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Mikaila May 2013
I miss myself,
And it feels queer, because
I never really liked her
Mikaila Apr 2016
I'm sorry you saw me lingering there.
I just wanted
To see you smile.
Mikaila Sep 2016
******* for making me look down
When you deserve to suffer under my gaze.
Mikaila Jun 2013
How exactly do you tell someone
That they
Are only one facet
Of you?
(You shouldn't,
Is the answer)
Mikaila Nov 2014
I never had a sister.
I never even really
Had a best friend.
I fell in love
And I got hurt
And I
Was there for others,
But I never let anybody near me.
Not unless they forced their way into my heart
I hardly even had friends
(Real friends)
So distrustful of the world was I.
And I certainly didn't have family.
Not family in the truest sense-
In the
There-is-nothing-you-could-do-to-make-me-hate-you sense.
I was loved, and I loved,
But there was trust on... neither end, really.
I never had a sister.


If I did

I'd want her to be you.
Mikaila Aug 2014
I can look at photos you've taken, and your appreciation for beauty brings tears to my eyes. I'm not even sure what kind of love that is, but I know that it surges through me in a way that feels... fragile. Last night after you left me I walked in the dark for a long time, and I could hardly breathe. Not for fear or for pain or for uncertainty, but... because my body has always acutely known, whenever I see you, how utterly inadequate it is to contain and channel the joy I am capable of feeling. I walked because I could not be still. Something was coursing through me, a wild, unfathomable elation, an awe to be alive. In equal and opposite intensity to the depths of pain I've felt, it rushed beneath my skin, pressing out from my fingertips so that I had to clench and unclench my hands just to rein it in. I took deep breaths just to hold myself together, because somehow that euphoria was working its way in between the molecules of me, pushing them apart, trying to expand me into something vast enough for it to inhabit, and unmaking me in the process. I have told you that you may **** me, and what I always meant was that- that you bring forward such incredible, unprecedented love and wonder in me, such joy that something in me realizes what I usually ignore: That I was simply not made durable or enormous enough to survive my own capacity to feel. It is that sweet, aching mortality that I experience every time I love. I am addicted to it. I am in awe of it. That lovely expansion of my heart against my ribs, against my lungs, which makes me gasp for air and cling to the life I need to continue living to experience more of this indescribable elation. When I look at you I know that I am so, so very unprepared to love the way I do, so small, so breakable, and so....eager, to throw myself in, to pour out this passion that demands so insistently to be expressed that its restlessness inside of me presses me forward out into the night, to wander until the sun begins to rise. When I said I would love you with the same level of desire that every living being has ever had for its continued existence, this is what I meant. I MEANT it. I mean it. I've given up being scared of it. a gift. I can feel this. And I will. I will feel it until it either crushes me, or changes me. And I will feel it for you.
Mikaila Feb 2014
I am a very simple person.
I am not an easy person,
But I am simple.
And here is the thing:
Either you WILL **** me
Or you WILL save me.
I see you looking for your way out
But darling
I told you this was how it was
The moment I met you.
I knew you'd get here and I told you so.
And now...
Now either you will make me suffer
Or you will make me smile.
And I wish it weren't so
But neither of us has control of that anymore.
Mikaila Jul 2015
Nowadays I know
That I still exist
Even when you don't say goodnight.
Mikaila Sep 2015
The train is bright and empty
And it should be lonely, sitting here, hurtling through darkness, but I
Am in no state for people.
I am too far away.
Something is new in me.
Something is starting.
I move through the world every day
And I love it all, I do,
Love it to distraction, love it painfully, even
There is always something thin but impenetrable
Between me and all that I want to touch
To hold
To let crawl inside me and expand
So that maybe I'd be vast enough to hold this soul.
But tonight
That veil has peeled away-
No, it has fallen away
Like a sheet of fine silk, and I am
And new
And blinking in the light and everything
Is so saturated with color
And music
Thrums beneath the grinding of the rails.
It has been so long since everything could touch me.
I sit here and soak it in, a lover who has found everything to love
All of a sudden
And can do nothing but gaze.
All this
All this from someone,
And this is why
I just can't quit love.
This is why I try over and over,
Why I stay up nights wandering the darkened streets,
Why the hunger in my chest is something I treasure so excruciatingly.
Because the world is waiting
For you to find a reason to touch it,
And tonight I want my fingers to find every sidewalk crack and blade of grass,
Seek them like the skin of a lover in the dark- that gentle and that urgent-
And fill them all with silver light
And watch the world catch fire with what lives beneath my skin-
What lives here and has been sleeping
But is now suddenly, terrifyingly, gloriously
Mikaila Jun 2013
If ever you begin
To feel safe

Cherish it.
Mikaila Jun 2013
You say they've tried to save you,
They've tried to make you see,
But darling, let me tell you,
You ain't met nobody like me.
Mikaila Dec 2013
She just...
Walked into my life and ransacked my heart and now I don't know where to put anything.
Mikaila Sep 2013
The little evidences of you fascinate me.
On my journey through
Someone else's words
I trip over your underlines and coffee stains.
Stumble and pause,
Wonder what you were doing or thinking
When you dogeared the page.
I don't know what that is.
Fascination, I guess.
I don't even know you.
I don't even know what I want from you.
But the proof that you held this book
Before I did
Captivates me.
What does it mean, that circled word,
To you? Words are so...
They hold so many memories,
Such different thoughts
For everyone who reads them.
I find, as I excavate the loved pages of this book,
That I want in.
To your head, your heart.
I want to see your naked soul
In an offguard moment,
Before you can decide what and
What not
To show me.
As I travel the lines your pen has traced before
My fingers,
I want to know what made you put them there.
I want to know who you are.
More importantly, perhaps,
I want to know who you are.
Mikaila Jul 2013
Sometimes I wonder
Who reads my poetry
And realizes I do everything I say I do
Instead of making it up to seem poetic.
Mikaila Oct 2013
"Be careful she doesn't get bored with you next
It's a long way to   * f
               ­                                        l
                                                             ­ ."
That line popped into my head
The other day
* it's been rattling around inside
Ever since.
It's from one of my favorite books.
A book that says many true things.

Don't know.
It just crept inside my thoughts
& grabbed on tight.
"It's a long way to fall."

Sometimes I wonder if I am a replacement.
Maybe it's because
You aren't-
Most people are,
Paper dolls
For the people I can't have close.
I've kissed glass lips before
Gazed through see-through collarbones
& seen only my reflection
Distorted in translucent eyes.
Sometimes they fall & break
In shards on the floor
& I see my tears
In all the little pieces.

But you
Sometimes I ask myself
If I resent it.
I don't think I do.
(& I resent
Because I wonder,
Every so often,
If I am a paper doll to your porcelain.
If I am a poor [wo]man's lover,
Good enough                            .                        .   ­                     .                          .
             ­                                                                 ­                                                                 [For now.]
I don't like those thoughts.
Maybe they are where jealousy starts,
But I feel none.
(I am glad of that-
It is the ugliest feeling I know of.)
But I do wonder, all the same,
If I am only the best
You can do
Just now.
I hate wondering that.
I hate it because I shouldn't care to wonder,
& I hate it because I should think it's more ridiculous
Than I do.
I looked by accident
In[T]o puppydog eyes the other d[A]y
Begging for attention
At the dinner table
& I heard it li[K]e b[E]lls
"[IT]'s a long way to f[ALL]."

