This time next week, I hope I will be breathing the air that I’ve been gasping for. I didn’t realize that four months could feel like four broken bones, two arms, two legs, all secretly cracked, only felt under the weight of my own invisible dread. It’s okay that I went back to being sixteen for awhile. It’s not what I wanted, what I planned for, but it’s what happened. I woke up with butterflies in my stomach and the rug ripped out from under me. My car sits in the driveway and I don’t drink coffee anymore because it makes me shake and I don’t know how to handle the shaking like I used to. I never used to worry about sharing drinks yet today I’ve washed my hands fifteen times and still don’t trust them. But it’s August and I’m twenty-three again. Or at least I will be when the key slides into the lock and I take that big gulp and pray for it to add a few years back that were taken away this summer. Everything is a circle cut in half, alternating between hollow and whole, snaking through time with hysterical pseudo endings and beginnings that are really just doors leading down a different hallway in the same ******* infinite hotel. Sometimes Wes Anderson’s, sometimes The Shining. I don’t have to listen to the yelling for the rest of my life if I don’t want to. I don’t have to be so unhappy if I don’t want to. Maybe next Saturday I will drive to the coffee shop on the corner and order something decaf and sugary and thank god that it’s over. It’s over. *******. The leaves will be turning orange soon. I almost forgot.

ＪＪｓｂｄｋｓｎｄｋｋｄｍｘｍｊｓｈＪｕｓｔｌｅｔｍｅｄｉｅｍｍｍｋｂｈｂｘｊｄｎｘｎｂｄｊｘｂｄｎｘｎｎｘｎｘｎＩｍｓｏｔｉｒｅ­ｄｏｆｔｈｉｓｎｓｊｓ ｎｋｋｓｂｄｎｄｎｂｄｔｈｅｓｅ ｔｅａｒｓ ｗｏｎｔｓｔｏｐｊｄｊｄｎｎ ｚｎｊｓｎｎｄｕｄｎｄｋｄｋｎｆｋｄｍｓｓｎｆｎｊｄｎｄｎｎｄｂｄｂｄｂｄｎＷｈｙｔｈｅｐａｉｎｓｔｉｌｌｌｉｖｅｓｉｎ ｍｙｈｅａｒｔｊｊｘｎｘｊｘｊｄｎ ｍｙｋｄｊｄｖｊｓｎｄｊｃｊｎｄｎｄｎｃｎｘｋｘｎｋｘｎｄｋｄｋｊｄｎｓｋｘｈｊｓｈｄｊｄｄｎｄｅＩｍｓｏｆｕｃｋｉｎｇｔｉｒｅｄ­ｍｓｎｎｄｋｓｎｘｏｎｓｈｘｉｄｎｋｘｎｄｊｓｊｄｂｊｄｋｓｌｍｓｎｄｊｊｄｂｄｉｓｂｄｊｊｄｋｓｎｄｊｄｈｂｓｎｄｎｎｄｊｄｊｄ­ｎｄｎｄ


Ｙｏｕｌｌｎｅｖｅｒｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ ｍｅ

I wonder what'd it be like to find my own body sprawled out in the kitchen
Another tragedy that could've been prevented
If the dumb girl had just vented
But honestly no one would listen
People would think she was crazy
And no one was guaranteed to keep her secrets
Too judge mental
She didn't need this
I wonder what'd it be like knowing the last thing you said was bye
And then find my slit wrists and blood on the floor tonight
I'm trying to stay strong
I know taking my life is wrong
Trying to convince myself I have too many reasons to live
But my brain is an active pessimist
It won't assist
She just wants to insist
My heart wants me to give in
My soul is trying to escape
She said that she wouldn't leave but it's too messy to stay
She needs to be cleansed
She is covered in dirt from being locked in the bin
Contemplating ending my own life
I hate pain but that'll end all
Watch my own body fall
Red rivers flow from my wrists
I wonder what'd it be like to find my own body sprawled out in the kitchen
Yet another tragedy that could've been prevented
But I don't want to talk
And they don't care enough to listen

You stuck a knife in my heart
as you walked away, one final time
and you twisted the blade,
when you never looked back

paper boy.
write the words you want to read on my surface
turn me into the novel you want to lose yourself in
write your prayers in cursive and have me wearing my praise for you,
wearing my faith in you,
my heart on my envelope sleeve.
my absolute trust
that you will not rip me into pieces and scatter me on a parting wind;
if you burn me, please remember to ******* out.

paper boy, paper boy.
i'm not strong enough to last for very long
you can see all of my creases, my ripped edges, my stains;
but i can keep your secrets folded into myself
and i promise you, your words will remain
just try to keep my dry
my inky blackness tends to spill when my eyes are leaking

paper boy.
if you want to upgrade to something with a metal spine
more hard drive, durability
i'll understand
you only have to write your breakup songs upon my chest
and i'll take those lyrics to the grave with me
when you lay my tattered shreds to rest

I watched my father scrunch his eyebrows together
whenever my mother said something he didn't like,
his impatience seeping through his dark skin,
apparent in the way he turned his body away
as if he wanted to run from all this
but he's trapped now, trapped forever.
I listened as my mother told me she did not want to stay
and my brother and I are the only things anchoring her unto this godforsaken house
of peeling white paint and crumbling walls and endless shouts and burning words.
I watched them hold each other when things got tough
and I knew it wasn't because of love—
it was because they were the nearest things to each other.
At a very young age I knew love was something that dissolves,
a flower you water everyday,
a story you never stop writing,
And some people, they don't know,
that they have stopped watering,
and they're running out of ink, only on page 3.
Little girl me knew.
Big girl me continues to watch it unfold,
dead petals in their hair
and dark ink between their fingers—
dry

Please don't leave me alone
with all of my thoughts.