Some things will never
Go back to the way they were
And that saddens me

Wherever you’re at right now in life is totally okay and right where you’re meant to be. Don’t let your mind try and make you feel ashamed for not being more “successful” or more “friendly” or more “independent” or more “happy” or more of anything.
You are growing and loving and crying and feeling and it is going to be hard and it is going to be painful but it’s also going to be beautiful and worth it too. You’re going to unintentionally help people by taking care of yourself. Because you’re making the choice to live and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tried to do.
Keep trying.
You are where you are meant to be right now and that is the truth and that is okay.

Don’t let this ruin your night. You can’t control it, you never could control it, and that’s the reason why you went crazy.

Don’t go back to being that girl who lets her sadness define her.

The pain isn’t going to go away overnight and you know that is why it is 2am and you are still awake.

You have so many people in your life who love and support you. I’m sorry that the one person who should be there isn’t. It’s not your fault and I wish I could make it stop. I wish love could make people better but it can’t.

Don’t let this ruin you. You have to remember how strong you are capable of being because you have to get through this. Somehow. I wish it was easier. I’m sorry.

I think keeping you in my life would have killed me in the end.

There was a long time where I found comfort in that because I didn’t want to live.

Now that I’ve eliminated that possibility I’m more terrified than ever.

Well. Here’s to the beginning of living and not simply settling on surviving.

At least once in every day I contemplate giving up.

I contemplate just turning the repetitive “I have to be strong for myself now” anthem that I sing to myself off. Like burning a record. Never to be played again.

And then I remember how bad it was, how bad it can still get again, and I change my mind.

I’ve heard people say it gets easier. I’m just going to have to keep trying to believe that.

you ask me what i remember from the time those photographs
were taken and i will tell you:
nothing.

i do not remember the bittersweet wounds
i carved into so-called flesh, no
i do not recall the sleepless nights spent
wailing for mother to come back with arms
outstretched apologies rolling off the tongue, no
i do not remember the bones that ached
the swollen jaws
the inhale-exhale-inhale-hoping it would be
my last, no
i do not recall the fleeting lovers, the restlessness disguised as
wanderlust, no
i do not remember bonding with strangers in our
ignorant comas  nor do i recall
telling you you mattered to me
when you so clearly did not, no
i do not recall the lagging thud-thud of my
failing freight train heartbeat
i do not recall the passing days that handcuffed me to the
pride of being functional
i do not recall the futile retracing of my
weary footsteps
nor the devastating  discovery of the melted snow
i do not remember the betrayal nor the heartbreak
that trampled over me when you left
nor do i recall telling you i was sorry
when i so clearly was not.

you ask me what i remember from the time those photographs
were taken and i will tell you:
i was empty.
i remember nothing.

I’ve become more aware lately

Of the preciousness

Of time

The way my little brother smiles when I walk in the door

The wasp that kept circling around my Grandma and I today,

When we were sitting outside eating lunch.

The way the streetlight looked through the trees

My silhouette on the pavement,

Reminding me

How much I’ve been wounded and yet

I’m still here.

The little girl that stood in the middle of a puddle,

Stomping and laughing

In her pink rainboots.

“Gotta have fun on a rainy day somehow!” Her mother said to me

As I stood there smiling,

Noticing the beauty

In the simplicity of that moment.

Time is precious and life

Is a gift

And it’s completely irrelevant

If anyone would disagree.

and i wonder if you keep the image
of my face tucked away in a tiny hiding place
where you don't always have to see it
but find endless comfort in knowing it's there,
like the picture i keep of my mother when she was nineteen
in my wallet only having to look at it
when i ride the bus or purchase something
necessary or to show to people just so i can say
"look! wasn't she pretty! do i look like her?"
without hearing their response
because the answers are all
in the questions

and i wonder if your hands find themselves
writing tiny letters in your diary
letters that are born of the outline of our
memories
like the way my hands so often do
and i wonder if you have a reserved sign
sitting on a table in your heart for me
just like i do
for you

i needed you now

not then

not tomorrow

probably last week

and probably in a week

or maybe tomorrow at 2 o’clock

until my walls go back up

and when you invite me over

i’ll say no.

