I've been told that it takes 7 years for every cell in your body to renew itself.
7 years from now, you are completely new.
This thought is a comfort.
Every time I feel your hands on me,
Feel uncomfortable in my own skin
Because of what you did to me
I think, we’re almost there.
It’s been 3 years now
Only 5 more to go until I am truly
Clean of you.
SD 2/19

You choose your friends
Those people who torture you
Those who have destroyed you
The same people who have given you such strife
Over me
Time and time again.
I find myself wondering,
Do those who ruin you, still mean more to you?
You make your answers very clear.
I am unable to accept, but they are obvious.
The answer is yes.
You search for their approval,
With no regard for the people who truly care for you
You abandon us who love you.
For those who hurt you.
My heart cannot handle this.
What do I do with this information?
SD 3/19/18

If one day,
you change your mind
and return to my side.
Remember this.
Remember all of the times you broke me.
The times you shattered me,
and left me on the floor.
When you realize what you’ve lost,
know what I have gained.
I have gained perspective.
I have gained independence.
But, remember what you took.
You took my optimism.
You took my faith in humanity.
You took a piece of my soul.
Do not return it to me.
If you leave me,
don’t return.
SD 3/9/18

Do you ever feel so alone,
So in need of affection,
That you lay in bed, reach down,
And grab your own hand?
Just close your eyes, and lay there,
Pretending your hand belonged to someone who loves you.
Someone who looks at you like you are the beginning and the end of their world.
Like you hang the moon, and are the reason the stars are shining.
There is no way to describe that pure form of love,
Nor is there a way to describe the pure form of loneliness
That results in holding your own hand.
SD 2/25/18

See
A bluebird, on my rib. My mom’s handwriting, on my back. A plane ticket, in my hand. More stamps in the passport, in my pocket. A friend by my side, running across the airport with me.
A new destination, a new place to use our education to help those in need.
Maybe this time we’ll be in Nicaragua, rooting out the political corruption.
Or maybe we’ll be in Cairo, negotiating refugee treaties.
Maybe we’ll be on a return flight home, to wherever home may be.  
Smell
That very particular scent of airports, on busy nights. Perfume, my own. Laundry detergent, the same one I’ve always used. Also, the scent of two people who have been in the sun all day, helping somewhere.
These scents will become familiar.
The scent of the airport will smell like home.
Taste
Dramamine, the taste of rotten oranges.
Airplane food, the **** of so many bad jokes, actually tastes as bad as they say.
Mint gum, to get rid of the taste of the two mixed together.
Tomato juice, the flight attendant tells me how my taste buds change in the air,
I sit back, enjoy my tomato juice, and fall asleep.
At peace, 30,000 feet above the world
Touch
Carrying a duffle bag in my hand, fingers turning red and cramping.
The feel of linoleum, or whatever 2028 airport floors are made of, under my feet.
Running to catch my flight. The relief of sitting in those awkwardly carpeted seats.
Shaking hands with the flight attendants, the feel of the plane engine rumbling.
Takeoff.
Hear
The sound of people chatting before and after takeoff.
The token screaming baby, the parents apologizing.
The flight attendants thanking us for flying whatever airline we were on this week.
Chatting with the people in the seat next to you about what you’re doing in the next place.
Feel
Happiness. Pure happiness.
The joy of looking out at the clouds, feeling like I’m on top of the world.
I am at peace with myself, I am fulfilling what I was made to do.
What my soul thrives on.
Who I am as a person has been discovered.
All 30,000 feet above the world.
SD 2/24/18

The vulture,
That I spoke of so long ago,
Was away for so long.
But, I regret to inform,
He has returned.
Here you are, yet again,
Tearing me down
Leaving me alone
Abandoning me.
But,
That’s what you’re best at.
Leaving me on my own.
You have taught me I can survive on my own.
For that, I thank you.
SD 3/8/18

i’ve heard of sun-downing in Alzheimer’s patients.
their symptoms get worse as the day turns to night.
this is the best description of how I feel
as the day gets darker, so does my mind.
one second I am happy,
then, the sun sets.
literally and figuratively,
my brain goes to the dark place.
the place where self worth is non-existent.
the place where everyone hates you.
the dark places joins hands with the dark
and runs you dry.
SD 2.13.18

Fight, or flight.
These two instincts drive humanity.
Fight, or flight.
Some people have the tendency to fight,
They are the ones who stick it out, who are there when you don’t want them to be.
They are the ones holding your hand when you’ve pushed everyone away.
They are the strong ones.
Some people have the tendency to fly.
They are labeled as flight risks.
We run away when there’s trouble, we overthink everything, we cannot trust our instincts.
We have been hurt by past trauma,
And this trauma has caused our walls to become impenetrable.
We run, because we are scared.
Do not let us run.
Fight for us.
We need help.
SD 2.5.18

8 months.
8 more months of being surrounded by familiarity.
Friends from kindergarten being only a car ride away.
8 more months with the sense of routine
8 more months spending 9 periods a day locked in a school.
8 more months having to prove yourself.
8 more months being surrounded by labels, given to you too young.
8 short months until the redefining process begins
8 short months until freedom.
247 short days.
SD 12.21.17 12:59

“You’re perfect”
The words rolled off of your tongue.
Like they were meant to be said.
At this exact place
This exact day.
This exact moment.
Between two breaths, you whisper those words to me.
Words that mean everything,
Words that change the way I see myself
Even if it’s just for a second, I see what you see.
Those two words
Those 12 letters, phrased together
Make my heart skip a beat, my insecurities forgotten for a second
Because a boy, this boy, thinks I’m perfect.
“You’re just saying that to get in my pants.”
I say, with a laugh,
Because why would he consider me perfect.

I know my truth.
My truth is as follows:
I am damaged goods.
I am a 17 year old girl with a past
A past which rules my life.
I cannot escape the past.
The events that have occurred have shaped me into someone.
Someone who isn’t good.
Someone who is so sad, or entirely numb.
Someone who can’t trust.
Someone who can’t commit to a person.
Someone whose soul is discolored.
Someone whose soul is scarred beyond belief.

I hate you.
I hate you.
I am lying.
I don’t know what I feel.
Is this fun?
Is this catastrophe waiting to happen?
Is this the end game?
As I watch you go,
I am wondering
What do you think?
I love you.

week one

The world starts.
It continues on and on.
But I am lost, in the midst of the chaos.
I am being shoved into corners, put between rocks and hard places,
The happiness. The sadness. The numb.
I am numb. I am lost. I am confused.
Who am I? What am I doing here?
Should I even bother?

week two

I shouldn’t be happy.
It’s too soon, too sudden.
My life should be in pieces.
But, I am watching those people
Laughing, smiling, taking pictures.
I am truly happy yet again.
They have made me happy, yet I should be sad.
I shouldn’t be happy,
Yet I’m happier than I’ve been
In a long while.
Thank you.

Dear self,
I found your old book.
The book of lines and ink that pulled you out from where you were.
Poetry saved you.
I re-read the poems you had marked.
And cried.
The poems you marked broke my heart.
Love, and deceit. Trust, and heartbreak.
You will know love. You will know trust. You will know happiness.
If I traveled back and told the girl reading those poems this,
She wouldn’t believe me.
She would’ve laughed.
Went to bed.
And died a little more inside.

you taught me how to
fly
but then you
clipped my wings.
and every time
they begin to grow back,
you swoop in
and rip them off
over
and
over
again.
SD 9/2/17