He gave me his
jacket
and it smelled like
him and smoke
and I knew why
but I wore it anyway.

The day he
disappeared
it was cold outside so
I wore his jacket
and
wiped my nose on the sleeves.

We got the call from the
psych ward
three days later and I couldn't
see him
or
hold him
so I buried my face in his jacket
even though it smelled like smoke
and I knew why.

I kept it
stuffed in the corner between
the wall and my bed
so on the nights when I
missed him too much to sleep
I could wrap myself in it
even though
it didn't smell like him anymore.

When he came back
a month later
and I saw him in
a crowded hallway
he looked at me and
smiled
when he noticed I was wearing
his jacket
and he
hugged me
so it smelled like him again.

I still
wear his jacket
when I can't sleep at night.

I have had seventeen birthdays including the day I was born.
I have lived in three houses and two apartments, have had four dogs and five cats, have dislocated my left elbow twice.
I have kissed four boys and three girls, have been one boy's first kiss, one boy's first time, another boy's first "I love you", I have never touched him.
I have smoked marijuana twice and been caught once.
I have worn a bow tie three times, have been called a **** four, have hit someone for it once.
I have been a vegetarian for three years and have slipped and eaten meat five times.
I have been through the same divorce twice in one week because my mom thought she had changed her mind; I have never told her how much worse that made it.
I have tried to eat grapefruit twice since the night I regurgitated that flavor of *****, I have failed both times.
I have gone forty-two days straight without drinking alcohol.
I have woken up and mistaken morning breath for the aftertaste of beer too many times to count.
I have held three of my closest friends after they were touched without consent.
I have made the boy who convinced me to sext him even though he knew I was drunk apologize once; he never felt sorry.
I have heard the three words "I love you" from one boy, I had to tell him he didn't mean it four times, had to tell him not to kiss me six even though I wanted him to, reminded myself every time that he was on his tenth shot.
I have forty-eight visible scars on my body from the times it was too hard to love myself, have told three different therapists the same two things phrased differently every time: one, I'm sad, two, I don't know how to stop it.
I have cried three times in the past week.
One was over the three friends that I have held after they were touched without consent, one was over the boy who said he loved me, one was over the boy who convinced me to sext him even though he knew I was drunk.
I still talk to him five times a week, take one deep breath, count to three, and force myself not to pull away every time he touches me, spend the next eight minutes between classes trying to pull myself together, remind myself it was only one time.
I have not been alone with the boy who said he loved me in six weeks.
I have thought about kissing him every day for the past three-hundred and eight days.
I have had three dreams about him, each one recurring two, seven, or four times.
I have been reminded by strangers of the way he looks at me six times.
I have almost died once, drank four beers and seven shots of five assorted liquors, drug a razor across my skin eleven times, called three people for help, one answered.
I stopped trying to hide the scars on my wrist after thirty-four days of wearing sweaters in eighty-something degree heat, have seen twelve people stare at my arm, received disapproving looks from four of them, have never been asked for an explanation.
I have commented on how pretty the sun looks on the ten minute ride to school with my brother every morning for the past two weeks.
I have complimented at least one person a day every day for the past two years.
I have worn my favorite beanie at least sixty times in the past year and there is nothing wrong with that.
I laughed fifty-seven times yesterday.
I said "I love you" eleven.
I have chosen to be alive every day for five thousand, nine hundred, thirty seven days.
I have never made the wrong choice.

I was trying to write something including the line
it kissed with no desire to heal what it had broken
and so I wrote
it kissed with no desire to heal what it had broken
but I didn't know what
it
was so I changed
it
to
he
and I wrote that
he kissed with no desire to heal what he had broken
but I thought about
him
and I thought about what
he
had done and I thought about kissing
him
and the things that were broken but not healed and so I changed
he
to
I
and I wrote that
I kissed with no desire to heal what I had broken
and I payed attention to the broken pieces that
I
had created and the people that
I
had kissed and I thought about what
I
desired and never have
I
tried to heal what
I
have broken.

attacked me like
a rabid dog
eager to taste flesh

bit into me like
raw meat
(because really that's all I am)

tore me open like
wrapping paper on a gift
you weren't supposed to see yet


I shut down like
a restaurant with health code violations
infested with rats

fell into you like
pavement
from thirty stories

poisoned myself like
a carbon monoxide car garage
falling unconscious long before death

Your car is a pressure cooker for sibling combustibility and
you sound pretentious when you call me pretentious so
I turn to look out the window and not at
your smug face but I know that
soon I will turn back and you will not be there.
In your mind
anything that isn't inherently evil
deserves a high five
and it always leaves my palm
stinging,
so I leave you there
with your hand raised
and know that
soon I will raise mine but you will not be there.
You say "I love you" every day
and it always sounds like a joke,
sounds like you're teasing me with the fact that
I have to love you back but even so,
on the days when I refuse to say it to you I know that
soon I will tell you I love you and you will not be there.

