In the evenings, he drank shots of heartache mixed with every drop of the starlit sky he could get
Thirsty for more always wanting more
no amount of liquid hope could quench his thirst
He held his glass up to the heavens begging for slivers of the moon to trickle down into his soul
though the sky had no more left to offer him

She's looking into the glass again, getting real up close and personal
What about this image looks disgusting, wrong, or out of place?
I think it's my lips or my eyes or the landscape of my face
She moves down
Collarbone jutting out, shoulders that form a 30 60 90 triangle from slouching too much
A concave ribcage, ribs protruding through incandescent skin that scars too easily
A back curved by lordotic lords that make her arms dangle like a dead baby doll's
Too thin thighs that she can wrap her too small hands around and a gap between her legs a mile wide but **** those curves are shy
Knees that wobble and knock when she walks, they say she could've been a dancer by her gait, so awkward yet poised ******* she says I know I walk funny stop rubbing more salt into this ****** wound
She takes a step back from the shattered glass
and whispers I never liked you
*******
-
-z.z

I'm just tired.
If I could tell you one thing right now,
it would be that I am just tired.
Of explaining my disease and how it affects me
Of constantly feeling like I have to give something to the world
What do you want from me?
What do I owe you?
I'm tired of conforming to society's ways because it won't accept me even though I accept me
I'm tired of waking up every morning in a skin that isn't mine yet one that I am forced to live in
I'm tired of giving justifications for things that should not need to be explained
And I'm tired of telling people I'm okay when I'm not
So if you ask me if I'm okay and I'm not,
I'm going to say so and ignore your flinches because I don't care what you think
I'm just tired.

later
i'll tell you later
not now
not in two minutes
later
why?
because now
i am not stable
later
maybe i will be
or maybe i won't?
but maybe i will
later
i'll tell you
later
when my head is ******* on the right way and the world stops spinning so quickly
later
i won't forget, i promise
i'll tell you later

here’s a quick note
to tell you i love you
i know you hurt us
but i forgive you
here’s a quick note
to tell you i’m sorry
i’m sorry that you left us
but i hope you got where you wanted to go
i remember the night you called and said
you weren’t coming back home
home
we all have different definitions of home and i guess
ours weren’t nearly as close as i thought
i hope you found the home you were looking for
here’s a quick note
to tell you my heart has healed and i’m ready to start over
i never stopped loving you
i don’t think i ever stopped loving you
here’s a quick note
to tell you i’m here now
i’m older and wiser and i understand
i know what happened
i know what happened
here’s a quick note
to tell you i missed you

absence is said to make the heart grow fonder
but when you've been away
you don't grow fonder of the absence
your heart doesn't grow fonder of the absence
so why
do people say that?
my heart hasn't grown fonder of the distance
honestly I thought the gap would close and my heart might heal over the wound
instead, it's just beginning to get pried open and with every letter I write, with every hour that passes that I'm still not asleep
my heart turns a shade darker and
floats a little farther away from my body

because i needed to write something though i had no idea how i was going to say it so i just started writing
and i am unsure of what ink will be spilled here and i apologise in advance if a picture comes out of it that is
too much for you to handle
sometimes poison bleeds out of my veins instead of blood
and it's a wonder that i've survived so long with blood so toxic
yet i found a way to live without living
the other day
my friend asked me if i was afraid of ghosts
i said i wasn't because ghosts are just spirits that are looking for a body to inhabit
i told her this and
she looked at me like i was deranged or on drugs
she then asked me if i was okay
//no//
my lips said yes
and my mind screeched no!
so she walked away thinking i really was okay
leaving me with thoughts that would strangle me to the ground
i hate thinking
and being alone
that's when the monsters come out and play
like this monster that apparated from her "are you afraid of ghosts" question
spawned the most evil creatures of thought
and i can't fight it
no i am not afraid of ghosts because
i am just a spirit looking for the body that once sheltered my existence

the other day an online friend told me I was one of the most positive people they knew
how amazing it is that i can speak to someone's needs when they didn't realise they needed it the most
that's my internet smile speaking
telling people they can do it and oozing sunshine and rainbows out of pores I didn't even know existed
when in reality all I want scratch that need is for someone to tell me my struggles are not all in my head.
if you could see my face you'd see my Internet smile and eyes on the verge of flooding.

