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.

But I don't want you
to think this is me pouring
my heart out to you.

I can picture it so clearly,

I'm sitting at a table by myself,
playing ukulele
because my friend left it
when he left me alone at a table,
and she walks by,
and she smiles at me,
and I stop playing
because I'm shy,
and she asks if she can listen to me play,
and she sits down,
and I play
and it sounds awful
because I'm nervous,
but she claps,
and she laughs because her clap sounds so lonely,
and the combination of those two sounds
is the most amazing thing I've ever heard,
and the crinkles by her eyes
(her astonishingly green eyes)
make me blush,
then she tells me her name
and it sounds like the only true thing I've ever heard,
and I ask for her number
and she gives it to me,
and I watch her leave,
hoping she'll look back and smile,
but she doesn't
and it makes me like her even more,

And my mind tortures me with these memories
that never happened
and wishes
that went unfulfilled,
And I will never love anyone more
than I love the girl with the clap that echoes through my veins
and the name
that sounds like truth.

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.

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'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.

I hope you don't understand me,
hope I remain something mysterious to you,
hope you romanticize me into something complex rather than a body and a series of chemical reactions,
I hope I can fool you into believing that I mean more than what I say,
hope you write about me and analyze it to find some sort of answer,
hope you look for symbolism in the way I do my makeup,
hope you think me into a work of art and spill it from your veins,
I hope I burn on the way back out,
hope you have scars on your fingers from trying to dissect me,
hope I make you nervous,
hope you think about how to phrase things before you say them around me,
hope you ask every question strategically,
hope you think I know exactly what you're up to,
I hope you play word games with me to see how my mind works,
hope you still can't grasp it,
hope I'm always close enough to touch but not to get a firm grip on,
hope you dig yourself into a hole walking in circles to get a better view of me,
hope you never say my name for fear of manifesting the sound incorrectly,
hope you have no ******* clue what any of this means,
I hope you never understand me

When I said you weren't paying attention to my feelings
you got mad at me and said
it hurts that you think I'm that awful.

I apologized.

Now here I am
crying in an empty bathtub at 3am
clutching my phone waiting for you to call back
because you hung up when I told you
that it hurts my feelings when you say
stop feeling so sorry for yourself
I have it worse.


Am I a bad person for calling you out on your ****?
Is it rude to stand up for myself?


I'm not sorry if I made you feel bad,
you made me feel worthless.
So you tell me,
which is worse?

Feeling like a bad person
**or not feeling like a person at all?

I should have left you so much sooner.
I should have walked away on Valentine's Day
when you wouldn't stop talking about her.
I should have let go of your hand,
I should have dropped that stupid bear at your feet
and thrown those flowers in the road.
I should have told you not to touch me if you tried to pull me back.
I should have walked to IHOP in the cold,
I should have gotten a table in my brother's section
and told him he was right,
you were an *******.
I should have bought heart shaped chocolates and eaten them alone in my room
and listened to Adele on repeat.
I should have rejected your calls,
I should have deleted your number from my phone
(even though I had it memorized).
I should have broken your heart,
because you sure as hell broke mine.
******* it,
I should have left you so much sooner.

They swear on your existence,
they place you above their nation,
they use you to decide right and wrong,
they thank you before meals,
they whisper your name into clenched fists,
praying that you will bless them,
praying that your divine grace will save them,
they respect you,
they fear you,
they love you.
They convince themselves you love them, too.
But if you love them you have a cruel way of showing it,
if you love them you need to start acting like it,
because if you are their almighty father,
you need to start treating them like your children.
A father wants the best for his children,
a father sees the innocence in his children's eyes
and wishes it would stay there,
a father carries his children in his arms when they are tired,
he tucks them into bed at night,
he kisses their forehead and tells them
he loves them.
A father does not test his children with cruel punishments,
disease is not a proper gauge of devotion,
disasters may bring those involved closer
but only because they are mourning the loved ones you stole.
When a child tells their father they hate him,
he waits,
because he knows they are young
and they are learning
and they love him.
A father does not **** his child
to an eternity of suffering
for not worshipping the ground he walks on,
a father does not need recognition for the good he has done,
a father does not need recognition,
God, if you are so great,
why do you need recognition?
If you are so high above them,
why do you need their reassurance of your power?
Why do you make them beg for your help?
God, why are you so insecure?
God, do you punish them just to hear them cry your name?
God, why do you hurt your children?
They love you,
can't you ******* see that?

Dear God,
you are a deadbeat father.

I am a broken porcelain girl.
Not an angel,
a ghost.
And you will die like me;
*slowly.

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?

When that guy in my history class
announced to everyone
that I was "checking out Macy", my project partner,
I just stood at the front of the class,
feeling my face get redder and redder
as my teach simply said
"settle down."

I wish I had walked over
and punched him
in his huge, cocky mouth.

When those boys outside the bathroom at a campsite
told me I was pretty
and grabbed both my arms when I tried to walk away
so they could "get a better look",
I ****** away and walked back to the tent
and said it was nothing
when my mom asked why I seemed so shook up.

I wish I had slapped both of them
and given them a speech
about respecting women.

When that girl in my chemistry class
told me everyone secretly hated my boyfriend
and said if she was the reason he killed himself,
she wouldn't feel bad,
I turned to face away from her
and gripped the sides of my chair
and told her to stop talking.

