And because
I've come from a place
built on constant heartbreak,
what if causing damage
is all I know how to do?

I am so scared of hurting you,
and although I have grown
numb to the pain
that comes along with
being hurt in return,
I have spent so many nights
reciting to myself why it'd be better
to feel nothing at all.

I am finding it hard
to convince myself that not
everyone will try to break me
the way he did.
I am finding it hard
to convince myself that
I deserve any better than my past.

I wish I could speak the words
weighing heavy on my heart at 4am,
and I want to feel alive.
I want to be someone who kisses
another out of love— not obligation,
and I want to cling onto forevers
because I am overflowing with hope.

But I break promises on purpose now
and it doesn't hurt me one bit,
and I am only vulnerable towards
my bedroom walls and shower floor
because they are the only ones who
care to listen.
I sit silent in the car and I count
down the minutes until I'm alone again.

I have not even scratched the surface of who I want to be.

-k.w//far behind

People admire the skies above them,
yet find it hard to love their rainy days.
For it's not easy to love something where
no light can be found.

And I can't help but wonder
if people think the same of me—
Am I only lovable on days when
I can offer clear skies?

-k.w//The Rain & I

I can't listen to Amy Winehouse on vinyl without thinking of you, and I've refrained from using your favorite coffee mug to ensure it'd be clean for your return. Even the floorboards are creaking your name now, and this house feels foreign without you. Each morning, I find myself rising with the sun, reciting the words, "Please come home."

-k.w

she inspires masterpieces
and orchestrates symphonies.
how is it that she
is both oil and canvas?
torn sketchpads and
rough drafts spattered in red ink,
these run through her veins.
she is not imperfect—
only revising.

—w.b.h.

I do not know
if things will be okay,
but I know
that things will go on,
and that's enough
to keep going.

*—w.b.h.

unless you've felt like a ghost
condemned to haunt its own body,
unless you've ever prescribed
self-destruction as self-medication,
unless vulnerability means only telling
half your story because that's enough
to get everyone to stop asking,
unless being told "you're just like your dad"
is your greatest fear,

don't tell me you understand.

*–w.b.h.