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ayb Jul 2019
I hadn't yet grown into my body
or my mind,
but I never had the time
to worry about it.
I guess I can see it now
when I keep my eyes open,
and I remember it was such a hard habit to stop
sleeping with one eye open,
and I'm afraid of going back.
I know my mind is pretty enough
when I imagine a garden
and even though it might be dying,
I'll plant plastic flowers.
will anyone notice the difference?
can you spot the differences?
ayb Jun 2019
He doesn't say my name anymore; not since the first time around. I am baby girl, angel, gorgeous. He hasn't said my name since that day.
"Well, ---, I don't think this is going to work."
That was the day I drove to the boat ramp at my lake, cut the brakes in my car, and waited.
The day I quit my job, dropped out of school, and deleted all of my social media account.
The time I dedicated all my free time - and time was all I had anymore - to researching how to recreate that fire in me and then how to treat third-degree burns.
The day I learned that time melts like chocolate when you hold it long enough, and it looks a lot like blood on my hands.
The day I learned white knuckling memories doesn't mean they seal the fractures between my fingers.
The day I learned some things just aren't mine to keep.
I've been touchier since that day; just one poke and I'm black and blue - yellow is rare, but it happens sometimes.
The doctor gave me some pills to help with the ache, and they keep me pretty full, so I don't know why I still have that gurgle in my stomach almost all the time, why I still have that itch in my veins when something is almost but not quite.
I tell myself constantly that a substitute can only hold off the craving for a little, but I need it now, and I never learn.
6.16.19
ayb Mar 2019
Jumpy. That’s what they’ll call me.
The girl who’s jumpy but doesn’t like to go too far from home or too far out of her own head. Jumpy. Around people. From conclusion to conclusion to somewhere way further outside the lines than I should be coloring. Hey, maybe someone came in and scared me and it all happened so fast. You can’t ever fully erase anything, you know?
What will they think of me?
Will they ask why I left?
“I was *****,” I will tell them. I may say more. I may not. Either way, my face will burn. Either way, I will regret it. Either way, they will be more lenient with me because I am glass and they don’t want to have to pay for what they break. I am not worth the extra $2.50 out of their bank accounts.
Do they all feel like this? This daze, where even when they’re wearing their glasses, the furniture blends into the floor blends into the walls blends into the ceiling blends into the doorways and they can’t see the exit either? The people moving in front of them are the ants that I stared at for hours at a time outside my father’s house in over 100 degree weather because anything is better than rat infestations. Anything is better than hands all over you. Anything is better than the drunkenness that permeates throughout the house, and yes, it is contagious.
Yes, I am contagious. You will want to wash me off of you before you even touch me. That’s okay, I do it too. Only it won’t stay off of me. I live inside of myself, but not really. There is not that solid final Russian doll inside the others. That is not me, and it never will be. And I’m sorry if you’re wasting your time looking, because you just will never find her. And that’s something you will have to either accept or move on from. So which will it be?
ayb Jul 2017
I.
Put a hand on your stomach.
Diaphragmatic breathing eases anxiety.
So does counting.
I count how many times my stomach rises
until my pulse lowers.

II.
Grounding keeps your feet on Earth,
your mind in the present.
It's called 5-4-3-2-1, but I never get to one.
Five things I see:
starting with all the ashes of things I've burned -
cigarettes to incense to old pictures of us;
posters haphazardly taped to my wall
threatening to fall off at any second;
feathers of my dreamcatcher tangling together;
my ceiling fan rocking from side to side;
an emptiness that fills the room,
painted in the white on the walls.
Four things I can touch:
grasping at words that are working against me;
the oils of my sweating hands,
nervously binding me to my human exterior;
everything else is too far away to touch.
Three things I hear:
the drumming of my anxious fingers
on anything nearby;
the scribble of my pen;
my thoughts demanding to find something
that will get me heard.
Hush, please. Hush.

III.
Your name still carves itself onto my tongue
and settles in my dreams.
You always were good at making yourself
feel at home.

IV.
I am the type of girl whose entire body
becomes whatever color I am dying my hair.
Today, I am red.

V.
I don't feel the words slide off my tongue anymore.
I barely notice them.
I watch them jab at you,
and I feel bad.
I don't mean them.

VI.
"You aren't looking at the whole picture."
The canvas is too big.
I'll take a step back.
My therapist says I take too many steps back.
I'm just trying to see the whole picture.

VII.
The foggy weather proves that I can keep my feet on Earth
and my head in the clouds.
I feel my eyes wide as a deer
as I remember my first love telling me
deer are the most stupid animals,
that they deserve to die,
hours after telling me I remind him of one.

