the sound of your laugh is the sound
of me not wanting to die anymore
the last day of this month could quite possibly be
the saddest day of this entire year
this has been the best month of my life and i don't want
it to end.

how
can time be both a curse
and a blessing
all at once?
i suppose it's similar to the life of someone
who is trying to die but keeps
on existing
someone who keeps the door for second chances
closed but never
locked.

one thing i've learned recently
is the difference between someone
who will love me always despite anything and everything
and someone who says they love me
because they're weak with word withdrawal and need
to hear it back.

i used to trust everyone, anyone
who would show a little bit of affection, attention
toward me. i'm glad
that phase is over.

you return to the house
 of ghosts
that have taken up
 residence in haunting

you wander into the backyard

you stand on each of the graves

of all of the people you have been

that you have laid down to rest

so long ago

you take a step closer

to the newly blossomed lilac tree

that you planted

on a day you were trying

hard not to be a ghost

the scent of beauty surrounds

everything
 and suddenly
death
 is not death

but an underwater birth

where drowning is blooming

and breathing is drowning

you pluck a lilac

you bring it home

you put it in a vase

and you smell it
until you can’t 
anymore.

i need a crash course for how to give someone an ultimatum
i need a guideline for how to bypass bullets of guilt
that always aim straight for the heart
and lodge themselves into the core of my chest
i need a technique on how to take them out of my body
without getting my hands all ******
without the terror and devastation of leaving
a pool of blood in the beds of everyone
around me
i need a how-to-stop-needing-your-mother guide
i need to find the-thesaurus-for-making-the-truth-sound-nicer
but no matter how i try to word this,
it always ends up coming out wrong.

get sober, or get out of my life.

this is not as simple as it sounds.

i am so done playing this game
i need a ******* mother who doesn't go from being
kind then manipulative then cold then apologetic then attacking
all in one hour
i need you to grow the **** up and set a ******* example
i've given up on you
i can't believe i just wrote that
i don't know how to tell you any of this
hoping hurts too much and i am trying
to convince these wounds to heal a little softer for once
i'm trying to be gentle with myself
and no matter how much i wish you could be a part of that -
the healing -
you still make me want to die.

everything about this is so wrong
so wrong so wrong so wrong

i'm not certain of a lot of things
but i am **** sure that the devil
is at the root of addiction - of every kind -
and i'm sorry for those who love someone
who is sick like this
there is no greater pain than this
there is no greater pain
than this
and i have never understood something
more deeply
than i understand
this and sometimes i wonder if it would be easier
if i never understood it
in the first place.

and I can’t help but
think of you every time I hear
the sound of Julian Casablancas’s
voice
and I can’t help it
I will never be able to listen to
the Strokes without
remembering why i loved you
and I can’t help it
there isn’t a single September I’ve lived through without
being reminded of the first time
we fell in love
and it’s quite funny actually
that even after all this time
you’re still my favourite muse
and it’s quite remarkable actually
that even after how much you
hurt me
I could never ever
not love you
you never did realize
how lucky you were,
did you?
or perhaps I’m asking myself
that same question
either way,
you’re still
there
in those songs
in those places
and it will always be
the most bittersweet
of returns.

the wind abused me today
while i was walking home from work
it screamed at me
to get going, move along
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR
it chucked dust in my eyes
and messed up my hair
it was loud and i began to cry
because my mind was also loud
and before i knew it, they began competing
in cacophony
until
i couldn't distinguish the difference between them
all i heard was
you're not good enough no one wants you
your mother doesn't love you you're a failure
waste of space waiting always waiting you're going
to spend your whole life waiting
what a pathetic little girl you are keep walking that's right
one foot after the other keep going don't stop
nothing will turn out how you want it to
you don't deserve anything good you never did you never will
and i just wanted to scream but i couldn't
sometimes i feel like if i'm quiet enough
then the physical silence will be like a lullaby
that will slowly lull the internal thunder
to hushed lightning
but that is rarely ever the case
i hate the wind
i hate this city
sometimes living gets so hard that it's a wonder
we all don't get a million dollar reward for living
through the worst hours, minutes, seconds
of our days
when we get so tired of existing but keep existing
anyway
how do we do it? how do we keep going like we do?
is it bravery or just necessity or just indifference?
i'm so tired
tired of existing
i just want to put ear muffs on and stay underneath
the covers forever
the hardest thing in the world
is being paralyzed with fear of the unknown
and living through it anyway.

you made me so sick
you made me so sick i made myself sick
with the intention of ending up in the hospital
or better yet, dead
all in hopes that i could give you a taste
of your own medicine:
layers and layers and layers of pain.

but that was one long drawn out evil endeavour
and i'm glad i didn't succeed
because life shouldn't be spent with the intention
of trying to die
just to prove something to someone else
because no matter how much death
is glamorized in this ******* society
there is nothing glamorous
about it
and in the end you will prove
nothing

there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your head in an oven
or drinking yourself into a stupor every single night
only to forget what you did or said or felt the next morning
there is nothing glamorous about
sticking your fingers down your throat
or carving poetic words into your inner thigh
just so you can feel or un-feel something

trying to die
does not make you
a tortured artist
it makes you
a miserable soul

yes, pain is useful
to create
without it i probably would not be writing this
but it does not define you
**** them all
**** society
stop trying to die to prove yourself to someone
dying proves nothing

take a hammer to the mirror
it's only a piece of glass
run into an open field and scream your lungs out
cry all of your fears out of your system like you did when you were five years old
stop being ashamed for feeling things
write down what kind of person you were this time last year
then next to it,
write down what kind of person you are right now
look at how far you've come
look at how far you've yet to go
be proud of yourself
think of the people who have left you
think of how good it will feel when you forgive them
think of someone who has left their footprint on your heart
now go tell them you love them
now leave your footprint on someone else's heart
make sure you tell them you love them

you matter
you matter
you matter
you matter
i swear to God i'm not joking
i don't ******* care if you don't believe me
and it isn't going to be easy
be terrified.
be brave.

you matter
you matter
you matter

**you matter.

i am a lost girl
the kind who will let you stare
into her ocean eyes for free
and swallow your compliments
profoundly eagerly
while always knowing
all nourishment is temporary

i am a lost girl
the kind who has sorrow burned on the inside
of her mouth
nothing can take the taste away
not even love not even people
who said they would stay
because she knows more than anyone
that they never do

i am a lost girl
the kind whose passion will tug on your heartstrings
so hard you will be able to feel
the vibrations throughout your entire body
long after she has left you
covered in kisses and invisible bows
stranded on an abandoned
railroad pleading
for release

i am a lost girl
the kind that knows what she wants
but does not have enough drive or self esteem
to keep  a solid grasp
for certainty has always been like sand
slowly slipping through her fingers

i am a lost girl
the kind that will settle on what little power
she has left
the kind that will sing you to sleep
if in turn you will tell her
just once
that she is beautiful regardless
of if you mean it
or not.