My body started talking
How badly am I hallucinating?

My legs told me
"I don't want to run anymore."
My hands told me
"I don't want to fight anymore."
My brain told me
"I don't want to think anymore."
Therefore
I allowed myself to give up.

And it didn't feel so bad after all.
I was on my own
No one knew where I was
No one cared either.
I took a bus straight out of Hell
To some mysterious land.

Suddenly,
I realized I was seeing spots
Light peaked through the darkness
But I was not gone.
I was lying in the middle of a parking lot
Trying to get some sleep
And trying to avoid the fact
That maybe crazy isn't a big enough word
To describe what I have become.

Why do tears sparkle in the light?
So maybe we can see
The beauty in our suffering.

I've never felt so helpless.
Watching people who seemed indestructible
Break down before my eyes
Is no easy fleet
Being ****** into situations
In which I have no control
Has never been this hard
Will things be okay?
Can anything defuse this chaos?
I'm stuck between
Being the protector and holding it together
And
Completely falling apart.
I feel like a child
Who wants nothing more than comfort
My only relief
Comes from the cigarette between my curled lips
The sweet release of smoke
Is close enough to total bliss.
For now, I guess
I'll keep ingesting more of this tobacco cocktail
Looking for answers
And staring at the sun.

Do you hear my screams?
Is anybody out there?
Anyone who will listen?
No.

I live in the ruins of
What used to be someone
Who was lifted up
Told that someone was proud of her
Usually by friends.
That changed.

Friends is a funny word.
All of mine seem to
Criticize me.
Tear me down.
Tell me everything I do is
Unforgivable.
Even if they were never there.

I send them my poetry
As if to evoke some kind of
Positive response.
But all I get in return is silence.

And the next day,
The biting comments return.
With high speed and full force.

I can't handle your negativity
All it does is injure me.

I do not know
Why you do what you do
You pray that I will stay broken
As if it will fix you.
Honey, if that's your philosophy
You have way more damage than I can help you to overcome.

This is a story
About pain and sadness
But there is also a hint of irony.
It depicts my first and last time
Inside that presumptuous building on the hill.

I had seen it many times
Played on its playground as a child
Gone to its annual carnival as an adolescent
Its daunting shadow had watched me
With eyes of judgment
Many times before.

Finally entering through the doors
Was some kind of out-of-body experience
Mostly because of what I was there for.
The funeral of a friend was the dreary occasion.

How I miss him so
And it is still an offbeat feeling
When I think about him now.
I feel a twinge in my chest cavity
Every time I replay a memory of him.
It literally hurts my heart.

Anyway, I walk into the church
Decked out in black
My makeup has been replaced by the stains of tears.
I never felt uninvited,
As I imagined I might.
But I didn't quite know what to do.
I look ardently for a friend to sit next to
Or even an acquaintance.
No such luck.
I had to teach myself Catholic rituals
I was once again, alone.

Looking around as I entered, I saw people
Dipping their fingers in some kind of Holy water
And crossing themselves.
They seemed to be whispering something
But I couldn't make it out.
I did make a travesty of that practice
As I attempted to imitate them
Muttering some chicken scratch to look like I knew what I was doing.
I, apparently, got too much on my fingers
And some of it dribbled onto my freshly ironed shirt.
Awesome start to the day.

I sat next to two amiable-looking people
And kind of kept to myself.
The service was very sweet and honored him and his family
Wonderfully.
However, when we had to drop to our knees for prayer
I was a little bit late the first time
And the little padded areas
That you kneel on
Would not unlock themselves from the pew the second.
Great.

The worst part may have been
That during the ceremony
I could not cry.
I could not understand it.
I had sobbed for the days prior
So why, now when it's appropriate,
Can I not shed a single tear?

I feel insensitive
I also feel the sanctimonious glares of those surrounding me.
Eventually, droplets started bleeding from my eyes like crazy.
Am I crazy?

Finding a friend to drive me back to school
Proved to be easy
He held me as I bawled
While everyone else had stopped
Stone faced.
Why am I the only one
Who's emotions come and go
At the very wrong times?

Such a wreck
Such a paradox
Such a tale of heartache
For my first time in a Catholic steeple.

Stop trying to make me feel better
With all of the
"I'm sorry for your loss" crap
Maybe you mean it
Maybe you just do not know what else to say
But neither do I.

Is it possible, perhaps
Just not to bring it up
Until I ask?
What if I am not ready to talk?

Anyways, don't be sorry for me.
This is all my fault
That everyone is upset
That my mom is in pain.

I told her things would be just fine
When she was crying on the phone
The night he was admitted

I said
Don't worry,
He's probably just dehydrated.
I'm sure he'll be better in the morning.