I should have punched her in the nose
and refused to apologize
to someone who didn't value human life.

When my boyfriend
froze dead in his tracks
while we were walking down the street on Valentine's Day
and he saw the girl he claimed to be over,
I just tugged at his hand
and told him to keep walking
and pretended not to be hurt.

I wish I had slapped that longing look off of his face;
I could've taught him a lesson
about being a lying *******.

I wish I had the courage to stand up for myself.
I want people to know not to mess with me.
I want the swollen knuckles of victory.

You have cuts on your arm
that you name after people
and you talk about them
like accidents.

I got this one when she left,
this one when she told me she didn't trust me,
this one when she wasn't there,

as if they were put there by the event,
by some other force you could not control,
but let me remind you,
it is called self harm for a reason.

The people you named them after
did not hold the blade,
these cuts on your arm are not battle wounds,
you are not fighting anyone
but yourself.
Stop blaming them.
Stop blaming the people who love you,
no one is out to get you
but yourself.
All your pain is self inflicted.
Let me say that again.
All your pain is self inflicted.

You are holding a gun to your head,
screaming at me with tears running down your face,
why are you doing this to me?

Put down the gun.

Look in a mirror.

**All your pain is self inflicted.

I check
your blog
everyday for
evidence that
you
aren't
gone
from every
aspect of
my life.

It's been
two months.
I miss
your
dumb laugh
and your
lame music
and we
smile at
each other
in the hall
but you
never
wave back.

You were
the first
real thing
I'd felt
in a long
time.

You
were
right
there.

I don't know why I can't write anything today.
I am so ******* empty but my mind keeps slipping back to
you,
and I hate myself with a fervor
unmatched by any passion I've felt before and that is
terrifying.
You aren't allowed to leave without saying
you'll come back,
you aren't allowed to love her without killing your love for me first.
Why do you do this to me?
Why do I do this to myself?
Honestly, you're innocent but
I need somewhere to place the guilt other than
myself
because my arms are full and
I cannot carry anymore.
I haven't seen you in weeks.
We used to talk,
you used to love me,
now do you even ******* care?
Do you ever think of me anymore?
Because I think about you all the time.
You are the reason I've been hungover the past two days,
you are the reason my friends are worried about me,
you are the reason I can't turn in any of the poems I write to my English teacher.
I do not love you like you want me to,
at least I don't think I do,
but I do love you,
oh god I do,
but what the hell does that even mean? All I know is
today I felt like crying because of all the things you've said to me
and the only thing I knew would make it better would be if
you said my name.
You didn't.

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 have to
force myself
not to
apologize
to you
every time I
stand up
for myself.

You have
brought me
to the point
of feeling guilty
for getting hurt
when you are
inconsiderate.

I'm not sorry.
That's what
I keep
telling
myself.

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.

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.

You have circles on the inside of your arm
that make you look like an octopus.
Maybe that's why I had such a hard time getting out
when you held me.

You wrapped your arms around me
and dragged me down to the ocean floor.
I was so lost,
it was so dark,
I asked you for directions to the surface
and you told me you would take me.

I believed you.

You sunk further down
and took me with you.
I told you I couldn't breathe
and you tried to save me
(you said you tried)
but you pumped water into my lungs,
you pulled me too hard,
you left bruises on my ribs,
you tore my flesh apart.

You took me to depths
that no man can withstand.

*You told me
to float.

I woke up today with thoughts of falling from high places
and I wanted your help but you didn't reply
so I got out of bed
and pulled myself together
and surprisingly I felt okay without you there.

I have lifted this weight off of my shoulders
without your assistance.

It feels so good not to need you.

I'm not saying I've fallen for you
I'm still not sure
but you said you loved me
and I think maybe I could love you too
if you were a better you
and I know I shouldn't ask you to change
but you've been gone for a while
and no one knows where you went
and I'm hoping that when you get back
you'll be better
and maybe then we'd have a chance
and I know this is wrong of me to think
but I keep thinking it
because you said you love me
and it's been four years
and you still do
so I think I have time
to decide how I feel
and you'll still be here
waiting for me
or maybe you won't
I don't know what you think of me at this point
I don't know if you'll keep waiting
but I hope you will.
I hope you still love me.
I know that's selfish,
but I hope you do.
I think I might love you,
if you give me a chance to.

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.

When I was younger
my mom told me not to trust animals
And not to get too close
because no matter how nice they seemed
They might get scared
and bite me.

I don't know why she expects me
to trust people.

You pushed me up against a wall when we kissed.
I can't get out.
You pulled the blanket over our heads.
I'm struggling for breath.
You traced your hands over my skin.
You left fingerprints on my ribs.
You turned the lights off.
*You've seen parts of me that daylight keeps hidden.

The smoke in the bathroom
from burning the rose you gave me
smelled like cigarettes.

I know there's a poem there
but I can't find it.

I've stuck around for so long
even though I've wanted to leave
because I don't want to hurt anyone,

but I broke his heart
I let her down
I lied to him
I made her cry
I hurt them
I hurt them
I hurt them...

And I don't know what to do
because I'd hurt them by leaving,
but I hurt them by staying, too.