Some people are so comfortable with their past;
they wear demons on their extremities like tattoos.
I am not one of those people.
I have scars that will never see the light of day,
they are painted on my legs like hieroglyphics
depicting an ancient battle.
The summer sun will never kiss that skin,
it will remain translucent white,
protected from ultraviolet rays
by fragile excuses.
I have scratches from ghosts
clawing their way out from the inside,
striving to make themselves real,
to be noticed by the outside world, screaming
"this pain
is not
metaphorical".
In my family you are supposed to play your strengths,
never let your weaknesses be known.
In their eyes I am a suit of armor.
My knees are shaking beneath pale thighs.

The presumably burnt-out light bulb
merely needed to be
twisted back into place in order to
flicker on again.
The grey-haired woman standing on the chair
sighs, glad
she will not have to buy new ones.

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 SO
EMPTY
I THINK
I MIGHT
CAVE IN

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

In speech class they taught us that people speak only to entertain, to inform, or to persuade so when I texted you at 4:31am after swallowing the liquor cabinet and talked about three years ago in Michigan when we watched that movie after everybody else had fallen asleep, I was trying to entertain you, trying to remind you of all the fun we used to have together before you changed and when I told you I missed you I was trying to inform you of the pit in my stomach that you left when you removed yourself from me, of the way I feel when you say my name and of the fact that yes, I did notice that you stopped saying my name and when I told you I was dying I was trying to persuade you to come save me, made it life or death so you only had two options and if you made the wrong choice at least I wouldn't be around to see it, I was trying to convince you that you needed me by showing you how much you would miss me and when you showed up at my bedside, I know you were trying to tell me you loved me.

girl goes to bed with makeup on, wakes up with sore muscles
girl goes to bed without locking the front door, wakes up in the driveway
girl goes to bed without saying goodnight, wakes up to brother shaking her shoulders
girl goes to bed with the phone off the hook, wakes up with mouthful of *****
girl goes to bed in the bathtub, wakes up with an armful of black thread
girl goes to bed in brother's room, wakes up with the tv still on
girl goes to bed next to boy, wakes up before he does
girl goes to bed without sleeping, wakes up the same time as always
girl goes to bed with a candle burning, wakes up to the sound of herself choking
girl goes to bed early, wakes up to obituary
girl goes to bed with her hand in the cabinet, decides not to wake up this time

Here she lies still
Breaking the box spring
Twisting words around
Her father's wedding ring

"Dying," she whispers
Her hand on her chest
Prepares for the evening
Of eternal unrest

There's a creak from the closet
There's a crash from outside
A boneyard war being waged
A corpse trying to hide

"It's never enough,"
That's what we'll assume
The dead go on living
And their dreams are exhumed

Bust through the coffin lid
Break your own heart
The dead and the dying
Are only six feet apart

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

You were a cup of hot coffee,
one sip of you and I was awake.
You were sugar and whipped cream and vanilla flavor,
you were steaming.
You were almost too hot.
I dropped in an ice cube to cool you off.
You were hot hot hot
until I hit a cool spot,
then you were icy cold
that made my teeth ache.
The ice melted.
You were lukewarm.
You were sweet that made my head hurt,
you were stale,
you were watered down
and thick
like flu medicine.
You stained the rim of my favorite mug.

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.

I know where you are right now because I have been there too, I know how it feels to be so sad for so long that you can't imagine being happy again, to be so sad for so long that you stop trying to be happy again and so you just feed the sadness, just try to give it what it wants in the hope that it will be content enough to spare you, but feeding it only helps it grow. You have to starve it out. You have to lock it up, have to tell it "no", have to fight it. It will claw at the back of your eyelids, it will moan and howl so loud that you cannot hear your own thoughts, you will ache because it is aching and you and it are one but you have to remind yourself that it is created entirely of you, but only a portion of you is made of it. You have to make it shrink. It will not be easy. There will be days when you give in, when you feel bad for it, withering away, and so you throw it scraps of food under the table but there will also be days when it is silent. It will have grown so weak that it can no longer pound on the door, it will lie still there in the dark and you will forget about it, if only for a moment, and you have to hold onto that. There will be good days, days when you think to yourself "this is how happy people feel on a regular basis," days that remind you why you are fighting this beast in the first place and the next day may be bad again, you may not hear that silence again for weeks but when you cannot see an end to this torture, you have to remind yourself of the good days, you have to keep them tucked underneath your pillow and reminisce about the way walking felt easy for a day before you go to bed, you have to keep telling yourself that although this is an uphill battle, it will be so much easier on the way down the other side and the view from the mountaintop is breathtaking. You have to convince yourself that you want that mountaintop, have to tell yourself that the good days are worth the fight, that the sadness will not last forever, that you are not made of darkness although it is made of you. You have to starve it out; it is so much easier to live when you only have to feed yourself.