I went to bed that night
Truly believing things would be okay.
He was this strong force
This army man
He wasn't allowed to die, right?
That kind of thing doesn't happen that quickly
Does it?

Well, apparently it does
Because he died the next day.
And I am such a ******* liar
For telling her it would be okay.

Stop asking about why
I don't want you to be with him.
No, it's not because I'm bitter
Or because he broke my heart
(Neither of which are the case, by the way)

He assaulted me.
He did not hurt me the way you think he did
Emotionally
He mentally and sexually abused me

No one knows, or ever will.
I refuse to deal with it.
A lot of the time,
It's not even on my mind
Unless I see him face to face
And my body goes into survival mode.

Then there is the question of
Was it assault?
There is too much of a grey area
For me to do anything about it.

I learned from the first time
That the law generally doesn't work in your favor
If you wait this long to bring it up.

Stop telling me I'll be okay.
Stop calling me pessimistic:
Stop saying I brought it upon myself.

Stop judging situations
That you know nothing about.

The words on my wrist stopped making sense
I wrote them on with permanent ink
Branded to my skin forever
My soul pretends to understand them
Because at one time, they were fresh
Now scars read like faded tattoos
Like a book full of missing pages
I guess I just never cut deep enough to make a lasting impression.
That chapter of my life does have holes and gaps
It is lost between the angles of verbs
And the misuse of nouns.
My raw red flesh used to tell a story
Now that tale is slowly washing away
But parts of it will remain forever.
Little details
The precise words my father used to describe me
Will someday become a distant memory
But the bigger picture
****** assault that caused cigarette burns and razor blades
To make a home in my skin
Will always read exactly.
While parts of the ink may bleed off the page
My story, my legacy
Will be shown through me.

Seeing you when you were broken
Strengthened me.

I always wanted to be pretty.
Growing up
When some other little girls wanted to be
Princesses and rock stars and doctors
I just wanted to be something worth looking at.
Maybe its because I was always awkward
And no one ever let me forget it.
My dad would never drop the fact
That I was bigger than the average Jane Doe
And as my sister got older,
She lost a lot of her baby weight
While I just put on more.
Then on TV
I always saw these plus sized girls who were gorgeous
In the ****** region
Even if they had a little extra meat on their bones.
I would analyze myself in the mirror for hours
Wondering why it seemed
I had nothing to offer the world.
Wondering why at the time when my friends were getting boyfriends
Boys were making fun of me.
Wondering why when males would bend over backwards for my peers
They would only be interested in abusing my insecure body.
I never understood
Why I got graced with the "ugly gene."
No one even tried to lie to me
And tell me I was attractive.
So I got to thinking
What else do I have to offer?
And I realized how twisted the world is
Because as a little girl
Since before I can remember
I have been told that how I look
Is more important than who I am.
And how I felt about my physical appearance
Directly influenced how I felt about my internal qualities.
I stopped fearing that I would not look good enough
And started to fear that I was not strong enough to handle
This world and all its messages.
Now, because I have grown
I have nothing to fear
But strength itself.

Circle, circle
Evil and monotonous
Everyone around here does the same **** thing
Day after day
Sit in a cubicle
Make babies, program them to be
Your little robots
To grow up to be
Real life mean girls
Or homophobic jocks
The kids whom you could only hope to be
Or the ones you hated.
Living in a world
Where no teenager needs to work
Everyone gets what they want
Daddy can buy you a car, a house, college
The whole **** world, have it your way
You buy drugs, throw huge parties
Because you can
Your sense of entitlement sickens me to the core
So when someone different comes along
Someone who isn't on the "Barbie Diet"
Someone who doesn't wear heavy makeup, or Hollister size double zero
Someone who doesn't live in a palace
Someone who has to work if they want things
Other than necessities
How do you respond?
Shun, backstab, gossip
Wishing they would care
At least, that is what I have experienced
In the magical world of Suburbia

Maybe I'll just take a walk
A walk through every town in which I lived
A walk through every man I loved
A walk through every face I used to know.

Maybe I can do that instead of hurting
With an unlit cigarette between my lips
As I flick the lighter with clear intent
But my hands are shaking
And this makes it harder.

Maybe I can try to forget
A burn for every time you hurt me
A cut in every place you touched me
I'd like to cut you out of my mind
Or watch you burn in Hell
I bet there's a special place there for people like you.

I'm tired of crying
I'm sick of trying
I don't feel like believing today.

Maybe I'll just sit in bed
Drinking away the pain.
Maybe I'll just spend my days here
Suffering alone.

We all have a different story.
White male, sophomore says
His father told him all **** should be shot on site
So these words continue to constrict his neck like a noose
Making it impossible for him to breathe
Giving him no room to live
Like the conversion camp he was sent to over and over again
It leaves cuts that have yet to turn into scars.