because *******

he died on his birthday,
he was born on his deathbed.
we were all there, standing in the same room
when his last breath
escaped.
“he’s gone.” someone said,
it’s all a blur to me now.
the moon was full that night
as if it was trying to fill
the emptiness in our hearts.
we watched him die,
we watched him live.
he was a brother, an uncle, a father, a son.
there’s no harm in remembering him.
but please, don’t give up your life
just because the pain of having people leave you
is too much to bear.
you couldn’t save him,
i couldn’t save you.
i hope one day we can all learn
how to save ourselves.
we deserve that much, don’t you think?

i simply cannot fathom
going out every single
saturday night
the world is cold and vicious enough as it is,
and we all know
that nighttime is different universe,
alcoholics covering up their scars with the slogans like
"i'm young and i'm allowed to have fun" or
"YOLO!"
bars full to the brim with
**** yous and what's your numbers and i'm-in-the-mood-to-start-a-fight-bro
don't  get me wrong, it is fun
to go out sometimes
but after a while it gets old
because the world is cold and vicious enough as it is
i much prefer sleeping or
curling up with a book and a blanket and a hot mug of tea
cuddling with solitude while listening
to Sufjan or Regina or Elliott or Joni
or watching a disney movie,
where i feel safe,
clinging to a place
where the world won't ruin me.

i just want to forget you
the way flower petals forget the flower
once they've been plucked
by the hand of
absentmindedness

i just need someone to take me, put me in an empty room
and slap me till i'm blue in the face
till all recollection falls out of  me
and into
the abyss of eternal oblivion
i just need someone to hate me
because i know better than to believe i deserve
anything more than that.

so take me, hit me, hate me, leave me, don't trust me
when i say it hurts
because no one could hurt me more than i hurt myself
so don't trust me
when i smile in response to your compliments
you don't know me, and you probably never will
you don't love me either
even if you think you do
it's all a lie
everything is a lie
so slap me until i forget how
to cry

because i bet you anything even by then,
i still won't feel a thing.

we hurt so much sometimes
that we forget how remarkable it is
that we are all existing
right now
simultaneously
we can't meet every single person on the planet
but we can sure as hell try
because some of the people i would die to meet
stopped existing before i even started
existing
and that is a straight up tragedy

we are all existing
right now
at the same time
and it's a miracle and we forget it
because there is
so much too much
pain
but right now
it deserves to be acknowledged
because one day
we will all
be gone.

I want you to open up your eyes
And look at the signs.
I want you to ask yourself who and what
Lights up your eyes and heart
And makes you feel everything and nothing but
Free.
I want you to suffer to the point
Where you are so sick of suffering
That there is no other option but
To relieve yourself from what’s holding
You back.
Until your only option is to be
Free.
I want to kiss your eyelids and tell
You that you have started a fire in me
That cannot, will not die.
I want to tell you that even if you don’t
Choose to be with me I will
Love you always.
Yes, I admit
I want you to leave her
But even more so,
I want you to be happy,
Even if that happiness is not
Something I can be a part of.
Whatever you decide.
I love you that much.
I love you that much.
I hope that scares you.
Because it should.

you made promises
you lifted my heart
you made me laugh
you made me sing
you got me inspired
you treated me like i was a creative equal
you gave me something to look forward to
you said we were in this together

and then you went on tour
without a word
and all i knew was
we would no longer be sharing
the stage
and when we see each other now
i have absolutely nothing
to say

i won't be coming to your shows anymore

Once
A dying girl described me as a
walking poem she said
"You are a myriad
of words that contradict each other
but once you take a second to read them
somehow
they all make sense."

I wrapped my arms around her and said
"I will see you soon. Take care, love."
And like a little lost deer
or a bird with clipped wings
and tears in her eyes she said
"Thank you for coming."

i wrote down the definition of
loneliness
and then i wrote down the definition of
solitude
directly below it,
so that i will always have some kind of reference point
for when i confuse the two.
(which is often.)

no, i am
not in love with you
you - however that word may be
defined
you:
one; anyone; people in general: a tiny animal you can't even see
you you you oh, you
who has been buried under the blanket of time
you, who i no longer
see

the term
out of sight, out of mind has never
applied to me
but i do believe
you can stay in love with a memory
long after a person
has chosen to
flee

no, i am
not in love with you
but i still look at your pictures
to remind myself that i was once very close
to someone extraordinary
as i know you are, still
even though you are no longer
anywhere remotely close
to me.