Give me one world at a time,
I am doing the best I can
but there are still so many things
that I will never understand
and all I have is myself
yet I don't know who I am,
I'm still trying to accept the fact
that I am only human.

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.

I can't let myself
fall for you; I'm too close to
the edge as it is.

Sustenance for my frail body
contained in gel-coated pills
split into thirds,
one for morning,
one for night,
one to slip beneath my tongue.

A glass of water
–or milk, with breakfast–
rumbles through my throat,
resists peristalsis,
hits stomach.

The heater clicks on
as the thermostat flashes 68 degrees,
then shuts off at night,
replaced by
one sheet,
one throw blanket,
one quilt.

Your hand, inches from
my fingertips,
not yet near enough
for electricity to jump between,
will go unacknowledged;
one feeble attempt at loving within my means.

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

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.

Hi, I'm sorry for texting you so late it's just that everything feels like it's falling apart and I can't even recognize myself anymore sometimes it feels like I'm not even the one living my life I'm just watching it like a movie I'm just going through the motions and I don't know who to talk to anymore because I just keep making more problems but I need help I need someone to hold me and tell me it's okay I don't know how to make it through this on my own please just come save me

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.
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.

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

You were in my dream last night and I think we were in love and my head didn't hurt anymore and suddenly I remembered how it felt for my chest cavity to be full of something other than steam and I swear to God it was real, I could feel your heartbeat while you slept but still I woke into a dark room and let the world slowly come back to me and I don't know how but that illusion felt more real than my life has for a while now and I started grasping for someone on the couch next to me only to find I was alone, and I keep waiting for someone to tell me to calm down, that this is all a bad dream, I keep hoping I'll wake up and this will all seem foggy and distant because last night couldn't have been in my head, I could feel your heartbeat while you slept.

there is a noose hanging in my
throat
and when I try to tell you I love you
it tangles around the words and
I start to choke
so I keep my mouth shut

and this is not to say that I do not love you but
love doesn't feel like a blessing anymore,
it feels like guilt,
it feels like another promise that
I will not be able to keep, it feels like
an apology that my lips will never speak.

when I try to tell you I love you
I remind myself that
you don't want me to anymore,
remind myself that
this is not what you want to hear from me,
remind myself that
you will not say it back.

when I try to tell you I love you it is not because
I think you need to hear it,
it is because
I want to say it,
it is because
that word has been eating a hole in the pit of my stomach for
too long,
it is because when I
repeat a word too many times
it stops sounding like one
so I'm hoping that if I say it out loud it will
regain its meaning,
it is because I do not know if it's true and
I want you to tell me it is,
it is because I am
selfish
and this is entirely for my own
benefit and/or destruction

and I am sorry because
when I tell you I love you it will be
the last thing I say to you.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

It is a strangely intimate thing, to touch another person, for your skin to touch their skin, the warmth of blood flowing within two separate bodies to intertwine.

It is a strangely intimate thing, to touch you, for my thin fingers to catch on the callouses of your palms, to trace the scars on your knuckles, for the cold of my hands to mingle with the warmth seeping from the veins in your wrist.

It is a strangely intimate thing, to want you, for your hands to burrow themselves into my cerebrum, for the air in my shallow lungs to flow in unison with the cadence of your voice.

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.