We all have a different story.
White female, junior tells
How the emails kept popping up on her screen
Like unwanted blemishes that she could scrape off
One by one.
Church members chastising her
Because their favorite boy
Had just been accused of thrusting the life out of her
She is covered in "are you sure you weren't asking for it?"
She's sure.
Blood on her hands that spells out the word ****
And she lathers her body
Drowns herself in it
Until an unassuming girl is able to be her life preserver
But they still have to pretend to be
"Just friends"

We all have a different story.
Me?
So used to hearing
"You can't love both."
So used to hearing
"You can't even love yourself."
Now I live in a world
Where man, woman, no gender can love me
Because I make myself too prickly to touch
Whenever someone comes too close
I turn into a cactus
Because how could anyone possibly love someone
Who has been taken advantage so many times
That she cannot find it in her heart
To make love to someone
She has *** with them
But there is no love
But there is no passion at all.

We all have a different story.
Being queer in an evangelical community
Is like being raw meat
In a dog house.
They can smell you from a mile away
Ready for the ****
Do not stab your knife into me
In the kindest way you can think of
By telling me
"I'll pray for you."
Do not pour your poison into my body
By saying
"God loves the sinner but hates the sin."
My existence is no accident
My queerness is not my choice
You wonder why so many
Lesbian gay bisexual transgender questioning youth
Abandon the church?
It is not because of God
It is because these congregations keep playing God
This is the same **** story.
Do you know how hard it is the find an accepting church community?
It is a suicide mission
As I walk into the congregation
Arms open, eyes closed
Waiting to be embraced
Or shot on site.

Where did all the sunshine go?
Did you take it with you
When you went away?
Ironically enough,
We've had the nicest weather
Since you've been gone.

But my head has been filled with clouds
And my heart with thunder.
Raindrops fall from my eyes
Caressing my cheeks romantically.

He has brought the sunshine back
To my body
Little by little
Specks have penetrated through
My empty emotions.

However,
He is unaware of the secret life I lead.
Would he still care
If he knew the abuses I inflict upon myself
From time to time?
He would leave
Just as everyone else thus far has.

My sense of reality has blackened
Death is so sudden
And all I can think of when I start to care
About anyone at all is
"They might not be here tomorrow
So what's the point in getting attached?"
But I also value my life
A little more every day.

Yet still, I am depressed
Not okay, freaked out
All of the above.
Where did all the sunshine go?
Angel, you took it with you
That's why heaven is so bright.

When you see his mother
You remember.
You remember the fear in your eyes
Terrified at the thought of being *****.
You remember the trembling in your voice
For the times he sent earthquakes through your body.
You remember the efforts it took to restore your soul
You were not an easy fix.
You took more time that he gave you
When he had his way with you
A child.
He got his way with a lot of things
He got his way when you were too fearful to take him to court
He got his way when he left no trace of evidence behind
He got his way when your father refused to see him again
But when you see his mother,
Roses in your hair
All dressed in black
Teardrops stain your cheeks like thumbprints
Pressed hard against your face.
You are not dressed for her, no
But for her brother
But for your grandfather.
When you see his mother
The damage he has done to her is comparable
To the damage he has done to you.
She cannot walk out the door
Without knowing her son is a child molester.
You cannot walk out the door
Without feeling guilty for what you have done to her.
It wasn't your fault, what happened to you
But in an odd way
You believe what happened to her
Was.
So together, synchronized
You paste on a face
You put yourself together
Opposite sides of the East Coast
Yet so in tune.
When you see his mother,
You forget yourself for a moment
As a river of guilt gushes out of your soul
You want to run
To, from, with her
You cannot escape.
To, from, with her
Your guilt lies.

"What are your parents like?"
He asks me, seriously as he plays the piano
I let the sweet noise embrace me
Before answering
"My mother is quiet
But she is one of the most caring people I know."
He smiles that radiant grin
"You must get it from her."*
I shoot him a sarcastic smirk
And he knows exactly what that means
"And my father..."
Hm, what should I say about Daddy Dearest?
Family problems aren't exactly a turn on
Should I outline the fact
About how he is a big reason I began to purge?
Should I broach the topic
Of my fear of gaining weight and eating sugar?
Because he tells me I will get fat
And acts like nobody can love a fat girl.
Should I bother mentioning
That he holds my sister on a pedestal
And sees me as a lost cause?
So I respond, calmly and sincerely
"He's great."
And we laugh, enjoying my "perfect" life
Marching into our pseudo-sunset
As I hope secretly, silently
That he never asks about my family
Again.

