I am a delicate flower in the midst of fiery winter.
I am the gust of wind that brushes through the trees.
I am a cold burst of water that chills you to the bone.
I am the solid brick wall which beyond no one sees.

I am stuck up, I am humble.
I am weak, I am strong.
I am timid, I’m outgoing.
I’m veracious, I am wrong.

And though I can’t undo the shadows of a shallow heart,
And though I can’t reveal a window to the deepest sea,
And though I don’t know where we are or how the rain should fall,
The roses either bloom with life or wash away the tree.

If forgiveness isn’t in the cards,
The quiet stillness reigns.
I’ll always know the deep desires
Of this messed up game.

*I forfeit,
For I am better than this.

1 in the morning,
And my eyes won’t slumber.
The caffeine in my veins keeps my conscious brain flowing.
And when all else fails, I end up here,
A blank word document waiting to be filled
With some sort of story,
or some sort of feeling,
or some sort of ground-breaking thought.
But tonight I have no great words to say.
Just that I feel safe in this place.
And I think, maybe, I enjoy being alone a bit much,
Where I don’t feel the pressure to live up to any expectation,
Where I don’t have to feel distraught
or sad
or helpless
or frail,
Where there’s no one to impress,
Where there’s no one to hurt,
Where there’s no one that I’ll allow to hurt me.
It’s me,
and me alone,
It’s all I need,
A place to be blank.

I find in my writing
I become naked and vulnerable.
Strip me of pretty words and clever phrases.
See beyond the rhymes, alliterations, and metaphors.
It is in my writing that I discover who I am,
who I once was,
and who I could be.
But tonight?
I just want to be blank,
to allow myself to forget all that I’ve done
and start from a place where no one knows me.
Tonight I want to meet the world for the first time.
Not to begin anew, but to simply begin.

This is where I say goodbye,
And this is where I say hello.

And through my own laughter,
I hear someone whisper,
"You're already an outsider to everyone else."

Congitive dissonance.

Here I stand, an outsider to my own body,
Seeing myself,
Hearing my words,
Watching as my lips form each disgraceful, hurtful sound,
Every fearful curse
As I pace the room.
I look on but don't understand.
I just stand here and watch her - myself.
I do nothing,
Because there is nothing I can do.
I don't know that girl.
I've never seen her before.
No one I’ve ever been would speak those words.
No one I’ve ever been would throw herself at him.
No one I’ve ever been would be that desperately pathetic.
Every desire in me screams,
“Shake her!
Snap her out of it!
Smack her!
ANYTHING!”
Who is she to be that selfish?
Who is she to stoop that low?
To only see herself?
To care more for herself than anyone else?
To speak to someone for whom she cares with such false hatred?
Never in any moment has she felt its authenticity.
Just muffled attempts at ignoring her confusion.

Note to self:
Who are you?
What have you become?

I watch but do nothing.
And I follow her home to watch her more,
Searching for a clue behind every nervous twitch.
A palm full of twenty painkillers trembles in one hand,
A bottle of water in the other,
Tears ceased,
Just calm.
There she sits for what seems like hours
But only proves minutes.
And something inside of her makes her stop.
Me?
Somehow, two days later, we meet again.
My vision has changed.
I feel her again,
A version of her I respect.
One moment watching,
And the next moment being.
So I find the pills.
Without hesitation,
I dump the remains,
Listening to the plop, plop as each drops.
I press the ****,
And they are flushed forever,
Along with the girl I never recognized.

Never will I see either again,
And a quiet grin turns the ends of my lips.

In this silence
All I can hear is the echo of every word.
Mine. Yours. Theirs.
Who the hell do you think you are?
Who the hell do I think I am?

Do me a favor.
Go find a mirror.

Look at yourself.
But more importantly,
See yourself.
Find the marks that line your face.
Wrinkles from smiles,
And stress,
And pain,
And laughter.
Find the scars that mark your skin,
And remember how you handled the ones on your heart.
Find the bruises that blacken your body,
And remember how you blackened yourself.
Are you someone you respect?
Are you someone you love?
This is your life,
And you only get one.
Are you who you want to be?
And if you aren’t,
Are you going to do something about it?

Break the mirror
The way you can break your habits.
Forget the seven years of bad luck.
Those who follow the rules go nowhere.
Those who take risks don’t look back on “what if.”

This is your life.
What will you do with it?
This is your life.
Will you tell the truth?
This is your life,
And you only get one.
This is your life.
You only get one.

You know that whole
Perks-of-Being-a-Wallflower,
“You-accept-the-love-you-think­-you-deserve”
nonsense?
I don’t believe in that ****.
Because maybe some people accept the people
that display their utmost flaws.
Maybe some people see beyond that.
Maybe some people accept love
from those who need it the most,
Those to whom it is the hardest to give,
Because they know that person is doing their best.
That, to me,
is real love.
And just because you accept someone
doesn’t mean you believe in less worth for yourself.