Hollow words, like hollow bones can break and shatter
They can pierce the flesh, boil the blood
Seething from the open wound comes
Every ill intention
Every falsification
Staining the crisp, white linen
No amount of homeopathic remedy can remove the stain
Try chemicals
But you'll find that for any blood removed
It's replaced with the sour odor and discoloration
From whatever "oxy" product you may try
Is it worth it?
All that marketing and franchising for something that doesn't remove
But replace?
Can anything truly be removed
purely, permanently?

It's not so much that I fell out of love,
But rather
I learned to breathe under bridges again.

What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see a young "cutter,"
Whose dark eyes foretell a black alley, and a joint?

Do you see a "typical teenage girl,"
Who has pills in her pocket, and a ****** in her purse?

Do you see a "social outcast,"
Who keeps to herself, and sits with a book on a Friday night?

Do you see an "artsy girl,"
Whose hopes and dreams, and lets creativity drip from her fingers?

Or do you see just a "girl,"
Whose curvy form and long hair, blend with all of the other girls.

I wrote you a letter.
I wrote you a letter on the same day I could no longer suppress my screams.
"Here I am. This is me. I've been lying to you all these years."

My fingers glided over the curved letters of your name.
One lonely tear slid from my cheek and smudged the ink.
"You're still not ready. That's ok. I can lie a little longer."

I plugged my tears, to fool you into thinking I'm truly happy.  
I bit my tongue, and let the blood dilute the words I cannot bring myself to say to you.
"What's a little more pain. I'm fine. You'll never know the difference."

You hold more than a few poems,
And crude scribblings.

You hold my weaknesses,
My strengths,
My joys and sorrows.

Within your pages dwell more
Than lead and ink.

The sentences in your veins
Have more meaning
Then you could possibly hold.

You carry my voice,
My silence,
My faith,
My doubts.

You hold my thoughts,
And soul,
My heart,
And Life.

I'm not the girl who is missed.
Try as I may, I always come in second to the girl
who puts on her mask to fool the world
into thinking she is something she's not.

I locked my mask away 365 days ago.
Replacing it with
the identity that has been growing inside me
since the day I left the womb.

But the key is in sight.
Dangling on a chain
adorned by the girl who I've been losing to.
Who lies to the world adorning her permanent mask

Tempting me to reach out.
Stretching my fingers toward the object to make life easier,
To unlock my mask and fall into line
Returning back to the masquerade

....And the oppressors, and the oppressed,
  
will link arms
            
                and Storm down heavens' door,

And ask

      ..... what have you done?