Another glass her pours;
10 AM, 3 glasses deep.
Why? I wonder. Is it me?
He swallows,
And I see his eyes light up
As the fiery liquid burns his throat.
To escape,
I answer my own question,
To escape.
I have my own methods,
But this one so foreign to me.
And I want to understand, I do.
But how can I understand how he’s slowly killing himself
And yet no one hears the cry for help.
No one but me.
Him, him, him, is all I think.
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, is all he drinks.

Over rocky roads and steep cliffs I have climbed.
The journey treacherous and never ending.
The wolves, they chased me the whole way; One wrong move and I’d be dead.
“Is this living?” I ask myself.
No, this is surviving.
But I continue on, because I must.

Down the narrow paths and up the rigid walkways.
For days on end, I feel nothing but the cold biting at my fingertips.
We fear monsters and men and dragons, yet the cold is a beast of its own.
My hands go numb,
But I continue on, because I must.

The terrain beneath my feet begins to toughen.
The wolves, I can hear them in the near distance.
I could give up now, but I would never know what living feels like.
So I continue on, because I must.

As I rise higher, it becomes harder to breathe, so much so that I almost collapse.
But then I hear it, the ocean calling my name.
I run from the mountains to the hills of white sand that kiss the water.
I breathe in the salty air.
And like a child, I roll down the dunes to the water’s edge.
I dip my toes in; this time the cold is my friend.
The golden sun illuminates the evening sky with hues of pink and orange.
I let my body melt into the sand,
Not caring about how it seeps into my clothes,
Not caring at all.
And so I gather twigs and branches and reeds.
And build a home beside the sea.
Where I can live, not survive.
Where I can breathe.

And so I continue on,
Because I can.

My therapist asked me what color my depression would be
I told her black, black, black
She asked me what it looks like, how it moves
"Like tar", I said, "Like tar"

i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like ocean-breathing. quite like soft
hearts and softer fingers. quite like hands
strong and hair pulled.
kiss me until i forget her name. push me
on my knees in the hallway—breathe me;
breathe me; breathe me.
i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like “take it off”. quite like “****, ****,
you’re—”. quite like “how much **** would
you get for this hickey?”.
give me mouth to neck to hands to back.
give me soft, give me softer, harder. give
me all teeth, all fingernails, all scratch and
no soothe.
i’m not drunk but i might as well be; you
have never been an instrument i knew how
to play well enough to perform. i’m on my
knees and then not anymore and i’m not
one for praying but i feel like this is the
moment i ask god when i turned into
something so close to an exit wound
even my mother wouldn’t recognise me
anymore.
i don’t think there are things quite like this:
quite like trembling so hard the china might
scatter on the floor like ashes. quite like
“i’m not just using you”. quite like whispers
so soft they seem to go up in smoke.
he kisses my neck and i go weak in the knees
but i feel like i would be strong enough to
withstand a hurricane like this. he kisses
my neck and his hand is on my hip and
i think about how sometimes a flood brings
more than it takes away and i think
that’s you. i think that’s you. sometimes
i wonder if i could be like that for you
too.
you see, i don’t think there are things
quite like this:
quite like shaking but still. quite like
cold but willing. quite like you.

look,
she will never tell you her deepest secrets or kiss you quite long enough to feel whole. and some nights she will sneak out of bed and yell when you follow her, because there are nights when she needs to breathe and there have been too many fires too close to her throat lately.
let her go. tell her you know about thunderstorms, about storms so rough you seem to topple over at the thought of them—tell her, you too, have felt the earth shake beneath the soles of your feet a few times too many to stay still.
you don’t have to kiss her scars. you just have to kiss her.
boy, on good days, take her by her bruised hands and lead her to a place where you have always found sanctuary. kiss her then. she will trace your bones with her tongue and lay her hand on your chest to check if you’re hollow. kiss her then. sometimes she will smoke to fill herself with something else than pain. kiss her then.
look: when she trembles so loud you can hear her empty bones rattle, place one hand in her hair and one on her hip and kiss her. kiss her until she stills. being an avalanche like her is exhausting, but sometimes she just won’t know how to stop it.
when she falls asleep on the couch again, know that she is not avoiding you. she’s avoiding the emptiness of having you so close she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to touch yet. she doesn’t know if she earned it yet. and when you see her do her workout routine twice, it’s because the couch is giving her trouble sleeping—even more than the bed did. she hopes she will be too tired to care this way.
take her by the hand again. take her to bed. place her head on your chest. show her it’s alright to touch.
when she tells you she’s been counting the cracks in the ceiling because her head is filled with ideas of death and despair, repaint it. tell her this is a new colour for new thoughts and new beginnings. cover her eyes. kiss her eyelids. tell her they don’t always filter light but they don’t have to. tell her it’s alright to be an avalanche. tell her it’s alright to be an avalanche.
but remember this: when you are ready to fall to your knees, she will be there. when you feel the earth tremble beneath your feet, she will be there. and when your hands shake so much you don’t think you can hold her anymore, she will be there.
there is so much more to her than just something to hold. she’s not just this anger, she’s not just this closeness in her veins that makes you forget the way home, she is so much more than just gritting teeth and letting it go.
when you are ready to fall, she will always be there to catch you. remember: she knows the ripple of hurt that tears through your body so violently—she knows how it feels. she has felt it herself. when you tremble, she will make you still. when you tremble, she will make you still.
this is not just about her. this is about you, too. about the cracks in your ceiling. about your avalanche. realise that she understands. when you lay your head on her chest to check if she is hollow, realise she knows exactly what you’re doing. when you ask her to pass the cigarette, realise that she too, knows how it feels to fill yourself with something besides pain.
oh sweetheart, when the vastness of her love makes you agoraphobic, she will take you to the place she loves most and kiss you. she will kiss you breathless. don’t you know it’s in her blood to take care of you?

open up your
veins show me
your blood all
I ever wanted
was to
breathe—you—in
baby make my
heart
stop

Said boys are usually found in nightclubs, where they’ll grab your waist and whisper in your ear but six months later you’ll find yourself drunk texting them that you miss them and they won’t respond.

2. Said boys walk like fire and look like they’re burning, ashes trailing behind them and you, too, will be nothing but a burnt out shell when they’re done with you, honey.

3. Said boys draw patterns on the small of your back and when they have left, their touches will have sunken into your skin and left scars deep beneath it.

4. Said boys call you sweetheart, look at you like you hung the moon, smile at you like you’re everything, everything, everything—

5. Said boys claw out your heart with blunt fingers, plant seeds of insecurity in between your ribs, call you broken after they have crushed every bone in your body.

6. Said boys hand you drinks and see your acceptance as an open invitation to ruin you.

7. Said boys will always ruin you.  

8. Said boys like short dresses in ruby red, like blood, like blood, like blood.

9. Said boys may act like they’re kissing your body but they’re looking for weak spots with their mouths.

10. Said boys know your mother raised you well, know you will not cry over a man when you’ve been through worse, know you are strong—

11. Said boys know your father gave you a pocket knife, know the ****** 101 he gave you when you turned thirteen.

12. Said boys will not follow you in their cars, will not corner you in an alleyway, will not walk too close behind you on the sidewalk.

13. Said boys will take you on dates and kiss you after the fourth, said boys will take it slow, said boys will text you good morning beautiful’s and call ******* making love.

14. Said boys will not look like their shoulders are too weak, or their voices too quiet.

15. Said boys will make sure no monster can enter your bed but them.

16. Said boys will make you thank them for it.

17. Said boys like it when you smile at them, like an open invitation to let them ruin you.

18. Said boys will always ruin you.