you keep buying more paint
to add on to your collection of bruises
black and blue and purple and yellow
hues
you insist on emphasizing
the different phases of your history of having been
beaten and battered and broken and used
you ask me to touch them
just so you can feel
the hurt that you say they bring
you ask me to add to them
just you can admire the spectrum of stories
you feel so compelled to sing
but

i don't have the heart to tell you
that the bruises i hide
are real
and that paint, my darling,
washes off

i don’t know why or how or when
the exact moment was when i was too far gone
to pull myself out of the quicksand of love with you
but it must have been long, long ago,
before our lips ever met because right now
i’m trying to remember how to breathe properly and
last night i accidentally found myself at a small house party
surrounded by people i adore but had no
desire to make meaningless conversation with
but i did anyway, because that’s what you do
on the Friday night of the week your heart is broken
“do you mind if i smoke?” i asked, not listening or caring
what the answer was or if i had ruined my reputation or first impression
all i could think about was you and how
you hadn’t answered my text, again, for the millionth time
and how i just needed something to inhale,
right then right there right now
as a substitute for you and your
absence.
the eight of us sat on the three story balcony and i was
the only one removed from the conversation, consumed
by the fact that the sun was setting and the full moon was
beckoning me like a pale magnet
as if to say,
“i’m still here, love
i will stay.”
i thought about promises and how i don’t believe in them,
i thought about you and how long you hesitated
when i asked you if you love me,
i thought about me and how stupid i am for
doing this to myself again,
all the while sitting there pretending to laugh
at a story somebody was telling about something,
something, i can no longer remember.

i have an endless amount of patience at the beginning of december
right when all the trees and wreaths go up
and all the holiday music begins to play
i even have enough patience to sing along and enjoy
the predictable chord progressions.

by the middle of december the sadness begins to set in
the what-ifs-but-it's-not-this-is-how-it-is-and-how-it-should-have-be­ens
flashbacks of when things weren't broken
so then i try to make myself less sad and send christmas cards to people i love
and i try the "it is what you make it" approach
which only lasts for so long and then slowly
fades away.

by the end of december, five days before christmas
my patience has vanished
people irritate me
decorations irritate me
facts irritate me
i irritate me
i have no stomach for any of it and just wish i was a bear
so i could hibernate until all of this
holiday business is finally over with.

i remember the time
i told you all of my secrets  that one night
you drove me home

"please don't hate me"
i kept repeating
you looked at me all wide eyed as if
that thought had never crossed your mind

your innocence
should have
rubbed off on me

i still wish there could have been something different
i had said or done
that would have made you
stay

you made me feel accepted that night
but it was short lived
as all good things are

my heart was too malleable
for you
i will always envy your
penchant for detachment

Your love was a cage

Made out of bone

I stayed there, quietly

Locked in

Sometimes I would carve things into

The cage

Things like

“Help”

“I’m trapped”

“I want to die”

I was small enough to

Escape between the bars

But I was scared

Because I knew how much escaping would

Disappoint you.

You fed me flower petals and cotton candy

I fed you pretty words and kissed your cheeks

Never once did I feel

Perfect

Like I do right now

Out of the cage and into the light,

No longer homesick for the chapel

Of inconsistency

The rain falls on this roof

As he sleeps beside me

And for the first time in a long time,

I want to be loved.

the girl that you once knew
is still right here,

my holes weren't made for you to fill.

you can find me in old picture frames, hidden
in a box at the bottom of your basement.
you can find me in telephone booths, scouring
my pockets to find the meaning of change.
you can find me in the font of signed birthday cards, stylized
and nonsensical.
you can find me in your ashtray, waiting
to be reborn.
you can find me at the bottom of your coffee cup, a sludge
of accumulated words that fell out of your mouth
each time you go in for another sip.
you can find me in the pages of your youth, smiling
at the illusion of time.
you can find me in the lyrics to each song
that come on in your car as you drive, alone at night
that make you think of how we were.
you can find me underneath the carpet, a stain
that refuses to come out no matter how hard you scrub.
you can find me at the beginning of your dream, camouflaged
with scenes of sirens, snakes and skeletons singing lullabies
that make you forget what you dreamt of when you finally awaken.
you can find me through the eyelet on your door, as i float
above your head the moment you consider opening it.
you can find me in every embrace, every kiss, every promise
you choose to let fade from your needle-pointed memory.
you can find me in your shoe, a rock
that makes each audacious step feel uncomfortable.
you can find me in the ditch, roadkill
that quickly passes you by as you mumble a
“what was that?” to no one in particular.
you can find me beneath the apologies you didn't mean
and the iloveyous you forgot to say.
you can find me amidst the scattered shards of glass
that scour the linoleum floor from the glass of water
that you dropped in a bout of thirst at midnight.
you can find me underneath your pillow case, whispering
reminders like sweet love songs for the self.
the pieces i have left are ripe and over-cooked,
i can only resign myself to the fact
that you may never choose
to look.

