I spill out the contents of my heart
Every time I flip to a new page in a notebook
I am forced to face my demons
Cut them carefully in half
Let them pour out
Then clean up the blood and guts I've left behind
And the mess I've made
Always turns out to be prettier
Than the process it took to get there
I turn the sting of open wound relatable
My bruises ring purple and black
And I let people touch them
Let them poke at the ugly
So that maybe they can find comfort in knowing
That they aren't theirs
Pain is so attractive
When it isn't yours to wear
When you don't have to carry it around all day on your back
And then tuck it into the same bed as you
It is difficult to drift off at night
When your pain speaks lullabies into your ear
It is impossible to sleep
When your pain wakes you up every five minutes
To remind you of its existence
It is routine
To go through the day and break off parts of it
Hand them to people
So they can find solace
In trying something they'll never know well enough to hate
The salt of it only tastes good for so long
And after a while
It begins to sit uncomfortably
It is so easy
To admire broken teeth
When they aren't in your mouth
So easy
To find scars beautiful
When they aren't on your body
I have gotten used to putting my distress on display
I am used to it bearing it with ease
And my body has become a ******* number 5
For everyone to awe at
The disaster and mess is striking
When it isn't yours to have to put back together
But the appeal is only temporary
And my hands are raw from the cleansing
There is still so much stitching to be done
To keep myself from falling apart completely
I am taking caution
When it comes to opening up
Holding the binding of book by its thread
I am too terrified by the inevitability
Of losing
To spill
Any more
So I am done pouring out
Until I find someone
Who can love me
Empty.