I have watched you changed
shoe sizes and
heights and
dreams and
hair cuts and
best friends and
priorities, and
You have been by me through
moving days and
funerals and
breakups and
marriages and
sobbing nights and
cheerful mornings, and
I know that
you are a part of me,
and I know that
soon I will look for that part but you will not be there.

Adding apologies to artillery shells does not amend the action,

And

My brokenness betrays me when it bellows that I have beaten bruises black and blue into your back

But

Crying is a catharsis much too commonplace to convey these casualties.



My doubtful disposition has denied you deliverance from your daring endeavors

Because

Emptying myself to entertain someone else's enormous sense of entitlement

Is

A feeling that frightens my already fragile sense of forwardness.



Glory from a god who glances generously upon us growling ghosts

Is

A Heaven that hurts like hell because happiness is heresy

But

Isolation is an independence I never intended to introduce here.



Juggling jokes and jealousy between juggernauts is jeopardizing my judgement

Because

Kindness is to knowing the truth as kissing is to your knuckles,

It's

Like living life as a lamb but loving a lion.



Missiles gone missing are making me misunderstand my own memory

Yet

Needles have never seemed so necessary as when you're near,

And

Ownership is not an option so we have both become orphans.



Praying to people seems more plausible than pleasing a perfect being

So

I will quantify rather than qualify the quaintness of this quarantine

And

Respectfully reply that paying retribution to a ***** is ridiculous.



Soon something will surface that sends shivers down your spine

But

Today there is only turmoil taking its time to taper off

So

Understand when I utter the word "unify" that I mean us.



Vain and vindictive as you have very well verified being,

If

We worship with what we wish, not what we will,

Our

Exploitation will exemplify an axis on which oxymoron is expedient.



You and your yearning will not yield to yonder threats,

Because

The zeal of this zephyr will carry us to the zenith.

Tried to
hold onto you,
to plant myself
in the fertile soil in the
creases of your elbows,
tried to breathe in
when you exhaled,
to fill my lungs with
your leftovers
but
there is not enough
oxygen here
to share
and I have told you
that I cannot
breathe,
told you
I think I need to
get out of here,
I'm feeling claustrophobic
but you only
hold me closer,
bruise my ribs
like rotted fruit,
kiss me with
no desire to
heal what you have broken,
and I am trying to
survive
but I cannot live
in the vacuum
you have created in
your chest cavity.

I am walking toward mirages
with the knowledge that they are fake
but with the thought that
moving to a new area of the desert
will not hurt anymore than remaining sedentary,
and I am thinking that maybe
if I walk far enough in one direction
toward these delusions
eventually I will have to reach something
other than sand
because this wasteland cannot be infinite and
I know these visions are malignant figments of my imagination
but one day there will be an oasis
that does not disappear at the touch of my dusty palms
and this will be what I have been walking toward
all this time
and these mirages are not lies,
they are promises,
they are foreshadowing
of a place better than this and
I cannot ignore these signs
because they are the only things
that keep me from sitting so long in one place
that I erode my own grave into the dirt.

Today I found a suicide note
that I have no recollection of writing.
It was addressed to my mother
but it felt more like a death threat
to myself
from someone who knows me
too well.

I keep telling myself
I do not want to die
but even with winter approaching
the days seem to be getting longer
and sleep
is the only time I feel safe.

It has been 17 days and 16 hours
but the cuts on my wrist still ache
when I move my arm the wrong way.
I don't think they're healing right.

I know this house is haunted
because I can hear demons
whispering ****** into my hairline.

Today I found a suicide note
that I have no recollection of writing.
I am writing another.

I haven't written poetry
since the night with all the blood
because I'm afraid that the demons
might crawl out from underneath my fingernails
and singe the edges of my paper with their hellfire
and I am trying to get better,
I swear I am,
it's just hard when
I can't tell my own voice apart from
the monsters in my head.