struggling to accept
that in moments like these
all i can do for you
is pray.

i keep trying to come up
with new ways
to feel your presence
in my life
it's a weak existence though
full of boredom, fear and
a whole lot of
emptiness
there's nothing else that reminds me
you're still here,
i guess.

out of the blue you asked me if
the reason we don't talk anymore is because
both of us are supposedly "busy"
or if it is because
i'm trying to get better
while you're still trying to die

i quit beating around the bush
and told you the honest truth
scared to death
of hurting you even more
than you already are.

"it's okay, i understand. see you on the other side."
was all you said.

it breaks my heart to know that there are
two connotations
to that answer
and i might never find out
which one you were
referring to.

i have a feast full of love for you, darling
that is waiting for you on the table of my heart.
every time i see you,
you say that you are starving. you sit there
with wide eyes and shaky hands, devouring
nothing.
i have a feast full of love for you, darling
that is waiting for you on the table of my heart
but I am afraid it is slowly turning
into poison for the parakeets.
because that’s what happens when you love someone you
can’t have, you want to give them everything
but since you cannot, it just sits there,
slowly rotting, gently decomposing with heartbreak
covered in flies. this hurts
more than i was expecting, i was not planning for this
to happen again.
i am beyond furious at myself for cultivating a love
that is going everywhere but inside of you,
down the drain
in the trash, in the bellies of a flock of geese flying in
the opposite direction of where they belong.
even though you said you will,
deep down i know that you might never make up your mind.
which means i have to make up mine regardless of
if or when you actually decide to.
there is a fine line between hope and heartbreak
there is a fine line between love and longing.
this is the part where i choose not to be stuck.
this is the part where i clean up the table, do the dishes
open up the cage of parakeets singing love songs inside
the gazebo of my heart,
and set them free.
whenever you think of loss,
i hope you always think of me.

remember when we were in third grade
and we would make it our goal to trample
every single patch of fresh snow that hadn’t been touched yet?
i don’t even know why we were so determined to touch
the previously untouched,
but it made us feel so happy, so proud, so accomplished.
Perhaps it was our first taste of true ownership,
perhaps it gave us a feeling similar to that of Christopher Columbus when he declared
that the world was not, in fact, flat.
Perhaps it was an embryonic stage of rebellion,
a metaphor for a loss of innocence,
trampling and touching and ruining what was once
a pretty, unadulterated patch of snow,
as if to make a statement against anyone and anything
that had ever made us feel
weak and stupid and insignificant, and
powerless.
We were the only two kids at recess who thought of it, who found such
simple pleasure in doing it, who bonded over it, and now,
we don’t even talk anymore.
Perhaps it was a metaphor
for the deterioration of a friendship, too.

how many times can i beg you
not to forget me
how many moments can i cradle
in the palm of my hand
how many situations can i find myself in
without wanting to get out of them
how many times can i think of you
and wonder if you’re thinking of me, too
how many memories can come back to haunt me
just for me to kiss every ghost
how many times can i make a decision
then turn on my heel and say;
“i’ve changed my mind”
how many people can i take for granted
until they’re not here to take for granted anymore
how many mistakes can i make
without choosing to learn from them
how many planes can i get on
without knowing if i will ever land
how many potential lovers can i come across
without ever actually wanting a lover at all
how many times can i tell you i’m sorry
without truly wanting your forgiveness
how many songs can i play
without feeling like they mean something
how many poems can i write
without even knowing what the **** i’m trying to say
how many fears can i face
without having a back-up plan
how many times can i hope
that you will miss me
how many times can i pray
that out of sight is not out of mind
how many times can i beg
you not to forget me
please don’t
please don’t
please don’t forget
me.
for i don’t know
if or when
i shall see you again.

