We stopped asking questions
Because we were too afraid to
Know the answers.

if the water is cold enough, we mistake it for heat.

If I ever have kids and they want me to tell them a story,
I'll tell them the story about the three moons who changed me.
The first moon, The rival, always there to keep spurring me on to be better than I was. This was my goal, to surpass that moon.
For a time I became that moon's shadow. But I soon learned that being like that moon isn't going to get me anyway so I became my own and soared.
The second moon, An old friend, growing up this moon seemed to be there but just out of reach.
It made me grow up and learn all sorts of things.
The more this moon was around the more I learned and became me.
The moon that I am grateful to, how I enjoy this moon's company.
The third and final moon, The one who I look up to, no matter what I would ever say this moon would never agree to anything negative I would say.
It would always be there to make me see the light whilst I was stuck in the dark.
Oh how well this moon did that.
Not a day goes by where I don't think about the moon telling me to shut up and see how what I'm saying is wrong.
Thank you to the three moons who changed me.

I'm not perfect.
Neither are you.
It's time to face the truth.

On this morning,
where the road's
reflecting gold

I think of all the
promises I've
made myself,
the sun, a draping
curtain over daybreak

and I wrap a scarf
around my neck
and hold my bony
hands
against my heart

It's October and
I've learned to love
myself again.

you are eighteen and you're in love
with a boy who hates his birthday.
you don't know it yet,
but the world gets so much bigger than the back of his car.
you think he needs you to be happy and so does he
but both of you are wrong.
it'll take you almost a year to stop crying.
and then you don't talk for another three
and when you finally do,
he thinks he still knows you,
but your heart is heavier than it was then.
and you **** him because you're lonely
but it isn't the same.
neither of you can fake love.
at least he still makes you laugh.
you'll pretend it's enough
because at least he's a body.
at least you're not by yourself.
at least you're alive
and you're good at *******.
because bodies are distractions
from the things we hide inside them.
you have him inside you
and he wants to gut you of your ugly, your sad.
he scrambles for an excuse not to stay the night
and you laugh.
you know what this is and how it goes
and you both love someone else.
you swear you won't **** him again
but you do anyway because you're still lonely
and you like the way his hands fit around your neck.
you **** him because it's good for your art
and you get bored of your own hands on your body
and you're fine with letting him feel useful.
and you think about when you were sixteen
and how *** was supposed to be special
and it makes you cry
because you're not who you wanted to be.
it makes you cry, because the world got so much bigger
after you left the backseat of his car.
the world is so big and you don't know
how it ended up on your shoulders.
you would have died for him.
you have been ready to die for every person you have ever loved.
you have dreams where he dies
and you can't save him.
you have dreams where people die
and you can't save them
and you're the one who tied your hands.
your mangled heart and all its bleeding.
nobody asked you to die.
what good is all the love in your chest
if you don't leave any for yourself?

- m.f.