I want you to tell me you love me but I know you won't I texted you drunk because I know it's the only time I can talk to you these days I miss you because we've both changed so much it's like we don't even know each other and you said we have more in common than you and my brother ever did and that's so ******* depressing because you two were best friends and I loved it when you two were friends because we could hang out and I could leave whenever I wanted and I miss that but you hardly talk anymore and it's been seven ******* years and now is when you decide to part ways but it's been too long and I miss you and I'm sorry I'm being so emotional I'm sorry I can only talk to you when I'm drunk but that's the only time I'm brave enough to be honest with you and I want to kiss you I'm sorry but I do I want you to hold me like you used to when we didn't know any better because your hands were so warm and I am so ******* cold and I miss you and I'm drunk and I miss you and when I'm sober I hate you but it's only because you don't love me like I want you to

Should I be concerned about the state I'm in?
I'm not sure how bad it is,
honestly
I can't tell because
what used to be bad days are good days now
and I guess that's what people mean when they say
you'll learn how to live with it.
I think you just become one with your demons
and soon you're saying things you never thought you would
like maybe happiness isn't all everyone says it is,
maybe weakness is a kind of strength,
maybe I just won't get better and that'll be okay because
recovery
is a marathon, not a sprint
but some days I can't even bring myself to get out of bed
so that trek seems impossible.
I am getting used to the emptiness;
I hardly think about it now,
and by that I mean I always think about it so
it doesn't seem like a big deal anymore
and these days crying is a nonevent,
my eyes are bloodshot more often than they are clear,
and my friends have stopped asking how I'm doing.
I guess I seem pretty stable and
I guess that's accurate,
I'm pretty regularly in a state of numbness
manifesting itself in
tequila and
the word okay and
art that people choose not to see the underlying meaning in.
I have written a suicide note every day for the past six months
but I call it poetry
and that somehow makes it okay to say these things-
by putting my turmoil into stanzas
it becomes a metaphor rather than a cry for help and
nobody will take this one seriously, either,
nobody seems to be concerned about the state I'm in.
I am learning to live with it.

just lie to me and say the emptiness will go away someday,
tell me it gets better,
tell me I won't always feel like this.
I need something to hope for,
something to look forward to.
I don't want a light at the end of the tunnel,
I want the tunnel to be lit on the inside, too.
I don't want to wait until the end to finally be able to see.
improvement is not getting used to the pain,
improvement is the pain going away.
if you had a hole in your hand your entire life
yes, you would get used to it
but there'd still be a ******* hole in your hand
and I am trying to hold on but everything keeps slipping through the ******* hole
and no one is telling me how to make the hole go away,
they just keep saying I'll learn how to live with it.

This is a lonely phone call,
this is the hole in my chest,
this is my 7th shot.
This is spelling please wrong in texts,
this is crawling out the window barefoot,
this is driving without headlights.
This is him, being there.
This is his hand on my thigh,
this is whiskey flavored kisses,
this is turning the lights off.
This is not love making,
this is bone ache
heart break
bed shaking.
This is avoiding eye contact,
this is telling him I should leave,
this is getting dressed on opposite sides of the room.
This is a quiet drive home riding shotgun,
this is trying to act casual so he doesn't get the wrong idea,
this is secrets I keep from my best friend,
this is ***.
That's all this is.

I'd like to thank

*****
for giving me the confidence to ask her out

Drunk texts
for the brutal honesty

Flannel shirts
for hiding my scars

My cats
for always being the cover story

My brother
for never telling my parents

My best friend
for finally telling my parents

That girl in my art class
for calling me kind

That guy I dated
for calling me selfish

My counselor
for telling me to mind my own business

The boy who said he loved me
for teaching me what love isn't

My bedroom
for keeping my sobs concealed

My headphones
for keeping my **** private

My ****
for keeping me from ******* that guy

That guy
for ******* me anyways

Guilt
for killing me

Guilt
for keeping me alive

You said I was a god and I believed you
thought you would always pray to me
thought your devotion to me was eternal

called you crying because my word is divine
even between thunder storm sobs
called you a sinner because fear
is the root of fidelity

but I remember when you said you were an atheist
realized I was just as human as you
decided you didn't need my wrath
you walked through my fire
stole my halo
became your own savior
and now I am alone and godless

you were the only one to ever love me
but you have denounced your faith
and if God doesn't exist
then who the hell was I

how can you love someone and then
not anymore

how can a feeling
just not be there

maybe you're not looking
hard enough

maybe you should start digging a little
deeper

it's buried six feet under along with the way
you used to say my name

I have a friend
who is in a state of
constant action.
Whether it is
talking
or walking
or kissing
or smoking,
she is doing.

I never understood why,
never understood how she could
always be bored
when things slowed down,
never understood why
silence wasn't peaceful to her,
until now.

When there are demons in your head
that whisper into the empty spaces,
you look for other sounds to drown them out;
you look for something
-anything, really-
that gives you something to think about
other than the aching in your chest.

But soon it becomes less of a habit
and more of a necessity.
You start getting desperate,
calling friends at 2am,
sneaking out to walk to the park
because at least you're not
trapped in your ******* room,
and with desperation comes regret.