"Want to hang out tonight?"
"No, sorry. I have plans. How about tomorrow during the day? I'll make you your favourite meal and give you the rest of your birthday presents!"
"No thanks."
"Why not?"
"I have plans."
"Sounds like a mind game. I'm not in."
"Maybe if you were there for me when I needed you it wouldn't have to be a game."
"I invited you over tomorrow. Maybe if you didn't give me your guilt trips I would be.
I still love you."

you are
a complete contradiction &
you make me want to die.

“I like your shoes.” The barista said.

“My shoes?” I said, taken aback by the strange compliment. I was standing at the till, waiting to pay for my drink. There was no way he could see my shoes unless he had seen me waiting in line moments earlier.

“Yes, the way they come to a point. It’s exciting.”

“Oh, thank you…?” I said, punching in my pin.

“How do you feel about receipts?” He asked.

“Oh, no that’s fine. I don’t need it.” I smiled.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to have them.” He looked me straight in the eyes.

I felt puzzled, as I walked away. I wondered what he meant.

I feel most safe when I feel most loved
And I was lucky to feel both
consistently for two months.
Being away from home didn’t mean
I was away from love,
but that distance
gave me the opportunity to really realize
the truth about most things.
You see, it’s an instinct to be lonely,
to feel like I don’t matter.
I don’t have many friends anymore
and those I do have I’ve held onto
because they are the reflections of myself I long to see.
And what I’ve learned is that time doesn’t heal every wound. Not when
wounds are places you’d rather forget and people you are sick of being.
No, it isn’t time alone.
It’s patience and acceptance, a mix of
hope and laughter and awareness.
It’s a lot of energy spent on undoing each intricate lie you’ve ever told yourself.
It’s forgiveness and strength and an outpour of love for everyone you’ve ever known.
It’s detachment and perspective and hindsight.
It’s about knowing that you still have a long way to go.
Time is just there, along for ride.

I feel safe when I feel most loved.
I feel loved when I feel most safe.
Maybe I am both of these things.
Maybe you are, too.

I'm very good
At putting all my hopes and dreams
In someone else's hands
And watching them slip through
That persons fingers
Like sand
I'm clumsy and fragile
And I hate myself too much
To own up to my own desires

I'm very good
At making people fall in love with me
For the pure benefit of my ego
To make sure I have some kind of comfort left
At the end of the day
Because waking up and finding a reason to live
Is difficult, and most people I'm around
Don't understand that

Why the delay?
They ask
Hasn't it been like three years and you've done
Nothing?
Yes, I'm getting older
I'm getting braver though too
I'm easily impatient
They don't understand
I love too hard too fast  too soon
I give and give and give
And I lose, too.

I'm very good at hiding
The difficulty of days where it is
Physically impossible to get out of bed
And in the meantime,
Time is watching me from above
Adding up each failure and using
Other human beings to remind me
What I could potentially
Be throwing away
While I'm sitting here watching
A silent film about sand
Slipping through
Fingers running
Out of popcorn.

you have all the answers
inside of you
but you cannot cure yourself
alone.
you must open your candle palm,
twist the tip, look up at the sun and say,
“do you have a light?”
you must let go of your fear
of being abandoned
and in the warm glow of the cold moon,
ask yourself what you want.
you must find someone who understands you
so you can pull the remaining strands of courage
out of your head and say,
“here. this is my offering.”
do not stay alone.
you are not stranded.
open up, be a little less afraid,
show them your insides.
your bones are not satan’s prey.
find a moment in each day to appreciate
what you have done for yourself,
abandon your hope of ever being perfect.
you have all the answers
inside of you,
but you cannot cure yourself alone.
i was like Icarus once.
my wings are still growing back.
i was Persephone in my moments of disillusionment.
it is hard to come back from the underworld once you fall
into it, like a mousetrap.
traps teach you a lot about the incredible resilience
of the body.
bodies teach you a lot about the magnetic brilliance
of the soul.
i am a Phoenix rising from the ash every time i tell you,
“I love you.”
i am reborn every time i shut
my eyes and open them,
again.

