loving you was the
most beautiful form of
self-destruction.

my mother once warned me of
addiction
in the form of a bottle
but never told me about
you
and your pale blue eyes would
drive me to every AA meeting
I've ever been to
(s.j.b)

i guess i make it too obvious
i don't want to talk about things
because since i turned sixteen
you haven't asked me how i feel
or how my day was
but i guess that's okay
because i was always the one drowning
and you were always the one
yelling at me to "just swim"

i'm sorry for the days when
you will feel as if
you are dating me and my therapist
because i know
you never asked for this

maybe one of these days,
i'll write a poem simply looking at you.
and it will belong on the walls of art museums
because baby,
you are art
and yes, it makes me feel something.
(s.j.b)

and you let him leave bruises
on your skin
so you'd know what it was like
when he was gone
(sjb)

they told me a few drinks
would help me forget you.
but long after my friends have taken my keys,
there's a burning in the back of my throat
that hasn't left since you did.
(s.j.b)

how do you tell someone
no amount of telling me to love myself
will make me find myself beautiful
and how do you tell someone  
getting out of bed in the morning
feels like trying to swim with
stones tied to your ankles
and how do you tell someone
trying makes it worse
and how do you tell someone
everyday is a struggle,
and ode to the man hanging on a cliff with one hand

*a boy that still had someone to confide in
dared to tell me,
"don't bottle up your emotions"
so i looked him in the eyes
as i bought a bigger bottle

i was told i could be anything,
so i chose to be a feminist
because
when i suggested my father help with the laundry,
my mother told me i was crazy.
because
meghan tranior's "all about that bass"
is telling bigger girls to be comfortable in their own skin
because skinny girls already do, right?
because
i'd like to make as much as my male coworkers.
because
i was laughed at for wanting to be a doctor instead of a housewife.
because
people look at me strange when i say i don't want kids.
because
when i gave a speech about feminism in my english class,
i was called a man-hater.
because
"my shoulders distract the boy's education".
because
my mom shouldn't have to worry
about what goes in my drink at concerts.

i will be a feminist until
i can tell my boyfriend
"no babe, i'd rather watch the movie"
and i am not told
"you're depriving him of his needs".
until
my body is my body.
until
i no longer have to carry pepper spray on a keychain.
until
women in foreign countries can vote and drive.
until
woman means human.
until
we understand **** culture
and feminism isn't just about women,
it's about humans.

last year,
you fell in love with a boy
that only wanted your virginity
and you gave it to him on a silver platter
so you could remember what love feels like
but babygirl,
it's not love
if he only loves you for what's between your legs
it's not love
if the only thing he compliments you on
is the way your hips are formed
it's not love
if every time you said no
he ignored it

that boy is not your lungs
you can breathe without him,
i promise
he is not your atlas
never let someone
that doesn't care about the way
your continents took form
hold your world on their shoulders
*because when they crumble,
you will too

for the girls
that will never know the difference
between affection and aggression
for the kids forced to bring
broken arms and black eyes
to show and tell
each bruise a reminder
never to make him mad again
he told you he was nothing
like your father
so you let him leave you bruises
to know what it felt like when he was gone,
tell me what it feels like when he's gone.
they will tell you
boys will be boys,
but that is no excuse
for telling you
that you asked for it
i love you,
i beat you,
I'm sorry,
there is no excuse,
don't ever accept that
boys will be boys.
darling,
aggression and affection
are not synonyms
they exist in opposite universes
and i will scream
until my voice in nonexistent
for my eight year old cousin to understand
when he hits you on the playground
it does not mean he likes you
never make the mistake of
thinking he loves you when he leaves you scars
when you see the flames
burning in his eyes
and fear starts in yours
don't you ever
confuse it with love
women will continue
to believe they asked for it
will continue to believe
they wanted it
until we convince them
your clothes do not say
**** me
your alcohol content does not say
**** me
only you have to power to say yes or no
only you have the power to tell yourself
the only cause of **** is rapists

for the days you feel whole:
you are still broken
for the days you feel broken:
you have the ability to be whole

a doctor once told me I had a cracked spine
and it all made sense because
I always seemed to fall in your direction.

but maybe I'm not afraid of heights
our falling from them
just the noise my heart makes when it hits the ground.