& mostly I do dismiss it,
The possibility that sometimes seems
Very real,
That I am a passing fad-
"It's a long way to fall."
The nagging inkling that ma[Y]be
I'm n[O]t special-
& that I will pass
Like aut[U]mn,
& my leaves fall
& the pretty colors gone
[W]ill leave me bare & ugly
& l[I]feless al[L] over again.
The passing thought that perhaps
The universe is speaking to me & not you,
That maybe the message is
"It's a

                                                            ­          [L]ong


­                                                                 ­                    
                                            ­                                                   To

                                                        ­                    [ F      A     L     L." ]
Quote from A Great And Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray.
Mikaila Jan 2015
This year has been... So hard. It's been so ******* hard. There were times when I didn't know if I would make it. Times when I didn't think I had it in me to keep going and going after what I want and what I need, when they're always such long shots. Such dreams. Such ambitious dreams... I wanted to quit so many times. When **** left, I wanted to quit. I wanted to crawl under the blankets and stop being. I spent 3 days on Angela's couch after that night. I can never sleep in my own bed when I am truly broken down. I lose my home when I am raw inside. Couches, empty rooms, it doesn't matter where I hide but it can't be where I live. I wonder why that is. She couldn't have picked a worse time to tell me she loved me as much as I loved her and that it didn't matter. And then you... you were off in another world, off in another country finding yourself and your footing and everyone but me. You stopped answering my How Are You's. You didn't tell me happy birthday. Neither did ****. That was the first time I realized why holidays are the hardest for people who are sad. If you love someone and you are waiting for them to forgive you for being who you are, birthdays, Christmases, every holiday becomes a ticking clock: She has to say something. Will she say something? Will she really ignore me TODAY? Today, when the person who hated me most in high school said "Happy Birthday!! :D" on my wall on facebook? Today, when even my neighbor who grumbles about us being too loud grumbled a Merry Christmas? It becomes an agony when you realize that the answer is yes long before the day is over. Then you have to watch the hours tick by, trying not to hope, and by the end of it you just want it to be over, you don't even care anymore- you just want her not to have a reason to speak to you again, so that it won't mean QUITE so much that she is silent.
I had a lot of special days like that this year.
I wanted to quit when they told me I was small. When they told me I was quiet and bland, like vanilla icecream. The beast that lives behind my ribcage shook the bars that day and howled. (I spent a lot of time with it this year. We still hate each other, but we have uneasily realized that we are all we have.) That was the day I truly broke. **** was gone. You were gone. And the only thing I had to truly count on was suddenly in question. It was now or never, it was be better than your best, and I was barely hanging on. It was be a hundred and ten percent, when the past few months had whittled me down to a shadow of a person who barely remembered what it was to be fifty. It was push harder than you've ever pushed at the moment you are about to collapse and you thought you were going to be able to rest.
Those days made me. I hate that they made me. I hate that the biggest parts of me come from the days that eviscerated me, but they do.
I wanted to quit when **** came back and saw what I'd become. "You're wearing fake eyelashes?" she said, because she always did notice any weakness. She didn't say she saw my sunken cheeks, and the fire behind my eyes that meant I was afraid to die. "PROMISE ME you'll stay this time." I said, and I grabbed her shoulders. "But only if you mean it."
"I promise." she said.
She didn't mean it.
I knew, though. Somehow I knew that the girl I loved had left her behind, a changeling, a stranger. I tried to believe, but when she left the shock was only surface: I was too tired to be rocked to the core.
Then came the days when I truly didn't have a plan. I spent a few weeks on the couch. Anyone who reads this will not have seen me with ***** hair, in week old clothes, skinny and sleeping all the time. I make sure they never see. But for a few weeks, I had no one to pretend for and no reason to pretend and no reason to live. I only knew I WANTED to. Even then, from the couch, with my show babbling in the background, I thought, "There's gotta be something. A reason will come. I just have to wait." And a reason did come. It wasn't a very good reason, but it didn't have to be: Reasons to live are not really the reasons we live. The truth is that if you want to live, you will FIND a reason, every time. You will create one. My reason didn't mean a thing in the details. All it meant was that I was ready to rejoin the world, and live again.
I spent a lot of the in between months living on the surface of myself, just getting my feet wet. I went to work. They didn't know me there. Didn't ask. I liked that, it was simple. I waited tables, I cleaned up, and if I quietly did what I did, nobody bothered me. The biggest thing I could **** up was somebody's lunch. It was comforting. I chatted with customers as if I wasn't who I was. I was their smiling waitress with her hand on her hip, a hot *** of coffee, and a clever quip. That was a part of learning to live again, too. It was hard to stand there all day and listen to the radio. Memories would hit me and I would be unable to run away from them the way I could elsewhere. I learned to breathe through the pain, and discovered that it became muscle memory to endure it. It was almost easy by the end. The only deep thing I did with this time was to read Girl, Interrupted. As with most life changing books, I hadn't thought much of picking it up. I hadn't expected it to change me. But reading it, I could have wrote it myself. I knew how she felt, every moment, and the things she said stuck with me, stuck to me- the raw wounds that were still healing  inside me scarred around her words.
Then came the reckless stage. I was waking up. I began to listen to music again. I began to drive without knowing where I was going. I began to make choices just to see if they'd jar me enough to snap me back to my old self. They didn't. I didn't find myself again until just before school started.
Poor Giles (my car, the car that saved my life) was the cost of it. A rainy night, a loud song, and too much grief. Things really do slow down when you crash, you know. I thought they just did that in movies to be dramatic, but they don't, it's real. When I went off the road I knew I'd lost control. My mind was way ahead of me. My body wasn't in the place I thought it should be, and I remember distinctly but calmly wondering why it wouldn't listen to me and do what I wanted (it was, in fact, being thrown around by the force of the crash, and the signals from my brain saying "Move your arm!" couldn't compete with whiplash.) I woke up with the car crunched against a tree, on the driver's side, and the frame 6 inches from my face.
I didn't feel anything.
My body cried and shook as they strapped me to a stretcher, but inside I wasn't in control. I was sitting back quizzically. The moment they got me out of the car I knew I was unhurt. They cut off my clothes. My favorite bra was another casualty of that day. Cut right in half- the leopard bra I wore in the first scene I ever did in front of the UConn faculty for midterms last year. While they were wheeling me from test to test, I wondered if that was somehow symbolic. Flash forward to being in bed in a tiny room, a doctor giving me back my bellybutton ring, me asking where the pentagram necklace that **** gave me the night we met was, getting it back, putting it on. The IV in my arm was cold. I hate IVs. My mom cried, and I cried, but I still wasn't scared or sad. I cried because tears came out. It was a surreal experience, crying like that.
I didn't wake up fully from my brokenness until the nurse came in and said, "I'm so sorry, but we need your room. I'm going to have to put you in the hall." I shrugged, and they stuck me in the hall just outside. I watched them wheel a bedraggled looking man in. He was muttering. He reminded me of my uncle, the alcoholic, the one who had died the previous fall. I had a hunch that they probably had a lot in common. Interest piqued, I eavesdropped as they bustled around and talked to him. He had tried to **** himself.
That was when I woke up. I didn't really know it, but that was the moment. It was the first moment in months that I remembered my real reason. I asked my mother for a piece of paper to draw on, and she dug in her purse to find it. Ten minutes later I faked having to go to the bathroom so they'd unhook me from my tubes. I had a feeling my mother would think it improper if I told the truth. Before she could object, I slipped into his room, and handed him the paper. I said, "I made this for you. I hope you feel better." I wish I remembered exactly what I'd written. It was a simple little note and a doodle of a rose, and it said that he mattered, and that I cared about him. I got back in bed, sheepish, and my mom was as nervous about my infringement on someone else's life as I'd guessed she'd be. Five minutes later, though, the nurse came over with a piece of torn paper. He had written back to me. His handwriting was shaky and simple, like a child. I have that note hung up in my bedroom at home. He said, "You have touched my heart. Thank you! I will keep your rose in my heart. This is a life changing moment for me... Thank you!" I wondered if there was a plan, then. I wondered if all of that, the sadness, the crash, everything, had led me to be in that hospital and say something to that man that changed his life. And maybe it didn't change at all, I don't know. But I know that that moment changed me.
Back at school, I had a few blissful moments with you. A few nights of hand holding, a few beautiful kisses. I slowly taught myself not to run from you when I felt the gravity of my love separate me by the molecule. I found that I did have the courage it took to be in your arms, and that is when you lost the courage to hold me. Still, I'd take all of my grief and more for one moment with you, and I'll keep you in my heart till the day I die, whether or not you stick around.
In class, I was the first to break. To cry. Over months, I cracked open and a lot of the tears that fell were very old, and scalding. I hadn't known I was suffering until the cracks in me were widened and focused on. One day after a particularly raw moment, I walked across the street to the tattoo parlor. I didn't stop, I didn't think, and I got a tattoo that very moment. My butterfly, on my shoulder, to remind me that changing hurts, growing hurts. I loved how much it hurt. (Nobody said I was recovered fully.)
Suddenly then there was a choice before me. An opportunity and a challenge. Do something to make them remember why they chose you. Fight. Win. I dug deep. I thought, what can I say that I mutter to myself in the shower when I am not thinking about anything? What words have stuck to me? I dug, and I found Susanna Kaysen again. At 3 in the morning I sat in a chair, in the dark, in the center of the bare rehearsal studio and tore myself open.
I found the girl who, this past summer, in the thick of everything, had called McClean and tried to get a bed. Who for a week had begged to be somebody else's problem. I called a hotline. I wasn't suicidal, but only because I don't have it in me, no matter how bad I feel. I called and got a voicemail. Desperate, I called UMASS Memorial. I remember they told me that if I wasn't a physical danger to myself or others they couldn't help me, and I remember this phrase tumbling out of my mouth before I could filter it, "Should I just go slit my wrists and call you right back, then?"
I had asked for help, and the answer, resoundingly, was no. And so I spent those weeks on the couch, and then I got up and dealt with the fallout. There was no other way.
I found her and I invited her to say something. And what came out was... The biggest ******* to the things that had beaten me down those past months. I kept the lights off. I put on Bleed Like Me and danced without looking where I was going. I held myself to the chair and tried to escape. I screamed into a pillow until no sound came out. And I found Susanna Kaysen. And I freed the part of me that wanted to talk with all those wiser than thou gods who toyed with the thread of my fate, teasing it with blades- I found **** this. **** being hurt. **** being broken. **** being judged. **** anyone who looked at me and thought they knew what was inside, because Susanna was inside, no, someone different, even, than her- someone, something, angry and wild and powerful and dangerous, and she laughed, and I laughed, and we began to plan just how to say "**** this."
I spent a night with you, during that time. You held my hands. You said they were beautiful. You told me about yourself. You kissed me. You wrote, "Galaxies" on my thumb. I didn't write it on my ribs until I was sure that I'd want it there whether or not I was mad at you. I didn't have long to wait- you ran away again, and I tried to love you anyway, and I succeeded. I still try. I still succeed. It's not getting much easier, but if I know one thing it's that if I
SOMETHING will happen. Something will come to me. If I know one thing it's that I can keep going even when I have no reason to, even when I have no fuel, even when I am utterly empty. If I just take the next step, and the next, one by one, I will end up SOMEWHERE new, and I will find SOMETHING to love. That is what I learned this year. By all accounts.... this year kind of ******. Although I had scattered moments of utter joy, I had long, smudged months of misery. But having gone through it, I am almost nostalgic. Because it proved to me, even more, that I am not fragile. I'm emotional, I'm intense, I'm unstable, but ******, I am NOT fragile. Like iron being smited, I went through the fire, I was hit over and over in my weakest places, but... in the end I have emerged, and I am not gone. And I am not fragile. Welcome, 2015.
This is technically more of a short story than a poem, but oh well.
Mikaila Aug 2018
Sadness is holy
Rage is holy
Is holy
And I wish they were allowed to exist fully
Day to day
In the people who feel them.
Mikaila Aug 2018
I think all those wishes I made
When I was a teenager
To feel nothing at all
Finally came true.
Mikaila Jul 2013
Fate is a cop-out.
There is no divine plan, no wind of fortune pushing you toward death
Like a gruesome sailboat.
There's no grand path, that, try as you might
You end up stumbling back onto every time you try to flee it.