You start doing things you're not proud of
but at least the demons were quiet
while you were doing it
so you do more to
forget about that regret
and so on.

And it works for a while.
But the demons will creep back in,
hiding between teeth
and in ash
and under beds,
until eventually
there is no where left
for you to run.

When you
wake up in the morning
do your bones
ache?
Have you forgiven
yourself?
Because I
haven't,
and I don't understand
why you get to
feel less guilty than
I do
even though
you're the one
who's done wrong.

I'm sorry I took your virginity, it's just that
I was so sad and we were so drunk and you were so eager,
and I kind of thought it was cute that it was your first time
and it kind of went to my head that you wanted me to be your first,
and you were warm when I was cold
and you were dry when I was drowning
and now I fear that I've chilled you and drug you into the water with me,
and do your bones ache like mine yet?

You left bruises on my thighs;
that's not a metaphor,
I have blue splotches where you held me
and I've never been ****** like that,
never been ****** like I was supposed to enjoy it.
You were the first person to ever care if I was comfortable,
you were the first person I ever laughed with during ***,
you were the first person I ever laid with afterwards
and you let me hold your hand and rest my head on your chest
and your heart was beating so hard
and the room was dark
until we had to find our clothes scattered on the floor,
and you laughed when I tried to hide myself
and I guess it's just easier for me to show myself when the lights are off,
when you can't see my scars,
Jesus Christ I hope you didn't see my scars,
those are the only piece of myself I care about keeping private.

You dropped me off at home later
and as I got out of the car you thanked me and I just laughed
because I didn't know how to say that
I don't want you to think of it as a favor,
I didn't ******* out of pity,
I ****** you out of loneliness and ***** and cold hands,
and I'm sorry I took your virginity but you were the best I ever had.

I keep writing these poems
emptying my chest onto paper
thinking somehow
this will make it feel less hollow
thinking someday
these words won't be so tortured
but every scratch of pen
every patch of black or blue
covering something that just
didn't fit right
looks so vacant
and everything I say
is starting to sound the same
I am pulling words from a thesaurus
trying to rephrase the ache
into something I haven't felt before
trying to justify
why I haven't been able to fix this yet
talking myself into a fire
this ink is gasoline
and combustion
is something I am all too familiar with

You called me a god and I believed you and I thought you would always wait for me thought your love for me was infinite texted you drunk because you can't judge me I judge you that's how this works but I remember when you said you were an atheist and I realized that I am a human just like you and when given enough time you can overcome any obstacle and I was the biggest one in your way so you went around me and now I am alone and godless and you have found a new idol and I write about you when I'm drunk I guess that probably tells you something and I love you I just don't know what that means yet please do not forget about me

Drunken words
tumbling out between
sips of liquor,
eyelids
heavier than usual,
she thinks
I can't tell
when she's been
drinking
but I have been here
through days when
she swallowed nothing
but whiskey and
antidepressants,
through
sobbing nights,
these walls are so thin
I hear every
tortured breath,
I have been here
through hollow chest
and empty bottle,
and she has never been
a mean drunk,
only honest,
but it seems like
she only tells me
she cares through
wine-stained teeth
and I wonder
if she can hear
my heart break
every time she slurs
the words
"I love you".

"She will never
love me
the way I am now."

The corner of my room with the mirror has always put me on edge,
I feel like I'm going to see something in the reflection that isn't me
and there are voices at night,
I can hear them whispering and
I think this house is haunted
because these demons couldn't have come from my head,
they say things I can't repeat out loud,
and these malicious beasts have been feeding
on guilt and blood and *****
and it seems like they are only getting hungrier.

They are trying to **** me.
I have watched them scheming,
scratching pen over paper,
throwing out any idea they can think of
because nothing is inhumane
to creatures that are so clearly inhuman.
I have tried to get rid of them,
hung crucifix in doorway
because faith is a kind of submission they do not know how to compete with
but they slide in between floorboards,
promise to stay quiet this time,
and although I don't believe them,
I do not bother arguing.
I know they will not yield to my flimsy cries of hope
and if I have to settle on sharing my home with strangers
or not having a home at all,
the choice seems clear.

I know that their plans still hold true,
they have already picked a date and a weapon,
but I am too tired to fight.
I have tried running away
but the moment I step out of bed my legs quiver and my knees fail
and my stale mind tells me it is not worth the effort.
I think they have started poisoning my food
because I am always fatigued
and coffee and pills cannot suppress
whatever it is they are doing to me.

