I DON'T KNOW WHY
I'M SO HELLBENT ON
DESTROYING MYSELF

I am sorry for all the harm I have done
I am sorry that I cannot heal the scars I have left
I am sorry that you have wounds and I am the blade
I am a double edged razor and you cannot hold me
without slicing open your palms
drop me please
let me go
I do not want to hurt anyone anymore
if this is what I have caused
I no longer want to be

That first puff,
the first sip,
the burn in my throat,
light headed
and shaking,
another hit
another shot,
I remember when I promised
never.

I am not
the person I used to be,
I am not
a beacon of hope,
I am a shipwreck
and I can see
the smokestacks falling
into the sea.

Sometimes I have to
remind myself I am awake,
that this is not a dream,
maybe one day
I'll wake up
and it will be.

Do not look at me
like a sob story,
do not ask
for a happy ending,
there is no ending,
this is my life
and it is
ongoing
smoke bumming
***** stealing
blunt passing
cold turkey
relapsing
screaming
screaming
screaming.

Red ribbons
and markers on posters,
this is not
the person
I was
before.

I CAN FEEL
MY TEETH
BEGIN TO DECAY
WHEN YOUR
ACID NAME
SLIPS THROUGH THEM

I am sorry.
I want everyone to know that this is no one's fault.
If anyone were to blame, it would be the universe herself,
and even that seems unfair.
She is trying to survive, just like the rest of us.
I am not sure where I will go now.
Whether it will be pearly gates
or eternal sleep
or a fire place
I am unsure,
but it is worth the risk to escape this reality.
I remember my mom holding me as I sobbed
because my best friend had been ***** and I did not save her.
My mother whispered like a lullaby into my ear,
there was nothing you could have done.
As if the fact that horrible things happen to innocent people
and there is no way to stop it
should come as a comfort to me.
I realize that this is just how life is
and if everyone else can live with it then I should be able to, too,
but I cannot seem to keep myself from trying to rescue everyone.
I am throwing myself into the ocean to resuscitate those seen drowning,
I am being swept out by the tide,
gagged by the salt water,
pulled beneath the surface by the ones I am trying to hold up.
Maybe I am weak.
Maybe I am too dense to fight the pull of gravity.
Maybe gravity will finally get what it wants
when I, in my brown box, am lowered as deep as this life can take me.
My spine is no longer strong enough to withstand this pressure.
I am breaking.
I am leaving.
I am gone.
I am sorry.

Anorexia
is the most deadly mental disorder
and maybe that is why
I tell myself I am fat,
maybe the reason I cry
when I look in the mirror
is because there is
110 pounds
too much of me
95 pounds
too much of me
80 pounds
too much of me,
I will not be content
until there is no weight left to lose,
until this skin is turned cold
and falls off my body,
I will be
counting the ribs you can see
on my corpse.
I will make myself smaller
and smaller
and smaller
until there is nothing left
to take away.

This is not the place
to tell someone you love them
for the first time,
and although I do not believe you,
I smile.

You are not the one
who should be apologizing.
I am the one leaving,
I will take that piece of you with me
(the one you said was mine).

There are flowers beside my bed
sprayed and dyed into
the type of artificial beauty
that can only be appreciated against a white room.

You look at my hands so you do not have to
face the blue circles under my eyes.
You try to laugh like we used to
but there is a carefulness to your disposition
that was never there before;
you are afraid to break me.

I think it's strange that
your heart seems more shattered than mine;
that I try to stay strong for you.
I think it's unfair that
when visiting hours end and you stand to leave,
you drop my hand one finger at a time
and you tell me you love me like
it is the last time,
every time.
I think it is unfair
that you are the one
with last words.

They keep telling me there is nothing I could have done.
They say that I couldn't have stopped it from happening,
as if that is supposed to make me feel better.

As if the fact that horrible things happen
and there is no way to prevent them
should come as a comfort to me.

There is evil in this world,
and you can either
ignore it,
attempt to banish it,
or try to save those you love
from it.

There is no correct choice.

You will fail,
regardless.