Don't **** it up because life gets hard.
Don't give me the fatalistic excuse: "My life was meant to end."

Of course it was.

Look at us all, little nothing's springing into existence
On this tiny planet
Like dust motes in the sun
And then we go dark.
We all live to die, sweetheart.
That doesn't make us dead yet.

You have a pulse, use it.
You have lungs and a brain and tastebuds and fingertips.
Breathe, scream, make something, learn something,
Cook a gourmet meal and relish it,
Read a sordid novel, eat some chocolate,
Watch the sun rise.
You are not fated to die any more than the rest of us.
It is what we do with the space in between that counts.

Don't tell me I've got strings I can't see,
Jerkily dancing through life in directions I don't control.
Don't tell me there are puppeteers plucking threads like harps
Or blind women spinning gold just to cut it off.

We are vast, but tiny.
Nobody cares to control us- we don't mean enough.
There are so many of us, we swarm like ants.
Nothing takes the time to force a plan on us.
You're free. Free, and insignificant.
Realize it. Grow up.
In fact...
Grow up, grow out, grow down...
And lose Fate on the way, lose the excuses.
Lose the indulgence of self hatred, and needless pain.
Focus your suffering like a laser, hone it to a point,
And make it have a point if it has to happen.
If you hurt, hurt big, hurt with purpose,
Hurt so deep that it comes back to brush elbows with Joy like a playful old friend and says,
"Good job, there."
Lose the drama, lose the histrionics, lose the idea that the only way to be loved
Is to be weak.

And grow.
There is no Fate.
Fate is simply an excuse for not owning one's existence.