i still have those pictures
from your disposable camera
you gave me five years ago
when my hair was still long,
when we were still in love.
i don't look at them anymore.
and to be honest,
i don't even know where they are
or when i looked at them last
but i find comfort in knowing
they are taking up some space,
somewhere, in this disorganized room of mine.

i still have your name carved into
the top of my ceiling
which is funny because
you were always the one so quick to define
the meaning of impermanence.
i guess all ceilings eventually
collapse.
i think i clung too tightly to the possibility
of you never leaving, and so i carved
your name into my ceiling to comfort myself
during all the noise that not even your name
could silence.
i don't look at it anymore.
and even though you're gone, there are some people
who leave traces of themselves behind
in the most obscure places that not even they
become aware of.

i still have all of the love letters
you wrote me when i was sixteen.
they are sitting in a box beneath a pile of books and papers
on the bottom of my bookshelf.
i don't read them anymore.
i contemplated burning them more than once,
but i stopped myself because
what's the point in loving someone if you can't even
prove that the love was actually there
after everything has been said and done,
after all of it has left you?
i get so terrified,
to think that perhaps memory
is more unreliable than anything, and so i keep the things
you gave me as secret stash to show
that
we
happened once.

sometimes i wonder what it would have been like
to have given you the chance to explain yourself
face to face
i will probably never
know what it feels like to land on the moon
but that does not stop me from
gazing at it night after night paralyzed
with wondering
how anything could ever be that beautiful.
somethings should be left unseen
while others, simply left
unknown.

when an unrequited love suddenly steps into your life,
do not panic.
do not try and win him over.
do not create scenarios in your head of a pixel perfect dreamland
where you two can live happily ever after together.
do not waste your time looking at pictures of him and his girlfriend
on Facebook just to fuel your lack of confidence and confusion.
do not tell him you write poems about him.
realize that even if you do tell him, he will not ask to read them.
do not hang out with him and have ulterior motives.
do not stare at his arms, at his hands, do not look
at the strand of hair that falls ever so delicately over his chiseled face.
do not think about pushing it back.
do not make eye contact for too long, even if he’s the one
who started it.
realize that there is an entire language when it comes to two
people looking at each other straight in the eyes,
but it doesn’t always mean they are speaking the same one.
do not bring him up in conversations.
this is not a topic for small talk.
this is a topic for writing sappy poems and sad songs.
this is a love that no amount of discussion or advice will
be able to comfort or protect you from.
when you go to his apartment to hang out and play music,
pretend not to notice his girlfriend’s things.
her bobby pins on the bathroom counter.
her underwear hanging out to dry.
her tampons underneath the sink.
photo-booth pictures of the two of them up on
the refrigerator. you don’t see it. you don’t.
do not wonder what he’s told her about you.
keep your questions about her limited.
when he compliments you on the dress you are wearing,
say “thank you” and walk away. do not let that be
the reason why you are suddenly smiling and speechless.
know that there is no cure for this.
know that this is an open wound that will probably never heal
unless you cut him out altogether.
do not confuse bravery with selfishness.
see the simplicity of loving without being loved in return,
feel the pain of how hard this is to accept.
do not use this as an excuse to be empty again.
and when you feel like screaming into a pillow and tearing out
strands of your hair in an unequivocal rage wondering
“What do I do with all of this love then??”
Create a thumbtack out of your frustration, poke a hole in your vein
and feed all of that love to yourself until you no longer
feel the need to think about him
anymore.
that, is bravery.

Just because you don’t have the love and support from that one person who should, in a perfect world, always be loving and supporting you, does not mean you don’t deserve to be loved. Read this again. And again.

2. It’s both tragic and funny that whenever a good thing happens to you, a bad thing always comes up and tries to interrupt your joy. Just because you’ve always felt like a bad driver in a thunderstorm with no windshield wipers doesn’t mean the sky chooses to torment you. The sky is just being the sky. You have weathered these storms before, and you will weather them again. One day you will see how strong the tempest has made you.

3. You are unconditionally loved by more than one person. Not many people have that. Don’t be afraid to throw that love back out into the world with your helium balloon of a wild heart. And no more late night pity parties with that sappy “I don’t deserve love” refrain.

