I should apologize for the days I am withdrawn. This is not what you signed up for. I should apologize for when I don't want to speak or communicate with touch or when I want to be without you but also do not. My indecisiveness is appalling: and I should apologize for that. But today I do not want words. I do not want to be felt because I feel you grabbing and pulling instead of caressing and comforting. You have not done anything wrong. I am just mean. I am just inside myself today and when you want to know what is up I want you to accept that I say the sky instead of pressing for more. My thoughts are poison right now. You shake me like a magic eight ball and I keep thinking try again later but saying not likely. I have the capacity to be kind but my words are pinpricks in your chest and every time I claw you with my numbness I inwardly cringe because I don't mean it, I am sorry, and I should apologize. But I can't. I can not bring myself to vocalize that I am not okay because you'll want to help and I don't want to be okay. Not yet. I want to hide in my closet and cry without company. I want time to myself today. But I don't want to hurt you. I am sorry. You are no burden. I am withdrawing. Not from you, but from me. I don't want to be kind, or resilient, or strong today. I just want to fold into myself, I want to be small and insignificant. I am tired of being fun and happy, it's tiring work. I need time to be low without an interrogation. I just want to be empty for a moment. And I should apologize.

I'm six years old. I'm six years old and my favourite colour is green because it's the colour of my eyes and I think my eyes are the prettiest things I have ever seen.

I'm eight years old. I'm eight years old and I had a nightmare so bad I felt like my eyes were deceiving me. My favourite colour is now the same pale blue as my Mum's floral bedsheets because they make me feel safe.

I'm ten years old now. I'm ten years old and I'm a big girl because I'm allowed to walk to school with my friend instead of my Mum. We walk past fields of buttercups and other pretty flowers but my new favourite colour is the peach of the rose in my front garden.

I'm twelve years old. I'm twelve years old and I can't stand the colour green anymore because the meaner people in my school decided my self worth was less important than their jokes. I don't have a favourite colour anymore, but if you ask I'll say it's purple.

I'm fourteen years old. I'm fourteen which means I've been a teenager for a year and I still can't stand the colour green. My Mum let me dye my hair for the first time and now it is red and red is my favourite colour, but if you asked I would still tell you it's purple.

I'm sixteen now. I'm sixteen and I think I know everything, I met a boy that I like for the first time, my Mum doesn't know, but I think he makes the colour green a bit easier to look at because he told me he loves my eyes and that they are the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He gave me a pair of rose tinted glasses and I'm not quite sure why, but for now my favourite colour is the deep brown of his eyes but if anyone asks, my favourite colour is still purple.

I'm eighteen now. I'm eighteen and I can finally drink without it being illegal, and I have started drinking to forget everything except the colour of my Mum's pale blue floral bedsheets, the peach of the rose in my front garden, the bright red of my hair and the green of my eyes but most of all I'm drinking to forget the purple of the bruises that litter my skin, the purple that I always insisted was my favourite colour for reasons unknown to me.

I should be twenty years old now, and my favourite colour should be the orange of the sunset, the pink of the sunrise or maybe even the yellow of the buttercups in the fields I used to walk past on my way to school, but I did not make it to twenty years old. My favourite colour was never purple and I never asked for my skin to be constantly tainted that way, but you made sure I never healed and now my Mum is laying purple flowers on my grave and she's wishing she fought more to get my favourite colour to be green again like when I was six years old and in love with myself and the world around me, because if I still loved the innocent green then maybe I wouldn't be suffering my greatest nightmare as a child with the only comfort being tucked up in the seemingly endless sea of brown. I always tricked myself and everyone else into thinking things were perfect with rose tinted glasses but the lenses shattered and the last flower you laid on my grave was the peach coloured rose from my front garden, and now the petals have wilted and all of the colour has been drained from me but this new world has more hues than I could have ever dreamed of.

somebody once asked me what falling in love felt like.

so I said, Imagine coming home after a long day at work. You just got off the phone and your ears feel numb after almost an hour of your boss screaming endless insults. You climb up the stairs, stop at your door, grab your keys and just go inside. Once you've opened the door you're suddenly hit by the most amazing smell ever. You follow the delicious scent and when you get to the kitchen, there on that table, you see the best looking croissant ever. Its shell is golden brown, flaky, and it looks warm, and the butter is melting, hugging the croissant so tenderly, like a mother would hug her child.

the person laughed, that's funny she said you have a weird way of looking at love

a few beats of silence passed by. then shyly, she turned to me, fumbling with her words. she asks, what about falling out of love? what does it feel like?

i sigh it's like biting into the delicious, butter covered, golden brown croissant, only to find out it's not your favorite flavor.

we stay silent for a long time.

why do i feel like i'm always in love?
it's because you were, with me
there is a sense of familiarity in pretty things like flowers
because we once loved them, together
what am i looking for?
you're looking for me as i look for you
i feel so lonely all the time
i wish our paths would've aligned at the same time so i could be there
why do the spaces between my fingers feel empty?
i should be there holding your hand
this bed is too big for me
i wish i could wake up to you and watch the sunlight kiss your face
maybe in the morning i'll feel better
don't forget to have your cup of coffee, i know that makes you happy
i wish somebody would hold me
i'm not strong enough to reach out to you through the boundaries of time, space, and distance
i feel like i'll never be pretty enough for anyone
to me you are unreal, the most beautiful, and i wish i could tell you
this song is too beautiful to only be heard by me
i'm listening, i'm listening
i wish i had somebody to love who loved me just as much
*i wish we weren't separated by fate and time so i could be the one to love you

my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.

tis a fine line
between darkness and sunshine
when youre in the shadows

When you first told me you cut yourself,
When I first saw the scars on your hands,
When you drowned your sorrows in alcohol,
When you took multiple Xanax pills.

When you constantly skipped school,
When you came back to school from time to time,
When you joked (perhaps not) about how everything makes you want to **** yourself,

I knew it was only about time.
Death was inevitable for you, and more of a matter of when.

I miss you, indefinitely.
I hope you are doing better.
Goodbye, my friend.
Rest in peace.