Leave it behind.
*Take your world in your fingers
Like wet clay
And make yourself a life
That fits in every contour of your hands.
Mikaila Sep 2013
The streets outside my window are deep black,
Slick with silver rain,
Illuminated completely, every so often, by a sudden violent flash.
And I think in flashes like that
At this late hour.
I think in strobes
Of your face.
I don't know why I wonder what you're doing.
I don't know why I wonder
How your skin would look
Lit by a sheen of rainwater
In those flares of white lightning.
What shadows would deepen your collarbones
And how your eyes would look,
Half lit with their part mischievous, part vulnerable glint.
I don't know why I keep stumbling into the thought of you
As I travel my mind in the dead of night.
I wonder if her lips are soft.
And I shake myself,
Think it would surely be wrong to find out.
You and I are so oddly close
So suddenly
And I could lose that.
And here there is not much else I have
To lose.
And yet
I think in flashes tonight.
A glimpse of skin in my mind,
Skin and words and rain ssssliding down the windowpane.
A burst of feeling that I blush my way out of
In the dark
And try to turn platonic.
In these past days, I've tried to bend my heart's gaze away
But I keep stealing little glances,
Truth be told.
I am curious. I am fascinated. I am drawn.
And it is late, and I am uncertain,
And outside the rain comes down with wanton savagery,
Total abandon,
And something in me leaps at the sound
And calls for me to answer it.
Something inside me surges like lightning,
A white hot bolt singing through my bones
Making them ache sweetly,
And I want to come down, as well.
With total abandon.
Just fall.
I try to shut it off,
But only casually, only halfheartedly.
In the deepest part of me,
I rejoice that I barely know you,
For there is so much to discover, so much to see.
In the private room of my mind,
I am shamelessly captivated.
Who are you?
What are you?
I want to know. I want to know everything.
I want to read your soul.
Rain your words down on me like a sudden storm,
I want them all.
I want them worked into my skin, slow.
What am I saying? Who are you?
Who knows:
Who are you
So immense
So enigmatic
That I must think of you only in parts,
In little glimpses?
That I fear the way I
Think of you?
Who are you
That I am stirred and uneasy
That my thoughts arc toward you as if pulled by gravity?
Who are you
That I am so caught
And so unprepared?
You see...
I so rarely meet anybody
I want to feel with.
Mikaila Mar 2013
Oh no
The world's let go.
The rug pulled out
And I'm suspended.
Silent screams and haunted dreams,
I cram a thousand words into my skull,
Hoping that the pain will dull.
And I see no one
Even when other eyelashes
Brush my brow.
2. Denial (Epitaph I)
There is only so long
You can gaze into the mirror
And insist that you see nothing.
Maybe if I try harder...
Maybe if I change myself...
Maybe if I abandon everything and risk...
Maybe she'll come back
To me.
3. Grief
just don't
approach it
4. Rage
I touch no one
And no one touches me.
And I will burn you all to ash
Because you can't be
Who I need.
5. Hell
There is nothing I want.
There is only this day
This second
This survival.
There is no higher purpose.
There is only revenge
And suffering and cruelty.
Turn and burn and learn
To sit stewing ugly in your hate
And wear a saccharine smile
On a lovely face.
6. Acceptance
It's not gone.
It's not fixed.
But might as well try
Since there are decades left...
7. Relapse
For a golden moment
In the heat of summer
You loved me like I deserve.
Like you deserve.
Like we deserve.
For a shining second,
I might have been
Your choice.
8. Fear
To know you're close,
Holding my hand
But looking about
For another to reach for
Feels like
9. Denial (Epitaph II)
No matter how many times I make you say it
I cannot make you mean it.
Fickle and cruel,
You chose me and backpedaled,
Flailing like a drown-victim
On her knees in a puddle,
And snapped back, elastic band heart,
To reject me twice.
10. Shackles
There is nowhere I can go
Where I do not feel trapped.
Here, there, every nook,
Full of barbed wire and broken glass.
Tightrope walker
With a safety net of needles.
You know not what it is
To die alive.
11. Choices
Nowhere to run.
Few places to hide.
Can I choose
Each day of my life
To twist the knife?
To love a soul in hell
When I could like one
In paradise?
12. Anger
You don't deserve a love like mine
When you'd choose anyone else first
And lie to me as if I'm special.
Sometimes your cruelty makes me sick
And I think it makes you sick
As well.
13. Acceptance
You're gone
And you may never return,
But I would be lying,
An awful traitor to my soul,
Were I to say I'll love another-
Let me burn**.
Mikaila Jul 2013
My poems. I didn't think that many of them were about you.
I suppose I shouldn't be shocked, and I'm not.
Most things are, when I really boil them down
And still I never seem to quite expect it.
Mikaila May 2014
You are loud
And you are drunk
And I turn up my music
Try to mask the shrillness of your laughter
The bus is dark
And it is late
And I sit in my usual bubble of stillness
As if I am alone.
I hate that I can hear you.
Takes me out of my head
And into your world
Where I've got no power.
I sit and gaze out the tinted window at the streetlights
And a car passes- whoosh
Sudden like a knife
Its sharp slice of color through the blackness
Stirs my blood
And I check my thoughts
You are still
So ******* loud
And so ******* empty
Take some of this
And burn with it.
See if you laugh then.
But I say nothing to you.
That is your place
And this
Is mine.
My heel connects with the grungy floor
And strikes a spark
Like a gun.
And flames lick the soft rubber of my boot
It smells like a car wreck.
I look away
And wherever I flick my gaze
Embers flare.
Fire races down the walkway towards the back window
Orange and
Breathlessly fast.
Long shadows dance on the walls
Glint off the windows
And throw your faces into sharp relief
Now you look
Like laughing corpses
Skeletal and distorted in firelight.
I like you better this way.
My coat catches
And I feel the heat as
The flames from the floor
Lap at my fingers
Like whining dogs
And I feel them blister
But they remain smooth and white.
I flex them, testing their new hardness
They are bone white
Bone hard
And they clink together
And the flames
Do not matter.
You are still loud
And drunk
And laughing
And you have no idea
Who you're sitting across from.
Mikaila Dec 2015
I remember being glad when Christmas was over.
When my birthday passed.
When any holiday was over with
And months loomed between me and the next one.
Because I would wait, you see.
I would send a message
And then wait
For hours and hours
Every time
For the person I loved
To say something back.
And so often
Too often
The hours would stretch
In silence.

I remember so well that feeling
The nausea that began as a small cherry pit in my stomach
And grew
Sprouting toxic roots and expanding as the minutes ticked by.
"She'll say something. It's Christmas. She'll say something."
It bloomed, ****** and jagged, filling me up in the emptiest way
And I waited, pretending I was the same,
Pretending I didn't hold such a seed of misery
And feed it my love
With every breath.

I never cried on those days.
Even when "she" really didn't say anything
And ignored me on Christmas
Because of a fight we'd had
Over how much I loved her.
(Too much.)
These were the days that taught me love could be a disease
And that maybe mine was.
It is a lesson I am trying to unlearn.
It is a battle I will be fighting for a long time-
For that tree
Even when the day was done
And I had accepted defeat

Bore fruit.

From the thick, tough branches it swelled
And ran it's black juice down the trunk like fingers to the base of me, to my ground inside,
An invasion, a sickness,
And soaked it through.
It grew ripe and heavy
And fell like gore
And as it burst open its seeds burrowed deep into the heart of me
To wait.

Sometimes I feel the rumblings of life within my stomach
Like a changeling child
Not of me, but of this toxic world,
Determined to claw its way out.
I try never to feed it.
I try never to nourish the parts of me that created such deathly life
And sprouted such creeping, choking vines and roots.
I have been digging to unearth them, to rip them out of me and burn them, one by one.
I have learned, at least, that if I am a garden inside
I must watch carefully for intruders
For poisonous, dark things
Which can take hold and strangle the delicate flowers whose healing petals sooth the walls of me and cling to my bones with a touch like starlight.
They must be protected- so easily dislodged and wilted.
Fear is hard to ****, rejection, even harder.
I have learned that there are two kinds of hope-
The free, open kind, born of light and air, and soft as dandelion down
And the toxic kind, heavy and slow,
Heavy and rough and thorned.
One kind can sustain you,
The other
Reanimate the dead parts of you and make them walk again, all fingernails and exposed bone.
I have gained, through those days,
Through those haunted occasions
Such a sense of inner landscape,
Such a knowledge of the types of feelings that live in me.
Such an understanding that not everything that grows should be nurtured.

I no longer fear days of celebration.
I cherish them
But always I know of that seed within me
Of the darkness that clings to the underside of everything, yet to be completely banished.
My faith that it will fade with time does not diminish the caution with which I move inside myself,
The careful, deliberate way I think of love.
Only time will rid me of this
Time and patience
A conscious decision never to feed my darkness,
And the love of someone kind and constant.
I can feel light seeping into me slowly,
And I know it will win.
And yet I remember when there was none,
And the remembering- that will save me, in the end.
That will keep me vigilant
And patient
And gentle, inside.
And someday
I will hold nothing but sunlight, joy, and kindness.
For now, though, I peer under every leaf, a careful gardener, a taster of poison berries,
A diligent caretaker of a wild heart.
Mikaila Jun 2013
Forgive me for my passion. I feel so stupid to feel so much, so deeply. Abashed, embarrassed, shamed by a feeling that so many seek and never find: love. And I've got too much of it to give, and no one wants all of it.

Forgive me for my sweetness, my purity of thought. No one wants idealism mixed with such bitter truth. No one wants to see the ugly realities of life through such tender eyes.

Forgive me my simple admiration, adoration, intensity. No one wants to be worshiped with such devotion and selflessness. No one wants to be so loved without reason.

Forgive me for my undivided attention and careful agreement. No one wants to be listened to.

Forgive me empathy and sympathy and care. For no one wants to see that others share their feelings, and want to help. Not really. Everybody wants to be alone in their troubles, and somehow special for it.

Forgive me honesty and honor and truth. Nobody wants the truth, not really, the ugly truth. We like to live in our lies, and hurt our friends, and deceive ourselves.

Forgive me for my absolution. Cruelly I withhold my vengeance and bitterness. No one wants to be forgiven, not really.

Forgive me for seeing beauty unbidden, unrealized, unappreciated. No one wants to see the good in such a world that has hurt them.

*Forgive me for myself.
Mikaila Oct 2018
I tried everything
To break my mind like a sheet of glass.
I pounded with my fists.
It held, cold and unyielding,
And when I was spent it was exactly as it had been
In tact and undamaged.
Maybe this time will be different.
Maybe this time
When you go
I’ll put my fist through it like a mirror
And it will finally shatter and become a part of me.
I close my eyes, and dream.