4. You cannot be mentally stable if your body is constantly trying to keep up with you. Feed it, wash it, clothe it, rest it. Just because you’re sad and scared does not mean your body deserves to suffer. I know taking care of yourself hasn’t really ever been your forte, so go lightly. Drink some water for a start.

5. Just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean going back to your old ways of coping are going to cure you of your struggle. The definition of a crazy person is someone who does something over and over again while expecting different results. You remember that person. You remember those results. How about not going down that road again, yeah?

6. You can doubt everyone’s love until the cows come home but in the end no amount of love from anyone else will ever feel like enough if it doesn’t come from yourself. It’s the oldest, most difficult thing you can ever do and we all need a little reminding every now and again.

7. Stop blaming yourself for still being afraid of being abandoned. There is no deadline on healing from old wounds, they have been embedded in you almost all your life. It wasn’t your fault then, and it’s not your fault now. If people leave, it’s their ******* loss. Your worth does not depend on who does or does not decide to stay.

8. You’ve always loved too fast too hard too much, but that’s just who you are. Love and suffering are synonymous. The sooner you accept this, the less likely you will be to inflict unnecessary suffering upon yourself because of it.

9. Sensitivity and compassion are two of your best qualities. Being ashamed of that is a complete waste of time.

10. Healing is difficult, but you have to keep trying. Stay for the love. Stay for the music. Stay for the summer days of iced tea and copper skin. Stay for the mornings you wake up in a pair of arms that make you feel like you’re home. Stay for coffee and popsicles. Stay for soft kisses and raindrops on your tongue. Stay for the sadness. Stay for the joy. Stay for yourself. Stay.

The last time I kissed you

I could taste

The burn I left on your tongue

From the time I kissed you

Before that

It was small and pink and blistered

It was the kind of burn that never goes away.

I gasped and said

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

You stopped me midsentence and said,

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt. I rub off of some people

The way a match rubs off of a rough surface.”

We swam around our fishbowl of silence for a while

Until you mentioned the time and how

You had to go back

To work.

We parted ways,

Me in my secret pride,

You in your unpublished pain.

I quit a lot of things that day.

I haven’t seen you since.

Everybody

Asks me what I’m doing and I shrug and

Give them a foggy answer that sounds like

A thunderstorm trying to be quiet and they smile like

They know what I mean

When they can’t possibly because

I don’t know what I mean and

Everybody

Turns to me and asks

“So I heard bits and peices of what happened, but can you tell me the story yourself?”

And so I give them my memorized brief synopsis of my series

Of personal tragedies and then end it with a shrug and a

“Oh well, you live, you learn” type statement

And they laugh and look away because

They know I’m just saying that to make myself feel better.

I find myself clinging to little vestiges of control by

Keeping up with what’s going on in other people’s lives because

Everyone has got their **** together and I guess

By surrounding myself with people who have their **** together

I’m testing the waters to see if I will become

A ****-together-kind-of-person which ends up being

An altogether futile endeavour.

All I can ever do, really, is be successful at admitting defeat

And somehow carry on

Despite how undeserving I feel of all

That is good around me.

you're a really ****** friend
i became aware of it after everything started
to fall apart at the beginning of the ******* year ever,
2012, and after that,
you just kept getting
*******.
you think you have the whole world figured out
just because you
do yoga and
tour around Canada and
drive down to California and go on
meditation retreats and
play guitar

we used to be best friends and i know
that you wouldn't care if you never spoke to me again
not because you hate me, but because
you love me in a healthy, "unattached" way
(or so you say)
sorry but that's not love, that's pure indifference
and i read once that hatred is much closer to love
than indifference so
i don't really know
what to make of your
shittiness.

but every time i make an effort to contact you
i just feel like a fool
because i can't hide that i miss you,
i can't hide that i miss how
we used to be so close and how i used to feel
valued by you
you send me a "<3" and an xo and
then i don't hear from you for months and somehow
that's supposed to be enough.

you just are a really ****** friend and you
just keep
getting
*******.

and i think when they see me on that stage
they see something you could have been
had your sickness not swallowed you whole
and i think when they see the light hit my face
they see a beacon that illuminates the cages of
lost souls
and i think when they see me open my mouth
they see butterflies and bats and birds and brand new constellations
and i think when they look into my eyes
they see oceans and flowers and dreams of a child
waiting to be born.

