i think that fragile people are attracted to me
like someone who is lost in the woods
would find a berry bush,
but they don't know i'm poison.
i look like someone who will be gentle with you,
but that's just the surface,
and if you scratch it neither of us will get out in one piece.
i wouldn't go out of my way to hurt you,
but i might not go out of my way to keep you safe either.
so run while you still can.
run, don't even give me the chance to hurt you.
stay away from sunshowers like me.
my sunny skies will keep you so distracted
you won't even notice the rain
until you're soaked to the bone.
so stay away from my cold war heart
and my civil war mouth,
for both of our sakes.
i'm sorry i smile like i want  you safe.
i should come with warning labels,
with signs that say "beware,"
and caution tape around my heart.
i should look poisonous, not innocent.

i know sometimes you forget that i still exist when you’re not around.
i forget that sometimes too.
i know that no one has the right to rest their happiness on my shoulders
and i know that if i can't count on someone
i don't have to make sure they can count on me
and my fingers are the only ones i ever count on anyway.
i give because i don’t know how to take.
i pour out because i don’t know how to let you in.
and mostly it isn't even feel real
it doesn't come from my kindness,
it’s just all i know how to do.
it's automatic.
even if i don’t care about you,
i want you to feel cared about.
it’s like the less loved i feel,
the more i try to make sure other people feel loved.
because i can't control how people treat me
but i can control how i treat them.
i just don’t know if i can do it anymore.
i’m wearing thin and it feels like there’s not much of me left
and i feel like i have to save whatever leftovers there are for other people.
i always come home empty.
so i’m done feeling like the heels you keep in the back of your closet,
because you can’t just put me on when you want to feel better
and take me off when you’re done.
i'm not the porch light you forgot to turn off
and i'm not your one-word text message
i'm more like your right hand,
like you don’t even realize how important i am
until i’m too broken for you to keep using me.
i’m not here to help you **** time
and i don’t just exist when you need something.
i'm not your morning coffee
you can’t just pour me out when you’re done with me
because i pour out so much already
and i’m exhausted and you're not around
and i'm stuck cleaning up your mess
so that i can ignore how much of a mess i am.
it's like i'm last the last domino  
people fall back on me but i don't have anyone to fall back on.
i expend because i don't want to be expendable.
but if you were giving something back
i wouldn't mind giving so much of myself to you.

i've decided i'm done rooting around my closet trying to find skeletons
i'm realizing i don't need to bury everything right away
it's okay to still have secrets
it's okay to still have ghosts
it's okay to be a little broken
tearing yourself open to get to the poison
can hurt even more than leaving it there.
sometimes you have to have a little faith
that you're strong enough to handle a little poison.

i spend a lot of time thinking about you
and on one hand, i hope you think about me all the time too
but on the other hand, what a waste that would be,
because the one thing more frustrating
than the person i want not wanting me
is for both of us to want each other but for nothing to come of it
still, i hope you think about me more than sometimes.

i've been doing a lot of leaving lately and it's getting exhausting.
i keep getting all tangled up and just when i think all the knots are out,
i find new things to wind me up.
i keep trying to unravel myself,
but lately vulnerability sounds less like something i want
and more like a punishment for who i used to be.
all i know is i want some stability.
i feel like i've been walking a balance beam from april until now,
and i just need to sit down.
i've always liked vertigo,
but lately every breath overwhelms me.
i just want something solid.
i wanna be your blanket
or your mattress,
anything but the rug you leave your boots on when you come in the door,
and i can handle being my own mobile home,
but i'd rather be someone's bedroom.

what i know is that when you’re standing on a beach,
the ocean looks like it never ends,
but that doesn’t change the fact that it eventually does.
so i know everything ends,
even when you can’t see it coming.
i know that someday soon,
this will all be taken away from me.
right now, you’re the only one who can make my heart pound,
so what’s gonna happen to it once you’re gone?
you’re still the only thing i feel like writing about.
whenever you reach out,
i move towards you,
even if i wasn’t the one you were reaching for in the first place.
you’ve got me feeling trapped and i kinda like it,
i kinda don’t wanna feel free again.
even when i’m hiding from you i’m still moving towards you.
i've spent a lot of time this summer wanting to drown myself in the ocean,
or to dive into it so i can feel small and insignificant,
or just let it take me somewhere new.
but now i’m landlocked again, and i just wanna drown myself in you,
because you’re the closest thing i can find to saltwater.
i want someone to touch me like they're a cigarette
and it's been too long since i’ve been burned,
and i think you're the only one who could do that.
i want you to touch me like you're a knife and i'm looking to see blood.
but you should know that i don’t keep my hand on my pocket knife anymore
when we’re walking alone at night, and i need you to know how huge that is.  
you should also know that i’m afraid of you,
but lately i’ve been acting reckless,
so i’m okay with puting my trust into someone who terrifies me.
i told the world i wanted some trauma and then there you were.
my world will quiet down once you’re not in it anymore,
and i don’t think i’m ready for that.
i know someday you won’t even remember my name,
but i bet i’ll still remember the way you smell.
everything comes to an end, even if you can’t see it from where you’re standing.

lately i’ve been feeling like  lukewarm water
or a kitchen without spices.
i’m bored of everything i’m made of,
and my skin is making me feel restless.
how do you write about what you’re feeling when you’re not feeling anything?
so when i say, "give me something to write about,"
i don't mean for you to give me some english class writing prompt.
what i mean is that i want you to make me feel something worth writing about.
i want you to press  recklessness into my solar plexus,
plant hope in my tear ducts or **** me in public.
break my heart however you can,
just pretend like i’m not as fragile as i really am,
because i don't need a thunderstorm,
i need to get hit by lightning.
since lately i've been looking for trauma,
and i know that ****’s not healthy.
i've already broken open every
every scar i still have,
so give me some new ones.
it’s just that lately everything is making me sigh,
so why don’t you do the same?
if you can take every bored sigh still in me
and twist them into something more interesting before i breathe them out,
you’re what i’m looking for.
just don't be surprised if you show up in a poem.