There is so much I want to tell you. How not fine and super awesome I've been. How most nights I cry into my pillow, wondering what it would be like to just stop living
I want to ask you how I got here, as if you could tell me the exact coordinates of the place I fell from the face of the earth but I know
you are asking yourself the exact same question
how are we surviving in a world that's constantly trying to bring us down

why is it that every time I see something good
my memory erases it faster than I can blink its like
I am hardwired to not feel happy
I want to tell you about the panic I felt when I misplaced my blade
I want to tell you how when I found a new one i could breathe again even though I told you I'd stop
I'm not using them but I still want to tell you about the urges
the tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers I get when I don't
how I forget how to breathe the moment I need oxygen the most how my lungs feel like fire in a drought-stricken desert this is what dying must feel like
what does laughter sound like?

some days I wake up feeling numb from my head to toe it hurts so much
when i can't remember why i'm still here i think about how you reacted when i told you i couldn't keep on going
somehow i find courage in the cracks of your voice you wanted me here
and so i'll stay
i'll hang on the best i can though my hands are sweaty and my fingers might slip and some days my arms feel like brittle sticks about to snap in two
i'm not going to let go yet

i want to tell you that in the dark hours of the night right before the clock strikes 12 i see you everywhere and i'm so sorry i am so sorry for breaking Us
i want to tell you how much i miss you
ask if you feel the same
i wish things were the way the used to be i'll tell you
but I won't tell you any of this
I've got an internet smile
and an "I'm fine" when you ask for it
whether they are lies or the truth, I hope to guarantee you will never
find
out

sometimes i write because i feel empty
i feel like i can fill the void
with words and emotions that should be there but
aren't
it takes me
a couple dry poems
to realise
emptiness is not something even poetry
can fix

I was taking a walk late one night because I couldn't sleep
Just a stroll around the neighborhood as I let my mind wander freely
I walked over to the playground where I used to pretend I was the queen of the world
I sat down on a swing
creeeek creeeek creeeek

Times have changed so drastically since I was young
I've seen four families move in and out of the house next door
I watched the old couple who used to walk their little white dogs disappear
First the dog, then the man
The woman stopped walking, too
The little girls who used to sell Girl Scout cookies from their rusted red wagon grew up and moved away

And that’s when I see her
sitting on her porch swing
gently rocking back and forth
back and forth
with an expression on her face that reads
save me from myself

her eyes, so sad, glisten in the moonlight
her hair
so straight and pale yellow like the straw in the hay bales at festival
cover her tearstained face
her hands
so delicate, yet strong

hunched over a notebook
she scribbles her woes
ink bleeds soul onto the paper
painting the most beautiful picture

a picture of misery and hunger
a picture of betrayal and twisted roads of insolence
a picture of anger and frustration
a collision of colours splashing the pages as she drowns herself
in tears

I take a couple steps back
This girl is so familiar
I know this girl

Might she be me?

I don’t want to write this poem
because I’m afraid of misinterpretation
but I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately I’m willing to risk that humiliation
if it means I’ll get some feeling of peace or
something
i’m i I guess just i mean gr no i mean oh can we just not talk for a moment?
My throat closes up, my tongue goes dry
I’m sorry I can’t I
am too tired to try
My mind is a canvas and I’ve only got black paint on hand and no clean paintbrushes available
like i’ve used all the colours that there’s no new ones to mix
there’s no more room
no new space
just
painting over it is too much work ******
I’m sorry
-z.z