it started with me wanting you
to love me
which lead me to wanting you
to save me
which lead me to wanting you
to leave me
which lead me to wanting you
to touch me
which lead me to wanting you
to use me
which lead me to wanting you
to comfort me
which lead me to wanting you
to stop
loving, saving, leaving, touching, using, comforting
me
which lead me to wanting you
to never contact me again.

these desires repeated themselves
more times than i can count
and in the end,
i ran in circles knowing full well
you would never kick the habit
of chasing my tail.

we were silly magnets with each other.
there will always be a place for you in my heart
but some things just have to stop,
for good.

think that you got so used to people

leaving you when they should have stayed

that you became one of them without even realizing it

and as i watched you walk away from me and into

that house, i knew

you had no idea the damage you have caused yourself

or the other people who love you so much more than words

could ever articulate

and i didn’t know whether to feel sorry for you

or to be like you,

simply detached.

my heart sank so far
down into my stomach
when I found out that
you’re trying to make
yourself disappear again.
I am so helpless and scared
for you, I know
there’s nothing I can say to make you
feel like you’re enough but
I can’t help but hang on to the hope
that you will find an ounce of strength
to love and take care
of yourself again.
I wish I could but
I can’t do it for you.
please, please
try. I love you so much,
it hurts.

last week i got myself a day-planner,
willingly buying into the illusion that i could somehow
better manage my time if i could open a book
and have the present, past and future
laid out in front of me
“keep it simple”, my therapist says
i like to think
i’m trying.
i have a to-do list as long as my fears
and a to-do-not list as long as my hopes
and lately,
your name is not on either one of them.
it’s September and the leaves are changing and it’s that
time of year that gives me goosebumbs under my skin.
because i’m getting older and i’m realizing what that actually means.
because my life does not revolve around you anymore,
i’m not sure what it revolves around except
life itself,
saying yes instead of no,
feeling instead of not feeling,
trying more often than not trying.
it’s a process and perfection is still something
i struggle with believing does not exist.
why do i still search for things in people that
are impossible to find let alone possess?
i want to be as good as i can be
but even goodness can be confused with pretension
even love can be confused with hate.
i don’t know anything about anything but i do know
that i’m proud of myself
for the little things, like not being afraid
to wake up and seize the day anymore,
for choosing to live despite how terrified i am
and will probably always be,
of failure and the inevitable passing
of every precious moment.

perhaps it’s the fear of being loved
or the fear of being left
that has been gnawing on my heart lately,
a cruel reminder of what it means
to be truly alone.
you’re here
and then you’re not.
i am afraid of being the thing of lesser importance.
i am afraid of the past repeating itself
but that in itself may be
a red flag.
for it is only I and I alone
that can prevent that from happening.
by choosing not to crumble at the slightest scent
of abandonment.
by savouring the sweetness of sleeping beside you,
until morning comes to kiss us with lips
scarred with inevitable parting.
perhaps it’s the fear of being loved
or the fear of being left
that has been gnawing on my limbs lately,
making it impossible to take a small step
on the days where the sun decides to resist the day.
i have no reasons to give you,
only a word coupled with a wide-eyed stare.
i feel too much and yet i feel nothing
at all.
sleep walking on a cloudless sky, trying to pin down
a distant bird, the root
of its incessant call.

i still feel self hated’s foliage
wedge its way into the garden i am currently trying
to cultivate for myself.
and on most days,
it’s still hard for me to look in the mirror.
but despite how much i still think of dying
it is no longer myself I want to ****. it is the parts
that were trying to **** me.
i can barely remember your lips and
i completely forget how your voice sounds.
and that’s the tragedy i suppose,
once you forget the sound of somebody’s voice
you know that’s really when detachment
is finally setting in and making a home
underneath each and every one of your scars.
i still think it’s sad,
the way it all ended. how you can keep on
loving someone even though they’re long gone
from your each and every day.
i still want to call you, ask how you are.
but i don’t because i’m not that person anymore.
you don’t matter as much to me as you once did.
and i think that’s beautiful because it’s honest.
remember how much we hurt each other?
good. i hope you never forget.
remember how much we loved each other?
good. i hope you always remember.
some things will always be worth remembering.

Giving up
is no longer in my repertoire.