One, I grip your shoulders and bite my lip.
Two, I hold you close with my mouth open,
breath upon breath.
Three, my head tilts back and I let out a sigh.
Four, I grip your shoulders and bite my lip.
Repetition repetition repetition.
"Don't fall too quickly."
I don't fall at all.
My head tilts back and I let out a sigh.
It is you that I want, I look for you in their eyes.

Flighty, exciting people do more for me than
coffee dates, 6 months together, here's a heart shaped necklace.
I want you to kick me when I'm down and do nothing to help
so that when I stand I have skinned knees and a scratched face
smiling up at you. Kiss me and tell me to pull myself together
because all the ribbon has been used to tie together boxes for me
that contain coal, cat litter, razor blades and ****.
All the tape in our house has been used to keep my mouth shut
forcing me to tear it off and scream
for you to kick me down again
and have me stand on my own.

I have romanticized my sadness
like slapping away the hand of a boy who reaches up my skirt
and half-smiling afterwards,
wishing he'd do it again.

When a luke warm shower is more comforting
than memories of your hands pressed to my hips:
this is me loving myself.
Poking at bruises on my thighs, forearm, neck
(none of which were caused by you):
this is me loving myself.
Words aren't running off of my fingertips anymore
and the muscles in my hands don't twitch.
You were my muse
and I will carry you in my words.
Un purposefully reserving a place for you in myself:
This is me loving you,
this is me letting go.

I once read a book that ended in the main character remembering incidents she had repressed,
so all throughout Sophomore year of high school, I wondered if the abuse stopped at bruised arms.
I wanted so badly to have a valid reason behind the stains on my skin and keeping people up at night
to keep me company. The truth of the matter is, if I write what I'm afraid of I'd be writing this:
I didn't cry when my cat of twelve years was put down and buried in the backyard.
I didn't even attend her funeral. There are about three dead pet fish in my freezer
that I haven't gotten around to burying and about twenty-seven lies I've told since my feet hit the floor
this morning. I do not regret any of it. My heart is too big to fit in my chest so I wear it on my sleeve,
I'm told. But that isn't true- I crave for people to look up to me. I've met at least two boys
who have had a tourniquet around their upper arm and a needle in their veins. I love them both.
If I had to choose the one who got away, it would be the boy I could never love as a lover and still
I wish I could. My scars have no profound reasoning behind them and yet I still care that I cut off bits of my hair that you've touched before.
I confuse hardened hearts with strength.
I move too quickly and tell the other to wait.
I've kissed two girls and one kissed me.
The furthest we got was hand holding.
I should write you more poetry.

You.
with blushing cheeks of the most
captivating red,
skin of the softest of
yellow,
personality...
with a certain
spark.
I choose you.
Pikachu.

Minutes feel like years,
hours close to decades.
I'm lying in bed
while my mind tries to fade.

A heart tends to feel
what words can't convey.
I am desperately fighting
to take myself away.

A soul that is heavy
with a body close to hollow.
I am fighting for sleep,
but my mind will not follow.

The advice you want to give,
I simply won't demand.
All I seem to wish for
is a heart that can withstand.

It is time for me to go.
For soon, I will see dawn.
I know that it is coming,
I know I will move on.

I thank you for your time,
I shouldn't keep you taken.
The only thing I ask
will be something left unspoken.

they always dont care
they always dont try
they look at me like im crazy
but theyll never know
they laugh in my face
they call me names
they yell at me
but theyll never know
theyll never be proud
because i try my hardest
im bad because theyll notice me
my parents
arnt gifts they arny my blessings from god
they dont care about me
they never will
my tears run down my bright red cheeks
and make cracks in the dust
because they dont care