Every time someone asks me, “how is your mother?”
I am paralyzed for just a moment
I hesitate, satiate them with a “she’s just fine”
But the reality is I haven’t got a clue
My mother, my best friend, one of the loves of my life
I guess maybe she doesn’t see me the same way
She doesn’t bat an eye when she’s got methadone,
Hennessy,
watered down beer,
xanax,
a man who she thinks will make her happy.. any impulse
She only bats and eye to release the tears as we beg for a “why?”

Yesterday I almost told you
how I was ready to die
I’ve been ready but
I haven’t said it out loud
then the conversation turned
to you away from me as it does
but that’s okay
I finally feel free

I’m hoping I make it long enough
to fill this book with my heart.

Since the crash I have found that I really do not care about much of anything at all
It’s all a waste of time
of energy
Why am I here
Who allowed me to survive

I fuel the fire that engulfs me,
pouring every ounce I have into it
I watch my flesh being peeled apart,
All that I hate destroyed before my eyes
It shouldn’t feel so good to watch this body crumble,
But I’ve been wishing it to happen for years now
My loved ones watch in horror from afar,
Yes in horror but never in shock
They have witnessed me slowly striking the match for years,
Only just now did it hit hard enough to flame.

I often wonder where and who I would be
if I finally chose to abandon my usual methods of coping
would I be doing better?
would I be here at all?

I wish I would have held you longer
used a softer voice when I spoke to you
I wish I would have guided you
to nicer people on smoother paths
I wish I could have held your eyes shut
so you never had to see the evil around you
I wish I would’ve stopped you from seeking
comfort in all the wrong places
and convinced you to
seek peace in me instead
forgive me for cowering away in the past
forcing you to take the brunt of it all
I don’t blame you for the ways you chose
to cope and alleviate your pain
I promise to be here with you until the end
no matter how long you choose to stay or however you choose to go.

The words are seeping from my pores tonight,
Overflowing with sorrow, grief, too many things left unheard.

They’ll ask me if it was the food that did it for me
or if it was the puking
I guess it was both,
they both numbed me right up
until my gag reflex gave out
Now I sit here with buds in my ears,
nodding my head to the music
with a bottle to my lips
the alcohol cooling my empty stomach
This is how I live with myself
at least I’m living with myself

I was thrown in a hole only armed with a shovel.
They yell and scream at me to find a way out.
What the hell am I supposed to do with the tools I’ve been given other than dig myself even deeper?

I get lost in my brain more and more often,
Always in the hidden corners with sharp edges.
My mind takes hold and engulfs me,
Tucking me away with it.
Sometimes I scream, other times I comply.
It is not gentle and it is not harsh, it is me.
The only things that will bring me back probably cause even more harm, I think.
Blades bring my mind in focus, sharp and clearer than before.
They cut away what’s overwhelming me even if only for a short while.
Food brings me comfort and a place to land softly, until the guilt sets in of course.
Purging allows me to expel the harsh words and thoughts with force and all at once,
Finding relief until I’m hungry again.
None of these things ever hold and I am once again lost in my mind, losing my mind.
Temporary relief is keeping me sane,
For now.

My wounds have healed
and turned to scars
but I do not feel safe yet
I am not safe in this skin
and it is not safe from me
at any moment it can
so easily be opened
to again bleed red
when will I learn that it is here
to protect me from what is on the outside,
not what is on the inside

So many have a thing for roses
even my middle name
stems from the flower- Rose
deep red, never unnoticed
So strong with such vibrancy
yet so very opposite from myself
Still I grasped for it
wanting the strength and
attention it promised
And as the thorns
pricked my fingers
I only held tighter
bleeding red onto red

Don’t try to put out my fire,
you have no right.
I know you mean well,
but your feeble buckets won’t save me.

We walk and we lie with monsters
they hold our hands
caress our cheeks
plant kisses on our lips
some may even actually care
We become so sure of them
and so unsure of ourselves
that we still hold those hands even after they have bruised us
we still long for their touch
even when we know they don’t know how to caress anymore
we wish for their lips
all while they use them to spout hate in our direction
now that we know what they are capable of
their promise to love us til the end of time
is the scariest truth of all

How do you tell the people
who love you the most
that you don’t want to be here anymore
How do you say,
I promise it’s not you or your fault,
there is just so much pain.  
How do you look them in the eyes
and apologize for not being strong enough,
for not being able to make it to
your own wedding or your college graduation.
How do you tell them you never
planned on making it to them
in the first place.
All I can offer them is an
I’m sorry, I love you.
Thank you for loving me more than I could myself

We're all just a bunch of dying writers
trying to live again,
only able to mend ourselves with words
never spoken aloud.
Poetry is born out of brokenness and healing,
so whether you are hurting or putting
your pieces back together,
please never stop writing.

