I remember the day I called a depression hotline while I cried inside my closet. I did not fit completely,but I felt hidden away from the rest of the world. I just needed a wall to protect me. I could barely speak because the tears just fled out more. I had built a dam around my mind and didn’t release certain thoughts. I bottled it all up but the beavers got tired of swimming in ***** water, so day by day they chipped away the wood until everything was collapsing and I came crumbling down with the water. Now I spend my days trying to rebuild it and block the rush of the stream - fighting back the tears, thoughts, and any negativity that wants to escape. I let it all bite at me - but not consume me. It’s funny because it made me realize that monsters do live in closets, but I live in my own.

His intricate fingers
shadowing your soft cheeks,
and picking apart rainbows
to mix with your eyes.

He studies your lips
and knows exactly what shade,
defining your dimples
and sprinkling on freckles.

Strokes of a dark brush
running from your face,
like a chocolate river
or a wild bear in the woods.

He captures the way
you stand with the moon,
longing to live with the stars
and deny the force that holds you.

He draws the veins on your wrist
like blue broken tree limbs,
with scars that resemble
the night sky.

Shuttering greys
leave with dark shadows,
a landscape full of black;
he portrays you as the sun.

Beautiful girl spending her days in the dark. She powders her face and adds winged eyeliner, hoping to one day fly out of this town when she grows wings of her own. She lives in a small town, but her heart seems to belong to the sea. Like The Little Mermaid she hopes to find love on land, but the tides constantly pull her back to her home in the forest. She’s in the middle of nowhere, where the seashells are hundreds of miles away and Prince Eric refuses to save her. Her innocence was taken long ago, when she painted too many pictures and the trees were her best friends; she learned that trees are cut down to make pictures and that not all of them can get framed.

You were a giant garden, growing beauty as I, the small bug, admired all that you were and everything you became. I saw the air you breathed in and the seeds you spewed out; my spots and wings were nothing magical to you. You made life, with help from the sun, and all I did was eat everything you created. I destroyed your flowers, slowly and softly - but it took a bigger toll than I had thought it would. I thrived off the misery I caused you. You lived for life and I lived for destruction; for chaos is the only disorder that keeps us sane.

Music is her mother, it seems to rock her to sleep
with every pick of a guitar she drifts away.
It comforts every cry, and fills every crack in her heart
putting her back together piece by piece,
note by note.

Music is a stranger, she saw once in the rain
he gave her his umbrella and she kept it.
The rain beat on his head, but he didn't regret a thing,
saving a girl from that cold, dark place
was worth it.

Music is a dog, who knows when she is sad
and licks her face just to rid her of her tears.
He is smiling and sniffing her raven black hair,
he's trying to let her know that he cares
a lot.

Music is the sun, who shines down on her
and pushes away all of the dark clouds.
She lets her know that darkness is not for forever,
but it is necessary for people to appreciate
the stars.

Porcelain skin,
white with rosy cheeks.
Lips sewn shut,
concealing her shrieks.
Knotted hair,
with pink pretty bows.

Smiling mouth,
lips red as a rose.
Eyes open,
staring at blank space.
Pretty dresses,
covered all in lace.

Broken teacups,
will soon fall apart.
Never revealing,
her lack of a heart.
Perfect girl,
with an alluring complexion.

Fails to see,
her and her reflection.
Flawless,
you can’t see her cracks.
Scarred,
only seeing whites and blacks.

Collecting dust,
sitting on a shelf.
Contemplating,
life itself.