Some friends are good,

when others

are not.



Some friends are fun,

when there is

far to little.



Some friends are stupid,

when there is

much to think about.



But the best friends

have been wounded.

They have felt all the feels

and have been dealt all the deals.



Those are the ones

that can see humor

and beauty

where others see nothing.



Those are the ones with scars.

Some they regret, others they don't.

Because each is a lesson,

that needed to be taught,



Those are the ones

you look at and think,

"Well they are so strong

they could stand through anything."



Those are the ones

that in their hearts are afraid,

that still have nightmares

in waking hours and sleepy dazes.



Those are the ones

that still manage to walk,

that still manage to look,

that still manage to smile.



Those are the ones

who have gone through so much

that no one can tell them

the pain is not real.



Those are the ones

who will listen

and speak

with quiet voices and loud minds.



Those are the ones

that are the most beautiful.

I used to think I would never do the things I've done.
But growing up changes more than you used to think.
Almost never for the better, because what you think might be better,
might be worse in the end.
There's the confusion of growing up-
Things can always be twisted around,
around your neck and around your heart.
Even around your hope,
the very essence keeping you alive,
can be broken and bruised,
tried and diminished.
It's wings get caught in the rain.
As it falls you wish you would hit ground already.
This free-fall of numbness is to unbearable.

I know things change,
and almost never for the better.
Here's a body you didn't get to pick,
but don't worry you will be judged anyways.
Here's a few friends that you think could never hurt you.
Maybe even a person who captured your eyes and then your heart,
and if you are one of those lucky few, captured your soul.
They never last as long as you think.
Here's you picking up the broken pieces of a once lovely life.
Pick up the pieces of the body you despise, the body you scarred, the body you pumped venom into.
Pick up the pieces of the friendships and loved ones who are now long gone-
if you're quick you could catch their sent on the last breeze.

You could be lucky and have someone there who can help you sweep up your now dusty soul.
Things change and not always for the better.
Who would have thought your heart would have hardened at such a young age.
Not even past your first graduation and you've experienced things too lofty for small shoulders to carry.
Nothing seems to phase you anymore.
Stories that would have been unspeakable don't dent the hard surface you've erected for yourself.
But don't you know how hard that is for those who want to care?
Someday a person will want to hold you.
They will want to help you sweep up that dusty soul of yours.
That person might help heal the wounds you picked up through the years.
How hard will you make it for them?
How hard will you push away?
Run away?
Lie?
Lie to yourself.

It's easier-
yes, that's it.
It's easier without love.
Without emotions.
Feelings are troublesome things.
They distort and disgust.
They burden and batter.
No, feelings are for children.
Us, those with the hard hearts,
we know the truth.
Life.
Is.
So.
Much.
More.
Fun.
Without.
Emotions.
Turn it off.
Turn them off.
Love is a notion in the back of your head.
Another conspiracy you hear during those dodgy school hours.

I know that you will want to hide.
Behind your hair or your makeup,
behind outrageous clothes or dull ones,
behind shyness or sarcasm.
You'll hide the scars,
because you believe no one could ever love someone so broken-
so twisted.
The scars, I promise there will be too many.
You won't want to be scarred or broken.
You'll hate yourself for it everyday.
How are you the weak one?
Why do you have to be the ugly one?
The dull one?
The unintelligent one?
The crazy, worthless one?
Why why why do you have to feel your scars and broken limbs?
On cold nights why is it you who has to pick up the knife,
or, if you are stronger than you think (and I guarantee you are), put it back?
Why do you have to drag your body place after place that gives you chills or sickness?
Why are we the different ones?

I want to be one of the other ones.
The ones who don't see the scars that she acquired through the years of tear-stained nights
or wounds that won't stay closed (some just never heal, you know?)
I want to be that girl because I am so **** tired of the life I am living now.

I still remember the summer I fell for you.
That summer would define the next three years of my life.
It would shape who I was,
who you made me become,
and who I will be.
The grass was dead on that hill,
oh how poetically predictive.
You waited until the last second to ask me to our formal dinner.
Even from the beginning you barely cared.
And to think this all started at church camp...
You ruined that for me you know?
Church and fellowship-
why would I go if I have to endure your face?
You broke your life.
Was it really necessary to break mine too?

That summer will create the foundation for scars that you will never get to see.
There are days,
well mostly nights,
that I am overcome with those torrents of emotions that drive me to tears.
They used to be waves of confusion and love-
a sadistic, twisted love.
But now,
it's just pain,
and rage,
and a hatred that moves me to tears.

I hate how bruised and broken you left me.
Don't you understand how much of a mess you left me in?
Forget about me.
Think of the next man I will let into my heart
(if I ever take that chance).
How is it fair to him?
What gave you the ******* right to leave me a damaged ball of bitterness?
Who would have thought the power of emotions I feel could fit into my 5'2" frame?

It's dangerous.
I'm a wildfire that could burn through my soul,
scorch my best friend,
break my new possibility,
and destroy you.

Oh how I could destroy you.
You don't realize how much I am holding back.
Every text,
every hug,
every smile,
every word that you tease me with takes an immeasurable amount of my control.
And when I run out of that control,
boy,
you
better
run
too.
I can destroy you.
Yet I choose not to.
You need to pray that I will never make that other choice.
I promised you that I could burn through the center of everything that you hold on too.
Boy,
I could destroy you in ways you never thought of.
I could pay you back tenfold.
So here's a warning-
stay far away from
me
and my rage.