I have good days.
I have bad days.

On the bad days; I have no control.
I do not control my words, my actions, or my mind.
Those are controlled by another me.
The worst me.
Sometimes on those days I can't get out of bed,
but that's okay because;
on good days; I can smile, I can sing,
I can laugh with my friends, and not have a care in a world.
Those are the days I like the best.

I cannot control what type of day I will have,
that is not for me to decide,
but I have decided not give up.
I have decided that I will never stop trying
to have more good days than bad.
I will be the best me there is.
The one who smiles.
The one who laughs,
and the one who sings.
s.s.

I love you,
but I can't be with you.
It's not the distance.
It's not the time.
It's all in my mind.
I'm not stable.
I'm not pure.
You deserve the best.
You deserve more.
Sadly I can't give you that.
So, RIP to our memories,
and let them bring you no pain.
Someday you'll thank me.
For you'll never be the same.
You can do better,
and I've shown you that.
So goodbye and farewell.
I wish you all that you deserve.

Sometimes I just feel like I'm crazy.  I get these thoughts that come through my head that feel alien, foreign.  They don't come from the me I want to be they come from the me that I'm constantly running from.  The me that hides behind the sweet smile and kind gestures.  This me is not pretty, she is not smart, she is not kind.  This me is a monster, who wants nothing more than carnage.  Nothing can stay perfect too long, and I am spiraling into the me that I don't want to be.
Happy New Year,

From the old me.
s.s.

I stand before you
accused by some fool.
You call me a witch,
but I say you are foolish to agree.
I but a simple girl
I mean harm to no one.
You demand I confess to my sins of witchcraft
I'm firm when I look you the eye and tell you,
“ I cannot”.
I go three days and three nights
with only water and some stale bread
in the damp dark of the jail.
I almost fear my hunger has made me mad
when I see your face appear at my cell.
Though am weak,
I rise to greet your scornful face.
Again, you demand I confess.
You wish to make an example of me.
Yet again I look  you in the eye and reply;
“ I  cannot."
You storm out in anger raving about how I shall hang,
but I will not be tried for something I did not do.
I will not ruin my name for the games of the fool.
I stand at the gallows and you demand one last time my confession
A single tear rolls down my face as I look to the crowd gathered to see my end.
Standing tall, I whisper
“I cannot.”
s.s.

If it is okay with you, I only want one thing for Christmas. This Christmas I would just like to be happy.

Sincerely,
S.S.

do you remember when we went to the mountains?
yeah, it was an awful trip, and nothing went right
at the end, when it was over, do you remember?
we were packing up our desert igloo to leave it all behind us
you were coordinating our friends loading the truck
it was so stressful, and everyone was tired and cranky
the trip did not go how anyone wanted

I was getting more and more frustrated and you could tell
you came over and asked me what I needed
this is where it gets good, do you remember?
I looked up at you and I could not find the words
I was so overwhelmed; I did not know what I needed
so, you just hugged me
it was exactly what I needed
perfect, safe, home

I looked up to thank you and then
I saw you. for the first time in a while, I saw you.
did you feel the change? do you remember?

You sir, are the apple of my eye.
You are the stitches holding my wound together.
You are the glue holding the pages to my spine.
You make me whole.
You are yes ma'am polite and southern pretty.
Rough hands and a soft smile
You make me swoon.
You are are all smiles and good graces
until the whiskey makes you mean.
Then you are fire
Eyes blazing to hot to touch
You break my bones like shattered glass
You paint my skin like the sun setting on a murky lake
You sing a sad sad song and I want to make you okay
You swing like you are hitting a fast pitch ball
lights out

This is not a poem about ****** assault.

This is not a poem about you taking everything from me.

This is not a poem about you taking the little girl I was once and forcing her to see how terrible the world can truly be.

This is not a poem about you taking my 4.0 GPA and shoving it under your bed with the remnants of my underwear.

This is not a poem about you taking the comfort out of physical affection.

This is not a poem about you pretending not to hear me when I begged you to stop.

This is not a poem about me pretending to fall asleep so I could pretend like I didn't remember it happened again.

This is not a poem about you blaming the alcohol.

This is not a poem about you blaming me.

This is not a poem.

Hi.  Hello.
It’s been awhile, I hope you are because I am.
Well, mostly.  
I found the one who makes me laugh makes me smile
Staves of the darkness so for just a little while
I forget.
I forget that a piece of me is broken, missing.
A piece of me is gone and when I go to give it to the one who makes me feel okay
Everything is not okay I scream and fight and push away
And he’s just so confused.
Things were good we worked through this there hasn’t been a meltdown in oh so many months
He talks he soothes does everything I told him to do but still I’m fighting I’m crying
I’m not there anymore
I’m in another place another time where there were no smiles only tears and those tread are pouring out now as I fight within my self to get back to the place where things are fine and I’m surrounded by love. And then
It’s over.
I’m back he’s holding me and everything is grand
But even now he hesitates to hold my hand afraid
To hurt me
To send me into a spiral that maybe this time I won’t be able to pull myself out of.
And even though I thought I had forgiven you
That I was past it I had regained what you took.
I was wrong and I can’t forgive you
Not yet.

It's a bad one.
s.s.

today, i woke up and the sun was shining
the birds are singing
people are laughing
but i can't enjoy it.

there is this feeling that is creeping from my toes as the light floods my room.
i feel worthless.
i feel exhausted.
there is no more fight left in me

i wake up like this most days now
but it's okay
even on these days where everything is unbearable and my skin is on fire
i know it can't last forever

today, i want to die
but i won't
because there's a chance that tomorrow i'll want to live.

Have you ever seen the way fat bubbles under your skin? Fat is such a beautiful thing that is often talked about in such a negative way. Personally I love to watch the fat bubble after the red is done running red and I feel the immense calm that follows. Goodnight.

you make me
want to write
about only the best of things,
but
although i write from my heart,
my heart can't get past the wall
that my brain has created
to keep the sadness at bay.
s.s.

I HATE
that I require such validation in all areas of my life.  Even poetry, that which is supposed to be my safe space, my outlet, never feels good enough. Insufficient writting, insufficient funds, insufficient happiness. Its all so stuffy and weird. Stiff and dry. Nothing is as it should be.
It's all just so hard.
I HATE
that if I don't get the attention the little dark space inside of me constantly yearns for. I just hide in my car and cry.  Tears that are the end of the world.  shaking my entire being.  Shaking my core.  My bones rattle and my teeth grind.  I'm screaming and screaming.
It's all just so hard.
I HATE
that I never feel good enough being just average. I always have to be the best or I might as well be the worst.  If I am not #1 I don't exist.
i hate that it is all just...so...hard.

s.s