Anxiety has done
a lot of damage to

                                           my
psyche, and I
try to hold your

                                           hands
and your heart
in mine, but mine

                                           shake.
I can’t stop doubting,
whether I am enough, if
                   my
offerings of love will
be enough. I want your

                                           faith
to be safe in my hands,
but there’s a lot of fear
                    
                                    ­        in
my heart that I will
never truly be enough for

                                             you
but you insist that I’m
amazing and that you

                                             won’t
ever leave me alone
in my troubles, and
I want to believe you.

people say
I should be
grateful,
because I don't
have to move
all the time.

but to float
place to place,
too quick
to take root,
is better than
the strength
required to
rip out years
and years of
deep roots of
love and
dependency
that have
reached through
cold earth
to draw from
the waters of
love and
companionship

they attempted to
transplant me,
but my roots
are withered and
I can't find it
inside me to bloom.

metallic ticks
on my wrist
making cadence
that synchronizes
to my beating heart.

The watch band
is binding, and
not just there
to keep it secure
but to cover secrets.

my punishment
for consistent failure
is writing lines
chalk isn't what
traces my skin,
but metal razor
bringing blood
out from within.

the "chalkboard"
is my body,
in its entirety.
silver sliver traces
lines and names
over tan soft,
etches scars and
little white li(n)es.

all my life
I’d been seeking
solace and peace,
I finally found it in

                                             you
You were my first.
One day, we were
talking, and I finally
asked you out. That
was the first chance
I had where I

                                             could
see what love
could do to me.
We’d hold hands
and kiss, and
I believed that
I could finally

                                             have
peace. The peace
my brain had
insisted I could
never had. Anxiety

                                             told
me that peace was
not possible. But,
when you came, it
was possible. Until
you decided to let

                                             me
go. After leaving me,
you chose death.

I don’t pretend
to fully understand
the things inside your head.

                                                       I only
wish I could have
tried a little bit
harder. You left,
and now all I

                                                       want
is to get you
back from the
abyss, but the
end is the end.
I can’t find a way

                                                       to
cope with the
sudden emptiness
in my heart, which
was already
struggling hard to

                                                       hold
itself together.
When you were
alive, that was
easier, but now
you’re gone and
I simply miss

                                                       you