i used hold onto sadness like it was what kept me afloat,
not what was drowning me in the first place.
i thought my pain was poetic,
that my self-hatred was what made me lovable.
i’m not like that anymore.            
now, i don’t think about myself like a problem that needs solved
or like something that needs to be glued back together.
i treat myself like something precious, not something damaged.
because i fought a war with myself,
and i deserve to enjoy the spoils.
but not everyone knows that,
because my voice is still quiet and my eyes still look sad.
i know what you think you see when you look at me,
but i promise i'm not what you're looking for.
you want a girl who looks at you like you’re the sun  
when she hasn’t seen the sky for weeks,
but looks at her reflection like her body is a photo album
billed with pictures that hurt to look at.
who never has a kind word to spare for herself,
but somehow always has enough for you.
who will hold her body out  to you like a white flag.
that won't ever be me.
i’m not as sweet as you want me to be
and i’m meaner than you think.
and i might not tell you to *******,
but i sure as hell won’t *******.
you want my thighs wrapped around you,
but you don't know the work it took for me to love them
so why should i let you?
i’ve spent most of my life starving myself of self-worth,
so now i eat vanity for breakfast.
i've spent too long thinking you needed to be broken to be loved,
but i now i know that that isn't true.
you want someone you can rescue,
but i can do that myself.  
so don’t think my doe eyes mean that i’m just a fawn who need your shelter,
because you might be a maple tree,
but i’m the whole **** forest.

i can't drink hot apple cider without thinking about the house
with uneven kitchen counters and gloomy walls.
back when i used to steal rachel’s cinnamon
and stay locked in my room whenever i heard people talking in the house.
the year i lived in that house was the year jenny and i did a full moon ritual
to cleanse ourselves of whatever was weighing us down.
we broke bottles against a wall
and spent hours talking about  the tattoos we wanted
and the people who made us feel like the walls were closing in.
i let omar pay for my concert ticket and my drinks
until he wouldn't let me pay for his.
i told him i wasn't interested in boys,
but then in january i fell so hard for a boy who left the country,
i had to find a new word for myself.
i didn’t believe in ghosts,
but i knew our house was haunted
because i could hear the piano playing at night
and there were some nights i had to stay up until dawn
because i couldn’t fall asleep in the dark.
that was back when i used to walk everywhere,
and when i closed my finger in the door
and had to start painting my nails to cover up the black spot.
that winter was the worst.
my feet got stuck to the scale
and i decided to stop eating and keep smoking
until the number i saw was less than three digits.
i was so deep in my own head,
i didn’t notice how everyone i was close to was drifting out of my life.
i cried on my nineteenth birthday
and spent a night drinking so much
i came home and fought with rachel
and was as honest as i needed to be.
so in january i started packing up shoe boxes
and taking them with me every time i went back home.
the fort st. house was never my home,
i just lived there.
jenny and turner had two black cats,
and i still wonder if they split the cats up when they broke up.
i always thought i’d get to see willow grow up.
i wanted to live alone so bad,
and most of the time it’s exactly what i need,
but sometimes i miss those late night conversations on my bed
or having someone to talk to while i cook dinner
or even just knowing you’re sharing space with another living being.  
but if i could relive any part of that year,
it would be sitting under that november full moon with jenny,
reading our secrets to each other
before setting them on fire.
that night we went to her parent’s house and ate cookies and drank tea
and we stayed up late and watched practical magic
and i still have those secrets written down somewhere
and i hope they're not still true.
i want to believe we really did work magic that night
because i wanna believe something about that year was permanent.

she’s sweet like wasabi
and wicked like cinnamon.
she sleeps alone and she lives alone,
but she has the trees and the dirt and the birds,
so she isn’t really alone.
there’s ivy vining its way up her legs,
and cobwebs collecting around her chest,
but she holds hope like an amulet,
like someday someone will brush them away.
breathing isn't always easy for her
because she still carries the moon in her chest,
so she's got a heartbeat like a hex.
she’ll spider her way into your heart,
but before you know it she’ll disappear.  
she’ll be here as long as she can,
but she’s dangerously human.

i can smell saltwater when i walk outside
and it's like my body is finally home.
this little ocean town makes me feel safe and restless.
it makes me feel like falling in love
or getting so drunk i can't stand up
and i'm not sure i know the difference anymore.
i'm not sure i want to stay standing
and i don't know what's good for me anymore,
or maybe i do know and i just want the opposite.
either way, this saltwater is making me want to make a mistake.
i just want to let the ocean swallow me whole because nothing else seems to be able to.
i wanna waste away in this tourist town for the rest of my life.
i want to let the ocean's salt rub my skin away
so then maybe i won't feel so trapped.

you always wanted to love yourself
but the timing was never right.
you're a worried sunday
and a vicious compliment
and you're fading away.
you're a rusty nail posing as a daisy.
you're still the only one who knows me.

i used to think my body would look prettier in a casket
but i spent hours looking at it in a mirror anyway.
sometimes I feel like my body doesn’t want me in it anymore,
or like my mind is trying to trick me into leaving.
my aching limbs and tired heart make me feel like
my body has been around for longer than I’ve been in it.
it's only just now starting to feel like it's mine
because when enough grown men yell at you from their pickup trucks
and enough frat boys shout at you from their porches,
you start to learn that your body isn’t really yours,
and it took me too long to be upset about that.
because when i stopped eating, i was the only one
who could feel that pit in my stomach,
and the only one who had to live in my exhausted body.
and i’m still not sure if i liked that or not,
but i do know that it made me feel strong.
and it took me too long to unlearn that feeling.
that safe feeling i’d get when i was all wrapped up in my hip bones and clavicles
and the waist i was always so scared to spill out of.
it took me years to learn that a cold heart isn't a blessing
but my feet still haven't gotten the message
i carry worry in my teeth
and shyness in my ankles,  
i’m filled to the brim with feelings that
mix together so much, i can't tell which is which anymore,
and i overflow so often that i should be drowning in saltwater by now.
my heart races so fast,
it's a miracle i’m still alive.
but on those days when i’m held together with safety pins and good intentions
when i wear lipstick like armor and couldn't look you in the eyes if i tried
i will curl my knees against my chest
and hope that that will be enough to keep me in my body.
my body, that’s filled with endless love and cruelty
but not enough courage
it’s an argument i can’t win
it's a house i’m locked inside of,
but i’m not planning on going anywhere.

you see women like roadmaps,
wanna know how far they can get you
before you leave them crumpled on the floor of some gas station
you’ll never see again in your life.
you think i’ll help you find your way,
but i’m too lost myself.
i know you’re trying to figure out where you’re going,
but my veins won’t mark your path;
my lips won’t take you anywhere.
my heart’s not a compass as much as it is an alarm clock,
but i know you’d be gone long before morning anyway.