i don’t count aloud anymore.
i can't stand to hear your name,
such a common word.
it doesn't matter the context-
i still go quiet every time.

i used to pick up pennies, called them lucky.
i remember picking up a few
on our way back to your place.
nowadays i don't give them a second glance.
it's not their worth i've forgotten.

they say one is the loneliest number.
is that why you did it?
because you felt you’d earned it
after all this time being by yourself--
that you deserved it?
what about me,
did i?

i remember exactly what i wore that day:
short shorts, a big baggy t shirt.
i haven't worn those shoes since (and i so loved them).
they were these expensive purple velvet platforms;
i'd actually had to beg my mother to buy them for me.
"you better wear them", she warned.
that day i went home with you was
the first time i'd ever worn those shoes.
and the last.
sorry mom.

alone again.
on your own again.
he’s staying,
you're leaving.
but what’s left
behind?
he is.
your hopes and dreams.
your future.
your love.
where are you going that
is more important than those?
why leave what makes you happy
if it only makes you miserable
to leave what you've known
for the unfamiliar?
there are no refunds here.
think about this,
thoroughly.
do you really want to go?
but also:
can you really see yourself staying
here forever?
you come to us for answers to
questions you can’t even admit to having.

all she had were the memories,
which were fading away.
they left her slowly,
until she herself began
to fade away with them.

she believed that she had nothing,
and so that’s what she became.

you tell me you’re afraid
but what exactly are you afraid of?
are you really so put off by change,
or do you just hate the idea of no longer
having a damsel in distress to rescue?
when you first met me i was as low as i’ve ever been.
popping pills and drinking myself away.
dragging blades across my skin and dreaming of
painting portraits with my blood (as if i could be an artist).
acting pathetic, psychotic, self destructive.
but you fell for me anyway (for god knows what reason).
maybe because you were hurting too
and thought it’d be nice to
focus on somebody else for a while.

so tell me, how’s that been working out for you?

darling,
there is no need to be ashamed
of being broken.
there is always a way to
put yourself back together again.
and though there might be
remaining gaps and cracks,
that doesn’t make you
worthless
or undesirable.

darling,
there is no need to be afraid.
you see, the cracks may be
the result of darkness and destruction
but that is not all they are.
they are also what will let the light back in.
they will help to fill you up,
one sunbeam at a time.

poor girl using her own body as a canvas.
blades as brushes and blood as paint.
to recount her life story
into a single illustration,
before the clock runs out
and the book finally shuts.

February 1, 2014
11:42 PM

i really don’t know how much longer i can do this
you know, this whole ‘life’ thing
i’m barely living as it is
self-loathing day in and day out
i barely eat and when i do i just try to bring it back up
i rarely sleep and the only way my eyes can close
is when they’re swollen and puffy from the hysterical
tears i shed into my torn up pillow

i know for a fact that you can’t possibly
put up with me for much longer
one day you’ll be at the end of your rope
and you’ll use it to escape this
dysfunctional ‘life’ you’re sharing with me
so you don’t have to ever waste your time
thinking about me again
or ever have to waste your breath on me
to utter that three-worded lie:
"i love you"

i’m sorry for being me
i’m sorry for crying all the time
and for making you uncomfortable
with my constant tears and tantrums
i’m sorry for the scars on my arm that don’t fade
and for the mental ones in my mind that might not ever
i’m sorry for doing everything the wrong way
and i’m sorry you fell in love with me
you deserve a good life with a good woman
and you have neither with me in the picture
all i seem to be able to do is make you upset
or make you angry at yourself
please don’t hit yourself again, darling
i saw you that one time when you were in the shower
i know it’s hard being with me
but please don’t take it out on yourself

it’s my own fault i’m like this
and i don’t expect you to fix me
i’ve been broken far too many times
and for far too long
to ever be put back together again
i’m sorry for being difficult and unmanageable
but i can’t help but feel responsible for all your pain
i’m sorry i do this to you time and time again
i’m sorry i make you happy one day only to make you cry the next
i’m sorry i can’t be beautiful and happy like the other girls
i’m sorry for being sorry i know you hate that
i guess i just **** up so regularly that apologizing has become
the one (and only) thing i’m truly good at