I was told that that average heart is about the size of the owner's fist

So I would grab handfuls of dirt
And grass
And sand

But it would all slip through my fingers, and I was worried that people were the same 

The more I tried to hold on,
The  tighter my grip,
The more I reached out to them 
The more they slipped away

I thought that changed when I met you

I reached out to you, and you didn't slip away 

I could grab your hand, feel your fingers with mine, and you would hold it right back 

When I held your hand, I could almost feel my heart swell as if it doubled its size

But there were other things I held on to,
Not plausible or visible things

Things like the sound of your laugh and the sound of your voice,
Your real smile that came out rarely, which just made it even more beautiful when it appeared 

But you slipped out of my grasp
She took your hand from mine, and she ran with it
And you went with her

What did I do to make you slip away?

How did I let you slip away?

Sometimes I wish I could be like a shooting star

I wish I could be something people wish upon, hope upon,
hope for

Gone in a moment, but people talk about far after they're gone

Burning with rage, but people still think they're beautiful

Burning and self destructing and spiraling out of control
But still beautiful 

I wish.

I drew a picture
It was in blue crayon
It had my mom,brother,dad,uncles,aunts,and cousins
It looked like scribbles,not people at all
My mom taped it to her wall
Next to her side of the bed she shared with dad
She wrote the date i drew it so she could remember

I drew another picture
It was of the beach
My mom,dad,brother, and I were in it
There were birds that looked like 'M's
And umbrellas that looked like rainbow colored mushrooms
My mom hung it next to my older drawing
But didn't write the date

I drew a different picture
It was of a dog,I wanted a dog
My mom said we're never getting a dog
My dad said he wanted one
They fought for 1/2 hour
I gave my mom the picture the next day
She put it on her wall next to the side of the bed she never slept in anymore

I drew another picture
It was of my parents before they fought every day
I went into the living room show it to them
My mom was at the computer crying
My dad was yelling
Telling her she raised us wrong
I listened in,hiding behind the couch 
The yelling and crying got worse
I left and put the drawing in a drawer in my room

I drew a different drawing
It was of my favorite singer
He had a microphone and a guitar
My dad was outside smoking
I thought he had quit for good this time
I went to show my mom
She was texting
She looked up from her phone
She looked at the drawing
Said "that's great"
Then handed it back without looking at me and continued texting
I put it in the drawer with the other drawings 

I drew a picture of my family
My mom,dad,and brother 
Without me,the way it should be
I put it in my drawer and wrote the date
So I could remember

Poor little girl
She just liked to tell stories
But no one would listen to her story

So she wrote it all over her arms and legs

Funny how people started listening

It's funny
They say that mirrors reflect you
But do they really?

Mirrors don't show how nice you are
Or how caring 
Or trustworthy 
Or how understanding 

They don't reflect your favorite songs
Or movies or books or tv shows

They don't reflect your hopes 
Your dreams
Your aspirations 


They don't reflect the things that make you
You

Instead,all they show are mere flaws

Mirrors show the 'too-fat' you
Or the 'too-ugly' you
Or the 'not-good-enough' you
Instead of the real you
Which can't be seen

I understand why people don't like their reflections 
It shows what they think are flaws
Instead of who they really are 

So maybe,
If mirrors reflected personalities
Instead of looks,
Fewer people would hate their reflections

Are minds supposed to race so much at 10:30 pm?
Every sound
Sight
Touch
Igniting more anger and uncomfort
But silence doesn't make it better
Nothing does


Maybe if I were smarter
I wouldn't be so confused
Stuck doing 15 papers at 10 pm
Every question
Or sentence in a book
Making me more confused and infuriated


My stomach churning with anxiety
My head aching
My face wet with tears of defeat

Don't open that box
You've been clean for so long
And I didn't
I didn't open the box
And didn't grab the farmiliar blade within it
I know I couldn't stop once I did
So I didn't
It's not easy
But I'm trying
I promise