I am in a ward, and it is empty and cool.
I run my hands along the hospital beds
Their coarse white linens
I push my fingers through the bars on the windows of the doors
I lay my cheek against the cold metal of a table
I am alone
And I feel nothing
Echoing and calm.
The air is like gel
I have to push through it
And I am slow and empty and content to be so.
The world refracts
And I watch coolly, detached
Shadows move
But they don’t bother me.
They follow me on the wallpaper, waving hands
And I reach for them
Line my fingers up with theirs
Feel the darkness tingle along my skin.
They don’t speak
But someone else does.
It’s a harsh husk of a whisper, like sand
And I let it scrape across the back of my neck and raise the flesh along my arms.
It says,
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
The sound fills me like a horrible prayer,
And suddenly I feel everything instead of nothing
And I think
This is the moment I die
This is the end of me
But instead it
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”
“I’m sorry”

It’s me.

I put a hand to my throat in surprise, feel the vibrations there.
My face is contorted, and for a long moment I feel it, trying to read it,
Trying to understand,
Then pull back sharply, having found what I was looking for
And hating it.
No, no, no-
If I can make the maze of my thoughts hard enough to navigate
Maybe I will never find my way out again
Into sense
And into
I sink inside myself,
Sorry sorry sorry
And each word is like a wound torn open by shaking fingers
And I am sure this agony
Will last forever
Squeezing my heart and lungs
Wringing me out.

But suddenly the world shifts,
The sorrow is pulled out of me like venom and I forget it as I forget myself.
Like a child, I am new and blank and whole.
Tears still cling to my eyelashes from the moment before
But now I no longer know why they are there, blurring the edges of world.
I taste one, and it is like the sea
And I realize that I am in the water.

I bathe in front of an audience of silent white faces
They do not bother me
I am splayed, naked, in a warm porcelain tub
And I let my face sink beneath the surface
Looking up into the lights shaking and swirling above me.
They’re like little fish
Out in the air
When I’m in here.
I stare and stare
Until darkness starts to fade them
And hands grab my shoulders.
When I emerge it is like being born and dying all at once
And something like coherence gnaws at the edges of me
I shrink from it, rubbing my hands together, frantic.
A whisper that makes me turn my head sharply
But then it’s gone.

Someone pulls me from the water and dries me.

Like a doll I am moved away from that place
And I forget it as soon as the door closes.
A storm threatens though, on the horizon something menacing and tumultuous looms.
A thought I don’t want to have,
A feeling I can’t name and don’t ever want to.
It claws at me, it chews at my ragged fingernails until blood blossoms and drips onto the bedspread.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”
It’s not my mind that’s fraying, it’s my soul,
And I know which one I’d rather lose.
I curl into a ball, huddled and waiting
To be crushed.
But at the last second, no-
A sharp slice, something shiny and bright.
I feel ice in my veins, and then numbness.
I want to be wrapped in white sheets
And dine on bread and water
The purest nun
The **** Madonna
Shrouded for the shadows to mourn.
I stare around me with large liquid eyes, searching for someone whose name I can’t remember.
I have to say something,
I have to tell her...

But I am alone here,
Thank god.
I am alone and it is loud with stillness
And I am forgetting my name as I forgot hers.
I toss it away from me, the last of something
That won’t be missed.
I drift, hoping for rest
And I start to find it.

Something metallic and heavy is seeping through me
And I let the last of that clawing feeling slip away.
I feel it. It’s back. I hope it stays forever:

I weep, and the tears are empty.
And I am empty
And I feel

Thank god.
Mikaila May 2014
I saw your name
And this car ride
Turned into a game of Russian Roulette.
Amazing how the very thought of you
Can reverse my body chemistry
In a matter of seconds.
I didn't even have enough time to blow my cover
Because it hit that quick.
Now I sit, rigid, in the passenger's seat.
God, my legs are weak.
My fingers are cold,
And I have to clamp down on my leg with the tips of them
To keep my voice from shaking.
She can't know.
She can't know that my happiness has been left behind
Like you leave your insides at the top of a steep rollercoaster.
Later it will catch up, slam into me with its new claws, and wrench the food from my stomach
No matter what you've said.
But not now. Not
I am afraid
To get out of the car when we stop.
Will I collapse to the ground like a newborn colt?
These ****** legs
And itch to run.
My only composure
Is in my secrecy.
I can sit three inches from my own mother
Silently imploding
And she will never know.
She can't know.
She is all I have left to protect.
My heart rate has tripled
And even when I take deep breaths
They rattle in and out of my lungs.
It feels like there is an electric current running through me.
It feels like I've just lost a lot of blood and the adrenaline is vibrating through my whole body
To make up for the injury.
Every time we hit a bump
My knees seize up
All on their own
And a shiver passes through me.
My white hands flutter before me
Like moths
And if I don't concentrate
My lungs stutter in air uncontrollably
And little pinpoints of light stud my vision.
She can't know.
Just get home.
I grip the seat.
Sweat slides down the side of my face
Like the point of a knife.
I swear I can see it glinting out of the corner of my eye
But its only my white cheeks and glistening eyes reflected
In the blackened window glass.
The girl there is ghostly and deeply shadowed
And for a moment our eyes find each other
In terror and then in
This is our trip
To the gallows
This is
This ride
This car eating up the still damp pavement
Lights making the steam that billows from it swirl and dance.
This metallic taste that fear floods into my mouth
Is my last meal.
This is my chariot
And death doesn't know she's driving it
But my number is up
And I stare down my execution in the oncoming headlights of someone else's car
Someone who can probably breathe right now.
Lucky *******.
My ears ring
And the music from the speakers sounds like it's underwater.
Thank god I don't have to talk much.
Almost there
Turn, bump
And my heart tries to climb out of my ribcage
My veins cold with
Fight or flight
But some cruel little part of my mind laughs at my body's frail defenses-
I've known for years that neither
Can save me.
Almost there
I don't want this to end.
Because it's hell, sure,
Sitting here with a nuclear holocaust ripping through my organs,
But I know this devil.
I can systematically lock myself down,
Keep it in,
Keep it quiet.
But the second I leave this car...
The moment I get home,
I will have to know what you've said.
I'll have to face whatever you think of me
And that
Is the most terrifying thing
I have ever sped towards
So ******* fast.
Mikaila Jun 2013
"Dude, you

Am Everything.
Mikaila Mar 2014
When you hurt me and I'm okay about it, it doesn't mean that you've taught me to be stronger, or improved my outlook, or...done anything positive, actually. If you hurt me and I don't fall apart, it only means that you were the last connection I had to my feelings, and that by cutting it off you have cut the last of my ties and sent me drifting away from everybody in my life. When I actually love you and you actually hurt me, any "okay" you see, and tell yourself you've made me strong and wise enough to achieve, is actually just a slow paralysis of the heart, a spreading numbness that, honestly, scares me more than any pain.
Heads up. The silent treatment is actually never helpful.
Mikaila Jan 2013
I want to die in your arms.
Long nights, full of the smoke of darkness,
I have thought it in secret, in longing.
Who thinks such things? But I do.
I dream of it, like it's a salvation.
All my anger, all my fear and sadness, all my wretchedness,
I am proud.
And I want it gone.
I want it taken by your breathless touch on my cheek,
Your tears.
I want to die in your arms.
When I leave this world, I want you next to me.
I want you holding me.
I want your words the last I hear,
And I want my last breath to be your name.
I've tried so hard not to want it, my love,
Told myself it was wrong.
But blood and tears are much the same,
Sliced from you they both fall free.
I want to die in your arms.
I want to see your face last.
I want anything from you, in the end.
If you hate me for dying,
If you hate me for taking too long to die,
If you love me for loving you,
If you love me in apology
I want to hear it when I'm dying, in my last moments.
I want your voice, your words, your sighs, your eyes meeting mine.
I don't want to die, darling.
But I want to die in your arms.
Mikaila Aug 2013
Sometimes I make myself angry at you.
That you aren't around.
Not because I enjoy being angry and hurt,
Not because you deserve it,
Not because anything at all has gone wrong,
But simply because
Missing you as much as I miss you on some nights
[most nights]
Has no reason,
No cause,
No cure,
No trigger or relief.
And if I'm going to feel it
My mind wants something to blame.
It is too much,
Too much love,
To simply miss you
And feel the exquisitely fragmenting pain of that.
It is much easier to handle feeling something I've felt before,
Something that can be fought,
Something that can be dealt with,
Something that has a start,
And hence,
An end.
My hurt, my anger...all of it...
Even my fear is a lie.
Because the truth is
Missing you
Has no end,
No edge,
No closure,
No border.
No creation
And no ultimatum.
If I bog myself down in petty fear and pain and enmity
If I fog up my mind and heart with those silly distractions
The love
Cannot leak through and terrify me
With its immeasurable, ceaseless enormity.
If I just stay on the surface,
I can't drown in what is really happening:
My love deepens by the second,
And I am at sea
With no land in sight.
I miss you with my skin and the marrow of my bones,
With my fingertips and in my veins.

