I've got a special power:
I can look at my body from the outside
and my hands are never really mine.

I am
          untouchable.

                  I'm floating.

My name
doesn't sound like
a real word
anymore

       (I am not
       a real person
       anymore)

My brain
is splatted on the walls
like a Jackson *******
smelling like rotten flesh –
is it too late
to get back inside?

Words
can't hurt me
(especially the ones
starting with a C)
though I have a hypothesis –
I become what other people
already consider me to be
and I still can't tell apart
being crazy and just having a bad night

I'm not cold, I'm just emotionally inept
– insert ghosts from my past creeping out
from under my bed –
and for God's sake
stop calling me a wreck
–insert overused metaphor
about the Titanic
and the inevitability of death–
self-centered does make sense
– insert weak apology
or just count the I's and me's and my's –
but if you call me crazy
it all comes down
to the oldest question of all time –
*am I mad
or am I just wasting this life?

death was never the
answer, yet is the only
possible solution.

i. listen to lo-fi music. feel nostalgic about places you've never been to.

ii. take pictures of strangers, never of your friends.

iii. read the same book over and over for three months straight. find non-existant hidden meanings.

iv. keep five notebooks full of quotes, none full of how you're feeling.

v. write letters to imaginary people. sign them as holden caulfield, then switch to ******, then jay gatsby.

vi. look at yourself in the mirror until your eyes get out of focus. convince yourself that you're not really there.

vii. complain about being stuck in one place.
do nothing about it
stay there
don't move

you made it.

Out of all the words
I've been called in my life
(and I've been called quite a lot of different things)
the one that stuck with me the most has to be
impossible.

I can work with cynical
I can understand cold
but I never managed to wrap my head around impossible

I'd spend hours virtually running my hands through it
dwelling on every letter
shaping my body to look like it

and I just wanted to stop existing
because how can something impossible be real
there's no place nor time for impossible

It took me a while to realize that impossible
meant that they were giving up on me
without even making an effort

because behind impossible
there's the implicit saying
“you're hard to love and I really don't want to try”

but that's okay
just like two negatives make a positive
I just had to find someone just as impossible.

Sticks and stones
may break my bones
but dimples and freckles
will never fail
to make my heart melt.

I don't really think
about killing myself
that much anymore.

The worst thing about this kind of sadness
is not being able to eat or move or
write
and you can't just snap out of it
or maybe you just don't want to
because you're sort of getting used to it
and you don't know who you would be
without it

Never let an illness define who you are
otherwise when the pills start working
you'll end up with an empty body
a shell without a soul
and no words to describe
what you've been through

As I blew out the candles on my birthday cake
I wished for happiness
five years in a row
and I was sure it never came true
until I looked at pictures I didn't remember taking
and at poems I didn't remember writing
and realized I could've been happy all along
if only I hadn't focused that much on my sadness

Flowers are growing
on my body where your hands
touched me last time.

How can I love you
if I even forget to
water my plants?

Leaving
wasn't part
of the deal.

There are seven clocks
in my room
because they help me remember
I am alive
but if I listen to
your heartbeat
I don't need a single one
*of them.

"Free yourself"
they say
but I don't know what it is
exactly
that I should free myself from.

They called me
cold and cynical and crazy
and all those other words
with a 'c'
that may or may not
actually
describe me.

"That's not how life works"
they said
but how am I supposed to know
how to live?
This is only my first life
after all.

If Woody Allen directed our life
(assuming there is something to call
"ours")
we would be going
to meet again in three
five
or ten
years
and we would be going
to have all the ***
we didn't have before
because I lost my mind
and you said
nevermind.

We would meet in a foreign country
in a cafè in Paris
or at a fancy dinner in London
and you would introduce me
to your fiancè
(as pretty as I've never been)
and I would tell you
I' didn't follow your advice
(when we were eighteen you told me
"don't you ever commit suicide").