Listen closely for
creaking floorboards
above your head.
Memorize his steps;
how he walks gently
when you are not alone
but plays music
with his shackles and
dances on granite soles
while you are sleeping.

When you wake
in a cold sweat,
know that he is there,
that he is with you although
you cannot see him.
He is a cold draft
after you take a bath,
he is the book you could have sworn
you put back on the shelf.
He is begging you to turn around,
to feel his touch,
to remember how
that book had started
your first conversation.

He will tune the radio to
your song and
play it louder
and louder
until he sees you fall to
your knees with his memories
cradled in your bony arms.

As you watch him shatter
the picture frames beside your bed,
remind yourself that
he is not malicious;
this is still the
pastel-eyed boy who's hands
made you feel safe,
he is trying to prove that
he exists,
he is shattering glass
with his illusory knuckles,
yearning to feel a sensation
that he can no longer perceive.

You are letting go of him.
You are telling him to move on.
He is alone in a dark room
and you are begging him to
go toward the light.

You come back to an
illuminated house.
Every lamp has been turned on,
every candle lit.
He is flooding you with light
because he cannot find his own.

I was right there.

As he gripped her waist in one hand,
she glanced in my direction
long enough to force a nod
when I asked if she was okay.

His fingertips traced their way up her thigh
as her breath became more shallow.
I asked if she was okay.
She said yes.

With his cold breath on the back of her neck
and his arm pulling her closer,
he whispered something that I couldn't hear.
She said she was fine.

I was right there.

I followed her when she left.
I found her sitting on the restroom floor.
With every sob her body shook in my bony arms.
I could not protect her.

I was right there.

I am so sorry that I did not save her.
If her eyes had screamed a little louder,
if I had looked a little closer,
Maybe then I could have stopped him before it was too late.

**I was right there.

****
isn't always dark alleys
and whistles
and pepper spray.
It isn't always
a stranger,
they don't always
look dangerous.
Whether it is
your boyfriend
or your teacher
or your uncle,
they are no longer on your side.
This is your attacker.
Do not be silent.
Do not be afraid to make a scene.
Whether it is a movie theatre
or a street corner
or your bedroom,
yell,
scream,
curse,
bite,
spit,
let no resonate from your lungs
so they cannot say they didn't hear you.
Send him home,
tell your parents,
tell your friends,
tell the police.
****
is not always
drunk men outside bars
or keys clenched between white knuckles.
Sometimes **** is silent.
Do not be silenced.

All of my firsts,
all of my beautiful memories,
my sacred bonds
have been cracked open,
tainted,
the ties have been cut,
I am drifting,
floating off,
I have no anchor to drop.
I have given away
everything I can, and
there is nothing left of me
to offer but
salt water pouring from
my heart, trying to nourish
this thicket weaving through
my rib cage.
My collar bones are
shelves holding books and
love songs that I
can no longer listen to.
My knees are rubbed raw,
carpet burn from kneeling
before a God that only
called me a sinner,
I have nothing left to offer.
Palms facing upwards on
the ends of outstretched arms,
I have given away all
that I can,
I have siphoned the very
blood from my veins,
I am empty.

My mother told me that
if I am ever kidnapped I
should bite off the skin on
the tip of my fingers so
the police can follow my blood trail
like breadcrumbs.

When he grabbed my hand
I looked back at
the street behind me,
it seemed so easy to follow,
the road to my home
is a straight line
from anywhere,
how could I get lost?

I left no mark
on the ground I walked on,
he carried me to
a place I had never seen,
the road he had found me on
did not even seem
like an option anymore,
it was too far gone.

I am walking,
I am calling out to them,
to anyone,
*I escaped,
please come get me,
wrap me in warm blankets
in the back of an ambulance,
blur my face in the news report,
find me,
I am coming home,
find me.

Looking at myself now,
I am not sure that I recognize
any piece of who
I used to be.

Our cells are constantly
replenishing and replacing,
and technically speaking,
I am not at all
the person I once was.

I understand that I
am a collection of my experiences
and that everything I have
done has led me to this moment.
I do not know what has come of
the choices I
made opposing this.