When I stand in the corner of my room and look in the mirror
I see eyes that were once bright
now turned bloodshot and heavy,
hands shaking as they try to
rub the bruises out of my skin,
scars, everywhere.
I am starting to look like them.

Did you think of me when you said you loved her?
Because I was the first person you ever said that about
and you were drunk as **** but you meant it,
you say you still do.
You say you still love me
but you don't want to anymore because
she's here now,
but if all you needed was someone to
be here
then I don't ******* understand
why I wasn't enough.
I don't ******* understand how you can say
you've loved me so extensively
and then love her more so quickly.
If loving her means letting me go
then what the **** did loving me mean?
You
are broken bottles
and I had started seeing my reflection in the shards of glass
and I wonder if she's ever seen me.
I wonder if she's seen the scars on your knuckles
from broken mirrors,
wonder if you would tell her
that I was the anger that put them there,
that I was the one who wrapped gauze around the wounds.
Have you ever cried over me?
Have you cried over me
like I have over you?
Has your chest been hollow
like mine has?
Have you hated yourself
like I do?
Have you felt guilt?
Your pain
is the pulsing of my heart,
I can only feel it
when I think about it
or when life is still for a moment
but it is always there
and I know this,
and it kills me.
You know nothing of
the aching you have caused me
because I keep it buried
in the bottom of my heart
along with the nights you fell asleep holding me.
Does it feel the same when you hold her?
Do you feel safe with her body pressed against yours?
Is she home yet
or are you still settling in?
Maybe if you give her that bracelet of mine
that you used to wear
she will seem more familiar.
I wonder if you realize she looks like me
or if that's something you did subconsciously.
Do you ever mistake her eyes for mine?
Do you ever think about my hands when you're holding hers?
Do you remember what my hands feel like?
Did you think of me when you said you loved her?

Breathe.*
Choke on the cold,
feel your lungs tighten,
your teeth ache.
Hold your arms in themselves,
cradle them as they shake beneath goosebumped skin.
Walk.
Walk slowly so you do not force wind against yourself,
walk slowly so you do not have to choose where you are going yet,
walk toward light.
Let it spill over you,
feel its heat,
you,
still frozen at the core but the light,
it is so warm.
This.
This is what you have been waiting for,
what you wanted but could not articulate,
this gentle touch.
*Breathe.

Yesterday
I cried myself to sleep
at the pain in my head
the pounding
the twist of my stomach

Today
I wear dress instead of bow tie
don't think I can stand the stares in the hallway
don't want to explain to my dad
get called cute
force a smile
remind myself they say it as a compliment
turn red anyways

Tomorrow
I will lie to my therapist
tell her I'm improving
say I'm 3 months clean
won't tell her about the drinking
won't tell her I almost killed myself
won't tell her I still want to
won't cry

Don't want to do this
don't want to be here
don't want things to get better
just want them to end
just want to drink myself to death
just want to die
want to be gone
want to slice up my arms
want to bleed out
want to wake up in a hospital bed
want to stay there forever
want to stop trying to recover
want to get worse
want to die
want to die
want to die

I AM SO
EMPTY
I THINK
I MIGHT
CAVE IN

Don't know why this is so hard to write
don't know why my chest aches so much but it does
don't know why there is nothing I can draw or paint that looks like how my head feels
don't know why I want him to love me so bad
don't know how much longer I can go on
don't know if I want to go on
don't know how to tell them I have already given up when they are telling me to keep fighting don't know how to say I already lost
how to say I'm empty
how to say I am bleeding out slowly
how to peel back these bandages
how to let my wounds show
how to show them all the places I tried to stitch my skin back together
they aren't holding because my mom never taught me how to sew
don't know why I hate myself so much
don't know why he doesn't talk to me anymore
don't know if I should call him
don't know why I want to call him
don't know why she never ******* texts me
don't know why she claims to want me
don't know why she would ever want me
don't know where to put my hands
don't know why they're so sweaty
oh God why are they shaking
don't know why God never showed himself to me
don't know why no one ever showed me God
don't know why I need someone to love me so badly
want someone to hold me
why won't anyone fix me
why are people not fixable
why am I so broken
why am I crying