I see my reflection in your teeth
Between cracked lips
My body reflects off of the most violent part of you
That you use everyday.
I try to pry myself from your skin
Your stench saturates my sanity
I cannot look at myself the same way
I cannot look at you at all.

You continue, to chew & chew
And I continue, to wash & wash

Violently trying to cleanse myself of you.

Breaking down is not so hard to do
As I spiral into some sort of psychosis
Disillusion is the ultimate form of madness
Because you just keep spinning
Until you hit the ground
Unaware of the fact
you are even broken.

I wear your conquests like a chain around my neck
i.
The first time you violated my body
ii.
The time I told, embarrassed of myself, and for what?
iii.
The time I thought I had let go, but still could not stop tearing my up mind
iv.
The times I lost sleep because I feared you would find me

I hate you
I don't.
I hate you
I make excuses for you
I hate you
I hate me.

You taught me things I must consciously forget to remember
You remind me of things I must consciously remember to forget
As you chew, rip, tear at my skin
And my beating heart
I hope your teeth crack with every bite.

Temporary pain?
Thoughts caress a suicidal mind
Spinning and tripping
Spinning and falling
Losing it.
And you are trying to tell me
This goes away?

Running the risk of sounding pessimistic
I question that idea.
Stuck between evasion and circumstance
Cornered in the darkest place
Eerier than you ever imagined
More vile than you ever dreamed.

So weep, dear child
Sob.
Then they whisper in your ear
Everything will get better.
How dare they?

You mention thoughts of death
Of self-inflicted ******
And they pierce you like a weapon.
Telling you its selfish
And that this will come to an end.

In my opinion,
Life's payoff is not a reason to stay alive.
If you expect the pain to end
And to have joy brought back to you
You will be disappointed.
The rationale for continuing to move
Is that if you're here, I believe,
There is a reason.
You want to discover that
And you will
As long as you keep breathing.

The art of fading isn't hard to master.
As I walked out to my 2005 Honda Accord
The seductive smell of smoke and stale coffee
Laid heavy upon my skin.
It was 30 degrees out
Or less
But after the bitter winter
It felt like spring.
Your voice rang in my head, sirens
Even though it was hushed
The tongue that used to roar like rivers
Was now silent like the pond.
"Hey, Dad, want to talk to Sarah?"
I heard my father's voice coax you like a child
Life is so funny that way
That at the beginning, you take care of your children
And at the end, they take care of you.
I hear your voice on the end of the line
It sounds like you are talking through a straw
Tears filled my eyes
Now my cheeks were the river your mouth used to be.
I squeaked out
"I love you, Pop Pop."
Among other things.
Maybe God was holding my hand that day
Because above the heavy breathing and scratches on the end of the line
The only words I heard clearly were
"I love you."
The art of fading isn't hard to master.
But the art of watching someone fade
Is more of a challenge.

I will not forget you.
Would I like to forget you? Or what you did to me?
Perhaps.  But I will not.
Do not.  Cannot.  Have not.

I do not forget you.
Certain places, touches, people
Remind me of you, of us, of that fateful day.
I did not forget you.

I have not forgotten you.
I cannot be near a farm without a memory
Invading my mind and my heart.
I cannot eat or smell a mushroom without flashbacks flooding through my head.
You put them there.

I cannot forget you.
I did not choose promiscuity, abusive relationships, or self-harm.
You chose them for me.
I did not choose to give it all away to some devilish boy cooing in my ear,
"I love you, Sarah."
But that was my new normal.

It is not normal.
And it is not now.

I once had hoped to forget you.
To block out the pain associated with your name.
I did not want anything to do with you.
I did not want to believe you hurt me.
I did not want to deal with the mess you left behind
While you gave into your own selfish impulses.

Now I do not choose to forget you.
I allow myself to feel the hurt when I need to.
I allow myself to mourn the loss of my innocence.
I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not completely "moved on"
And I let you be my motivation to help others.

I do not have to forget you.
I chose a life for myself in order to deal with it
Feminism, activism, writing.
And frankly,
That is quite okay with me.

thank god for the battle
between me myself and i
i've been dancing with my pain
drinking with my demons
sleeping with more than just a little
teenage angst
making out in the back room
with none other than depression himself

i have
so many beautiful things surrounding me
but they **** me
strangle me
smother me
suffocate me
under false promises
broken pretenses

a lover's war
more than a quarrel
a battle to the blood
breaking down to the gravel
am i making love to the devil again?
simply because he
holds me, consoles me, relieves me
of all the problems
he brings into my life
over and over again.

