Dust off that old diary,
with scribbles and pictures
of dreamy days stuck inside,
its pages filled with unspoken words.

Open its frayed brown cover.
Pieces of paper with secrets inscribed on them
fall gracefully to the floor,
freed from their trap.

Pick up the yellowish notes and read them,
memories of forgotten times you remember.
Flip through the breaking pages of the book,
the one you once called your best friend.

Read through the past, relive it;
the golden, precious words fill your mind.
Cry silently and softy as you think of how far you've come,
how very different you are now.

Close the diary and watch the dust billow.
Set it down and smile,
the sunlight caressing your face,
its golden glow a reassurance of today.

i cry myself to sleep because
i'm constantly scared you'll come back
(don't ever consider it)

i feel numb and empty because
you told me i was nothing
(and a worthless piece of trash)

i need therapy and take medicine because
you used to beat me
(it gave me ptsd)

i can't eat anymore because
you told me i didn't deserve to
(and i should **** myself)

i have no more friends because
you made me believe you were all i needed
(***** you)

Wish me luck on the stars above
Their silver seams gleam in your eyes
I stare for just a moment too long
Soon I am mesmerized by you

Wish me luck on the cold blue rivers
That race through my heart like ice
I look to yours for warmth and comfort
Afraid that I will scare you away

Wish me luck on the peaceful music
The sounds blend together with grace
I share with you what I cannot say
Hopeful that you will sing with me

Our love only exists in a picture frame.

Yes, it's sad.
I often think of all our good times;
all the laughter.

Then I remember why we are no more;
because of me.

I keep it on my desk.
It sits there, collecting dust.
Sometimes I have to put it away.

"How can I love someone who doesn't love themselves?"
I remember your words.
They cut into my heart.

I'm why our love only exists in a picture frame.
Yes, it's sad.

No more kissed cheeks or warm blush,
no more holding hands or open smiles.

Did you think this would make me happier?
Well
you were wrong.

All my happiness
exists in you.

There is this person
with electric blue hair
who I am constantly
intrigued by.

Look at their skin;
like porcelain, it's so
pale
and icy cold.

Their eyes speak to my heart--
the green and brown
moving in harmony
and making me smile.

They always have
black eye shadow around
these brown and green irises;
so bold.

I can't tell if they're a boy
or a girl--
maybe they're both
or neither.

They almost never speak
But their voice moves
smooth like milk
And their laugh is contagious.

But underneath their fake smiles
I know their secret--
The red marks that cover their skin
The scars that speak for themselves.