Please do not hate me
when I am cold and reclused and quiet
or when I am crying in to your chest
or when I am screaming at you at 3am.
Do not hate me
when my eyes lose life for a while
and I am distant from you;
all I want to do is come back to you.
Do not hate me
when I am desperate, pathetic and broken;
you are fixing me with your existence.
Do not hate me
when sadness holds me tighter than you do;
I did not ask to be this way.

If you love me
I will be warm and loud and open
and I will fall asleep to the sound your chest makes
and we will dance at 3am.
If you love me
my eyes will be wider and full of life
and I will always, always come back to you.
If you love me
I will be strong and beautiful and alive
because as I said before, you are fixing me with your existence.
If you love me
I will hold you tighter than sadness could ever hold me.

It's just that I need to learn to love myself
before you can love me.

I am the ghost
of a girl you once claimed to love;
my dead hands

reaching,
asking,
begging

for a piece of your soul
to wallow in forever.

There will come a time when you are sick
of trying to understand my mind
and my wrists.

I was never myself when I did this.

If I were part of the ocean
I would be the shallows;
the cold tide that people walk all over

reaching,
asking,
begging

to pull people in
but never getting close enough.

I was never myself when I did that.

I plead,
help me live once again
as something new born and blind;
blind to the atrocities of humanity,
but all seeing to life and love.

Love,
the only thing that could ever constitute
as sacred;
a relentless, chemical energy
that turns you in to a fool in all the right ways.
A substance more intelligent
than any apparent genius.
Oh, how the love

reaches,
asks,
begs

to confine me,
and oh, sweet love;
how I let you fill my lungs.

I was never myself when I was with you.

I’ve held hands with pain,
kissed every frozen fingertip
and I found my worship in ethanol and ash
before I found it in between
your lips and mine.

You changed me in all the worst ways,
causing me to start a war with my skin,
causing me to see my own reflection
as something unrecognisable,
something I never wanted to be.

I was never myself.

I made the mistake of building a home
out of a human being
and he was so riddled with wanderlust;
a nomadic masterpiece who couldn’t stay,
but should’ve stayed.

I’ve never felt so homesick.

I’m tired of tearing away my skin
and revealing the heart inside me
to people that are incapable of loving anything
other than themselves
and their sadness.

I crave for someone
to look at me as though
they can see my soul
more than they can see my skin.
I crave for someone
to see
what I wish to see.

More than anything,
I crave to see me:

*strong,
magnificent,
and beautiful.

She's a small town girl, but she thinks she's made for the big city. You've seen her; walking through the streets, cigarette between her lips and a glint in her eye that says ''you don't know **** about me.'' She's the simple body, simple face, simple voice but she's a disaster just waiting to happen. She's a volcano ready to erupt in the most beautiful way possible.

She looks at you with her eyes giving nothing away, piercing your soul, overpowering your mind with 1000 questions, the first being ''who are you?'' But you don't ask because in all honesty, it's more exciting that way and she has no ******* clue who she is. You wanna know her, right? You want her to open herself up and reveal to you all those sacred parts of her body. You want to explore her skin, feel her bones. You want her to leave a mark on you made of lipstick, you want your sheets to smell like her perfume and you always want more.

She isn't going to give you more.

She's a timebomb, ticking away the more you watch her. It makes her angry. She knows your staring at her *** as she walks away and she's wondering why you still won't look her in the eyes when she talks to you. She might rip her clothes off for you but she's never going to let you behind her skin. It's dark there and sometimes, there isn't a way out... at least for her. She knows you're going to leave and she's waiting. And when you leave, she'll cry for you. She'll cry herself to sleep.

But it's okay, because one day she'll live in the big city. It's okay because she'll find someone else, right? It's okay to treat her like a cheap ******* because one day she'll find someone who doesn't. And all of this pain she feels, all of these tears; they're just temporary. No way could you hurt her permanantly. I mean, she'll get over it, right?

Since you have left,
I have lost all understanding of the word 'home'.
How sad it is
that I feel lost in my own house,
I feel like a tourist in my hometown.
My love,
I have felt so lost since you've been gone;
I guess that's why you shouldn't make homes
out of human beings.
You are long gone
but still ever haunting.
I still feel the ghost
of your absence
holding me at night;
dead, emotionless arms that feel so empty
even when holding me.
I'm still frantically checking the roads
for you;
my heart aches on the long walks home
when every single car suddenly resembles yours.

I am encompassed by distance
between both you
and myself.

Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're *'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.

i am a mess of the mistakes
others have made;
thoughts of you
and what you did to me
cause me to grind my teeth.
i thought you were an angel
and yes, i mean that metaphorically
but i mean it literally, too.
i was drowning in depression
and you came along to save me
and honestly,
i really thought you'd stay.
but no,
you are the devil's replica
and oh my god you know how to lie
and tempt
and burn.
you found me in a place no map could portray;
dancing with my own darkness
as if the shadows were somehow a comfort
for my delicate little heart to love.
why did you take me away from the dark
just to throw me in to it further?
i wish you'd disappear, somewhere miles away.
i wish you'd go somewhere as cold, empty and isolated as yourself.
i gave you everything
and you left me with nothing,
causing me to start a war with my skin.
do you know how much it hurts
to have to search for countless reasons
as to why you're not good enough?
do you know how much it hurts
to know you're not enough for someone
who is more than enough for you?
i do not love the person
who walked away from me that day
i am in love with the person
i thought you were.
do you know how much that hurts?
i am in love with someone who doesn't even exist!
i've spent weeks wishing you'd come back
but now,
i do not want you back.
you were only in love with the concept of me
and the thought of that makes me sick
to my stomach.
i hope that it
was worth losing me for.
it's clear her skin served you
better than mine ever did.
it's clear her body was more of a masterpiece
than mine ever was.