I never believed in soulmates
the idea of having one person
hand picked for you by the universe
always left a sour taste in my mouth
I wanted to think I had more say
in the life I was creating
but then I met you and everything changed

Before you things didn’t make sense
it was like I was moving one frame
behind everyone else
but when you came into my life
everything finally sped up

Everyone told me love wasn’t possible
there are no such things as soulmates,
but you fit together with me
in ways I didn’t know were possible

You made me feel reckless
from the moment we first touched
I’ve been on fire
and even without you here the flames
are still burning

I can only picture a future with you in it
so maybe soulmates are real after all,
or maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic
who’s in love with a boy
that made everything he touched
feel like home

It’s been four months since you left  
but you still find a way into
everything

Every piece of art I make
every song and playlist,
it’s been four months
but I’ve considered taking up smoking
just to taste stale cigarettes
and iced coffee every morning
to replace the emptiness
of knowing you’re no longer mine
to kiss

Little things make me miss you most
like plaid pants and thick silver rings
sat upon middle fingers,
blonde haired boys with
dark roots and deep under eye circles,
it all comes back to you

I haven’t slept peacefully in months
when I close my eyes
all I see is you.
I was never a restless sleeper before you
but now I toss and turn
my mind full of questions
I’m too scared to ask

When you told me you needed time
I told you I would support you
and each day you’re growing
but I can’t help but see
that you’re still struggling.

You promised if we were meant to be,
if you were meant to recover,
then we would find each other again
but I can’t let go of you completely
and I’m scared to let life
take its course
because I don’t like who I am without you
and I need you to stay alive
or I’ll be nothing

Sometimes when life is harder than it needs to be and my lungs are filled with tv static and all the words I’ve choked down over the years I yearn for the feeling of a blade across skin. I can’t help but look at faded pink scars with envy over a time I could get away with opening my veins as a way to cope. The smell of blood makes me sick, reminds me of a time I was worse off than I am now. When I couldn’t go more than a few hours without draining my body dry. But a sick part of me misses it. My brain longs for one more chance to feel the sting of metal across thin skin. I miss having something physical to bring me back to being alive. When my brain gets foggy and I don’t remember how it feels to be myself I miss having a way to clear the smoke from behind my eyes. Self destruction was my better half. When I was hurting myself I was a better daughter. A more attentive friend. I’m only my best for others when I’m destroying myself.

I’ve always been my mothers protector. I learned to diffuse fights like bombs, ten years old holding my breath and listening through thin walls for the first sounds of broken glass or the sting of a hand across skin. I learned hostage negotiation. How to stop someone from taking the final step off of the ledge, coaxing them down to reality in just enough time to stop the night from ending in red. I learned how to read him like a book, knew exactly what pitch his voice would take before he started spitting fire through his clenched teeth. I learned how to clean up blood in the hallway. And living room. And kitchen. Bathroom and stairs. I learned how to follow a bread trail of my mothers pain painted across the house in rust. I learned how to clean wounds that weren’t mine, some nights I was more paramedic than daughter. More police officer than child. My house has always been a battlefield and for some reason I’ve always stationed myself at the front line. I learned to put out fires before there were flames. Closing windows to stop oxygen from letting it grow, a fire hose hidden beneath my tongue. Silence makes me uneasy. Silence is the beginning of the end because it only lasts for so long. The world is unforgiving and loud about it. The only thing silence brings is ringing in my ears and a noose made of hands around her neck. Over the years I’ve learned to be my mothers therapist. I listen to her as she cries and I pet her head and I tell her that she deserves better. I try to calm my shaking hands as I clean up her broken body, ignoring yellowing bruises on her tear streaked cheeks. I never learned how to be a kid, or a teenager and sometimes I’m furious about having no memories of being a child but so many of being terrified. People always ask how I could be so tired when all I do is work a part time job. But keeping my mother alive has been a full time job since I was old enough to form memories and my boss is an *** and I don’t get days off. I’ve worked double time on every holiday without complaint and even though in some ways I know I should quit I don’t know how to. I was born for the job, nobody else can do it as well as me. I don’t want anyone to replace me in my spot because what if they can’t fill the shoes I left behind.

I’ve never known what home felt like. I never knew a home could be more than a place to spend the empty hours of my day, then I met you and all of that changed. Home has never been a place, it’s been you all along. Even when I didn’t know you, even when you were living a life you never knew I would be part of, even when we were both struggling to move on. Home has always been you. Home is your sea glass eyes and freckles on your cheeks and the feeling of your heartbeat beneath my palm. I can no longer go home, I’ve been partially evicted. You say you need to fumigate yourself before I can move back in, that I’ll only be homeless for as long as it takes you to **** all the bad things inside of you. At first I was okay with it, surely it would be easy to find somewhere else to rest my heart while you got yourself sorted, but it’s been three weeks since I moved out and I’m beginning to fear that I’ll never again come home.

I do not know how to be your friend.
We started as lovers, two souls
lost and wandering
searching for someone to complete.
But I never wanted you to
complete me
I wanted you to compliment me
I wanted us to collaborate on a love
so real it left us
breathless.

You, the boy with sea glass eyes,
me, the girl with golden hair.
Together we could’ve been poetry.
But your heart has been glued together
too many times
and all I have is duct tape
and chewing gum
so you told me we needed to be friends
while you found a way to put yourself
together.

I do not know how to be your friend
but I will try to fall in love with you
platonically.
I’ll try my best to forget the feeling
of your chapped lips on my neck,
the warmth of your calloused hands
in my own.
I may not know how to be your friend
but I know how to appreciate you
for everything you have been
and everything you will be.
All I can hope is that this will be enough
while you learn to save yourself.

There is a boy at work with laughter that feels like October. Kind eyes hidden behind shy smiles and butterfly wings for eyelashes. He makes early mornings feel like Christmas, I can’t be sad when I’m around him. When he’s beside me I forget everything that has ever hurt me. But there’s a girl with blonde hair and green eyes, a girl that radiates positivity and beauty. We’re almost the same but she’s so much better. I didn’t know it was possible to be a knockoff of yourself before I met her. She holds his heart and it stings to know that I’ll never be the one to see him smile in moonlight or hear him sing in the shower. Autumn boy you make me feel alive again, but your beautiful girl makes you feel immortal and I could never compete.