This is an ode to my own self love
Because tonight I forgot who I ******* was
I was looking at a profile with the guy i was on a date with and he said that the girl in the picture was pretty and I asked what about her is pretty and as we scrolled through the pictures he said I like the ones where she looks normal
And when this ******* meant normal
I knew he meant white
He mean blonde haired, blue eyed, perfect skin and white teeth
And I looked at myself I knew I was none of these things
My skin is not white, neither are my teeth, and they are crooked
Like my skin, which is not flawless, no Beyoncé, I did not wake up flawless
My hair is dark brown, almost black, but that's my natural color
I've been bleaching it blonde since I was twelve
What the **** does that tell you
I got my first two tattoos when I was eighteen
And I saw how the girls face had no piercings
And I looked at my 00 gauges and my septum, cartilage, tragus, and second hole piercings
And I wanted to rip them all off
I wanted to scratch my tattoos off
I wanted to take my hair off
I wanted to rip my skin off
I felt inadequate
I felt like I could never be enough
Well I'm tan and unconventional
So that means I can never be ******* loved
So this is an ode to myself:

Dear Ella,
Look at me,
Thick body, with curves that slay like Beyoncé's
Glasses thick so you can see your own beauty
Lipstick dark like the shade of a ruby
And you don't care
You don't care what anyone thinks because you know you rock it
Your blonde and brown hair is unique, no one else can rock it
Your piercings are a part of you, that's why you ******* chose them
The same thing with the tattoos, girl, that's why you own them
They have meaning to you, they're beautiful to you
So what the **** does what this guy thinks phase you
The way you do your makeup is beautiful,
Your style is beautiful
And every scar on your arm is important to you
So don't pretend that what he thinks is more important than what you do
Love yourself, girl, because without you there would be no you

-E (c) 2017

The Blare
Hurts your eyes.
Your so used to the dark.
The fear and the hurt
And the pain.
You had nowhere to go.
Just sitting alone.
Darker than the darkest of nights.
But here
Is your chance!
A light in the dark.
A way
To get out of this mess.
But,
You turn and you flee.
Away from the bright.
To scared to take
The risk

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again

A little girl with golden ringlet curls skips up the stone path
Tucked under her arm, she carries a white box tied together with a red, elastic ribbon
Come play with me she pleads, pulling at my shirt
My mind is elsewhere, and though I wasn't expecting a visitor, I laugh and let her drag me over under the big willow tree
She cuddles close, her small heartbeat familiar, almost
Her muddy brown eyes sparkle with excitement
I want to show you my toys she says, pushing her box to me
Open it! she orders
Good-naturedly, I tug at the ribbon
It is tough, almost muscular to touch, but I wrestle the box from its grasp
Only to realize how beautiful the box itself is, a rose and thorn pattern carved into its bone-white ivory panels
Go on the girl prompts
I push off the lid, and smile at the girl before looking inside

The girl claps her hands and laughs as I gag
Acidic tears burning in my eyes
Aren't they lovely? she sing-songs
She shows off her puppets one at a time, squeezing each by their broken strings
And I recognize them all

There is an elementary school teacher, a hunched and frail grandmother, the piano man, that boy from my town who jumped off a bridge,
my dad
All of them so very, very
Dead
My own personal collection of ghosts dangled before my eyes

The left side of their chests are stained rust-red, a gaping heart-shaped wound hacked into the fabric of who they were

I stare at the girl wide eyed, shaking with rage
What are you? I whisper
She blinks up at me and then, I recognize her
I recognize myself
For this little girl is me as I was, before I met the boy,
The boy with endless eyes
Before I met-

The little girl lunges into my face
Baring her small, perfect teeth and red, red lips in a controted grin

He says hi she hisses
And a shiver runs through my veins

She stands, pushing her way beyond the weeping branches of the willow tree, clearly done with me
Over her shoulder she calls the words
You can expect a visit soon
Before skipping down the stone path, box in arm again
Until even the gold reflections of her hair are swallowed by mists

I shudder, wishing I could close my eyes
But I see her box every time I blink, with my dead all meatly arranged in a line-
I go and chase the sunlight
And it gets a little better
I feel safe enough to breathe

But still, in the back of my mind,
I know her warning resonates true
Expect a visit soon

Somehow I'm never ready when he comes.

We tend to separate monsters and men
Simplifying and beliving that such things can't happen again
But if we could only resurrect the dead
The sole answer would be "that's what we said"

We call abhorent acts of criminals "inhuman"
Thinking cruelty only comes from ******* men
But animals never threaten holocaust or world war
And even big brother was a child before

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.