I'm starting to think that it's rare to find someone who doesn't have a piece of their heart left in someone else's hands that maybe there is no such thing as a true love just the love that comes last just the love that nobody else has to try to one-up I'm starting to think that maybe my dad is still in love with my mom and his new wife doesn't mind because maybe when you get older you realize that there is no such thing as wholeheartedly loving someone only loving them with the pieces that are left and maybe my girlfriend is still in love with her best friend because I saw the way he looked at her and I tried not to be jealous when they went off on their own at that party and I heard a girl say that she calls their relationship "complicated" and what the hell does that make me am I the complication and I'm trying not to be jealous but I've never made her laugh like he does and I'll probably never know her like he does and maybe all I can hope for is for her to love him from afar and love me up close maybe he is her house back in Mississippi and I am her new apartment maybe if she puts up curtains it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when my last boyfriend said I reminded him of his ex it feels like the piece of my heart he was holding starting bleeding like maybe an artery sprung a leak because I am like her but not quite she is mural and I am replica she is mountain range and I am photograph she is morning walks on the beach and I am jar of sand I knew he was in love with her I could tell by the way he said her name after he ****** me I thought maybe second best was good enough I thought maybe if I do my make up like she does he will call me pretty today the ****** up part is that it worked the sad part is he didn't know why it hurt so bad maybe I am just hypersensitive maybe my girlfriend only loves him as a friend maybe by complicated she meant he loved her but she couldn't love him back but that's what I've been saying about that boy that said he loved me I keep telling myself I don't love him but on lonely nights he is the one I want to talk to he is always there in the back of my mind I wear his jacket when I want to feel safe because my girlfriend will probably never know me like he does maybe I will love him from afar and love her up close maybe he is my house before my dad moved out and she is his new place maybe if I hang up some paintings it will feel more like home I cannot explain the aching I felt in my chest when he said he loved me

I want you to text me drunk
want you to admit you still love me
want you to say my name
to say please
to say I'm sorry
to be you again

I want you to tell me about those nights
the ones when I would've settled for anyone
when I grabbed your hand
I want you to tell me how you remember it
want to hear you say how safe you felt
how right everything was
want to look into your eyes
because I could never bring myself to then

I want you to need me
to love me
to hurt me
to tell me you hate me
want you to want me until it hurts
until your heart explodes
until you start kicking yourself ******
because you know I will try to fix you
want you to be empty
to be sad
to be angry
to be forgotten
I want to be there
to be thoughts
to be longing
to be lust
to be dark living room
to be eighth beer
to be cigarette break
to be last time
to be last time
to be last time
to be I swear to god this is the last time

I want to destroy you from the inside out
want to be worse for you than the ******* in your veins
want to fill your lungs like tar
to burn your throat when you cough up my name
want your eyes to sting
your head to pulse the next morning like my heartbeat
your tongue to taste like mine

I want to be unhealthy
want to be bad habit
to be addiction
to be two weeks sober
to be relapse
to be six months sober
to be relapse
want you to come back
to crawl back
to beg
to cry
want you to feel every place I've ever touched you

I want you to realize what love is
want you to stop using the word lightly
want to get my heart's worth
want you to know what you signed up for
want you to understand what loving me means

How do I say
Jesus Christ you've changed
without seeming like I don't like who you've become
because I miss the old you
I miss the jokes the old you told
I miss the way you didn't hold my hand unless I held yours first
I miss the nights when you were honest
I miss you always knowing when something was wrong
but lately you only make jokes at other people's expense
you grab my waist too hard
it always seems like you're trying to cover something up
you never ask me if I'm upset
which I'm almost happy about because you're normally the reason
you never come see me anymore and I'm wondering why that is
because I'm not sure if you remember when you said you loved me but I do
and I'm not sure if you still do but I thought I did for a while
until you disappeared and I think you left the old you in rehab
you've started drinking again
do you remember when you said it made you sad when I drank because I do
that's the reason I stopped
but now that you've picked up the bottle so have I
and our fingers are almost meeting in the middle
I'm scared to let you know how close I am to you
because I think you might rip it out of my hands and let it shatter at my feet
then leave me to pick up the pieces.

Why the **** do I care about you so much?

Maybe it's because you've been in my life for so long

Or maybe it's because you were almost my first kiss

Or it's because of that night you held me

Or because I think I was the girl you talked about in that letter

Or because you were the first person to ever claim to be in love with me.

You were drunk when you first said it and I didn't believe you

Until three years later when you told my best friend about it

And you said the night you held me was the best night of your life

And I believed you.

I don't think you know what love is.

I don't think I do either.

I tell myself I love you.

I convince myself I don't.

