there was beauty, love, fire, stillness, and i gave it all to you
you put both of your hands around my neck
had a grip on me like your favorite coffee mug
mouths never moved, just trembled

when you went home, your "i love you" started sounding like an apology
now every car crash sounds like the last time i heard you say my name

I'm drunk.
I'm drunk
And I wish I hadn't eaten in months.
Everything
Tastes like you.
Everything tastes like your **** in me.
Again.
And my screaming.
Again.
And you not caring
Again.

But you're just my ******.
And my friends are blackmailing you for it.
And now you're blackmailing my friends
For breaking all your bones
After they tore you off of me.
And now it's between you and them.
And I don't want any part of it.
And if I did
No one would give me any part of it.
Okay I do.
But still no one will give me any part of it.

So I'l trudge through
******* mountains
And ***** rivers
And razor blade forests.

But you can't forcefully *******
With my body.
Just to keep yourself warm.

Stupid white girl.
We are not allowed to do anything.
We're prim and proper, white girls.
We are not allowed to fight back.
Put us in our place, white girls.
We are not allowed real work.
We still want our twenty three cents back.

The child of fair skin and blue eyes.
But with all my female privilege,
Came a nasty stamp on my body.
Like a watermark.
FEMALE.
I have heard that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees a woman.
But when a man looks in the mirror, he sees a human.

Even with that watermark, our pale skin is used as a canvas.
And everyone else has been handed the tools to color in our curves.
Covering us in blue and black and purple and red.
Redrawing our minds so they cannot process the discrimination,
Painting over our tears so our feelings can be buried,
Manufacturing open legs when you want them,
Closed when you don't.
Erasing the lips we use to speak out,
Erasing the eyes we use to see all of this.

You think just because you held the brush,
Just because you created this monstrosity of a "masterpiece"
You get to claim ownership of this piece of artwork
That you blatantly disregard
Is my BODY.

The "fe" you tack onto "male"
Does not stand for Free Entry.
The "wo" you tack onto "man"
Does not stand for Wipe Out.

Women are barely able hold a pencil.
I was lucky to hold one long enough to draw myself
A conscience, a backbone, legs to stand on, and a mind.
We were only taught how to use the back end of that pencil
To erase our mouth and keep the secrets.
But these days the secrets are keeping themselves.

I will not be put in a glass case
You will not charge admission
To have people come and analyze me.
Buy me.
Give me value.
Categorize me.
Preserve me the way you created.

You are no artists.
You are vandals.

i am sorry for having villainized you.
let me say this first:
i am so sorry for the pain i caused you.

i am also sorry for the grit
and rough
and mess you saw in
my skin. i am sorry
that i let it matter to me
that you saw these things.
i am sorry that i let you
make me feel like the
skin that i was writhing in,
that i was trying on
and tailoring (am still
tailoring) to fit me correctly
was somehow *****, somehow
not so clean. somehow covered in
the hands of too many boys
who made me unpure.
who you believed
somehow stole my
virtue with their kiss.
(like they would be so powerful
as to **** it from my lips)
i am sorry that you believed
that this caused such a gaping
space between us that we could
no longer lie next to each other.

the truth is,
i miss you somedays.

it makes me ache to know
that you missed my first
love. you missed his smile
and his stupid decisions,
and the effect he had on me.
you missed the way he brought
my mind to a lull.
my whole body to a
present moment.
you missed the disappointment,
the pain, the deep and crushing
heartbreak.
you missed the day he said goodbye.
you missed me picking up
the parts of myself i didn't
know existed in such a way
that they could fall apart.

i had seen you through that all
and you will only know of mine
through what i will tell you.

i am sorry to have hurt you.
to have lost you.
i was shedding skin and so were you.

*january/27/2014/12:23 A.M.

everything about you is a poem,
and i'll never quit writing it.
from your raven gloss hair,
to your eyes that hold the colors of forest trees,
with their heads dipped in a halo of warm, golden sunlight.
your skin is winter,
****** snow, and your lips are a timid cherry blossom blooming
to meet mine,
and i'll part them gently;
wrapping ourselves in an eternity of spring,
new beginnings and awakenings.

She remembers when she was little
In school they'd warn against using drugs and smoking
Used to scare us with statistics and facts
She promised herself she'd never smoke or do drugs
Why would anyone ruin their life like that?

Fast forward 10 years, she kept her promise so far
She's obsessed with another kind of self destruction though
She cuts her skin, purges, and starves
She feels sympathy for people who do drugs and smoke
After all, they're just numbing the pain

Dear Nick,
I'm really quite sorry that I'm bad at this relationship thing
Please realize that I expected to never be loved and live with 75 cats
And I half expect you to start laughing and say "This was all a social experiment!"
But for you, I'm trying to be better at this relationship thing

Dear Nick,
I'm sorry it took me so long to call you back
You see, I have a crippling phone anxiety
and whenever I have to call someone I have a panic attack
But even if it takes pacing for 30 minutes, I'll always call you back

Dear Nick,
Sorry that I pulled back that day you tried to kiss me
And then made a dumb excuse how your breath smelled like popcorn
It didn't, and even if it did I wouldn't have minded
And now the only time your lips are on mine are in my dreams

Dear Nick,
I'm sorry I'm bad at expressing my feelings
And I can only tell you 'I love you' in cryptic rhymes in written word
And I'm writing you this poem you'll never see
But just know, you've been a huge inspiration to me

Dear Nick,
I'm sorry I say sorry for everything
I'm just so used to ******* up things
But I must be doing something right
Because you still loved me through anything
Maybe I'm not too bad at this relationship thing

The thing I hate most about you isn't what you'd think
Sure the abuse is horrible
And you never could take a hint
But that's not what I hate most about you

I hate how you insult and bruise me
And then call it "love"
How you always compare me to my friends who I can never be
But there is still something more that I hate about you

I'm terrified that one day
I'll wear a ring on my finger, bound to someone I hate
And I'll have a girl who still has faith and prays
I'm scared that she'll become me and I'll turn into you
And that's the thing I hate the most about you