it was just that kind of day.
the kind of day where no matter what i did, it wasn't good enough.
the kind of day where i couldn't speak in fear of bursting out crying or laughing or both.

i set it all out in front of me.
books, papers, bracelets, drawings, notes, notebooks filled with diary entries,
i laid it all out in front of me.
looking at these things i felt myself getting smaller.
want to feel like nothing again?
close your eyes and you'll hear what they all said about you, like it's happening right now.

when i'm happy i sometimes forget how the scars on my ankles, thighs, and wrists got there.
three years,
then one,
then four months,
then none.
now i won't keep track but if i think hard enough it's been almost three years again.

then it turned into That kind of day,
everywhere i looked i could hear my parents fighting and even the floor looked like your eyes.
i listened to the songs that got me through it and i listened to the songs that made me feel okay with being small.