I was eleven, wondering why everyone was so much happier than I was.

I was twelve, I thought, "Is this really all it is?"

I was thirteen, I knew I wasn't doing something right.

I was fourteen, sitting in the bathtub of my own tears.

I was fifteen, wanting to rip my veins open.
I was fifteen, scratching at my skin.
I was fifteen, staring at that risky bottle of pills.
I was fifteen, plotting to give up.

I was fifteen; I wanted to be dead.

But I realized, I died far long ago.

Roll me up and smoke me,
Enjoy me while you will.
And as my ashes fall
I'll make your thoughts go still.
With each inhale you take,
I elevate you.
I'm what takes away the ache.

As a little girl, my mother and father would drive around while smoking in the car, with the window rolled down, as I would roll up the ends of my sleeves clenching them towards my nose to be rid of the smell I have never liked.

I believed that when my parents would smoke around me, I was a smoker too. I had had the scent of a smoker too. But when I was with you, it was different.

That night, not caring how much I hated those sticks of paper as a child, I would watch you put it in your mouth and on your lips, inhaling it until you couldn't any further.  I silently sat in the backseat admiring how you would slowly inhale and exhale the toxic fumes it gave off.

That night, I went home.
I walked in through my back door.
I slid my shoes off and tiptoed toward my bedroom.
I passed my parents' room, witnessing them sound asleep next to each other, peacefully.
I took off my old grey sweatshirt and inhaled slowly, the smell of your secondhand smoke, and smiled.
Because it was yours.

I hated those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
I hated the smell of those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
Now, myself, I am one of those sticks of paper full of toxic fumes.
We both have touched your pink, chapped lips, got used, and are now thrown away.

there is an ocean 
in my eyes. you want 
to hold me close and listen
 to the sea inside, but please 
be aware, i will consume you. 
all of my lovers sink and 
drown in my sadness.
it’s me that floods towns,
destroys the community,
breaks hearts,
and leaves a mess behind.

Things are going to be difficult. There are days where the northern winds will be a balm for your heart and others where it freezes the edges of your soul.
I would never deny to you that some days I feel like I have fallen from the edge of the earth. In the same breath, there are also times when the rainbows in my eyelashes color my thoughts like prisms.
Life is only complete with this contrast between happiness and pain, but that’s not to say you are weak when you are overwhelmed by it all. That makes you human.
You are not defeated and shattered; the proof is in the fact that you are still alive and fighting. I promise you there will be days where the sun shines from your eyes, and I promise you that right now your veins are filled with the stars from the night skies.
You are so much stronger than you think you are.
Only once the cracks are filled with gold will you realize how beautiful something that was broken can still be.