Knuckles that turned white
As I hold onto old addictions
They start to bleed red
So I let go.
At first, I feel blue
For I must overcome this
But my body wants to continue being comfortable.
Purple bruises cover my heart
As this is too much for me to handle.
Overtime,
A yellow light shines through my eyes
My face regains its pink and rosy hue
My world is not grey anymore
And finally, for the first time in years
I can see the world
In color once again.

Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
No one knew what it was.

Sinful or sacred?
Sane or insane?
They told me to choose my own adventure,
But told me it best not be with you.

You held me underwater
And I held you up on a pedestal.
The dangerous cocktail was brewing from the start.

We pushed and provoked,
I was kicking and screaming all along
You suffered oh so silently,
Like a bomb waiting to explode.
But all I wanted was you.
And you would not deny me that.

So vulnerable was I
So understanding were you
And you hacked the motherboard of my emotions.

My mind would say,
"Abandon ship!"
But my heart loved you more.

The lust, the sweat, the lies
Tangled in between sheets
And empty promises were left there,
Running from our mouths before we could catch them.

I showed you my heart
As the real me seeped through my pores
You kept yourself discrete.
That is, until you were angry.

I knew goodbye was coming,
But every time, it was not for real.
We would break up and then lust
And do things we could not take back.
Then forgiveness became my torturer.
The death of us was near.

It became a game,
Our sick little game.
We would poke each other to see
Who could cut the deepest
Without leaving a mark, a scar
Or any permanent damage.
But we can only play for so long.

Our final kiss, touch, ****
Did not come easily.
I could not bring myself to say goodbye.
I fought, but it was not enough.
You held on, but it was not strong enough.
So we let each other drift away.

A violent affair, stained red.
A love war, tainted with arsenic.
An emotional battle, like the tip of a needle
It came and touched my heart.

Beyond the moon and the stars,
Over the horizon,
Piercingly silent was a crash.
It was my pain, my curse, my love.

Society speaks.
Oh, so loudly and annoyingly,
Their words enter my ears.

A man who likes to sleep around is a hero.
He's so manly and tough,
I mean obviously
Because it takes such skill to procreate,
Which is designed by instinct.

A woman who sleeps around?
Oh, she's a ****.
Instinct does not affect her the same way,
Because she is supposed to be a lady.
She is not supposed to have desires,
She is supposed to be classy.

Well, if that's what classiness is,
I want no part in its double standards.

Does anyone even know that she is standing next to them?
Do they give a **** that she is a human being?
She has needs, wants, and she should be allowed to express them.
But she cannot, out of fear that she will be judged.

He thinks he can do whatever he wants.
He makes himself known, and does not take no for an answer.
Society condones this.
"Boys will be boys" they say.
And he is a boy if I've ever seen one.

This is the difference between men and women.

What did it feel like when you passed out?
Blackout, spinning in endless spirals
Chasing some shadow that appeared to be there
But wasn't.
There was a shallow depth
Ears silently rings
Irony making perfect sense
Just like the pure soot in my lungs.

What does it feel like to talk to your parents?
Like soft noise.
My dad spews static from his mechanical mouth
Words warped by the Republican Party and Fox News
As well as his religion.
Words that have tried to oppress me
Calling me a ****
Telling me I am fat
And that ignites the fire.
Lighter fluid poured into my mouth
And boy, do I have flames to spit at him.

What did it feel like when your cousin touched you?
Broken.
His hands were broken
As they didn't know what to do
And yet they did it anyway.
His words were broken
"It's just a game"
Were the tectonic plates that slid against each other
Causing an earth quake.
My heart was broken
As it had been molded for the first time
By a man who would never love me
By someone sick and selfish.

What did it feel like, cutting and purging?
Like dragging jagged metal
Across soft skin
Like diving into a lake full of sweat
With a body covered in cuts
Like a snake meeting the back of my throat
Allowing me to dry heave until
My thoughts, my anger, my control
Find their way back out of my body.
Like a jealous spirit ripping my sanctity from my being
Leaving me on the cold, porcelain tiles
Or on the bottom of the bathtub
Wrapped in a blanket, shaking
Or worse yet, naked
Forced to face myself
Alone.

What does it feel like to find people who care?
Better than you can imagine.
It's like people believe in you
Even when it is clear you are going to stumble
Even when you have to learn to walk all over again
Knowing there are people who will be beside you
As you relearn to understand yourself
Is beautiful.
It reminds you that humanity
Even through all it's evil properties
Is beautiful.

What does it feel like to recover?*
Liberating
As though the chains and shackles that imprisoned you
For nearly a decade
Over half your life
Have been cut or burned off
And you are dancing in the very place
You used to wish you would die.
It reminds you that the human race is not
The only thing beautiful
But that you are as well.

