a tiny apartment for two, in a big city full of lights and luck. we can share things. pizza. a bed. cuddles. goodnight kisses. i’ll make you tea every evening, and serve you the newspaper every morning. sunday mornings spent in bed are my favorite, pancakes with extra syrup, coffee with extra cream. you hate coffee. i need it. rainy mornings rushing to work, i’ll give you a kiss on the cheek to keep with you through the day. open your lunch box, baby, there’s a surprise inside. a note that’s scribbled in bad handwriting, “i love you, more.” friday nights in, old films and dusty records we pull out of boxes. we can dance around the moonlight to songs of our childhood.
long car rides, shoulder kisses and sweaty palms. waking up the neighbors downstairs. i’ll kick you out on the couch, just to wake you up in the middle of the night. come back to bed. i’ll read you my poems in a sleepy daze. the little things, they’re all i want. with you. only with you.

Oh my darling darling girl,
you know that I love you more than anything in this world.
And that is why I am writing you this letter.
I'm sure by now you have reached the age where boys look attractive.

So my sweet sweet girl I will tell you this
I will not be able to stop your first kiss,
but I will tell you to cherish it.
I will not be able to stop you from having your first boyfriend,
but when you break up, don't date someone like him again.
I will not be able to stop your first heartbreak, try as I might,
but I will be with you as you cry through the night.
I will kiss your head and wipe your tears away.
And if I seem angry, do not think it is towards you,
rather it is towards myself for not being a better mom and protecting you
and towards the boy who hurt you.
I will not be able to stop your first time,
but I will be here for you if things go awry.

As pretty as that boy may be, my girl,
He is not worth it.

You are going to drink yourself stupid over many boys before you are married, and all I ask is that you do not drive.

My sweet girl, I love you oh so very much, I am not here to be your friend,
I am here to be your protector.

For a daughter is a mothers girl girl forever.

I don't even know if this is poetry
because I am high
But I was falling and falling for so
long, I hadn't had anything to grasp
onto to stop me from falling.

I was falling endlessly into this deep
black hole of depression, and you
see, I was somehow managing to
paint it blacker.

Then I met you.

You somehow were a sturdy rope that
did not manage to break at all.
No matter how hard I tried to pull at
you or make you frayed.
You were the saving grace I needed.

Then you caught on a branch.

It was minuscule at first, I didn't even
notice you getting weaker.
You started to have a little more give
than normal but I paid no mind to it.

When suddenly you snapped.

Then I was falling again.
But this time I was falling faster and harder,
I was swirling in a endless
cycle of despair,
heaving through
circles of self-loathing,
and somersaulting
hopelessly through numbness.

You see,
you held on for so long
that I thought you would
never leave.

But everyone snaps once, right?
Except usually people can mend
what they snapped, physically at least.

But how can you mend something
that is broken on the inside?

I don't know if this is a poem or just high thoughts.

They will ruin all of your favorite poems or poets for you. Whenever you read those poems again all you will think of is them.
2. They make you look at the world differently. You can no longer have a simple conversation with a friend. You will always end up saying some deep meaningful thing out of the blue.
3. You will probably develop arthritis. You will never stop writing. They will instill a bug in you that will almost possess you to always write. You will have sore wrists for
days.
4. Whenever you hear something you really like, no matter where you are, you will
snap or murmur loudly in agreement. You could see a great bogo at target and if you like it, you may snap loudly.
5. They will write you a goodbye letter that will break your heart & write the letter with the blood from your broken heart.

For my sister who is not biologically my sister.
For my sister who has helped me through so much.
You, the beautiful creature who has time and time again cleaned my blood off the bathroom floor, bandaged my wrists, and stayed up all night to keep me alive.
You, the magnificent woman who gets put down everyday.

For my sister who is not legally my sister.
You, who has been more maternal and has shown me more love than my own mother ever has.
Who has stuck her fingers down my throat and made me wretch up the bottle of pills that I swallowed because I thought they would take me to a place that would make me happy.
You who has loved me more than I love myself.

For my sister who’s favorite type of alcohol is *****.
You who drinks it not because you love the taste, but because you drink it for the punishing bitter taste of it.
You who drinks it to forget your father who never really acted like a father.

For my sister who starves herself every day because her mother told her that she would prettier if she was thinner.
You who is the most loving person I know, that does not think she is worthy of love.
You, the most empowering person I know, who cannot empower herself right now.

For my sister who is currently lying in a hospital bed right now because I was not there for her.
You look so thin and fragile among the blankets and IV tubes. If you were conscious right now, you would say that you look like a lesbian in your hospital gown.
For the teenage girl who has seen more of hell than she has heaven, and still manages to be an angel to everyone she meets.

For my sister who is not in any way, shape or form related to me.
You have been more of family to me than I will ever know.

See, I wanted to
write a poem about depression.

I wanted to have these deep
moving lines.
These philosophical phrases.

I wanted to write a poem
about depression.

I wanted to write about
how when you cut open
your wrists
Flowers and glitter spill out
rather than blood and despair.

I wanted to write about
how when you drink yourself
towards blacking out
you throw up money and happiness
rather than shame and bile.

I wanted to write about how
when you put a bullet through your
jaw, flower petals and joy will
come out rather
than blood and a lifer ended.

I wanted to write a poem
about depression.
But there aren’t any pretty
words to go with depression.

In my chemical dependency class we have to write down days sober chemically, and says sober emotionally.

Days sober chemically: 55
Days sober emotionally: 75

But they don’t ask how many days it has been since I thought of you.

They don’t teach you how to control cravings for a person.

I could write a book on ways
to control the urges to smoke a joint,
but I am helpless as
to how to prevent myself from texting you.

I don’t have withdrawl symptoms from *** or *****.

I do have symptoms
of a broken heart.
I can’t remember the last time
I used, but I can remember the
last time I felt your skin
against mine.

Last time I took a shot was,
I don’t remember when.
Last time I felt your lips
against mine,
was on the 29th of
November.

I don’t have a craving for **** or *****,
but I do have a craving for you.

I can stop smoking whenever I want.
I can stop drinking whenever I want.

But I can’t quit you.
Because, baby, you’re the monkey on my back.

You don’t encourage me to drink or smoke,
You encourage me by existing.
They say that we all have the power to be sober,
But, what if I don’t want to be sober?

Because when I become sober from you,
Is when you have passed through.