I’ve left myself with two options,
both offering a way out for me
The only difference being
who I hurt in the process

I will trust you
and believe I deserve better
when you are willing to be more obliging
than these demons.
I will not beg for a caring hand
when I already have a comfortable darkness
I know will never leave me.

Is the sky really the limit
or did I just lose too many feathers
before I could manage to get off the ground?

A girl who was familiar with bruises,
shouting and harsh words no longer made her ears ring.
An elementary school girl who learned what it meant when her parents were too drowsy to speak,
borrowing money meant she’d never see it again.
A teenager who knew that her family would not change,
promises were never certain and lies would always be.
A young adult who now continued the abuse on herself,
pain was a constant and always self inflicted.
Can she be blamed for how she was taught to love?
Can you hold her accountable for the ways she learned to protect herself?

My music only gets slower
and my lyrics sadder
just as I do

I spend hours each day
doubled over the toilet,
spewing feelings
anger
     sadness
                 tears streaming
                                          down my
                                     face
                 worthlessness
all flushed
out of my mind and down the drain,
until next time

Sometimes I do wish
you could hear just
how dangerous this
silence can be.

I am often only able to be handled in small doses,
too much of me and you’ll OD,
                       get sick from me.
I come on too rapidly, too brutally to be managed by most,
                      Hardly by any.
I cause a pit to form in the depths of your stomach,
                       you feel queasy.
I am the lump that blocks your air passage,                    
                       you can’t breathe.
You choke on me and the only way to fix it is to spit me out,
                       rid yourself of me.

You meet your knight in shining armor,
the healer of your pain,
one who promised to be there for you
through thick and thin-
for the first few months anyways.
Soon they’ll get tired of you
having your bad days more often
than what they expected,
the swords will be laid down
and you will be avoided
while at war with your brain.
You’ll be left to fend for yourself again,
fighting an army with your bare hands.
They will only come back when the coast is clear, just in time for the stronger you.
Your bruised knuckles will be kissed,
and you will be supported until it heats up again,
it is another bad day and you are all you have.

And I know that
if I begged my mom to talk to me
before I killed myself,
she still wouldn’t pick up

Blood stained hips
Trembling lips
I caress the edge
longing for its touch
I slowly sink its teeth into my skin
soft flesh parting once again
I promised myself last time
would be the last time
But how can there be a last time
when the pain is endless

An angel who followed all
the right signs
and in the end
they still led you to hell.

You ask me what I dream about at night
and all I say is that I do not remember
Because the things that appear to me
in my sleep
are better left at rest,
even if I will be seeing them again tonight.

Why would I beg for a caring hand
when I can just pay for one?

With each raise of your fist
an angel is born
their soft kisses soothe her bruises
the wings shelter her from the harsh words
and the halo is offered to hide the tears
she slips deeper and deeper into
the belief that things will change
that you will change
she believes this angel can protect her
every time the alcohol touches your lips
but in the end she is the angel who now knows
just how impossible it is to escape the devil

Have you ever had a coping mechanism
ripped right out from under you?
Your demon who promised to never leave you
is taken without your permission
or just stops working one day?
Do you have any idea what that does to someone?
I have become so rampant
so out of control
all in search of a new one
I don’t think I have ever hated myself
as much as I do today,
or as much as I will tomorrow

You often paint bruises across my skin,
your brush choice varying,
some more brutal than others.
Anger,
Your greatest inspiration,
guiding you as you lay each new little component,
creating a masterpiece.

Now, I often draw precision lines across my skin,
My utensil is quite unalike yours.
Anguish,
My greatest inspiration,
Guiding me closer and closer to masterpiece of my own.