The patches of my skin
that only said yes
when they meant it have
peeled away and are
replaced by the fresh
tissue of compliance.

If I am
the sum of my experiences
then why are there no
scars on my thighs from
the times I smiled?
If I am
the sum of all of my experiences
then why is there
a fracture in my arm from
anger but not from love?

If I am really
the sum of all of my
experiences then
why does my body
only show my regrets?

With a body temperature
Below 96 degrees Fahrenheit,
Wrapping yourself in bed sheets
As translucent as your skin
Seems so nice but
Every minute you spend
Shivering is more calories burned,
So you try to ignore it
Or maybe you do two hundred more crunches
Because being athletic is healthy,
Right?

You open the pantry only to
deny yourself sustenance because you
are unworthy of
These simple pleasures, and
You almost let yourself
Eat an apple but
When you remember how
Good that girl in
the thinspo you have
Hidden on your phone looks,
You stop.

You flinch when your mother
Calls your skin porcelain,
Because that word means
You failed to restrain yourself
And you have always been taught to
Resist temptation, and
This is the ultimate test.

I remember when I was
thirteen and my aunt asked
if I had ever had my heart broken.

With the same tone of voice
I would have used if she had
told me to be safe on
my walk to school,

I said
my heart is indestructible.

Now I am afraid for my
life because they thought the
Titanic was unsinkable so
they drove it head on into
an iceberg and as the ship's
soundness was compromised
a number of the passengers were
so drunk that they decided
to stay on board.

I can only hope that when
I see an iceberg in my path I
will not let my hubris convince me
that I can handle it,

I can only hope that if
my heart begins to sink
I will not be so intoxicated with
my feeling of invincibility that
I do not try to save myself,

I can only hope that
when my ship goes down
I will not have made myself
so isolated that
there are no rescue missions
willing to find me.

My brother told me
that if I keep dressing the way I do
and cutting my hair short
I'm going to look like a man.

I hope so.

Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
no one will tell me I can't
listen to Van Halen because
"it's guy music".

Maybe, if people think I'm a man,
they won't think I'm the antichrist
when I kiss my girlfriend.

Maybe if people think I'm a man,
they won't expect me to shave my legs
and arms
and every other area with
"unsightly hair".

Maybe if people think I'm a man,
my teacher will not tell me
to make sure I marry someone
who can support my family
and will start telling me
how to ******* support my family.

Maybe if people think I'm a man
they won't get angry at me
when I refuse to send
pornographic photos of
my body.

Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will be able to walk home
at night without pepper spray
on my keychain in case
I look too "provocative".

Maybe if people think I'm a man
I will finally get treated
with some *******
**respect.

When it has been five days since
anyone told you they loved you
and no one has held your
hand in four months
and you cannot remember the
last time you felt wanted,
remember this.

People aren't meant to say I love you.
Those three words mean
so many things but somehow
they mean nothing and eight
letters thrown together into
a combination of
lines and spaces is not an
accurate representation of feelings.

They say I love you
in the way they smile when
you laugh at their jokes and they
say it in the way they shake their head
when you make a bad pun and
they say it with every
text message in all-caps at
two twenty-four in the morning
because something incredible
just happened and they had to let you know
and they say it with every
hug and high-five and punch in the arm
and with the way your name
bounces off their tongue
like a child making poor judgement calls
on a trampoline and

they will not tell you happy birthday this year
and they will take four hours to
text you back because
they got distracted and they
will call you an *******
(because you are one, sometimes)
and eat all your lunch
without saying please or thank you
and they will
forget to tell you they love you
when they say good night,

because people are not meant to say *I love you.

Maybe all this time,
all these feelings I thought I had
weren't what they seemed to be.

Maybe I went numb
because you weren't
a warm bath,
you were ice water.

Maybe I buried that part of myself
so long ago
that even I don't remember
where it is.

Maybe I need
to find it.

Maybe I already have.

You called me selfish.
For a long time I felt guilty,
until I turned you from a victim
into a villain.

