One day I will look in the mirror and find a stranger

There are studs of silver all over my room from when I was younger
and all I wanted to do was shove unknown metals through my skin
and call it rebellion.

There are black nailpolish bottles, and scissors for cutting my own hair
and face paint for when I wanted nothing else but to look like Bowie
I am not a normal teenage girl, and I think I guess I'm an adult now.

I kissed boys on the mouth when I was wishing they'd kiss my soul
I tried to drown myself in the bathtub until I figured out that I couldn't breathe-
and that I wanted to.

There is nothing poetic about the way that I want so badly on Saturday nights
to cut into my own skin with whatever sharp object I can find
There is nothing poetic about how I haven't left the house in three months except
to go buy hair dye so I don't have to recognize myself anymore.

I don't find poetry in the stars anymore because they remind me too much of you.

I looked in the mirror today and found a stranger
and nothing about this is poetic.

I once knew a girl who wore flowers in her hair
and hope in her heart
she carried herself with a smile and a straight back
and she never slouched once or told anyone she was sad

she had long brown hair and big brown eyes
and she loved the universe, and everything in it

she once told me that she wanted to grow up and do everything
she didn't say what, she just wanted to do-
she wanted to be
and I didn't know what she meant but now I do
because all I want to do is be, for her

because she didn't get to grow up
and even though she ended her life,
the girl with the flowers in her hair
did not **** herself

words did;
words uttered to hurt
and they hurt, they really hurt
but she doesn't anymore

and even though she's gone,
she's not really gone because I see her everywhere I look
I see her in the people that were good to her
I see her in the leaves that I avoid stepping on,
at my childhood home, where she visited for my birthday parties
when I pass her house
and when I go to our old school

I see her in the good in the world
she taught me lessons I needed to know
and even though she took her own life,
she taught me more about living than dying

I once knew a girl who wore flowers in her hair
and even though she's gone, she's not

you had two tattoos,
long brown hair
and brown eyes that had green flecks in the sunlight

you had big dreams
and a scraggly beard
and a love for me that I didn't understand

you had an acoustic guitar
and calloused fingers
and strong shoulders

you had a love for poetry
and a hate for your dad
and a strong nicotine addiction

you had my heart in your hand
and my secrets in your mind
and my fingers intertwined in yours

you had a lot of hopes
but they were never enough
because you took them
and shot them down
with silver bullets
using the same gun
your mother used
to escape

eyes like supernovas and just as stellar
your eyes were my favorite constellations
your pupils orbit your view of the world
slightly dilating when you see someone you love
I hope they dilate when you see me
I never owned a telescope but looking into your eyes
was the closest thing
galaxies kissed your lips and wanted to stay
so they painted themself in your mind,
keeping vibrant and brilliant forms of stars
each thought connecting the dots, forming orion’s belt
and your fingertips traced euphoria in the form of the big dipper
and the little dipper was the curve of your arms
where I would rest my head sometime soon
and soon I will look into those bright eyes
and I will feel at home in saturns rings
which were outlined in your irises
and you’ll look into mine
and our sets of planet-like pupils
will expand into blackholes

never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
she’ll end up caring for you more than she cares about poetry
and that will mean destruction for both of you
she will compare you to the stars and the breath out of her own lungs
and she will count the minutes until she can be with you next
this is entirely troublesome, especially if you don’t feel the same way
although if you don’t, a heartache will be cause for more inspiration
I suppose love is a win win situation for writers-
fall in love, you have inspiration
fall out of it, you have inspiration

never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
she will get to attached
she will love you too much
she will fall in love with the curve of your spine
and the form of your smile
and the structure of your bones
and the placement of your words on her mouth
and the way your hair falls floppily out of place
and the way you don’t love her at all

never fall in love with a writer
never fall in love with the girl who writes poems about you
never fall in love with me

to everyone I’ve ever loved

i.
you were the first
you taught me so much
i spent six years loving you
and you never loved me back
you taught me how to quit
how to give up
how to fail
my only wish is that i learned sooner

ii.
i never knew that a simple “thank you”
could hurt the same as cold steel
carving up my body

i offered you my heart
and you told me
i could keep it

iii.
i’m sorry


iv.
you’ve ruined me
to this day i still dream of you
i cry out from fitful sleep
and wake with your name upon my lips

every word I write
is a futile attempt
to relive the blissful moments
i spent in your presence

the distance between us
is an ocean of sorrow
and i
cannot
swim