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

This year will be bigger and better and involve less time in bed or possibly much more and this year will be loud and there will be bright lights and high heels and there will be hand holding and so many ******* hugs and I will eat pasta because I love pasta and I will not feel bad about that and I will make plans and then not cancel them and I will show up despite the knot in my stomach and I will laugh way too loud because I can and that is a beautiful thing and I will treat new acquaintances like old friends because people like it when you do that because it makes them feel good about themselves and I will make people feel good about themselves because that is a beautiful thing and I will feel good about myself because I deserve that and I will eat three meals a day and exercise and sleep eight hours a night because I deserve that and I will buy an unnecessary but adorable sweater every now and then because I have earned that and I will tell people I love them because they have earned that and they deserve to hear that and I will mean it when I tell people that life is great because I deserve that.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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 don't like change,
I keep it tucked away in my wallet,
the only space for it,
no good space,
really,

it just sits there,
weighs down on the frayed stitching in
my old jean pocket and makes things
too heavy on one side,

never worth much,
always just the leftovers,
the things I couldn't trade in for something else so
I got them back,
different now,
heavier,
a stale metallic smell,
not worth as much.

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

I tried to burn the first flower you ever gave me but
it filled the room with smoke like
cigarettes and
I felt it fill my lungs like your
breath
when we used to kiss and
my throat is raw with missing you

I am trying to write a poem
about the way stars shine
but I keep realizing
that what we call stars
is really only light,

and I am trying to write a poem
that isn't about you
but I keep realizing
that what I thought of as you
was only the parts you cared to show,

and I am trying to believe in magic
and miracles
but I keep realizing
that I am only wishing on light
and the word love has a definition that fits in the dictionary.

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.

You like it, don't you? You hate yourself and you love that about you, you love your brooding pain, the way you can't say your own name without choking. You love to see how close to the bottom you can get before you start gasping for air, you want to swallow salt water, let it fill your lungs like tar, you want them to miss you, want them to feel guilty, want him to love your pain as much as you do, want him to appreciate how well you can destroy things, want his vision to be distorted by the scars on your wrists, want him to kiss them, want him to feed your pain. You want troubled girl meets nice boy, want him to try to save her, want her to die anyways, want him to be troubled boy to meet nice girl, want her to try to save him, want him to die anyways, want to start a cycle, want the world to resonate with the aching hollowness of your last words, want everyone to know how much you're hurting, how strong you are for still being here, for still fighting, but you're not fighting, are you? You gave up a long time ago and aside from the adrenaline attacks of optimism you are weak, but they will never know this, they cannot know this, they have to believe that you're an inspiration, that you fought as hard as you could but it wasn't enough, that you never gave in, that your dying breath was a whisper of purity, that you are a godsend, an idol to be worshipped, you are the messiah. You are so brave.

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

My body,

This overgrown graveyard,

This home for ghosts of the wrongly loved,

Doors open to broken souls,

Offering a warm bed,

Clean clothes,

A listening ear.



Most come in the winter

When the cold starts to ache and

The snow sinks through the gauze bandages and the wounds start to drip again,

There's never enough firewood,

Have to start chopping down trees,

Even the new peach tree at the edge of the yard,

So they can stay warm.

The blizzards shake the power out so they all congregate in the atrium,

Divulge tales around burning furniture

Of how they found this place,

This decrepit shelter

Turning more skeleton than home,

Their voices bounce off the hardwood floor,

Come to a resting point,

Fade out.



An old man with sad cheekbones who tried to drink his father back to life but only stumbled through the front door drunk,

A child in her Auntie's pearls led to the porch by a boy hungry for anyone,

The brokenhearted boy and the girl he could never hold tight enough who walked in on the same night but never called it fate,

The swollen lung man who choked on his words and fell blue faced in the entryway,

They all take up rooms here,

Mark their heights on the pantry door even though it never changes,

Claim ownership of these walls as they pull off the paper and paint over the scraps left behind,

The roof is starting to cave in because

They've started using the pillars for kindling.



They don't call this place home,

Don't plant any seeds in the garden that will take too long to sprout,

They call it an in-between,

Call it a place to spend the night,

Call it falling apart

As they tear it down,

Call it a place to hide while they fix their mistakes,

Leave their mistakes stuffed in the knife drawer.



When winter begins to melt

And the grass sticks up through the snow

They find their way out,

Leave with fresh pink scars,

Leave their used bandages in the bathtub,

Take a strip of wallpaper,

A peach from the tree by the edge of the yard

To remember it by.