Sometimes I look at myself,
And pick apart all the flaws,
That come to my mind.

I find that wallowing,
In my own self pity,
Is more of a habit,
Than a conscious decision.

This makes me wonder, though,
Why is it that my favorite thing,
In the world,
Is when you say my name.

Oh, you love it,
When I call you sugar,
But just remember,
It'll taste just as sweet,
When I kiss you goodbye.

Why is it
That every time
A boy shows me kindness
I can't stop my mind
from going
a million miles a second.

He will say
A simple thought
And my heart swells
An inch bigger
With each syllable
Said without any
Actual emotion.

I'm starting to think
That my ribs are breaking,
That my sternum
Will burst
The next time
He breathes.

I want to fall in love very soon.
A fast love that lasts for a season,
and then we accept the circumstances
under which we must oblige.

I need a band-aid.
Someone to patch up my wounds
for a bit until I heal.
And then a quick sting,
and it's over.

I always tell myself,
you don't need anyone to love you
besides yourself.
Oh, but then I say,
a boy makes it much more fun.

I look into the mirror,
with the same eyes that looked
upon my younger self,
and decided to destroy her.

The same eyes that looked into mine,
and consequently forgot to say,
that they cared for so many years.

The same eyes that avoid all contact,
for weeks at a time,
yet meet with cowardice frequently.

My eyes have seen darkness,
my own destruction,
for years on years.

His eyes tell me that he began,
to lock his gun cabinet,
but knows that there is more ways,
to **** someone than bullets.

I guess his eyes speak more,
than he believes them to,
but you can't put a lock,
on the silence I must live in.

My eyes painted the trees,
In evergreen strokes,
And the twigs started to grow,
As we drove by.

I knew it was impossible,
For any plant at this time of year,
To possibly bloom flowers,
But it was beautiful,
So I let it be.

We drove over a hill,
And onto a long flat rural road,
Canopied by branches and pine needles,
And I felt myself getting smaller.

The face in the mirror,
Is what scared me most of all,
For where my face should be,
Was the remnants of an addict.

Purple blotches scarred my cheeks,
And my nose was a shaded horizon,
But the mystery of who this person was,
Is what left the scars inside my head.