I would recall that day
when you gave money to the man
playing the saxophone in the street
at night
and I would tell you
what I didn't have the guts to say
back then
(I love you and I need you)
and I would allow you to save me
this time.

You would kiss me on the lips
gently
like you did this morning
before stepping on the train
that was five minutes late
(and made me cry for 25 minutes afterwards)
and it would be just the same
only 10 years later
and I'll still be
a mess
and you'll still say
nevermind.

I wish I didn't
have to see
your body shaking
as you cried
when you turned 18
because you were drunk
and sad
but I still held you
as close as I could.

I wish I was there
for every single time
you cried
and I wasn't there
because I couldn't even
leave the house.

I wish that girl
didn't break your heart
and I wish
I didn't have a crush
on her as well.

I wish I can live
long enough
to see your eyes
shining bright
because for once
our friendship
is all that matters.

"Do you know
how many calories
are there in that?"
Yes, I do
and I know exactly
how long and how fast
I should run
to burn them all
or how many meals
I should skip
afterwards
but I also know
I'm worth much more
than your opinions
and this time
I will put myself
first.

Poison is green
and so are
your eyes.

Their love
was still
considered
illegal.

The diagnosis said
mad
and the tombstone
said that too.

Carbon monoxide is
colorless
odorless
and tasteless.
It goes completely
unnoticed
until it's too late.

"She was so pretty"
they said.
"We all loved her.
What was her name again?"

She sleeps
inside
my rib cage.

One day
hearing your name
will feel like
watching a movie
with River Phoenix
in 2013.

We might as well
*stop believing.

I should be studying
but I'm not,
I should be living
and I'm not
but how can I study
when everything feels so
meaningless,
how can I live
when I see no point
in trying
anymore?

I can't see,
I can't hear,
I can't feel.

He fell in love with her
the moment he met her
and didn't stop loving her
until he saw
what she looked like
after three hours of crying
and shaking in fear.

They all fell in love with her
and they all stopped
when she needed them
the most.

I fell in love with her
two years and four months
after I met her,
after I saw her
with her hair down
and no make up on
when she had been crying
for three days straight
and I haven't stopped
ever since.

J. stopped dealing
with his problems
and started dealing
drugs.

S. forgot
to to her homework
and one day she forgot
to eat.

M. stopped painting
on canvas
and started painting
on her wrists.

D. hung up
the phone
and then he hung
himself.

We thought we were
growing up.
Turns out we were just
dying.

"May I love you
and cherish you
until death
do us apart?"

"Isn't that
illegal?"

I woke up today
with the make up from last night
still on
and I listened to my own heartbeat
for three hours straight
wondering
how could I make it stop.

I saw my own body
in a white dress
with perfect make up on
buried six feet under
and I couldn't help but notice
how stupid my tattoos looked
in there.

I refused to leave the house
without a silver ring
on my pinky finger
as if my life
depended on it
and that was the first time
I heard people
calling me crazy.

I wish I didn't wake up
today
but I did
and they told me
that I should be grateful
for it
but my favourite part of the day
is still those two minutes
when I don't even remember who I am.

My body is a
rollercoaster.

I am healthy
and sick
I love life
and death
equally.

I lose hope
find hope
doubt hope.

I fell in love
with his green eyes
and the freckles
on her nose.
My cold hands
made them shiver
both.

I will either
live forever
or die
before I turn twenty-three.

I gain weight
lose weight
don't weigh
at all.

I am crazy
and sane
fragile
like the white skin
that covers my wrists
cold
like the sharp blade
that kept me company.

I am an attraction
at the amusement park.

He once said
    "treat yourself right"
    and to hang those words
    on my wall
    'cause he knew
    I would need to see them
    everyday.

    He once asked me
    about that
    "thigh gap thing"
    he saw online
    and he told me
    to never do that to myself.

    I once told him
    I liked sharp objects
    knives and scissors and blades
    and I showed him
    my Sylvia Plath tattoo
    and he never left me alone
    ever again.