VIII.
That sinking feeling in your stomach
doesn't only occur on roller coasters.

IX.
My head rests in the space behind closed eyes,
the one where shapes and faces appear and disappear
as they please.
I see a door floating in that space,
and I lock my emotions in there
since you hand me the ones I should feel
as necessary.

X.
There are days I see people as people
instead of the feelings they give me -
dread, anger, fear, love.
Their ****** features soften and become more human.
Today is one of those days.

XI.
Today, I see you as human instead of the feelings you give me.
Your ****** features harden,
the look you give me is literally shocking.
I feel more fear than love.

XII.
I fear the sound of slamming doors.
They sound like you.
They are rough,
and I am weak.

XIII.
She showed me a song while singing along.
I wanted to hang onto that feeling,
so I listened to it alone.
It's not the same.

XIV.
I'm talking right now,
but they're unimportant words.
They'll be forgotten in the next five minutes.
Would you believe me,
saying that I once had gardens in my mind?
these are the days that i feel like i shouldn't exist. maybe i shouldn't.
ayb Dec 2016
i went looking for my home and wound up in a hotel room for one -
what does that say about me?
the view is nice -
no oceans in sight,
rather tall buildings that add daylight to the night sky.
when my mom and i rent a hotel room,
we get a room with a queen bed and share it;
tonight, i went looking for my home and i ended up in a hotel room for one
with a king-sized bed big enough for three,
but i'm the only one here.
i went looking for my home and i wound up in a hotel room for one -
what does that say about me?
i think this is the closest i will ever have to a home
ayb Aug 2016
if i tattoo a one-way ticket to heaven on my wrist,
will god remember me as an angel
and accept me back into heaven?
will he make me a priority
and guide me by the hand
and help me back to my home?
on earth, i am so close to hell,
and while i'm also so close to heaven (home), but i'm so far from it.
and i constantly have nightmares that you'll forget me
long before sleep caresses your brain.
how could falling for a human have made me fall? you have dreams! and wishes! and fears!
i have so many new fears;
they drag me down, keep me close to earth.
this new heart creates a melody i don't recognize.
i don't feel real.
and these nightmares won't stop.
i think it was when i forgot to wish her sweet dreams -
her nightmares denied me sleep for an entire week.
and god clipped my wings before i fell so i'd have to exist here,
and they fell off feather by feather.
and i've been trying to piece myself back together,
but there are fragments of me everywhere,
pieces of myself in everyone,
and i can't get them back; all i can do is cut myself on the memories.
all i do now is drive.
i wait for it to storm,
and last night the sky kept lighting up
while it was midnight,
and i swear storms are the closest any of us will ever get to heaven
unless i can convince god that i no longer wish to be fallen.
what if someone got lucifer's story mixed up somewhere along the way? what if there was a misunderstanding? what if he wants to be forgiven? what if we're all just fallen angels?
ayb Jul 2016
I. Tell her you need to talk. Look her in the eyes, and tell her everything you've always wanted to tell her. Tell her all your thoughts - the good ones, the bad ones, the nasty ones, the irrelevant ones. Find a way to make the nasty ones less nasty.
II. Unfollow her on social media, and defriend her on Facebook. Delete her number and all those pictures you took of her because you didn't want to forget. Forget. It's okay to cry over her.
III. Change your favorite color from gold with olive specs (like her eyes) to just gold (like sunsets; like it was before you met her). Colors shouldn't be all about her anymore. They never should've been. You can cry about her.
IV. Don't let the memories of her make you bitter. Don't drive past her house. Don't look for her on the street. Delete the playlist you complied with songs about her. If you see her, wish her the best but not to her. You can cry about her.
V. Don't regret leaving her. Don't resent yourself for listening to her when she told you to leave; don't ask her to take you back. You can cry about her.
VI. Pray she'll stop coming to you in your dreams and nightmares. Know she doesn't really miss you. She said it herself: she's happier now. Wish her the best. You can cry about her.
VII. When people ask about her, speak of her how you would speak about someone who passed away. Only speak of her with love in your voice; speak of her how you did when you were in love with her.
VIII. Realize you are no longer in love with her. You can cry about that.
IX. Don't ever go back to her. Don't live in the memories. Don't cry about her anymore. Drink your favorite tea again because you like it a hell of a lot more than her favorite. Wear the perfume you have that smells like hers. Pretend the comfort of her exists without her.
X. Repeat as necessary.
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