She never was a swimmer
Although she's had plenty of practice
Drowning in her tears.
Her face, it's beautiful
The streaks glisten like crystals
And her smile is as pure as gold.
From the outside
They would never be able to tell
That she looks for happiness at the bottom
Of a bottle of Pinnacle.
They would never know
That her family is falling apart
That her ex-boyfriend left her for dead
And no one was there to save her.
To them, she is a star
But stars are just ***** of gas and fire
With unstable compositions
Always running the risk of an explosion.
She's just running around
Trying to get some answers
Trying to understand herself
And how she let this happen.
She needs a cushion
A pillow
A blanket
Or maybe someone else
To fall smoothly and swiftly into
As she completely breaks down.

I promised myself
I would not say a word until I am 18
In 1 year 4 months and 8 days from now
But who's counting?
Then I would be able
To make my own decisions
About prosecution
About who to tell.
When we're all off
In our independent fantasy worlds
Everyone's at a different school
So the focus will not be on me.
He will probably still be living in his mother's basement
Talking to girls online
Propositioning them for ***
Meeting them in a stairwell
Bullying them into doing what he wants
And leaving if he doesn't get it
Or once he's been satisfied.
Keeping them awake at night
Beating themselves up over questions like
"Can I even do anything about it?"
Causing them to panic
At the sight of his face
When he still has the audacity to
Say hi to them in the hallways.
Wondering how to classify
Some of the darker things he did.
Were they assault, exploitation, coercion
Or a mix of all three?
And when their friend starts dating him
She heeds warning to her.
The friend doesn't listen the first time
And gets hurt.
Two months later,
She wants to get back with him
The young girl again warns against it
But she doesn't tell her friend why
Because she is protecting herself.
She gets backlash for this
Harassed for being insensitive and horrible.
That came like a slap in the face.
So what will she do now?
Will she speak out to prove herself
Or keep it under lock and key
As she had planned?
What will I do now?
I thought I was getting better
But now it's haunting me
As the situation gets more and more potent
And someone gets hurt either way.

Dear me,
It's all your fault.
Stop panicking
About things you can't change.
You're a **** up.
Let the past mistakes be
A map for your future
Not a hindrance.
You'll never be good enough.
You are wonderful
And your eyes shine
More brilliantly than any star.
Your eating disorder has become who you are.
Your name is not bulimia
And addiction is not your address.
You will always be bound to this.
You will overcome all adversity
And live to tell your beautiful story.

From
the real you

Love
The real you

They never tell you how to feel
When a childhood best friend
Accidentally overdoses on some unknown contraband
At seventeen.

You have to learn for yourself
That it feels like
You're here
But you're not.
You're in pain
But it's not real.
That it's not happening
But it is.

We hadn't talked in a good deal of time
And yet, now it seems like time has run out.
My head feels like it's spinning in circles
But why?

Because I remember you
Playing in the street
With your edgy yet strangely appealing
Sense of humor that drew everybody to you.

Because I remember you
Teaching me to wear makeup
Building fortresses in the woods
We shared behind our houses.
Back then, we were obsessed with Chris Brown
And "With You" was rattling off our lips

Because I remember you
When you found out that I had been violated
In the worst way possible.
When you found out I had cut myself for the first time
Which, for what it's worth, I don't do anymore
And that you cared, always
Even at eleven or twelve.

Because I remember you as pure.
You are not your addiction
For you will always be an innocent
In my mind's eye.

When he writes you saying he's in recovery
You will want to correct him.
Every particle of your skin and bones
Will scream so loudly
That no one can hear it.
When he says he has not cut, done drugs or tried to off himself in three months
Your mind will become a tornado
At the thought of his mental illness being used as an excuse.
When the word sorry finally jumps off the page
It will dive directly down your throat
Blocking your airway
Because apologies don't cover it.
Apologies will never stop strangling me
Because they didn't stop the sleepless nights
The trigger
The relapse.
Apologies will barrel down my windpipe
Until I have nothing left to say
They steal the words from me
Like you did
When your hands wondered
And your tormenting persisted
What was I supposed to say
When I couldn't get a word in?
What was I supposed to say
When the only word I knew
(Stop)
Seemed to move through you like water
Ebbing and flowing, as you relished in it.
You didn't **** me
I don't know why that matters
As if your puncturing the wall protecting my core
Would have made my story more believable
Maybe they would have cared then.
I told you this
How I do not care how sorry you are
And you told me you do not care about my opinion.
Did you just want me to remember you?
Well, darling, my name is survivor
Taste it like a bitter shot of whiskey
Wear it like a scar bound to your chest
Because I have removed you
From mine.

Monsters make their homes inside my head
Picking fights
Waging wars
Protesting with their picket signs
Every time it seems like
Happiness is winning the battle.