You

All pierced ears
and tattoos
and walking out of classrooms

Me

All thumb rings
And flannel shirts
And anonymous emails

You

With strong arms
And scars
And a smile like a rainstorm

Me

With bony knees
And freckles
And chapped lips

You

Your dilated pupils
Tar choked lungs
Stories from rehab

Me

My slurred words
Empty bottles
Hangovers

You

Saying I miss you
Please kiss me
I love you

Me

Saying I'm drunk
Please need me
I'm empty

I relapsed in every way I could last night and when people ask about my scars I have trouble saying "I used to cut" because I feel like I'm lying to them and when she asked me why I did it I didn't know what to say other than "I'm drunk" and it was one hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit today and I wore a flannel shirt so my parents wouldn't see the canyon I carved into my arm and I didn't get out of bed until four PM because of my hangover and my mom brought me Advil and seltzer water and it breaks my heart that she helped me and I couldn't tell her what was wrong and I don't know how to ******* help myself anymore I feel like such a lost cause and I think it might be better if I just killed myself because then I wouldn't have to deal with this and I wouldn't keep hurting people and I'm sorry I keep doing this I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this I'm sorry I'm a bad person I'm sorry I stole your ***** I'm sorry I got blood on the sheets

My heart beat so hard the first time I held your hand
I'm sure you felt me shaking
and I drunk texted you once
and I still meant it all the next day
and I embarrassed myself in front of you
but my face didn't turn red

and I named a poem after you
and somebody called it beautiful

There were moments,
days,
months
when I didn't think I would make it this far.
I keep thinking back to when everything broke,
to when I started sinking,
and I am wondering how it is possible
that I haven't hit bottom yet.

I'm wondering if there is a bottom.
I'm wondering if maybe,
you just keep sinking,
and sinking,
and sinking,
until eventually you run out of breath
and your lungs force you to inhale salt water
because it is the only thing left around you.

You're supposed to let out little bubbles of air,
never all of it at once.
Your body can keep using the oxygen left in your lungs
and you can breath out the carbon dioxide,
but eventually your chest will be empty.

And then you will swim.

That's when you kick,
pull,
claw at the surface,
drag your water-saturated body
toward the place you used to call home.

You will not make it.

You have been falling for so long
that it is impossible
to make up for the time lost.

Keep swimming.

As you get closer to the surface
your lungs will ache from oxygen deprivation.
Your legs will not be as fast or strong.
You will begin to lose consciousness.

But the sunlight will start to break through.

Ultraviolet rays penetrating the surface
will caress your arms,
you will remember what safety feels like,

you will smile.

You will close your eyes.

You will stop fighting the pull of gravity.

Corpses float.

I'm sorry I stole your *****.
I'm sorry I texted you drunk.
I'm sorry I yelled at you.
I'm sorry I always forget to take my medication.
I'm sorry I still haven't told you I've been seeing her.
I'm sorry I fell asleep.
I'm sorry I cried on the phone.
I'm sorry I texted you on New Year's Eve.
I'm sorry I can't love you back.
I'm sorry I sent you pictures.
I'm sorry I sent him pictures.
I'm sorry I blamed you for my heartbreak.
I'm sorry I only come to you with heartbreak.
I'm sorry I forgot to water the plants.
I'm sorry I got blood on your jacket.

I keep trying to find a song that can describe
how I feel with the hope that
maybe it will make this emptiness seem less empty
but you can't rhyme
"scars" with "I'm sorry"
or
"sixteen" with "alcoholic"

I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT YOU
BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T
BROKEN MY HEART YET
AND THE ONLY INK I USE
IS MY OWN BLOOD

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL REALIZE
HOW SAD I AM

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL REALIZE
THAT I'M EMPTY

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL REALIZE
I HAVE A PROBLEM

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL THINK
I HAVE A PROBLEM

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL REALIZE
HOW BAD I'M GETTING