I write for me and I write for her.
I do not write to you or to those whom judge others for their own feelings.
I write to express my heart and it’s sadness,
to expose my brain and it’s madness.
These are words my mouth cannot form,
And my being dare not externalize.
The ink on these pages may be looked upon with disgust and horror,
Or possibly understanding and appreciation.
Please, as you read my words do not ingest them so harshly,
Allow time to let them sink in,
And be taken in the smallest pieces.
These pieces are mine and are of me,
Handle them with the care I deserve.

I am a girl,
Living in a hollowed out shell.
My shell used to be full,
Of love for both myself and others.
I am a girl,
Controlled by a brain so cruel,
My mind used to find the beauty in things,
But now only finds the ugly in me.
I am a girl,
My life used to be worth living but I am no longer convinced,
Conflicted on staying alive while wanting to be dead.
I was a girl.

You can either choose to be ashamed of me,
or be glad you at least got the chance to meet me.

I am tired
of being sick and tired
but I will accept
one last stretch of being
sick and tired
if it means I finally get to rest

What do you do when the words of the devil
become secondary to the air you breathe
She whispers to you as you sleep
as you eat
and even now as ***** kisses your lips.
Somehow her presence offers peace
and I have begun to only welcome her.
I give myself to her more and more each time,
as I am aware she knows firsthand how to break an angel

I was the person who jumped in the water first
while others stopped just at the shore
I was daring and willing to risk it all
people would watch from afar
and only wish for my courage
but during one of those leaps
I lost my footing,
I hit the ground hard,
now bruised and hurt
both legs appear broken
and I am only sinking
my attempt at recovery has been feeble
and I sit here wishing I never took the chance
I am fractured and lost at sea
promising to never leap again

I want to tear apart my skin to show you how ugly I am on the inside.
I want to show you the face behind this shell.
I want you to catch a glimpse of the voices and what they tell me
              Disgusting, shame, pig
I want to remove my eyeballs so you can see what I see.
I want to show you the teeth that eat away at my being.
I want to see you shudder as the demons seep from my pores.
             Can’t get away, poison

Being a dreamer
has ruined my reality
I’ve always spent quite a bit of time in my head
painting pictures of what life should be,
what life should feel like
Now as an adult I am constantly moving around to new homes in new places
forever unsatisfied by what I see and what I do not feel
I fear I will never find what I am searching for,
As I know my dreams cannot be reality

How does one learn to love themselves
and the body they live in?
If I had the ability to rip this skin
from my being and throw it all away,
I would
I would take myself apart
piece by piece,
right down to the soul
I would bare it for the world to see
so they can finally understand
it’s not all in my head.
Do you still want me?
Do you finally see me?
Trust me, neither do I.

My life did not fall apart
all at once or so suddenly
small pieces and fragments
began to wear down and
be stripped away slowly
first the distance
between my family grew
I was alone before I knew it
no longer crossing their minds
my body became weary
and my thoughts ran slower
my love for reading and school faded
love for myself declined rapidly then
I shed weight and I shed tears
remaining tucked away in my home alone
locked away with this brain
unsure if I want to stay anymore
still my questions go unanswered
why did they leave
where did my mind go
where can I find myself again.

I’ll tell you I have been crying
for the last three hours
and the thing is
I was so strong for so long
that it was just one small incident
which caused me to crack
and now that I’ve cracked,
I can only continue to crumble
until I become the nothing
I’ve always thought i was

I’m sorry if my words
don’t make much sense anymore.

Sobriety
has brought me a clearer head
for all my thoughts to fill

And that is why I hate it

I write and I spill my heart onto these pages
over and over almost daily
I cry and smudge the ink
wrinkling the paper as it dries
but no matter how many words
seep through my pores and my pen
it still does not feel like enough
enough to stop my tears or
lift this weight from my chest
Here I am, clenching my fists
knuckles white, around this pen
wishing I never had to write another sad poem

I’m in love with an angel
one who lit the entire night sky even when she couldn’t see the light herself
her heart held love
for every living thing except herself
I guess maybe she just ran out of space  
this angel would fight for you or for me
every opportunity she got
but she never stood a chance in saving herself

I never thought these words
would ever leave my lips
but I long for the day
when I can finally spill
the entirety of my heart and
my soul onto the floor in front of me
until it soaks through my shoes,
stains the floorboards,
and leaks into the cracks of
someone else’s ceiling
I want these confessions to forever
be engrained in this home and this hell,
and in the people who chose to bleach over my ruins instead of taking care of a mess
they helped create a long time ago