I don't want to hear it. I wish I could just slice my ears off with the chilling words you spoke to me from across the four foot table in the coffee shop that day.
I don't want to see it. You're repetitive posts of how you hate the idea of giving your all for someone who doesn't give anything back.
I don't want to feel it. The guilt brought down on me like a brick wall slamming against my fading heart.
I don't want to taste it. Your cigarette stained lips touch mine in the middle of a drunken night.
I don't want to smell it. The burning fumes of our so called relationship going down in a rolled up blunt.


You didn't want to hear it. From news from our mutual friends saying that I have moved on to someone new.
You didn't want to see it. The fact that I constantly gave it my all through the past five months we shared.
You didn't want to feel it. Loneliness brought onto you by passing and going promises to hang out and worthless ***.
You didn't want to taste it. The unsatisfying flavor of depression take over your mouth making it dry with desperation.
You didn't want to smell it. The shower of perfume that once infiltrated your car and stayed there for nights on end.


*I gave you all I could. And maybe I am heartless for moving on so quickly, but for you to attempt to make me feel bad for it is wrong. For all those endless nights of waiting for your call is now over and you can now sleep peacefully knowing if you ever need to write my eulogy you have plenty to say

Do not adore her because she will never believe you when you look into her eyes and say that she is beautiful.

Do not crave her because she will never trust you when you say that you feel forever in her touch.

Do not cherish her because the time you get to spend with her will never be enough.

But most of all, do not love her because she will never love you half as much as she hates herself.

It's always the same
"How are you?"
But are the answers actually honest
Probably not
Ask the questions that matter
the ones that hurt
the ones that strike a feeling in the soul
"How did that scar get there?"
"Have you ever felt your life slip before your eyes?"
"Is a rock bottom a place you've been to?"
"Have you experienced love? What is it like?"
"Do you hurt or get hurt?"
"Is receiving or giving love more significant to you?"
"What does your past look like?"
"What moment were you most terrified at?"
"Do you know what it's like to have a broken heart?"
We're not here to beat
around the bush
Let's get in each other's minds
figure out why we hurt
where we've been
and what we had to go through to get here

I want to experience what it feels like to wholeheartedly love who I've become. To realize that one day the only person I need to keep sane is myself. Independence isn't about doing things on your own as compared to realizing what can be accomplished by yourself. If as if you are surprising and surpassing your own high expectations. And if what they say is true, that we ourselves are our own worst critics, then so be it. But when I wake up in the morning I want to feel proud that I  made it through an eventful dream, unlike the nightmares that still scare me even when I'm awake. Or the gloom that hangs over my mirror every morning while I cake on powders and gloops of color toning make up in order to be suitably eye catching. My push up bras don't even push up my lack of chest fat but in turn let my self confidence sag. I'm not always short enough for the boy I like to be a picture perfect couple. Nor am I tall enough to enjoy how the skyline kisses the horizon. My **** doesn't sway the way my steps take me further and further down judgmental halls with eyes that can shatter someone's assurance of themselves. My skin isn't naturally glowing due to the dull lighting guiding me way through this dim settled life I have set up for myself. The natural hair on top of my head isn't constantly in place; and alike the baby hairs, I myself am flowing wildly by which ever the wind blows. And I wish I can say I will someday appreciate the small things that I believe are physically wrong with me. Like the way my freckles become more noticeable in the summer. Or how my hair becomes darker in the winter. Or how my birthmark on my leg reminds me of South Carolina. Or how my fingers are allowed to touch everything beautiful.
*That's the way I want to be. That's the way I will be.

Because your mind is bigger than the milky way. As it stretches and bends between universes all i can think about is how your eyes burn holes into my absence. You sheets cannot even compare to how ***** your intentions are with each and every outstanding other walking the same plain as you. If as if your field branches while setting fire to innocent people with sins as cold as black. Yet at one point i thought i connected your stars. I thought the planets were completely aligned for only me. I thought all the galaxies just matched up perfectly together in such harmony that the gods would be jealous of it's perfection. But i quickly realized you my existence is nothing compared to this entire space