They are evil little beings
I like to think of them as puke green
Because they make me want to *****.
The tribe leader's name is Bulimia
Following behind her are
Self harm, Depression and Anxiety

They are fed by their environment
If death abounds, they are triumphant
****** assault sounds the trumpets
And difficult conversations
Cause their grimy little hearts to flutter

It's funny how we grow up being scared of monsters
Little kids think they're under the bed
Or that they're a whole other species
It's a shame that these demons
Are really just a part of us.
So what are we so afraid of?
*Facing ourselves.

i
To a mother who loved me
As only someone like you can.
Could I let myself leave you broken?
Then again,
I wouldn't stress you out anymore
And it would be the last time I'd make you cry.

ii
To a father who loved me
Though he never had the best way of expressing it.
Volatile and bitter were our interactions
But I never hated you like I said.
Did you mean it when you said I'm a disappointment?
I'm sorry, I promise I'll stop hurting this family.

iii
To a sister who loved me
But whom I hardly ever knew
We are total opposites, always
You are perfect and I am a perfect wreck
Keep on shining
And I'll get out of your way.
Don't cry for me, sweetie.

iv
To Matt, who says he loves me
He tells me day after day
That even though we cannot be together right now
I have his heart in my hand
And he will forever have mine.
And yet, we know it would be easier to live
Without each other
And that I by nature make things messy.
I'm sorry baby, I swear I'll stop.

I write the words down,
Let them spill onto the lines
A knife in my hand, I close my eyes
A shaking arm rises
And the other knocks it down.

You are stronger than this*
Something echoes
Vague, yet clear as glass
I fall to my knees and scream.

I will not give up on myself
For if I do
If I throw my life away
Then I will leave it's unfinished residue
It's dirtiest and most heinous parts
Here with you.
I love you too much
To burden you in such a way.

Yet is my life a blessing or a curse?
Will I bring you joy or grief
By continuing to search for every scrap of will I have
To fight on?

I must fulfill my journey on this Earth to come to that conclusion.
But this not so much a paradox of death or suicide
As it is the omnipresent conflict of a human life.

My body is a perfect storm
With thunder thighs and hurricane hips
That move perfectly with the motion of your waist
Crashing waves above me
Your skin is my sea
Your face is my gloomy sky.

My nature is a perfect storm
As I cannot control the bits within me
Of shattered glass that long to be part of the typhoon
That embeds debris within my heart
Within my mind
Within my strength
Strength that can now equate to a tattered piece of rope
Withered away by pressure and force.

My conscience is a perfect storm
Part of me longs to be "good"
Conform to standards set for me by a holy book
Like virginity structured to fit the ideals of primogeniture
Ideals meant to itemize a woman for her only resource
So the other part, defined as Lucifer
Desires to seek your face, oh lover
Desires to know all of you
I never can tell if this is making love
Or meaningless, indiscriminate ***
Is *** ever truly meaningless?

My essence is a perfect storm.
For all I long to do is
Float into a fleeting thunder
Will you know if I am faking
These deep tornado breaths?
Will you know if I am pretending
These moaning winds in my mouth?
Then I can go out with these winds
For no one knows what to make of it
As the weather swallows me whole.

The feeling is creeping up my throat
It makes my toes tingle and burn
This rage, this sickness, this aching
That wells inside of me
I'm screaming silently
Can anybody hear me?

They don't tell you you're ******* insane
Until you outline your detailed plans to
Jump off of a building and land face down
On a one way train to Hell

When all you want is the voices that penetrate your every thought
To shut their lying mouths
Because if people could hear the things that you tell yourself
Day after day, night after sleepless night
They would have you arrested for cruelty and terroristic threats
All you want is peace and silence, just for once in your fifteen years of living.

Then, they start to rethink it
Then, they start to consider the possibility that you are not alright
And your brain is spinning and spinning and spinning
Until the dizziness is too much for your mental state
And you begin to crumble beneath their feet.

This is what happened to me
Is it what happened to you?
I miss you like crazy
The ones you left behind are still reeling
At the thought that your wound was never bandaged enough
To save your beautiful and creative mind
Your outlook on all of these tragedies inspired us to be more than human beings

And now?
We're utterly and terribly lost
In this world with no direction
Because our road maps have been tainted with blood stains and stigma

Nobody talks about it
Until it happens to them
The pain, the agony, the discontentment that comes with
The notion that you could not have saved someone
But the wish that had they stayed around
They could have saved you

And now we're the ones
Giving other people the classic Ted Talks and using
Every textbook psychology lesson you learn during your freshman gen. ed. class
"Suicide is never the answer"
"If I overcame it, you can too"

So am I just supposed to get better overnight?
I can't talk about where I am in recovery because
If I tell people that there are still times when hanging from a noose
Over the side of someone's deck somewhere
Sounds better than continuing to live in this half *** world that doesn't give a **** about me
I'd be telling the truth
But nobody wants to hear that truth.

