Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl
Don't.
Suicide can not be romanticized and though she might idolize you
Remember that you may not be enough.
Remember that this world may never be enough.
Demons don't just go away, sometimes they just hide in the shadows.
And even at the highest noon they are there. Just smaller. The sun will go down.
She will always have shadows.
Remember that no matter what you do
You are irrelevant in her master plan.
She will plan out her letters in your arms.
When she is silent hold her. Make her know that she is loved, it may not be enough but those few moments in your arms might make her think twice.
But don't assume for one second you will be her savior.
When you see cuts on her wrists do not beg her to stop.
She won't.
She will cut deeper for letting you see her weak.
She will try to be strong.
She will put on a show for you. She will make you forget she was ever depressed.
Remember that sunsets can make you forget that night is bound to follow.
Know that night will follow.
When you get her final love letter to you
Ignore the fact that it is stained in blood.
Do not pour your precious time.into wondering if she suffered.
She will write her apologies in her best handwriting.
Do not read it.
Get in your car and drive.
Drive to the nearest bar and read the letter through hazy bloodshot eyes.
Do not blame yourself.
Do not look for moments you could have done something different.
It'll drive you crazy.
Before you fall in love with a suicidal girl.
Don't.

The amount of people that I’ve scoped
through my own lenses, mirrored with optimism
weighed against the reality of who people are
beneath their cotton t-shirts is immeasurable.
I want everyone in my picture frame,
and I’ll twist the moral ladder to get there,
because I’ve been taught, ever since I was a little girl
in ballet shoes with my hair coiled neatly at my neck,
that there is far more beneath the glitter. That the light
can be blinding and it takes more than a promising silhouette
to bring people back into the good. I’ve slept with molted men
who’ve slithered into my bed on a nice compliment
and an “original” idea, and I’ve kissed their sore parts
hoping that the sweetness would pour from the cracks
in my lips and be absorbed by their scales. I’ve taken
triple chances on people who said I’ll do better,
and that they’d be better if only I could blush their cheeks
with my own electricity. I’ve harvested the sliver of memories
from each relationship I’ve kindled and melted them
into a ***, letting people sip the potion for themselves
and find a special, solemn rebirth in the wake of my aftermath.
I don’t know how
to have a conversation without saying thank you, or really,
you’re being too kind, when really I’m the one who’s flicked kindness
from my fingers like leftover water. I’m the one
who’s branded her own version of band-aids, who's healed
those who I could fit in a tiny shoebox back to their own
self-proclaimed hugeness. I’ve beaten myself down to ***** clay,
and that’s why you

have found it so easy to mold me. It’s why I lay your socks out in the morning,
why I drive my mind back and forth in my sleep, why I’ve always been able to rock
your pretty little heart back to me. You captured the remaining ember
left drowning in the wax and made a model of who I used to be
before I let everyone else wear me down.

Work so hard
at what you love
that your idols
become your rivals.

i remember the day i was born
     all bright light and handshakes

it felt the same on the day that i died

it took me twenty five years
to realize
all i've really wanted to find in life
is a gentle man
who knows just how to behave
      when i rest my rose-hipped lips
upon his peach-fleshed lobes

          and whisper

     "i'm afraid."