I'm sitting in my living room replaying everything you said to me, and thinking, no matter the amount of brutal words used you would have never hurt me the way he did
the way he put my hands on me-
the amount of times i have counted the clouds on our tacky living room wallpaper, my heart and stomach are not positioned correctly and I can hear me telling you no, no, no repeatedly
but you not being able to hear because desire has taken over your whole body and replaced it as the only thing you know best.
I may not be full of much faith at this point, but the one thing I do agree with is how Jesus forgave his prosecutors.
I will forgive you but I will never forget
I will not forget the words you whispered, the
way you thought it was ok-
the emotional scars on my body and mind will live on to tell the tale of that night in full detail, but I will keep scrubbing my body, and washing my hands until the dirt I can see is no longer visible.
I will look into the eyes of the next boy I think I love and question whether or not he will hurt me the way you did-
the skeleton in my closet will have to come out eventually, but every time I reopen that door I will be faced with the sad reality that is life.

they tell me I break hearts and it doesn't hurt so is it really the truth?
I think there is something that cancels out the breaking- that thing being me. I am the knot of chain you call a necklace, I am a game with half of the pieces missing, a puzzle piece with bent corners. I tend to make the boys swoon with a swift use of the vocabulary I have been studying since the third grade.
I'm sorry,
I would bring a knife to a gun fight to prove that I am worthy of something. maybe. I hope I am.
I know the people I tend to love have a certain taste, an interesting demeanor that leaves me wanting more. but that more is never enough to last me
it quickly runs out, and my attention is turned elsewhere.
from the outside looking in I would have to believe by now my heart is very small, and in its state now would be of tremendous value. I have given so much to the winds that I have very little left to spare. I give and retract in fear that someone will abuse what I place in their hands and I will turn to dandelion dust
just a quick wish blown into the wind to become again who I once was.

"Alcoholics don't get very far unless you drink and drive"
that is what he told me, gripping the bottle, leaving sweaty palms and cold sweats visible to the people who cared for him the most.
that is all I saw  
this is the life of an alcoholic, the life of someone suffering from second hand alcoholism, both leave the same aching feeling after seeing the bottle empty.
7 months and counting- you are conquering your fears of public speaking and facing yourself in the mirror.

It is time to conquer my mirrored reality
It is painful to even begin coughing up the words that have left me cotton mouthed in the past, but there is no doubt in my mind you have had more demons to face than I ever will.
a confession to late to be made- but I will spit it out even if it comes out in tongue so that my soul may rest easy

The source of the issue has gone through hell to pull the sword from the rock.
but, nevertheless, you hurt me in ways I thought were only possible in stupid sitcoms.
unintentionally, but painfully, you left your little girl vulnerable and too wise for her own good and for this I applaud you,
Because we all know addiction doesn't fall far from the tree

and so here we are in pieces

theres something about this starving that
feels so appetizing
something about this apathy
this undecided feeling, something about this week
that seems so far from real

maybe it's the way i love the word haunting
the daunting snarl of crumbling
papers on homework after homework but somehow you're still failing
it's filling your lungs over and over with air
breathing in until you've lost feeling just to notice
you are still drowning

maybe it's the trust you lack in others
maybe it's in your inability to speak to anyone lest they ask first, waiting until the very last second before you complete something you hadn't done,
stressing over a list you've yet to make
feeling like your heart might burst with every bite you take

maybe it's friends, (or a lack-thereof) maybe it's you seeing them with so much love, maybe you've just become jealous or perhaps not enough?
it might be double texting on airplane mode, wishing you could have anything to say though you never really cared much about them anyway and...
and maybe they just hate your guts

but
maybe it's just you

maybe it's simply "another thing you've found to worry about"
maybe it's "because you're always on that phone"
maybe you've been the one in the wrong all along

because hey, those who stress so much about themselves but be selfish right? must be jealous. must be hard thinking of yourself so much that you've become a walking time bomb with a ticker that can never turn off.
must **** knowing nothing and thinking you know it all.
anxiety must be rough...
but maybe you're just not anxious enough?

Something about a figure casted on the wall, an image painted black,
A poorly displayed animation of a concrete object.

I was 10 when cars passed by and projected shadows on my ceiling, the
Distorted images paired with a faded sound of night life filled my room and kept me from dreaming.
a sense of nostalgia enwrapped my body,
From that point on I realized my whole life would be dedicated to chasing
After things that have already let go of me.

Looking at year 14-
Shadows replaced parents,
Imagination turned them into
Something tangible, nothing but uncanny
Resemblances between the two.

I was 17 when I encountered love,
He was warm, gentle, and open-ended;
Letters could not form enough words to describe what he made me feel.
I saw shadows in his absence. I named them Guilt.

Present day: throughout this life I have come to find that our demons often
Take shape of shadows, unfortunately that is how they found me.
I have learned through built education that shadows often depict
What our subconscious is unwilling to tell us.
I have lived my whole life thinking these shadows
Were winning, when they were simply a figure of imagination.
A figure of temptation,
Your shadows are not who you are, they are what they want you to be.