The disappointment that flooded my parents' faces when they heard the words
"I don't want to be here anymore"
Was too much for me
And facing that kind of disapproval again
Would leave me reeling.

So now, kids all around the world face
What I face everyday
A choice as to
Grin and bear it
Or show the gritty, less than glamorous side effects of recovery
And of relapse.

Kids around the world
The survivors
The attempters
The cutters
The addicts
Are screaming
I'm not insane, I'm human
I'm not crazy, I'm recovering
I'm not an illness, I'm me.

It comes knocking at times
When you are already down.
You're not good enough it laughs
And you never will be.

I was crying in the shower again.
It was one of my "panic attack" showers.
I needed something to calm me down,
And I hoped steam and hot water
Would stop me from vomiting.
At minimum it would keep me
From forcing my index finger down my throat.

I stepped into the rain
Tiny pellets of water caressed my skin
Ready to burst as they surfaced.

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe.
The room spun and I felt my eyes well up.
Everything was wrong
And the worst part was
I had to hide my cries.

I could not wail out even if I wanted to
For everything that possessed me
Was everything that my parents remain unaware of.

If my mother so much as heard a whimper,
I would be bombarded with questions.
I did not want that.
It was not what I needed.

The desire to purge consumed my being
My body, my mind, my soul
All seemed to turn on me simultaneously.
I needed a fix.

I see a razor and I start to tremor
Cut, cut, cut
Is what I want to do
Something inside of me is bloodthirsty.

And who shows up?
None other than that annoying buzzing in my head.

"Just do it."
"They knew you wouldn't change."
"You need this, you know you do."
"You cannot go on. You cannot fight this."

I start to taste saltwater
As tears flood down my face.
I am holding on to all I have left.

I clench my wrists, shaking my head.
I had to keep repeating
No, no, no
I will not stop fighting.

Then, something spectacular
Something brilliant occurred within me.

Life is made up of choices.
In my house, I am accused of being selfish
And never taking accountability.
If only they knew
How I blame everything on myself.

I do not blame what I have been through
For the decisions I make and have made.
Those were mine,
And that voice will not let me forget that.

But another voice not enters the picture
An empowering, strong timbre
With an amiable, gentle tone.

It tells me that yes, those were choices
And many of them were mistakes.
But I am choosing to get better.
I have chosen
And will choose this.

That voice in my head
Isn't so responsive anymore.

Father,
I know I've never been the best child
Something's always missing
Empty lies and promises the same
But I wanna come home
I wanna come home

Can I be yours tonight?
Will you love me anyway?
You don't owe me anything
And I'll give you everything
Just lead me back
Light the way
You are the way.

I'm falling short
As I'm sure you know
I'm not the kid I used to be
I've run away
And I wanna come home
I'm coming home

Can I be yours tonight?
Will you love me anyway?
You don't owe me anything
And I'll give you everything
Just lead me back
Light the way
You are the way.

I can't promise I will
Never miss a note again
But the song will be different
This time

I will be Yours tonight
I know You will love me anyway
You don't owe me anything
And I'm giving You everything
You've lead me back
Light the way
You are the way
You are my way
I give it up to You.

It was a brisk Sunday afternoon.
You called me that day
You sounded frightened
I answered the phone with your average
"Hello?"
Even though I knew something was wrong.

You paused a moment,
So I thought you didn't hear me.
"Sarah?"
(You always start that way when you're serious)

"Yes?"
"Mydadjustpassedaway"
All in one breath, and then you broke down into tears
As if all of the pressure building up inside your lungs
Was released with one single puncture.

Your voice shook and quivered
And I knew you were crying.
You were never one to get emotional
So I started crying with you.

I was breathless, speechless
I began agonizing too.
And you could tell
Because you begged me to stop weeping.
I got angry with myself

You must have been going through unimaginable heartache
And you were the one pleading with me to stop crying?
You were the one who had just lost your dear father
And you were telling me we would get through this?
This is all backwards.

After this, we went through a series of
"I know" "It's okay" and "I love you"
However, only one of those even rang true at the time.
I didn't know anything, including what to say
And it was not okay, at least not yet
But I did love you, and do
And that was all I wanted you to know.

I had worried, for many days
Since he had become sick, I was scared for you
Since he has passed, I still am scared for you
But you give me no reason to be
As you are handling all of this so graciously.

How is this so?
You must be weighed down by this tragedy
And you make it look like
The world isn't that heavy at all.