I was 8
Mom and dad were always fighting
I'd run to my closet
And close the doors
I could still hear the yelling
I begged them to stop
A couple of times
But they tucked me in bed
As if everything was fine
Then one day
They sat me down
In my little pink chair
They sat together
But farther apart than normal
On my bed
Starring at me
Just a little girl
With pigtails in her hair
Looking back
At mommy
And daddy
Everything got quiet
And then dad spoke up
He said baby girl
Mommy and I
Can't live together anymore
You'll see me every other week
And I'll be moving out
You can have a new room
With new toys
And it will all be okay
I didn't cry
I didn't say
I hated them
I just sat there quietly
Mom started crying
Saying it wasn't my fault
Or my big brothers
That there just comes a time
When you aren't happy anymore
And dad walked out
Mom soon followed
Dad moved away
I saw him every other week
They still fight now
When I'm 17
I realized I was always the reason
For the yelling and screaming

I crave the attention but I won't admit it

She has lived her whole life saying she wants to be a Poet. But inside her, all she is searching for is to be someone elese's poetry.

She's the girl who only drinks black coffee
And smokes menthol cigarettes
With her lipstick staining the filter
She laughs at corny jokes
And dances in the rain
until her hair is soaking wet
She's the girl who listens to birds singing
In the mornings before spring
And writes poetry about heartbreaks
She is the storm before a hurricane

If I told you I loved you,
What would you say?
Would you love me too,
Or walk away?

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless ***. I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.

But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.

I remember the first time I watched the great Gatsby.
Your legs propped on my own,
Sailing in the land of happy dreams
You slept.
While I watched the most heartbreaking movie of the 2014.

You never realised how much that movie meant.
Never conceived how much  
Words and acts could drive a person

It was at that moment
As I watched Gatsby fall
His dreams shattered and his heart ruined
That I was hit with the reality.
Last nights drunken actions were more
Than just movements or simple words.

To me atleast
It all meant more
Deep down inside
Than you could ever have understood.

And though you hardly ever mentioned
The ongoings of that particular night,
It stayed with me.

And as Mr. Carraway spoke
Those last tantalising words of love,
I promised myself.
One day I shall tell you.
One day I shall have the courage Daisy never did.
To admit once and for all,
To the universe that I love you.

She was not fragile like a flower;
She was fragile like a bomb.

Depression isn't when you know
That everything around you
Is going wrong
and you feel sad,
Depression is when you know
That everything around you
Is going right
And you still feel you sad.