I was going to leave today but Love came
and lightly tapped my door.
As soon as I opened, oblivious to its intent,
it poured and whisked your name in to my place.
It sat contented at the end of my sofa while
I tried to reason with my hot cocoa tightly
clenched within my hands.
It asked for some and I gave my cup away
relenting to the oncoming shadow of the ending
of this day.

I was going to leave today and tightly shut the door
but,
what's the worst that could happen? Pondered Love.
Nothing to lose and nothing to fear-
Hoping for a yes with the possibility of getting “No.”
Live out in regret or knowing crystal clear.

Alli estás y no tienes ni idea de todo lo que está aquí. A no mas de 1 metro de distancia, se desata una guerra en mi cabeza de la que no te voy a contar. Me duele el pecho, las manos y la cabeza, me siento estúpida pero también me siento rara. Por algún motivo no puedo hablar, es como si me hubieran cortado la lengua y todo lo que sale no sirve para comunicar. Esto es lo mejor que pude hacer.
Hace ya algún tiempo me enamore, de el chico menos indicado en el peor momento de mi vida. No, él no eres tú. Me hizo mas daño del que yo me hize a mi y eso esta bien, supongo que me lo merecí, siempre he sido una muy mala persona. Tiempo después te conocí y lo que siento por tí no es amor, ni es cariño, es desprecio. Te desprecio por hacerme amar a todos y cada uno de mis defectos solo por que tu dices que lo amas, sea verdad o no. Te desprecio por que en tu forma loca de hacerme reflexionar te tomas el tiempo de pensar que es lo mejor para mi, sin importar lo que tu quieras. O almenos eso me haz hecho creer. Te desprecio por la forma en la que duermes, respiras, vives. No lo tomes a mal, del odio al amor hay solo un paso.
Perdona si alguna vez sone un poco fuera de tono, con un vocabulario que yo se tu preferirias no escuchar. Pero ultimamente pienso que mis defectos se vuelven más yo de lo que deben ser. Perdona, mi vida, si te digo que te necesito conmigo. Perdon, pero tu me hiciste quererte.
Hace ya algunos meses me enamoré, del hombre más perfectamente hecho para mi en la tierra. Y si, este si eres tú. Tu no me haces daño

"Are you getting better?"
"Why are you sad?"
"Do you still cut."
"How do you feel?"

"Worse."
I'm getting worse.
I'm not sad, I'm distraught.
I don't cut, I hack.
I feel worse.

"I'm not actively suicidal."
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"I'm feel okay."
"I feel nothing."

Worse.
The thoughts have gotten worse.
I care less because I want more.
I feel like I'm drowning. Constantly.
Apathy is so much worse.
So much worse than emotion.

I don't want to be here.
I don't want to wake up.
I don't want to breathe.
I don't want to see.
I don't want to hear.
I don't want to smell.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to think.

Everything's so much better
So why am I so much worse?

My mother has regained her maiden name
And there's no father to beat me up
And tell me how worthless I am.
My sister has come to terms with her sexuality
And there's no serious vitriol between us
For me to brood and cry about;
She hasn't hit me in years.
My family has been cut off from me
And there's no disappointed looks
For me to escape from.
My best friend is trying to rekindle what we had
And there's no faux pas or jibes
For me to be hurt over.
My mother is in the process of buying a house
So there'll be no panic attacks living in close range
To strangers in an apartment.
My senior year begins soon
And there'll be no adult to command me soon
While I'm holed up somewhere for college.
I've weeded the fake friends out
So there's no person whispering hatred behind me
And I won't run myself thin trying to please them.

So why am I worse?
I have everything in the world one could ask for.
I may not be rich,or even well-off
But I have an IPad and a phone
And several gaming systems.
There's food in the house and clean water.
I have a bed to sleep on and a roof over my head.
I have an Internet connection that's reliable.
I have usage of all my limbs and
I have music to listen to constantly.

So why am I worse?
I have nothing to complain or whine about.
I have nothing to cry and scream over.
I am living a life some others would envy.
Yet, here I am writing self-centered, pitiful poetry
And considering suicide.

I disgust myself, in this aspect.
I woke up this morning with life I'm not sure I want
And someone, somewhere, would value it more.
I bemoan my appearance and obsess over my weight
But I am symmetrical and healthy.
I have nothing to justify my pity-parties.

I don't have the right to be worse than I was.
See, no, I may not prosecute someone for being happy
When there are others who are happier
But I will prosecute myself for being sad
When there are others who have it worse.
Because I should be grateful for all I have.
I should smile everyday for waking up.
I should hold my life in high regard.

But I do not.

There's no rhyme or reason to this long winded spiel.
I do not expect or care if it's read.
I believe, in a way, this is part one of several
Of a letter to my mother, sister, and friends
As an explanation. As compensation.
I used to say I wanted to die, but I'd never do it.
Because I know me, and 'me' is a coward,
Terrified of her own shadow.
But now I see myself slipping and this is...
This is the best justification I have:

I am doing worse. Though I have no right to be. I wake up in the morning listless. I wake up and nothing seems better. I wake up, sometimes, gasping and scared from nightmares. I wake up, sometimes, missing my father. I wake up without motivation. And I go about my day without ambition. Writing no longer brings me pleasure. Nor reading. Nor running. Nor speaking. Nor silence. Nor music. Nor singing. Nor gaming. Nor thinking. Nor pottery. Nor poetry. Nor people. Nor solitude. Nor anything, really. I wake up searching for something. I do not know what. And I go about my day understanding that I have not, did not, and will not find it. I wake up lonely. I wake up starved for comfort and a listening ear. And by the time I've swung my legs out of bed, I am numb and I feel nothing at all. It is sweet agony. I am engulfed by my own mind and I rip myself apart daily. I never remember which piece goes where. I go through my days like this; breathing, alive, but not living. I am tired. I am sorry, because I know what I promised, but I am tired.

-Nadia (aka. Chaus)

When I smile,
When I laugh,
When I tell you I'm fine,
Can't you see that it's all just an act?
Look into my eyes,
And tell me you can't see.
That I'm broken,
It's been like that for awhile now.