I told you I hated you.

It hurt me more than you could imagine.

I would tell you I’m sorry for saying it but, I won’t.

Honestly I want it to make you hurt.

To get back at you for all the times you’ve hurt me.

Even though it’s mostly my fault.

I keep running back to you.

Always.

I’m not the kind of person to keep things inside.

If I feel something, I’m going to let it out.

Maybe that’s a mistake of mine.

Maybe I shouldn’t tell you at all.

Maybe then you’d come back..

NO.

Forget it.

I can’t deal with this anymore.

I can’t allow myself to get my heart broken by you again.

You’ve done enough harm.

I wish I didn’t care for you so much.

So then I could just let you go and move forward.

After arguments with you, I wish for amnesia.

I’d forget anything ever happened between us and that I ever met you.
But, I’m hurt and there’s no going back.

She wrote about guns caressing her body in the summertime.
She got lost in the mountains to purposely create panic within herself and kept walking through spiderwebs until they coated her eyelashes.

In August, she dreamed of October
but never wanted November to come.

At 5 am she takes walks on the river before the sun comes up
and listens to music that hurts her ears through headphones.

She goes to work like none of this ever happens.

She sits in the dark until 12 am,
when her mind finally decides the day is done,
there is no more suffering to be had.

She dreams about knives.
She blogs about columbine.
She blogs about him.
She wishes he knew the streets can't love him more than she can.

She touches herself until it hurts.
She pops her blisters.
She waits for him to come back.
She knows he never will.

She wonders what would happen if
she flung herself off of the bridge a half mile from her apartment.

She writes about him.
Panic and sadness ensue.

She knows people call her a mystery, she loves this.
She decides to deny everything that makes her feel human.
She thinks she can do without it.
She thinks if she could go without breathing, she would.

She waits for the sun to come up.
She knows it never will.

I love you,
all of you;
Every color,
Every pattern.
I will love you
until the end
of time;
Every second,
every minute
for days,
months,
and even years.
Our fire may die,
but I will follow
with a lighter
re-igniting every
lost and burnt out flame
until we are engulfed
by a million tiny lights
shining from inside.
Burning brighter
than any sun.
Loving more
than anything
ever could.

My body is cloth
To cut as I choose
Held together with cotton
And patch work bruises

Broken button eyes
Mouth of stitches
No words to escape
Put away into a box

Waiting to be used
But thrown away
For second hand love
I’m just a rag doll.

I've always been mature for my age,
An old soul one might say.

But for some reason I can't deal with my insecurities
With much maturity.

I'm a size 16,
Staying in that same range.

I don't go up, I don't go down,
I've been 197 for as long as I can remember.

I never feel insecure,
Except when someone points it out.

My boyfriend is hot,
I'm not.

He works out,
He's very fit.

I laze around,
And watch TV.

So when he goes to the beach with his friends and lacrosse playing girls, I feel very jealous.

I trust he won't make a move,
But I don't trust the girls with curves and bikinis.

I'm not like them.
Not fit, not thin.
I am 197 pound me.