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  Sep 2017 Hannah
Blame it on
Your absent father
Your addict mother
Your unexpected children
Blame it on
Anyone, and anything
So you never have to
Take responsibility
For your own actions

It's the whiskey
That hit me
It's my own shards
That tore me apart
It's a malevolent God
That lied about love
'Cause you don't do anything

Blame it on
My fragile psyche
My insecurities
My "impossible" needs
Blame it on
Anyone, and anything
So you never have to
Take responsibility
For what you've done to me

It's the cigarettes
That stole my breath
The weight of my expectations
That broke my trust
The spinning of my own wheels
That drove me into madness
'Cause you don't do anything
Everyone has a **** like this in their life.
Hannah Sep 2017
my favorite time of the day is 4am,
or maybe it's my favorite time of the night.

whether I'm just waking up,
or just going to sleep,

the calm darkness and quiet reminds me
that right now it's only me and the moon.

I like to think that she listens.
I talk to her like company.

this is the most cozy time of night,
or maybe the easiest part of the day.

she is the only thing
that always comes back to me.
Hannah Sep 2017
I'm cutting my hair.
My mom thinks it's cute,
But I don't really care.
You touched it so it now means nothing but split ends and bleach in my skull.

I'm cutting my hair;
You're not welcome here.
I hope you hate how it looks and I hope my dad hates it, too;
New season new me is the cliché I chose.

I'm cutting my hair:
I like it more than I ever liked you.
You are dead ends and fine words.
I hope my dust fills your lungs and you long for me;
But I don't care,
I'm cutting my hair.

I'm cutting my hair because it's gross,
More gross than you and your venom kiss.
I'm cutting my hair because it's cute;
I'm cutting my hair because I despise you.

I’m at the sink holding scissors and razors;
I wish they were as sharp as your eye for imperfection.
I look in the mirror,
But I don’t see myself;
I see someone stronger and wiser and better than you.

Can you recognize such a pretty little thing?
Makeup smeared across my lips,
Chunks of blonde missing?
Would you even care if these scissors slip,
Scaring my face and obstructing your view?

Did I ever mean anything to you?

But why do I care?...
I already cut my hair.

— The End —