I miss you more every moment.

It's been increasing since the day you left.
When you came back,
It only picked up.
I miss you in a way that absolutely stuns me with fear
And with awe.

I am not ready to be the vessel for that kind of feeling
That kind of love.

And so sometimes, when you're not around and I wish you were,
I make myself angry with you,
Afraid to lose you.
I engineer insecurities in my head.
Because the sheer truth of knowing that you love me
And missing you this much anyway
Is too immense
And too agonizing
To face.
Mikaila Nov 2014
(I ration you
Like an addict
And I sneak hits
At one in the morning
When my resolve falters-
Allow myself
A glimpse of your picture,
Just little moments of you.
I must confess,
It is enough to throw me
Off the wagon
And so I quickly look away,
Title is a quote from The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock by TS Eliot.
Mikaila Apr 2014
I will never touch you.
I know that.
You will never even know I want to.
I called you beautiful today
In the trappings of a joke
And I saw it hit you
And have an effect I never expected to cause
And it thrilled through my bones
And I know
I will never touch you,
I know, too, that when you look away
My eyes follow you with
A sigh never spoken
And in my head
I see it all
Could drag my lips along those sculpted shoulders
That your shirt falls from so carelessly,
I could run my fingertips down your spine
And I could breathe into the hollows of your throat
And how is it
That you look like someone carved you from marble?
Every inch.
I dared to look at you in the mirror today
When your back was turned
And the breath was pulled from me
By how much longing could well up in my heart in an instant
For someone so distant.
And what if I just told you?
Sat there and told you
That I am afraid to try and draw you because
I won't do you justice.
That you undo me
And I don't know why.
That I could show you more passion
Just by meeting your eyes instead of glancing down
Than every man who has ever traveled the valleys of your body
And created the rivers in your soul.
I will never tell you.
I will never touch you.
I will only smile when you look at me
And long for you when you don't.
Mikaila Apr 2015
Perhaps it was this feeling that originally drove humanity to create gods.
Perhaps we have always burned with a desire to love
So terrifying and so powerful that to bestow it on another living creature became...
The first sin.
Perhaps we needed a safe, indestructible being to worship,
To croon to in the night,
Whose face we could never touch but could yearn to unabashedly,
Whose hands we could never kiss but perhaps pretend they cradled us,
Whose love we could never lose because it was in fact our own reflected back.
It is a lonely love. It is a love that...
Maybe I can understand how wars were fought,
Maybe I can understand the FEAR,
The longing all wrapped up in belief, that could create such loyalty, such blindness, and such cruelty.
There is a need in us that can only be satisfied by gods,
Because on earth, in truth, it cannot be satisfied at all, and we are too maddened and too terrified by that knowledge to face it.
Better to love somebody who cannot be touched,
Who cannot be heard,
Who cannot die, or leave, or change, or fail.
(Who cannot live, or arrive, or stay, or succeed)
Somebody who cannot love back.
Whose proof we will never demand because it cannot be given, and we know it.
We choose to love something that we will never see,
Not because it fills us up
Not because it makes us complete
But because you can't lose something you don't have.
(Yes the title is a Tolkein quote)
Mikaila Nov 2018
I think it’s hardwired into us
To wonder what our purpose is,
To search for meaning and for comfort,
To feel
I’ve wandered a lot in my life.
More than my share, perhaps,
For the years I’ve spent on earth.
This feeling
Takes hold of me
And pulls me after it.
Like a string around my heart
Thin but insistent
It has led me
So many places.
I’ve boarded planes
With little plan
And crossed oceans following it.
I’ve emerged from sleep
Onto shadowy country lanes
Chasing the silver the moon left on the ground.
I’ve walked out in rain
On dull, slick cobblestones and watched
The underworld of London
Surge topside
In the dead of night
And swirl around me like the mist that clung to my heels.
I have walked and walked
Through fields shrouded in early morning dew
Met the eyes of animals in the dark
And held them in a moment of
We both of us are lost
Both hunted
Both free, but uncertain.
I have followed this feeling wherever it has led me
And it has always led me somewhere I could love
But never somewhere I could rest
Until now.
My heart pulled me to you
And I thought I would be out at night again
Scouring the streets
Searching for meaning,
Searching for
I was ready to live that again,
Ready to embrace that odd agony of feeling,
The secrecy, the doubt,
Ready to leave a trail of blood behind me
As I staggered through the night and into dawn.
But you
Surprised me.
You saw me.
Loved me.
These nights, I find peace in my heart
And for once I do not wander.
I savor the warmth of my own skin
Content that soon your hands will bless it,
Will travel it like a map of the world,
Will bring

I don’t know what my purpose is
But I can guess.
When I look at you
I suspect my purpose is to be right here,
To love and love until I run dry
And simply fall to dust.
And maybe that scares you
But it doesn’t
Scare me:
Sitting here,
Curled up with tea
Writing poetry for you
Dreaming of your smile
I think of all the other callings I could have had-
A call to arms
A call for blood
A call to action or revenge or martyrdom.
I could have been called
To serve
To teach
To sacrifice,
To survive or to
And I look at this love,
This love that I would gladly let
Fade me
Like a step worn down by the shoes of someone familiar and welcome
Like a favorite shirt gone pale with washes
Like an old newspaper clipping in a frame in sunlight
Cherished but worn
Crumbling with time
Known as the back of your hand
Known as your fragile heartbeat,

And I think
To love is not such a bad purpose
After all.
Mikaila Mar 2014
I've always found it fascinating
The quickest way to earn your ire
And drive you away
Is just to say
"You're saving my life."
Mikaila Sep 2013
Oh, I am raw.