I've been told I'm a great writer
That I am talented
I've been told "never stop writing" and "Don't forget about me when you're famous"
I laughed at that last part
Me? Famous? I'll be lucky if anyone reads this.
I'm not ungrateful for the kind words
I just have a hard time believing them
I know the words I've written have been seen, read, cried over, even
I know how much power words have
I just have a hard time believing myself
A poem is never finished, even long after the poet has set down his pen
I believe that
I believe the voices in my head that tell me to go back and edit that one part in that one poem that I wrote ages ago
I guess I don't believe in leaving the past alone
I know that you'll forget about this poem within a matter of hours,
Days if it is good
I know that poetry brings feelings into your heart that will inevitably leave
Feelings that are, well
Temporary
I'm hesitant to believe certain things
But when I believe in something
I don't forget it
It's taken me quite some time
But I believe I am a poet
And to acknowledge my existence as a poet
Might have been the best feeling in the world
It wasn't temporary, either.

I needed to know it would be okay tonight
Even though my heart kept telling me
It wasn’t

I wanted to bottle my emotions and throw them far out to sea
Even though I knew
The bottle would come back inevitably

I drew sunshine and rainbows all over my paper with brightly coloured crayons
My fingers curled around the black one as I slashed thunderclouds and lightning bolts through the sun

I listened to happy music and tried dancing like no one was watching
I sat down on the ground, just sat there in the middle of my room and thought this is so stupid
I turned off the music and contemplated my existence

I went to my journal, opened it to a fresh page
but didn’t write
I just wanted to see my tears hit the paper
I just wanted to see the evidence

I got online

I wrote inspirational posts about being so much more than you think you are and
You are beautiful don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise
Smile, I told them, it will be okay
I needed to know it would be okay
So I told others it would be okay
And slowly,
I began to believe myself

when they look at you with a smirk on their face
slap it off

broken wings
will fly away
just not
immediately
broken wings
are broken for a reason
there was a story
and a struggle
and a person who was done trying
he broke himself
she betrayed herself
to save himself
from her wounds
you can’t fly away
you can’t get hurt
maybe broken wings
are broken for a reason

Last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain beating against my windowpanes
I felt safe in the storm's embrace
I knew I would be okay

My soul is weary yet I still march on
I'm the tearstained pages of my favorite book
I'm the gentle whispers in the morning that remind you
Today you are alive
I'm the calluses on the bottoms of my feet from running on hot pavement and gravel in the summer
I'm the pen that wrote the words that make my heart ache
I'm not done here
The calluses on my feet weren't always there
It used to burn when I walked outside
But nothing felt so good as the mix of sand and concrete beneath my feet so I ran and became stronger
Immune to the heat
I'm battered and worn but the best books are
I will march on
And I will become
Everything I haven't yet

I've spent many nights Awake when I should be Sleeping
Thinking about You
What happened?

I was looking at Old Photographs the other day
A smile trickled across my face but I wiped it off before the Feelings hit
The smiles on the faces of the people in those pictures
Were they Real?

I'm listening to the same song over and over and over again because I think it will make the pain less painful
But it doesn't

You didn't have to change and yet Change
was Inevitable
Why?

The little girl in the pictures somehow knew who she was
But I know it was a lie
I saw it
the Corruption in her eyes
She didn't know it

My soul is weary yet I still march on
I'm the tearstained pages of my favorite book
I'm the gentle whispers in the morning that remind you
Today you are alive
I'm the calluses on the bottoms of my feet from running on hot pavement and gravel in the summer
I'm the pen that wrote the words that make my heart ache
I'm not done here
The calluses on my feet weren't always there
It used to burn when I walked outside
But nothing felt so good as the mix of sand and concrete beneath my feet so I ran and became stronger
Immune to the heat
I'm battered and worn but the best books are
I will march on
And I will become
Everything I haven't yet

there are moments when i do not know if i am dreaming or living a lie
there are moments when i am really really happy
those moments scare me