As the anger has faded
from the lights of an ambulance
into the dull, neon red glow of an
emergency exit sign,
I have begun to realize that

you saw me as the bad guy, too.
You probably still do,
and maybe I am selfish,
and maybe I want to apologize,

but what if they're all right
and you were just trying to
get me to say sorry?
What if you're just dying to
see me come crawling back to you?
I don't want you to think
I need you,
because I don't,

but I'm not selfish,
and I don't want you to think so.

I want to destroy.
I want to burn,
to break,
to bleed;
I want to feel the sting
of shattered glass
tearing through the tough skin
of my heels.
To see red.
To ache.
I want to breathe smoke.

When I was younger
I was stick thin.
My aunt pulled my mom aside and cautiously whispered
Do you think she's been eating enough?
My third grade teacher
gave me the nickname
Skinny Minnie,
my gym teacher told me to
go eat a cheeseburger.

Now I look in the mirror
and cannot find my younger self.
My aunt did not blink an eye
when I said
I'm not hungry.
My teacher does not question
when I bring only a water bottle to lunch,
someone, please,
tell me to go eat a cheeseburger,
because I have only eaten
two-hundred calories today
but no one is calling me skinny.

I'm sorry I took so long to get this stuff back to you.
I don't want to come back into your life now.
You seem happier than when I knew you.
I think my cons always outweighed my pros.
I'm sorry if I hurt you.
I tried so hard not to, I swear.
Things just fall apart.
This isn't meant to be sad.
**** it.
Alright, positive stuff.
I hope you're okay.
I hope you know things will always be okay.
I'm sorry we don't talk anymore.
I think we're both getting better without each other.
I think you're getting better.
It's hard to tell.
Please get better.
Godspeed.

With your hands woven
into my spine
you led me into
the dark
where the icy wind
slipped my shirt off
leaving me exposed to you,
wishing I could walk away
but the trail
of breadcrumbs we left
has long since disappeared,
and now
that I am lost
beside you
I only wish
to have you closer,
but once daylight
touches our skin
and we are graced
with artificial smiles,
I will
shrug away
from you
again.

Standing before a once white canvas,
brush in hand.

Paint runs together,
reds and blues and yellows
are now indistinguishable.

Stained palms are reminders
of the source of the mess.

It is so much easier to ruin things
than it is to fix them.

I.
Witness your family
stop loving
each other.

II.
Understand what people mean
when they say
the world is not fair.

III.
Be struck with
the realization that
you are not special.

IV.
Hurt yourself.
Don't tell
anyone.

V.
Let strangers
see parts of you
your friends never have.

VI.
Decide that being deep
is more important
than being happy.

VII.
Cut all your hair off
without asking
your parents.

VIII.
Let your ex
boyfriend see
all your scars.

IX.
Go to counseling.
Do not cry.
Not here.

X.
Stop
hurting
yourself.

XI.
Feel empty.
Try not
to cry.

XII.
Let yourself
be defined by the
honesty of numbers.

XIII.
Do not
fill your emptiness
with calories.

XIV.
Pour out your
heart, soul,
dinner.

XV.
Restrict yourself.
Minimize.
Shrink.

XVI.**
Finally
have
control.

IF THIS BODY
WEREN'T MINE
WOULD I STILL
HATE IT?

I am not writing this
to get attention
or pity
or so people will tell me
I'm beautiful the way I am.

I am writing this
because when I post a poem about
being terrified to look at myself
because I hate what I see,
it should not be added to a collection titled
Humorous.

I am writing this
because when I sit at a lunch table
without a brown paper sack,
boys should not laugh when they ask
what, are you anorexic?

I am writing this
because when I watch Disney Channel
with my eight-year-old cousin,
I should not hear jokes
about skipping meals.

I am writing this
because when you google
anorexia is,
the first suggestion should not be
anorexia is good.

I am writing this
because our society should not
expect people to be paper thin
but judge them
for trying to get there.

I am writing this
because insecurities
are not a joke,
*no one
should be laughing.

I AM SCARED
TO LOOK AT
MY NAKED BODY
IN THE MIRROR

My stomach growls
so I get another cup of ice water.
Please,
let me feel pretty.
I'm trying so hard.