You knew.
You knew this whole time.
And you made your bid for love and freedom oncemore,
Like you'd never been hurt in your life,
Like it couldn't turn out wrong.
You knew, you knew.
Every single time, the hope wins over the sense,
And it's like you don't even try.
Who are you to march away and leave me here,
Who are you to skip away blithely into the night every time I beg you to stay?
It's like you don't even belong in my breast,
The way you leap forth and hitch a ride
With people you see pass near, who shine like stars.
You follow them like gravity,
And every time, I scream inside my head,
Locked in,
"WAIT! Don't go, don't leave me here to feel your space!"
But you ignore me each time,
And briefly I am sure you are right,
Briefly, every single time,
I believe that you are the one I should be following,
Dragged behind you,
And not the other way around.
And then it comes,
It comes and I trip myself just so I will have chosen to go down,
And I am here,
Wretched on my knees
And you never have to take the fall.
You never have to deal with it.
You're only in control when the sun is shining.
When the storms hit and knock the breath out of me like thunder rolling,
You plead you never chose a thing.
You traitor,
I would claw you from my chest!
But you already did that,
And I have no way to take revenge on you for your treachery-
You are me.
Your pain is mine.
(your joy is mine as well)
And so you get to,
Every time,
Abandon me and make me thank you for it,
And I am so sick of it I could scream.
You don't have consequences, Love.
You ARE a consequence.
What ever gave you the right
To turn my life upside down?
To leave me so unable to do anything but watch as I am dismantled by a force I never asked to feel?
I'd be happy, content, perfect,
(no, unfulfilled, empty, lost...)
To just give you up and cut the strings
That she
(whoever she may be, for I never get to choose, do I?)
Saws at with a bow, poison-tipped like a Shakespearean sword,
Plays, like violins singing melodrama.
I'd sever you from me in an instant and let you go
Play your games elsewhere,
I swear I'd do it and dance in the streets,
(I'd have nothing, not know what to do)
If only it was possible.
(I am not damaged enough to give up)
I don't believe in love,
(Oh but I do, and sometimes I don't want to)
But I am married to my work, to you:
My job is not to be paid,
It is not to be happy,
(you are my chance for "happy")
It is simply and exhaustingly to survive your choices.
I don't get my life!
I get you.
I get kicked when I'm down, I get holes and hollows in places
I didn't know a heart filled,
Like fingertips and rib bones and lungs,
And that awful twisted spot above my stomach
That echoes cavernously with loneliness in the middle of the night
And sometimes in the lunchroom or on the subway.
(I get to think maybe that sadness will cease)
I get haunted dreams and impulses I can't control,
(sweet relief from a life of restraint)
I get your puppet strings
Jerking me to my knees
Knocking the pride out of me like breath.
(It speaks, but underneath I worship you)
I get your fingers inside my head, on the ridges of my brain,
Digging in like a migraine headache,
Gouging a place for someone I don't even know.
(Replacing the sorrow with joy so intense that I fear it.)
Who put you in me?
You don't fit here.
(you are the only thing that fits here)
You don't belong here.
(I am so afraid you don't.)
Like a parasite, you feed on me
(I need something to take this ache.)
And I am slowly dying of it, Heart.
(cure for my loneliness, arsenic for my mind)
I've tried everything I know,
I even tried to make you die inside me-
(I didn't know what else to do, I'm sorry)
Husk of a soul skittering along the undersides of my graffitied ribs,
But no, no you rose again,
And I... I wept in fear, Heart,
I really did.
(I made the hardest choice and you unmade it.)
Nobody knows that-
That I wanted you to go,
That I wanted you to stop, actually.
Nobody knows that I'd have happily never felt a thing for the rest of my life,
(only in fear, Heart, only in fatigue)
When they saw me fight so hard to become myself again.
(I couldn't beat the part of me that needs you)
But I knew,
I knew
Because the day you stretched and yawned after leaving me for months to rot around your frozen form,
I felt in me a terror I will never be able to explain,
Never be able to understand fully.
(Self preservation was never one of my talents, or yours)
This gibbering, skin crawling agony of panic,
That here you were again to bend me and break me,
That I was mortal, carrying a love that couldn't ever be killed.
It was the moment of clarity,
(of awe, as well, and terrifying vitality)
Before I decided I had to force myself to work with you,
Slap a smile on and go look for my next defeat,
(oh, maybe this time I could keep the love)
During which I saw my life unfold before me like a vast map,
Your destruction burning it to ashes in all the places I'd love to live,
Place by place by place,
Charred path to death over the lengths of decades,
No control, no say, just heat- and me, following along behind
Like a lost puppy
Trying to rebuild something substantial enough to make my home in.
I saw before me a life without rest,
Of this, the constant struggle to find and keep a wholeness I apparently don't deserve,
(I can't stop trying to deserve it)
To catch you and stuff you back where you belong and force you to lie still,
When I know you will only consume me with flames anyway.
I hate you, I really do.
(fear, not hate)
I hate you because I want to live.
(I am afraid you will destroy me)
I hate you because I want to die.
(I am afraid I will destroy you)
I hate you because if it were not for you, I would never suffer,
And I would have nothing to live for-
For I know nothing but the constancy of you,
Pushing me down, forcing me to my knees
And me struggling to rise and find a way to bear your burdens.
I hate you because I will never, ever be rid of you,
And I hate you because nobody should want to be rid of
What makes them live.
I hate you because underneath I still believe, somehow, that every single second's worth it,
Because that naive faith in you just won't die-

How can I stand that?
(How can my pride abide a hate for something vital, and a love for something toxic?)

And you've betrayed me every time, Heart,
And I don't forgive you.
(I already forgave you long ago)
And what if you've gone and done it again?
(Let me say I hate you so that I can have some control)
And how am I supposed to know that
For all these years to come?
*(Please don't go cold again, my Heart.)
Mikaila Jul 2013
Here is the simple
I hate you for wanting to die.
I hate you for all those times you used to call me
Saying you were going to do it.
All those times I cried
And called your mother.
I hate you for using how much you hate yourself
To make me
And everyone else
So that you can see that we care
When you never needed to be dying to see it.
I hate you for knowing you need help
And never going after it.
I hate you for knowing exactly where you're heading
And acting too weak to do anything else.
I hate that I can't separate a psychosis from a melodrama
In your deceitful eyes.
I hate that I have to treat every lie like it's a truth
Because this might be the time it is.
I hate that every lie IS a truth,
Just a truth you've used to drain me of my time and energy.
I hate this. I hate you.
I've hated you for a long time.
I hate you for being weaker than me.
Where I fight for my life,
You throw yours away,
Claiming you can't do anything else because
"It's hard."
It's ******* hard.
It's worth it.
I don't want to be better than you
Stronger than you
Wiser than you.
I want you to try like I do
Because the only difference between us
Is the trying.
I hate you for taking the shortcuts
The outs
And going down like I know you will
Every single ******* time.
I hate you for finding every form of self abuse
And romanticizing it like it's a good thing.
I hate you for being weak, I really do.
For giving up all the time
For never trying hard enough to earn the words
"I've failed."
I hate you for making me feel so worthless when we were young
Just because YOU felt worthless
And wanted to be better than someone
And I was willing.
I hate how you changed toward me
The moment I became more comfortable than you
The moment I became myself.
I hate that only then did I deserve your love and respect
Because you can lose someone who thinks they're worth something.
I hate that I've rarely seen you do anything
That wasn't in service of destroying your own happiness and health.
I hate that you don't know when to stop
Because every time life has tried to teach you
You've only used the lesson to loathe yourself
And not to change yourself.
I hate that you probably won't ever change
And that I'll be your emotional paradigm,
The one you're jealous and in awe of,
The one you chase and can't have,
The one you come to and dump all your problems on
So you won't have to face them.
You can be strong,
I've seen it in your eyes.
You're smart,
You've proven that many times.
But oh,
It's too hard,
It hurts.
It ******* hurts when for 18 years
You abuse yourself
And then you have to answer to that.
But if you don't now
18 will be 20
20, 40.
40, 80.
And suddenly, you truly will be too weak,
Too worn out,
And your life will be wasted in self hatred,
And you will never
Get it back.
It's hard.
It's worth it.
Someday I will tell you how much
I absolutely
Hate you
For not thinking so.
Mikaila Jun 2013
"Wow. No wonder everyone's in love with you."

Well, what am I to say to that?
How can I possibly explain
That I know I am loved,
And the terrible truth that it doesn't really matter
If it's not the *right
From you, or her,
Or a handful of scattered people
Whose pain has touched me in the deepest way
And made me want to touch it back?

