and then the rain fell

But your memory still haunts me everyday

do you have to feel scared
to be in love?
i've known you for so long,
that all i feel is comfort
and safety.

do you have to feel butterflies
to be in love?
when i think of you, they flutter around,
but when i look at you,
there are none.

what is the true definition of love?
because when i look at you,
i see someone so beautiful,
so caring,
so fragile,
all i want to do is hold you close.

am i in love?
or am i in love with the idea of you?

My brain speaks no
While my heart shouts yes.

His eyes were not the reminder of a once well known friend they were the reminder that I only got three hours of sleep last night and there's a test on something I couldn't wrap my brain around because I was too busy searching how to tie a noose on a screen to bright for my tired eyes. I never knew he'd show up unexpectedly at dinner and I could almost see my mothers nose crinkle in disgust either from the stench of my lack of motivation or simply the smell of death. He had this way of holding himself. Hands shaking like a ticking time bomb or way to ready to jump to the next thing to ease the situation.
To ease the situation.
Ease the situation.
The smile carved as big as the jokers planted on a pale face and sunken eyes.
he had bags under his eyes.
bags under his eyes
Under his eyes.
Grimacing under growing bruises and bones that creaked with every movement because he is like an old house. Fun to look at and imagine what it was like in its glory days but spiderwebs and dust seem to be a better turn off than the word no.
No one told them that depression is a battle ground that theyd have to pick up their long lost child from.

I remember so many things
So many things that shouldn't even matter to me
*“My mind's memory is worse than my randomly saved screenshots.”

My assailant does not know he is an abuser
He has been taught that women are fire
That ignite at the flicker of his match
Our voices are taught to roll back into our throats
Mine has even made a home for itself there.

He tells that he is sorry
Which feels like a band aid covering a bullet wound
It just keeps the the object lodged inside
Because I cannot tell him how "sorry"
Is a scathing knife against my neck
I cannot tell him I did not sleep for weeks
How my body lunged into a manic episode
For one of only two times ever.

I am no one else's fire now
I ignite only for myself
No one will incinerate inside of me
I am a Phoenix, rising from the flame
My ashes are more beautiful than my burning body
Set me on fire, and I will show how eloquent
Heated iron can be.

My mouth is a weapon now
It is not for your pleasure
My tongue, a slinging sword
Not to be smashed against yours
I have risen from the flames
And, as Maya Angelou so powerfully proclaims
Still I rise.