it’s 3am right now
and I’m wide awake,
sitting on the edge
of my bed with
tears in my eyes.

I am in exactly the
same position I was
frozen in last year

and two years ago

and the year before that

and when I was young,
something like thirteen,

and basically every year
that I was old enough
to have some memory of.

I’m still that same
sad girl who writes
depressing poetry and
makes reckless decisions.



she sees a future sometimes,
but sometimes all she sees
and hears is television static.

sometimes she wants to
fill in the blanks and
paint a colorful future

and other times she’s
not so sure she wants
to see any future at all,
existing or not.

I’m still that girl.



I have a bed that
the love of my life
is asleep in right now.

my room is painted
a dull blue-grayish
color that I once
would have hated.

I no longer have
fan memorabilia from
concerts and emo bands.

instead of posters,
my walls hold
pretty picture frames.



there’s one of me
and my love at the top
of a mountain we hiked,

although truthfully it
was more of a hill.

we laughed at how
overrated that hike was.

in this picture,
we’re still laughing.



my room is in a
beautiful house in a
suburban neighborhood.

unlike so many people
who I once knew, I
made it out of the city.

I have a diploma and
the start of a college degree.
I received an education
instead of dropping out.

the school district here
is rated highly.
this is a safe place
for my future children
to grow up in.

there is green grass
in a spacious yard,
and a patio outside
where one day
I might sit and watch
my children play.

I have an amazing life
that I never thought
I could possibly have.

I am genuinely happy.



but for some reason,
I’m sitting here crying
in the middle of the night.

3am is still a time when I
am almost always
wide awake.

I am still a sad girl

who sometimes sees
a wonderful future

and sometimes sees
no future at all.



my surroundings have
drastically changed

and right now,
my life is truly good.

I have already begun
to build a new
life for myself.

I am somewhere
safe and happy.



but I know now that
all of that means nothing.

I have begun to build
a life that I once only
dreamed about living,

but when I moved,

I had to bring myself
with me.



nothing can change
until I do.

I snuck out

and I stole cash

and I ran away

and I got lost

and I was alone

and I was scared

and I got into cars
with strangers

and sometimes
I didn't know
where I was
when I woke up

and I kissed boys

and I had ***

and I got hurt

and I hurt myself

and I skipped school

and I did drugs

and I drank too much

and I trespassed into places
where I knew I shouldn't be

and I went home with people
who I knew I should've ran from

and I kissed more boys

and I had more ***

and no one noticed

and no one said anything.



but then I kissed girls

and suddenly,
everyone noticed

and I was told that
I was doing bad things

and I was told that
I was going to hell

and out of every bad thing
that I had ever done,

I was never told
that I had sinned

and no one had ever said
that I did something wrong

until I kissed another girl.

there was this one time
when some boy
looked at his friend
and said,

"you fight like a girl."

that same boy
called me a ****
and slapped my ***
when I walked by.

that same boy
got hit so hard,
his face smashed
against a locker in a
high school hallway.

that same boy
broke his nose and
chipped two teeth.

I looked down at him
and said,

"I fight like a girl too,
and I just ****** you up."

We shared a pain,
                                   cracks spreading over both our porcelain faces.
                             If i told you,
            would the fissures begin to fade?
Would you feel loved?

                                                         ­                        (or would you hide away?)
                                                      Coul­d we talk at night?
                                     As the chasm we both feel begins to gape,
         as our hearts ache and the distractions fade?

(or would you hate me?)

home is christmas of 2019 when i decorated the tree holding my favorite niece
home is the summer before my first year of middle school when i danced everyday in my mother’s giant kitchen or in the middle of the street
home is not 52 days ago when i tried to take my life & failed
home is not 11 days ago when i ran until my feet bled-
until i derailed
when i was little i was told home is where the heart is
when i was little i was told that home is within
when i was little i was referred to as a tornado
because i had broken every home i’d been in.
home is last night when i rocked my nephew to sleep
home is this morning when i laughed with my sisters
home is not summer sixteen when i felt incredibly weak
home is not five years ago when i stayed in that house down the street
maybe home is inside me
maybe it’s laying on the floor in my room
maybe home is exactly where i left it in your car where i last kissed you
or maybe it’s not even around anymore
maybe it left with the moon...

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

Hey.

It's me again.

Thought I'd call to see how you were.

We haven't spoken much lately,
and last night I slept with another man who didn’t remember i loved tulips and bought me marigolds and i almost said your name. I closed my eyes and envisioned the hair on your chest
and your growls in my ear and the ******* tulips you bought me the first night we went out. Now, all i can do is
turn you into ****** poetry to read at ****** open mics.
You’ll be a story to tell when asked about my love life and
those who don’t know your name will tell me you’re an ******* and I deserve better and the mutual friends we share
will tell me I’m an ******* and I need to grow up,
but I am an adult. I did my taxes last week and I made an appointment with the doctor two weeks ago and next week,
I’m turning in my resume for an interview to an office job I’ll probably hate and when I think of you,
I’ll become that girl who had panic attacks at the thought of you leaving and who cried every night for a boy who never loved her back. I’ll be the girl who begged you not to leave and got drunk just so she could tell you she loved you.
When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll put on mascara and pull myself together, because my mom raised a woman who didn’t need a man to tell her he loved her every morning and I’ll go run errands I can’t keep pushing back because I can’t keep cancelling on my publisher, because eventually the I-Don’t-Feel-Good excuse gets old and life moves on and you moved on and I’m tired of everyone telling to move on. I have always been the type of person to get stuck and I’m stuck on you and unfortunately my water heater broke and I can’t get rid of you without hot water and it hurts to much when I try to pull you off my skin because if I move on you will disappear and it’s crazy but the pain reminds me you were here and i had felt something I hadn’t felt for a really long time because for a really long time, I was so depressed i didn’t know i could feel, I didn’t know I could love and my best friend told me I couldn’t love someone else until I learned to love myself, but thats ******* because god ******, I loved you with every fiber of my being and the day you walked out the door,  my ******* water heater broke. Time stopped.

The vase shattered.
All the tulips died that morning.

We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.