They say that a person's heart
is the same size as their fist
but when you said I love you it hit
harder than your hand ever did
and I may have two black eyes
but yours are the color of fresh cut grass
and your heart must beat faster
than a hummingbird's wings
because your fist moved like
the needle of a sewing machine on my skin
but I was the one stitching myself back up
and I am covered in bruises
shaped like the hand I used to hold
but they will never hurt as much as
the last time I felt your pulse

The night is dark
and the wolves are hunting
but the fire burns hot
as it illuminates her face.

Her hands find warmth
reaching toward the flame,
but her back is exposed
to the bitter wind.

The fire does not protect her
against the chill of night,
and only when she turns to walk away
does she feel its heat on her neck.

The cold dark has taught her
that a fire only lights one side.
The only way to be safe
is to find a warm home deep in these woods.

1.
A boy dropped his pen on the floor next to me
and I took it.
I said it was mine when he asked about it.

2.
I didn't cry when
my cat
or my dog
or my great grandma
died.

3.
I read the text.
I just didn't want to talk to her.

4.
I broke up with him
on the phone
because I thought he might cry
if I did it in person.

5.
I stopped talking to him
when I got a boyfriend.
I started talking to him again
when we broke up.

6.
We flirted for 2 years.
He told me he loved me.
I told him he was like a brother.
He started doing ****.

7.
I knew his dad hit him.
I didn't tell anyone.

8.
I told her to stop talking to me
because she was too depressing.
She went to rehab for self harm.

9.
When he told me he wanted
to **** himself,
I told him a million reasons he shouldn't,
but never once said
*don't.

When I used to have bad nights,
I would lie awake and cry,
curled up in a ball on my side
clutching a blade so hard my knuckles were white
trying to fight
but I didn't know which voice was mine.

Fall asleep too late,
in my dreams I would suffocate
and have bloodshot eyes when I'd wake,
but reassure my mom with my arms around her waist
yeah, I'm great.


Now when I have those evenings,
I try to keep from screaming,
but I can still feel your heart beating
when I read your messages that I can't bear deleting,
and I write all these texts to you that I'm not completing
because I told you to go away but I hadn't planned for your leaving.

Close my eyes when the darkness recedes,
the nightmares are always you and me
and I take Tylenol to make your memory leave
but my hands are red and they will never be clean
*I'm sorry for the times I made you bleed.

You asked me what I would do
if I woke up tomorrow but you didn't.


I can picture it all,
sitting in chemistry, barely acknowledging
the announcements on the intercom until
I hear your name.
I can tell by the tone of the assistant principal's voice,
he doesn't need to say it for me to start breaking down.
I look over at my classmates,
and they stare at me in disbelief;
they all know our history,
they know that we were lovers
until I told you
to leave me alone,
to let me get better.

I run.
I run through the door
and down the hall
and to the parking lot
where the doors to my brother's truck are locked
so I curl up in the back.
I didn't realize I was crying until now.
I didn't realize how much I missed you until now.
I curse at the misleadingly blue sky,
screaming my apologies,
hoping you hear me,
wishing you had known I wanted you back.
The guilt is crushing my chest
and I remember the feeling of your heartbeat
and I remember how warm your hands were
and I know that I will never feel that again
and I am
so,
so
sorry.


I tell you I would cry.

I woke up
to the sound of hail
on a tin roof.

Looking out the window,
I was still in a dream
until I saw my journal on the floor
and remembered why it fell there.

The window shattered.
Water in every form
poured onto my desk:
hail, rain, the steam from my hot breath.
Wind whipped through the room,
tearing my paintings off the wall,
reminding me that
I never liked them much in the first place.

The louder I screamed
the stronger the storm became;
my vocal cords are no match for a hurricane.
Please stop,
I whispered into my folded arms.

Silence.

I opened my eyes.
The window was not open.