I need a new endoskeleton
to keep my heart from getting punctured
or maybe my current one is just tired of the bruises.

you want to know how I got these scars?
I ripped every memory of you out of my heart
and out of my mind and sacrificed them
to the part of me every time you
come into my vision screams "move on".

just when I started to get over you
I saw your face again and realized:
I will never be able to be just friends with you.

when the space between us went from
the gap between my fingers
to the distance from here to the MilkyWay
I told myself:
fire and water don't mix,
but when they love, they love passionately.

but unfortunately,
my local supermarket doesn't sell a band aid
able to fix a heart.
and my mother never taught me how to sew.

but tell me I'm not crazy when you were the one
who taught me to be thankful when my lungs filled with air.
how can it be a crime to come home late
from wondering what it would be like to wake up next to you everyday?

and I had a front row seat to watch
you give her everything I once gave you.
and with every syllable,
I swallow yet another piece of my heart.
but I do not complain.
for what good is art if it is not shared?

loving you was self-destruction.
I treated you as if you were the sun
and I were the flowers; I needed you.
But I guess the sun doesn't need the flowers
as much as the flowers need the sun.

but you were always my biggest muse.

(s.j.b.)

this time last year,
we went to rhema and you kissed me under the gazebo
and asked if i wanted to get back together

now i'm sitting in my room
wondering if you remember
the night i met your dad for the first time
and your sister told me i was adorable
wondering if you remember
holding my heart in your hands
and throwing it on the ground
telling me
*maybe this isn't working out

You are more than a bottle,
the scars,
the bruises.
You are more than
unfulfilled promises,
duct-taped hearts,
and broken dreams.
You are more than
the scars used to hide all the
times you swore it would be the last.
You are more than
the judgemental stares,
the constant glares in your direction of people
searching for something they can
tuck into their pocket
only to reveal when a conversation gets boring.
You are more than
your father who spells love L-E-A-V-E
and your brother who thinks the leave will turn into love
at the bottom of another Budweiser
and your mother who still searches for his plot lines within the morning paper.
You are more than
the four walls closing in around you
with the word "succeed" written on them.
You are more than the ropes used to hold you down
With the words "fin in" written on them.
And contrary to popular belief,
you are not defined by a number on a scale
nor by the reflection looking back at you screaming "you'll never be good enough!"
You are more than the homes you have made for yourself
inside of others.
So break down that brick exterior
And do not rely on them for your shelter.
Build your own garden,
plant your own flowers,
and do not rely on others to bring you seeds.

(s.j.b.)

tell me you remember
the day you let me wear your jacket
tell me you remember
the day we drove to where the sun touches the earth
tell me you remember
the day you held my hand for the first time
tell me you remember
because i could never forget

but everyone kisses
the wrong person
once in a while.
(sjb)

"hey grandma, how are you this year?"
"how's deer season going, uncle wayne?"
"how many cats do you have now?"
by the way i think i'm depressed
(sjb)

he likes neck kisses and being called "sweetheart."
he drinks milk when he eats peanut butter,
offer to pour it for him.
he loves pugs and his dog, ******.
if you're not best friends with ****** by the first month,
you're doing something wrong.
when he tells you you're beautiful,
it is easier to just agree.
when he takes you home,
allow plenty of time to say goodnight (he takes forever).
he hates crunchy peanut butter.  
he'll give you his jackets and hug you until you stop crying.
if you watch lord of the rings with him, bring kleenex.
know and understand star wars references or you're *******.
he is an incredible writer.
he'll buy you lots of things for christmas,
do not try to compensate.

if he isn't the best boyfriend you've ever had,
you're not giving him enough credit.
love him, he deserves it.

and i kinda hope you never exist,
because i'm not done loving him yet
and i don't think i ever will be.

and maybe I just
get attached too easily
and maybe I just
get my hopes up too fast
but I cannot fight this feeling
in the pit of my stomach
that every single atom
of my existence wants to be with you every minute of everyday.
so no,
I cannot help but get my hopes up.
no, I cannot help
getting attached to you.  
because you taught me
I shouldn't turn others into my lungs and rely on them for every breath.
but I should allow things
like sunsets
and the ocean shore
and the way the stars look at 3 am take my breath away.
(sjb)

and maybe i like
my coffee cold and bitter now
because as much as I hate to admit it,
it reminds me of you.
(sjb)

I wish I could give you the world,
the moon,
and the stars that come too.
but they are not mine to give.
(s.j.b)

life is just a story and you are the binding of my book**
(sjb)

every person you meet is an endangered species.
don't put them in a cage to look at them,
but love them because there is no one else similar

but how can coming home
late be a crime when
there was always
a part of me wondering
what it would be like to wake
up next to you everyday
(s.j.b)