locked in this box pushed to the corner of my room
are letters that form
knots in my stomach every time i read them,

who knew words could send such pain?

my mind is trying to escape the little prison the
words set up and yet
it's pointless because i remembered every single word
that they wrote-
telling me why they had lost hope in me,
telling me why bright stars always fade,
telling me why i wasn't good enough
and god, i'm sure they didn't mean for this to happen
they probably didn't know that the words they
wrote would end up creating dozens of
little paper cuts that run on my arms
almost like little soldiers marching towards
war except there is no enemy, not really, except
the guy who works at Walgreen who told me they only
have orange bandages but orange was your favorite color
and it reminds me of tulips like the ones you would pick for me
and now i'm crying even more and i'm at the
corner of Happy and Healthy except i'm neither and i just wish
that i could throw out the **** box but i can't
because if i do then i don't have any proof
that you are real; sometimes i wish you weren't but i'd rather
live in a world where you exist but you ignore me than
a world without you

then again, there aren't enough bandages in the world
to aid the wounds given to me by
paper cuts

(h.l.)