Please forgive me for my lack of meter and form of a paragraph. Let me take you to a day in my life, of what was supposed to be the conclusion, on February 9th, 2013. I was on the floor of my bedroom, the cold wood no match for my fevering body. My hollow gaze melting into the green walls, the picture collages of magazine cutouts I spent whole weekends arranging. There were no tears. No feelings beside this hungry ache of emptiness. The clenching grip of depression enclosed around my ribcage.

There were no tears because my mind was made up.

I drew the razor blade  across the fair delicate skin on my wrist, perpendicular. I just wanted to feel something. One. Two more times, crimson paint flowing down my arm, onto the wooden floors. Steady stream, throbbing pain.

It wasn't until my head was light and vision blurry that I noticed my mistake. I cut too deep. But there were no tears. No feelings. Besides acceptance that my time has come. I slowly closed my eyes involuntarily, giving into the soft waves.

Feeling the grip loosen.

I asked you over and I don't know why.
We were lying in my bed in the dark when my parents pulled in.
I put my dress back on and you ran down the stairs.
Sat on the couch, turned on late night TV, and pretended
that you had been there all along.

I sat up next to you with a blanket covering my legs.
You were so mad at me.
My parents didn't mind you were there though,
in fact they thought the scared look on your face was priceless
and they wished you'd come over again.
They don't ask questions anymore
if that's what you're worried about.
They know that even if they asked I wouldn't have an answer.
Because like I said I asked you over and I don't know why.

I told you it was because my grandpa was sick and I was lonely.
Which is true and I really was.
But mostly I just wanted someone who knew my body to hold me.
I just wanted a night where I didn't have to be by myself
contemplating all the time I don't have left and all the things
I've still left unsaid.
Maybe I'm just in love when you're here and you shouldn't be.
And maybe I love you all the time but I hate you enough to not say it.
That makes no sense.
Neither does this.

I'm just screaming at walls that won't listen.
About how I could want you stay so badly but I don't need you here.
Your love's really nothing.
It's just something I've gotten so used to having that I expect it to be there.
All the time.
Even when
it makes no sense
for you to be kissing me like that or for telling me you'd stay up until I fell asleep.
I asked you over and I don't know why.
I'll keep asking you over and you'll keep coming but
we'll never really know why.

But I'd like it if you'd keep your hand there and not care
about what I'll feel like tomorrow or what I'll ask you to do next week.
I don't make sense anymore
but truly, I love you
and neither does this.

You sleep earthquake some nights
like a puppy
Whimper and swim

You dream like the grand canyon did when it was just a shallow river bed

You never expect to get so big
to create so much space

So I know holding you won't make you still

Your head in my hands like a sunrise
strands of gold
drizzling between my fingers

Your body
like a lonely bear living in a city
you miss home
eat only yellow things
Dandilions
and honey
bumble bees
and chips of paint from fire hydrants

Inside you belly it is always
daytime
always spring

So much light
you don't sleep well most nights

And I wish I could place my hands
inside the space between your shoulder blades

and take it out of you
hold it swirling in my hands

I will put it into a jar of water
and in then in the fridge
so that it might learn stillness in the cold

I will come back to bed to you
a beer bottle still in my hand

I will pull the blankets from you
and let the dark settle
Inside this new space

And maybe this night
You can sleep peacefully

That side of me
Its ugly and disgraceful
Manipulative and jealous
Insecure and angry
Fragile and sharp
To bury this side
To smother it
To cut it into pieces would be a breath of fresh air

Sometimes there is a message hidden in between the lines
    Sometimes the poems have a rhythm woven in the rhymes
Sometimes I’m writing faster than I care about the sounds
    Sometimes I make it long and sometimes I go out of bounds
Sometimes a passion fuels me and words are burning hot
    Sometimes I catch the writers’ block and sometimes I do not
Sometimes I write so fast and then think better later on
    Sometimes the words stay with me until they are almost gone
Sometimes the hidden message is invisible to me
    Sometimes I feel a statue built for all the world to see
Sometimes I wonder secretly if I am made for more
    Sometimes it turns out better than I’d ever dreamed before.