To be loved is what we all want, right?
And we shouldn't be picky, I'm told,
But I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I imagined my love, anyway.
The moments I've felt,
With few and far between
A special person here
And there,
To send sparks down my spine like wire
And set my heart ablaze with sizzling light.
Sometimes I wonder if I made them up,
These people I chase after,
And that they don't remember
And so of course they do not spare a glance
For the strange girl with the dark eyes
Watching them with hope
And awe.
Mikaila Jan 2013
One morning I awoke, and the world was different.
It was too bright, too loud, too clear.
I wanted my soft lines back, my cocoon of muffled drowsiness,
But it was gone and I was exposed like a newborn kitten,
Mewling and weak and tender,
And it never faded after that.
Always I felt fragile, as if I were made of glass.
Inside I felt no strength against a fast, cold, hard world.
I reached for people, and they recoiled as I recoiled from them,
For each of us was repulsed by the other.
And so one day, I woke up, and I found my answer.
I took a bath in a swirl of red, and now I am here
In the muffled warm darkness,
And finally my head no longer whirs.
Do not weep for me, for I am finally able to feel safe again.
Mikaila Jan 2016
I want to pick out wallpaper with you.
I want to laugh
While we're in the grocery store
Deciding what to make for dinner.
I want to fall asleep ten minutes into the movie
Wrapped in your arms
No makeup, no clothes, no worries.
It seems
Such a grownup way to want someone,
Such a different way to love.
I have been searching my whole life
For a way to exist in this world.
This ordinary, mundane world
This place I've done much to escape from and to
My way out of.
I remember once I wrote a poem
About how big things don't **** you,
Small things do.
I said people turn to ash as life wears them away
And crumble into their morning cereal.
The mundanities of life
Seemed killers to me.
But you...
You bring joy to every ordinary moment.
I already know the beauties of this world well.
I stop and make myself see them.
It is the dullness I've neglected, the little boring things--
I've never gotten to treasure ordinariness.
I've always had to slip past moments of silence like a shadow, hoping not to linger long enough to feel lonely.
You have opened up
Half the world for me.
You have given me the freedom to look forward to
Every shopping trip
Every chore
Every lazy Sunday.
Things that let my demons out before
Now I can treasure them,
Now you've let the sun in on them
And I don't know if you'll understand how incredible that is when you read this poem
But I can assure you
...It's the best.
Mikaila Apr 2017
Are you afraid now? Is that where you went?
Don't make me into something soft.
If you stay
You will see my innocence
You will see my devotion and my weakness.
I will cry in your arms.
I need you to know that when I show you that part of me
I am giving you a gift.
I need you to know that I don't need protecting.
If I love you
It will not be for shielding me from the world.
I have stood all alone against the most violent of storms
Years and years of pain making my skin thick and weathered
Frustration at my own frailty
Sharpening the edges of me.
I need you to know that I am both.
That in order for the girl you may someday love to exist
Sweet and lonely
There must be a side like this,
Bitter, hard, angry.
I need you to know that that side is why I have lived long enough to know you.
I need you to feel the tragedy and the joy that live in it.
I use it to live,
I burn it as fuel
On days when I can feel the coldness creeping into my soul, slowing everything down.
Rage is active.
Pain is passive.
Underneath I am still sweet, and sad, and tired
I promise.
But none of that burns well, you see?
None of that will push me through long months of empty space.
And who can I rely on
If not me?
Has ever stayed long enough.
I just can't take the chance, not yet.
And so
I am a creative person.
I found a way to survive.
I always find a way.
And it may not be pretty
It may not be comforting
It may even be
But it's the reason you can sit here and read my poetry
My words that transport you-
Because I
Am still alive to write it.
Mikaila Jan 2015
I love all of you.
I can't help it.
Every inch.
The cruel parts
The kind parts
The selfishness and the tenderness.
The courage and the cowardice-
I'm the real deal.
As you are.
As you were.
As you will be.
And I know how uncommon my love is.
And I want you to have it
So take it.
Please take it.
It just won't have anybody else.
Mikaila Oct 2013
Half of me is here,
In a warm kitchen
With a girl I love
Who I'm not in love with,
And she loves me too
And she's not in it either,
And she's busy from stove to cabinet,
Making food like it's art, like it's poetry, like it's smiles,
Like she makes things
Because she just does that.
And half of me is here,
Warm and content and smiling,
And half of me is here.
It's just that half of me wanders.
I feel the cold, because half of me is out in the night,
Wandering through frost
To find her,
That girl with the wild hair and the lightning strike eyes and the voice like a summer morning,
And I wonder where she is, what she's thinking.
Maybe she's putting on lipstick in the mirror,
Tying her hair up in a bandana
Because I've never seen her without one,
Not ever.
Maybe she's getting ready for a party
One that I could be at were I not here,
One that would probably end in me hurting over her
She would be there.
I would see her.
I feel it reverberate through my soul, a certainty,
That she looks beautiful tonight.
That her eyes are warm like a fire dancing in a hearth.
That she is not thinking of me.
It warms me more than the heat from the stove,
And makes me shiver with a cold more frigid than the night could ever be.
I shouldn't be near her, not today, not so soon.
And I'm not.
And I'm hurting over it,
Because it's hard to do what is healthy for you, sometimes.
I miss her with a vengeance.
It woke in me when she finally spoke a while back,
And I melted at the thought that she'd thought of me.
I shouldn't see her tonight.
Her and her friends, who give me odd looks when I smile too bright at her.
Her and her boyfriend, whose stony stare, last time, made me think he knew I loved her too.
I shouldn't see her because she will not see me.
And so it's a good thing that I'm here,
In a warm kitchen,
With a girl I love,
Who has henna drawn up her arms because I put it there with tenderness,
Who has a smile in her eyes and an understanding heart,
Who will, tonight, hold me with her whole being
Should I break at the memory of you
And tears leak through my cracks
And shards of glass ****** to the floor from my crumbling heart.
She will be there in the dark to tell me
It's okay to love you.
Mikaila Dec 2013
Through all of the daily life,
Through all the meaningless bowls of cereal and trips to work,
Through all of the ******* and the not-good-enough,
THIS is what it's for.
This is all that ******* matters.
Nothing means anything in the face of this.
This is why we are here, what we were created to do, our highest purpose.
The purest, most extraordinary thing you can be in this life
Is in love.
The best you will ever achieve, as a human being, as a soul on this earth, is love.
That is your transcendence,
Your highest point,
The sum total of your trials,
The triumph over every single ordinary thing that has ever defeated you.
This is what it's about.
Love something. Love someONE.
Dare to be the most important thing you will ever be.
Dare to feel the most important thing you will ever feel.
Because at the end of the day,
Nothing else means anything.
Mikaila May 2014
Acting is for those of us who can't be evil or ****** or ****** or insane or wrong in life, but hold the burning need to be those things tight, locked in our souls.
It is for you, who want to witness those things, but only contained, only with the fourth wall shielding you from their heat,
And it is for us, who want to be consumed by those things but lack the desperation and the foolishness to succumb to them in the real world, where they might have consequences.
Mikaila Jun 2013
It's quiet now.
And there is this feeling that's been with me my whole life.
It's like the whole world is with me, in my heart.
All the ages all together.

The earth is sad.
Not in a desperate way, a young way, but in an old way.
The kind that settles in you.
Eventually it becomes an obsession.
It's more beautiful and meaningful than anything there is.
And the ugly things make the world sad.
They have to be there, to keep alive the wanting, and the waiting.
The longing and the wistfulness.
The lack.

Existing is all about knowing what you're without.
When forever looms in both directions and you can't possibly hold all the feelings of everyone who's ever existed,
That emptiness is what makes it possible to feel all the joy and pain of everything that's ever been.
It's beyond anything one person could feel on their own.
It has to be borrowed, because I've never done anything or seen anything to make me so happy or so sad.
This is the feeling that makes me alone.
Mikaila Jan 2015
My skin often feels like
An ill fitting suit.
Too big in spots
Too tight in others
With seams showing and scratchy fabric.
My life often feels that way-
Something I tug at that settles for a moment
And then shifts back into discomfort when I take a breath.
Sometimes its worn spots let in the cold wind,
Sometimes it sticks to me and refuses to peel away, suffocating.
I feel like a child in church
In her Sunday best
Who knows she must sit still and quiet
Even as the shoes pinch
And the stiff collar closes round her neck.
I sneak glances around me
Trying to discern if anybody else feels
This way.
They all seem content.
Perhaps if I just breathe shallowly
And don't move a muscle
I will learn what they know
And settle into my shrink-wrapped existence.
"Tiny people with tiny lives-"
Is it the truth?
Or do they just look small
Because they've learned to squeeze into the space they've been given?
Does the woman ordering coffee in her business suit and heels
Sit up nights, unable to sleep for a longing she can't name?
Does the man mopping the floors
Dream of a woman he will never touch
I wish I could find those parts of people.
The parts they hide.
Because mine won't stay hidden.
There is something too thin between me
And the world
And it is poorly fashioned
And it is tattered.
And sometimes people look at me with disdain
As if I've walked out of my house naked
Unable to properly clothe myself
And I wonder
If they aren't
Mikaila May 2013
There you were,
Real as the day you sobbed on my shoulder,
And my heart,
The fool,
Had thought your gravity gone, or weakened,
By her dreadful tug.
But not so!
It was stronger than ever,
And I broke,
The sound
Like the heavy clink
Of a dropped clay ***
Echoing through me
At the soft brush of your fingers along my cheek.
Mikaila Nov 2016
Even now
After everything you've done to me,
I love to see your face.
I think you're beautiful.
I think you're mesmerizing.
Your soul pulls mine
And it always will.
That, I think,
Must be what it means to truly love someone.
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