husbands get wives
and forks get knives
and we all know the birds and the bees
but there's a voice in my head
that can't be ignored when it says
that there's someone for everyone
but me

i  have you to thank for all of my not so bad days
you aren’t just one person you’re anyone
who can place a little bit of faith in my bones
that not everyone is a ****.
you hold the door for people and you smile at strangers.
you tell lame jokes that make me wish i wasn’t laughing.
you ask questions that i don’t know the answers to and
don’t think i’m dumb when i tell you i don’t know.
you call me nicknames, and give hugs without me
having to ask
you can tell when i’m sad enough to not want to be bothered
and you notice when people get haircuts
you understand what it’s like but even if you didn’t
you’d still listen and try to get it.
you do life right.
you’re the reason for all of those not so bad days.

hi. my name is mia.
i’m 5 foot 7 and a half and i weigh 132 pounds.
i have blonde hair and blue eyes and i wear a lot of grey.
on my good days i’m great
but never quite as great as your average 18 year old
and on my bad days
on my bad days
i’m barely human at all
i’m a bloodless vessel with panic running through my veins
it’s not just your average anxiety
no i don’t have butterflies in my stomach
i have birds of prey flapping their wings against my throat.
on my bad days my heart races like it’s late for the train and
i swear i must be two hundred degrees
on my bad days my entire body convulses
like a demon is fighting it’s way out of every inch of me and honestly i wish it would
just to make all of this go away
on my bad days i pull on my hair and i pick at my skin
because my hands don’t know what to do with themselves
i spend my bad days on the bathroom floor hugging a toilet bowl and
thinking of any excuse to get myself to the hospital
i can’t open my mouth to speak but if i could then i wouldn’t be able to beside between
“please help me” and “go away”
it’s hart to tell if i’m sweating or if i just didn’t realize i was crying
on my bad days i’m 99% sure i’m dying
on my bad days i swallow a xanax with my pride
and the thought that i’m completely incapable of fixing myself
on my good days i’m great
but i still can’t shake that i won’t get better
and i can never have kids because they’ll just end up like me
but who could ever love someone like this anyway?
even on my good days i always seem to be complaining
and on my good days i still pick out my own traits in everyone that i hate
so i’m really never great. and there’s really no such thing as a good day
i only have not so bad days

my brain is the empty attic of a mid 20th century two story owned by a sub par poet

its walls are covered with layers of paint, wall paper, and dust

the floor overflowing with crumpled ***** of paper

its door reduced to nothing but scratches and patches

the floor boards curl up from years of climate changes and leaky roofs

and its rafters squeak and whistle every time the wind blows.

my brain is the empty attic of a mid 20th century two story owned by a sub par poet.

sad, bored, and lonely.

my thoughts are fireflies when i think of you

wandering aimlesly

but bright

and beautiful

nonetheless

a soft glow against the dark night sky

that brings me home.

so i run after it

skipping and jumping until finally

it’s caught between my fingers

i cherish that moment of anticipation

before you open your hands

to find it waiting there

and you can never hold it long enough

before it escapes and floats back off onto the

black canvas of the night

blending in with the stars

maybe you’ll see it again one day

i have a jar filled with eye lashes and 11:11’s i’ve saved up for you

i’ve got a drawer full up with dandelion seeds

i keep shooting stars stored in my lungs for you

and all my pockets are weighed down with fountain pennies

i’m saving all my wishes for you

i once knew a boy who was made of the world

he held sunlight in the back of his throat

and lit up the world when he sang

his eyes were made of embers

and his hair from the stormy sea

his breath smelled of morning dew

and his voice was the forest rising from a long sleep

he asked me to breathe him in

and hold him there

when the world was dark and gray

and when i let him go, he said,

he would take me far away

where beauty and everything are the same.