I loved the girl until my hands fell off.
My hands did not literally fall off, but what I’m trying to say is:
my hands no longer belonged to me.
I loved the girl ‘til it wore me thin.
‘Til all the give was
gone.
‘Til every silence deafened me.
I loved the girl all river dam,
no river run, no river flow,
no getting anywhere at all.
I loved that girl ‘til I was cruel about it.
I loved that girl ‘til it caused her harm
and even then,
a little longer.

i spent three years with a boy who claimed to love me, but tried changing me every chance he got.

he let it be known that his type were blondes, and foolishly enough I bleached my hair and broke my own heart trying to be his barbie doll. when I dyed my hair brown, he said it was pretty but you'd be prettier with black hair. I could have been the rainbow, and he'd say that the world is simply black and white.

I was an object to him, my virginity a flower he plucked knowing **** well that I would wilt the minute I was in his hands.

He forced me to watch him play video games on a daily -I wish I had realized that he always had the gun in his hand in these games; soon enough he would **** me.

-will be continued / my heart hurts too much to continue right now-

You remind me of the thing I love the most
The rain
And how it makes you feel all sorts of things
From the good to the bad
A sprinkle to a hurricane
Whatever it is
I still love it all
At the very least I feel something
Whether It be happiness or pain
I’d prefer the worst than to feel nothing at all

The first Mary I knew was just a young girl, not much younger than I now, but she was a miracle.
Mary gave the new world it's light, but to many, she was the light

The next Mary I came across was a saint. A misunderstood soul who adjusted her way of life and followed the man who had saved her half way across Europe, and never looked back.

It must've been years until I encountered another Mary, but by then I was convinced that only angels were given that sacred name, and oddly enough, she confirmed my allegation.

Mary had wide eyes and a curious mind. Every wondrous thought to ever leave her conscious and slip her lips was nothing but pure goodness.
Each phrase, whether it be of love, comfort, or humor, resonated with every one of those who were in ear shot her voice. She was sugar, curiosity, and rain.
And with a smile and laugh as contagious as her's you couldn't help but wonder about her.

I believe in angels, and I'm glad mine is a Mary.

If i told you i needed help
would you listen?
Or would your silence
Echo off the walls.
See my life is like a car,
Sometimes moving fast
And other times so **** slow.
If i told you i feel hurt inside
would you not just hear
but listen
to what i said
I need someone to care.
Im tired of trying to fight alone.
Im tired of trying to survive at a table for one.
If i told you
I cry all over my body
And each tear is a knife
And they are leaving scars on my flesh,
Would you cut me a bandage,
Sop up my blood,
Or leave me to bleed out.
If i told you
I was alone and my demons are taunting me
would you get me out
Or would you keep walking
or keep scrolling...
Im not begging for attention,
But one cannot be expected to be alone and silent like a life long detention.
If i told you
I was ready to confess everything
Come clean from my secrets,
Strip myself naked so you could see my imperfections
would you care even the slightest bit
Or are you so selfish
And so ignorant
To walk on
And leave this person to die.
If i told you i was ready to die
would you blame it in cliche,
Or believe it and save me from damnation
Its time to think.
It could be up to you
This isnt just my world,
Its yours, too
and dont you want to be
somebody
To someone?
I need you.
Because all of these "if i told you's
Are becoming
**im telling you

She tells me that I am beautiful everyday.

Her hands are always warm which makes sense since her body radiates most of the heat that keeps me warm.

Her voice reassure me that god is real and when she sings to me, I am sure she’s an angel (contrary to her belief that god does not exist).
There is something in her soft brown eyes that makes my blood rush and stomach turn to rocks when she looks at me.

Sometimes the playfulness that linger between us gets too rough but I say nothing. I know that her fingertips are her most powerful weapon that she holds and they feel like a whip against my skin when I least expect it.

I tell her things that I have never said out loud and when her hands cool down, and her touch is safe again, she strokes my cheek and reassures me that it’s okay.

I tell her that it’ll get complicated and when we will both least expect it, it’ll rip our tightly sewn limbs apart and we will be left bare. She holds my shaking hands and tells me that we’ll figure it out, and in the midst of the my outcries and most confusion, she is right.

Her words are strong enough to repair my cracked foundation, and harsh enough to ignite flames that had long been blown out.