They saw each other—
As party died their ache grew,
  .  .  .  Paired eyes *******.

she smiled and said
"it's not the pain or the death that i'm afraid of:
it's what's left of this life."
she adjusts the watch on her left wrist to cover the scar.
"some moments lift us, and others crush us,
but what really counts are the ones in which
we feel everything and nothing at all."

mothers can be so wise.

I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me.
I but in vain that saint adore
That can, but will not, save me:
These poor half-kisses **** me quite;
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved.

Show me no more those snowy *******
With azure riverets branched,
Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in hell,
But thus in heaven tormented.

Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me;
O, these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me.
But see how patient I am grown,
In all this coil about thee;
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!

when we met
well
when you spoke to me
you spoke with such ease
with no boundaries

you were an open book
and i was not

i was yet a closed one
with my pages torn
and the cover stained

and you did not seem to walk away
like most people do
when they see an old book
on a library shelf

but you stayed
and you listened
and you read every page
but why?

"because every story
can be very lovely
or very tragic
and you, my dear

are both"

(b.m.)

To know
what you want to do
with the rest of your life
is like
winning the lottery
but knowing
that you won't be able to do it
for whatever reason
is like
the lottery ticket
you lost.

I hope you become happy
Even make it yourself
Either from love or faith
Maybe friendship as well
No one can do it for you
People can't force it on you
It's something that's built
You have to work for it
If you don't
Then it's obviously not important enough for you
It can't be taught
And there's not a "How To" book on it
No.
You have to want it
You have to push through the bad times
Giving up isn't an option
Even if you think it is
But I don't think that's the case
Most people want happiness
And I hope you find yours

I see the ways of this world
Full of selfishness and hostility
It makes no sense to me
Why can't we just get along?
If we put aside our differences
And stop making inferences
About one another
Maybe if we stopped all the greed
We could be a world full of the freed
No more racism or rich or poor
None of the cruelty
Or and if that brutality
All of us truly equal
Then maybe the world would be better
And we could all stand together
On this planet we call home

Instinct

With the conviction of a grieving fourteen year old, I cut a thick **** deep into my vein & watched the blue beneath my skin melt into a red stream that trickled through my fingers. I didn't cut in rows, for safety. I cut in columns. I watched the gray walls that encased me fall into a dusty mass beneath my feet. I watched all of the chaos that spiraled around me grow smaller and smaller until it was nothing but a dime sized glisten before me. I heard everything fall eerily silent like the serenity of a funeral we all knew was coming; the end to a suffering. The kind of ending that makes our bones ache but lifts our hearts in a sea of  some twisted hope that we feel guilty for feeling but are still comforted by. A silence unpentrible by the anxious sirens of an ambulance headed toward my house or the hurried footsteps of my sister's cheap moccasin's headed toward my bedroom door.

That was the first time, I felt terrifed of my own hands; this sense of genuine suspense for what I'd do next as if I wasn't the one in charge of where my limbs went. The first time I ever felt that evil love for hating myself; that desire to press down harder; to clip the vein where it starts; to let myself pour out like a barrel of salt water; to become dry skin over still bones... That was the first time, I made an honest attempt to fight myself off of my own frame. The first time I ever wished I'd slept through every hour of my life up until this point just so that I'd have nothing to think about.

Well, four years later, I'm just so glad I made it out because the happiness that has grown over my skull is enough to make me cry and I don't even know that little girl who so desperately wanted to die.