Our best night was the night my phone broke.
We had to message each other on Facebook
so we looked through each other's old pictures
and bragged about our relationship status to our friends.
That was the night I called you from the home phone
and I laughed when you told me you once ate human flesh
and I laughed harder when you said
you're supposed to be scared.
That was the night I sent you a poem I found online
and you replied with the most honest profession of love
I have ever heard without using the word love.
That was the night we stayed awake until 5am
even though you had to get up at 6.
I could've sworn I loved you.
I could've sworn you loved me, too.

I grew up taking hits from my big brother,
I grew up on "boys' weekend" camping trips,
I grew up with my father calling me a princess but calling my brothers rock stars,
I grew up watching Boy Scout meetings from the back of the room,
I grew up on LEGOs and Hot Wheels and
I still remember the year my brothers got Nerf guns for Christmas
and I got a bracelet,
I remember being shot with foam bullets and having no way to fight back,
but at least I looked pretty.
I remember seeing my dad leave for work every morning
and wondering why my mom never did,
I remember wanting to be an astronaut, but my brother told me
moms have to stay home.
The phrase stop being a girl is branded into my mind
and I still curse myself every day
for the organs I was born with.
I remember the year my brothers went as zombies for Halloween
and I had to go as a princess,
I remember bringing a fake butcher's knife
because a princess is not scary.
I grew up on manhood meaning strength
and manhood meaning confidence
and manhood meaning respect
and I still wear dresses
and my dad still calls me a princess
but I'll be ****** if you tell me I'm not a man.

She loves every one of her victims.
From the bottom of her cold well of a heart,
she loves them.

She would never ****
an innocent creature;
they all deserve it.

She stalks her prey,
she gets in close,
they begin to whisper

their evil little secrets.
No one is blameless.
She knows this.

Dig deep enough,
find the truth.
It is soiled.

She slits their throats.
You are released
from your sins,

she ensures them.
Through hot blood,
they promise they love her, too.

Arms tight,
grabbing fistfuls of t-shirt,
your mascara wet on his shoulder.
This is the hug you give
when something is falling apart.

This is the hug you give your ex boyfriend
when you promise you will still be there for him,
this is the hug you give him
when he wishes to stop existing,
this is the hug you give him
when you tell him you love him,
this is the hug you give him
when he doesn't believe you,

these embraces will break your heart,
they will make your ribs curl in on themselves,
they are apologies for the harm you have caused,
they are guilt for the scars you have left,
they are acknowledging that
terrible things happen to beautiful people,
they are the realization that
you are not a beautiful person,
you are a terrible thing.

Nothing has ever broken my heart more
than feeling yours beating
*and knowing you wanted it to stop.

My father lets me wear
short skirts
and bikinis
and pants that hug my thighs
but he will not allow me
to leave the house
in a button down shirt
and suspenders.

I still don't know
how much of us
was real

I saw you holding her hand today
and I almost smiled at the two of you
but I stopped myself.

It's been two weeks since we've talked,
and I almost called you last night
but now I'm glad I didn't
because if you are with her now
I probably seem like the clingy one.

Funny how things change.

I remember when you used to talk about her,
you said she was your favorite person in the world
and I tried to act like I wasn't offended
since you were finally talking about something good.
I could tell by the way you smiled
when you told stories about her
that she made you happier than I ever could.

That's what you need:
to be happy.

I am glad you have her now,
and she can make you happy
in the ways I couldn't.
I want you to be okay.
I hope she can do that for you.

God knows I tried.

I.
If a boy teases you,
he is a ****.
Stand up for yourself.

II.
It is entirely acceptable
to wear brown with black
and silver with gold.

III.**
If it is three a.m.
and you still don't understand the quadratic formula,
go to bed.

IV.
When you get your heart broken
(and you definitely will),
ask yourself if they are worth crying over.

V.
By all means,
whenever there is rain,
go outside.

VI.
You are not a girl,
you are a person.
Behave as such.

VII.
Dress however you want.
Dye your hair unnatural colors.
Wear men's clothing.

VIII.
Have seconds.
Eat dessert.
Eat second dessert.

IX.
Love until it hurts,
and then ask yourself
if it is still worth it.

X.
Always be truthful,
gentle,
and fearless.