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL TELL ME
TO GO TO BED

IF I DRUNK TEXT YOU
AGAIN TONIGHT
I WONDER IF YOU'LL REALIZE
YOU'VE MADE A MISTAKE

The ***** hasn't kicked in yet and I know I shouldn't text you again so I won't because the ***** hasn't kicked in yet but maybe when I'm drunker I could send you a text about how much I hate the fact that I lost my virginity to you or how much I hate the fact that I still text you when I'm drunk that would be pretty **** meta my throat burns but I'm trying not to drink too much water because the ***** hasn't kicked in yet and I'm trying not to cry because my parents got divorced two years ago and everyone else seems to be coping fine but I still break down when my dad talks about how much he loves my mom and he's getting married soon and I wonder if she knows she's his second choice and I wonder if it breaks her heart as much as it breaks mine and my parents haven't seen each other in months because it makes my dad sad to see what he is missing but I think if he saw my mom more often he would realize he isn't missing much because since he left she's been drinking and he never liked her when she drank because she gets too honest and cries too much and she told me my friends were weird and I used to think drunk words were lies but that boy told me he loved me and two years later it turns out it was true and I wish he had told me sooner because it would have saved me a lot of heartbreak and maybe we could have been something and I would text him right now but he never likes it when I drink because I remind him of himself and that terrifies him and he got back from rehab a few months ago and he's been different ever since and I don't like the new him and he used to hate people like him but I guess he's happy now I hope he's happy now I thought he'd stopped drinking until he mentioned grabbing a beer I don't know if he's still taking pills but I hope not because I really do love that boy like a brother or a lover it changes a lot and he's going into the military and I want more than anything to kiss him good bye but I don't know if he still wants me and I don't want to make him sad and he's been pretty mean lately but I think it's just the boys he's been hanging out with and my brother says he's changed so much they hardly ever talk now and I remember when they used to be best friends and I hate what time does to people and the ***** is starting to kick in now do you see what time does to people I still have some left I poured myself a juice glass of grapefruit flavored liquor and I don't know how many shots it equates to but I hope it's a lot I need to stop thinking tonight I want to puke my guts out I want a hangover I want to teach myself a lesson but I never ******* learn I don't know if I'll ever stop drinking sometimes I want to die by the time I'm 25 and I think maybe if it's an accident no one would be so upset so if I got in a car accident no one would think I was depressed if I drove off an overpass people would use my story as a drunk driving prevention program but they wouldn't think I left them on purpose and that's all I need I will live my life quickly and leave just as fast because I hate what time does to people and I do not want to be a victim of the clock

I am not an alcoholic,
I just like beer.

I am not an alcoholic,
I'm just a little hungover.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just want to drink with my friends.

I am not an alcoholic,
I am just bored.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just can't sleep.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just like to feel warm.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just like to feel dizzy.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just want to feel brave.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just want to feel something.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just want an excuse to tell someone I love them.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just feel better when I drink.

I am not an alcoholic,
I only hide it because my parents would yell.

I am not an alcoholic,
I am only sixteen.

I am not an alcoholic,
I just need something to cling to.

I have never felt more hatred toward another human being
than I do toward myself.
The only question I have been able to ask myself these past few months
is “what the **** are you doing?”
and I do not have an answer.
I have been carrying this weight for so long that
I have forgotten how it feels to be free.
I am a prisoner of war
inside my own ******* head,
and I am no longer sure of what I am fighting for.
Do not call me a soldier.
I am not a hero,
I am a coward.
I am weak.
Point a rifle to my head.
Do not prepare your bayonets,
I will not struggle.
Close my eyes when the light fades from them.
Do not let me see what I’ve left behind.

I texted you
at 12:30 a.m.
with a beer can on my bedside table,
asked you
if you remember
how my lips taste,
told you
it's been a while
since anyone's touched me
like you used to,
added
haha, I love you
to texts that
didn't quite make sense;

I asked for it.

That's what I keep
telling myself.
It's not ****
if I gave consent,
it's not ****
if you didn't touch me,
it's not ****
if I said yes when
you offered to make me less lonely.

I remember when
that boy you were always jealous of
told me he loved me,
I remember wanting to say it back,
I remember the smell of
my mom's *****
on his breath.

I said no.
Took his arm off my shoulder,
turned my head away,
told him not to kiss me,
told him not tonight,
told him he was drunk,
he was lying to himself,
he was just lonely,
he would not love me
in the morning.

I was right.
He told me
the last thing he remembered
was sitting down next to me,
he said
sorry if I tried anything,
I said he didn't.

My point is,

the boy I loved,
longed for,
still long for,
was giving himself to me,
his flushed cheek on my shoulder,
his hands in my hair,
my name on his lips,
and I said no.

My point is,

I, whom you knew to be vulnerable,
to be empty,
to be broken,
was begging you to save me,
my desire on your phone screen,
my scars in your memories,
my cries echoing in your eardrums,
and you asked for more.

My point is,

there comes a point
in every person's life
when they are given the choice
to do the right thing,
or do the wrong thing
and convince them self
it was the only option.

My point is,

I could have been
at your doorstep,
in your bedroom,
begging,
pleading,
naked,
ready,
and the right answer
still would have been
no.

My point is,

you did not **** me,
but you made me feel violated.
You are not a *** offender,
but you are an awful person.
I did say yes,
but you should have said no.

My point is,

I may have asked for it,
but that doesn't mean
you should've given it to me.

Husband and housewife
He left every day
Came back at night
Wasted
She comforted him with
Laundry basket kisses
He yelled
He knocked a lamp off a shelf
She locked the bathroom door
Slept in the tub
Apologies over French toast
He left again
She swept the shards of glass
Under the rub
So maybe when he drug his tired feet
Across the ground
He would bleed like she did

I swear to God I am not giving up
but every breath I take feels like smoke
and I am not sure how much more
my tar-stained lungs can endure.