“i did love you, and i still do. and how my standards of girls is based completely around you.”
you sang that in the car one day,
pointing to me as that line came on,
and i smirked and laughed,
so young and naive thinking we would be together forever.
that there would be never be another me.
but three months later,
and you’re with me version 2.0.

you tell everyone you are fine.
you are taking your meds.
you are smiling and laughing
you are agreeing to *** because sometimes it’s painful and you can’t hurt yourself anymore.
you are saying “have a wonderful day” with a smile while you work.
but the nighttime hits,
and you’re in bed numb.
maybe you decide to take an extra sleeping pill to knock you out,
but instead it just makes you high,
and you’re okay with that.
you try to tell someone that you are not okay.
they don’t seem to care. they don’t want to help.
your dog ends up coming into your room,
and you use her fur as a tissue to soak up all the tears that fall.
you whisper between sobs,
“i am not enough”
“i am not enough for him”
“i am nothing”
“i don’t want to be here”
“i don’t want to be here”
“i don’t want to be here”
she just puts her head down and doesn’t seem to care either.
you have nothing.
you have nobody.
would another cut really matter?
would killing yourself really matter?
you’ll put that smile back on your face the next day.

i wanna fall in love again
look at the stars and hold someone’s hand again
i wanna be loved again
feel like someone’s world’s again
i wanna be wanted again
be less of a burden and more of a relief again

if you look up the definition of “bipolar” in the dictionary, you’d find my mom’s name screaming loud and proud in big fat letters.
you can say you’re bipolar all you want,
think it’s a cute ******* self diagnosed disease you can use to explain your mood swings,
but you will never understand how terrifying it is.
when from one moment you can hold your mom’s hand and watch movies with her,
the next she’s screaming that she’s going to **** herself, a knife turning her knuckles white.
bipolar disorder isn’t a rom com where the sick gets better in a nice little mental hospital,
it’s a horror film filled with blood spatter scenes and a not so happy ending.
but the scariest part of it is that when you check the definition again,
you’ll slowly start to see my name appear.

i want your bad days to become my bad days and our bad days become our good days.
i want to fall asleep to your kiss at night and wake up to you pulling me closer in the morning when we should both be getting out of bed.
i want your hand on my thigh during car rides,
i want you to sing whatever song is playing through your car’s speakers,
tapping your fingers on my skin to the beat.
i want your lips in my hair as you pull me into you on a chilly day,
using each other for warmth.
i want to hold your hand through grocery stores, parks, the mall, new cities we explore.
i just want to hold your hand.
i want to feel your smile on my lips when i kiss you,
as if kissing me is the best thing you could ever possibly experience.
i want you and i’m not ashamed of it anymore.

i am so tired of this body i made my home in.
i wish i could rip it to shreds,
cut it into a million little pieces just to stitch it back together something new,
a new broken frame glued back together.
i wish every one of your kisses made feel beautiful again,
but instead of sending every self hatred fueled demon away,
your kiss just makes me feel worthless and used,
a burden you keep around because you like how i ****.
i am so tired of this body i made my home in,
a used shell that i wish i could throw into the ocean for another creature to find solace in.

he kissed her so passionately, her moans escaped onto his lips. as soon as he stopped, she pulled him back to him and kissed him as if he was the oxygen she needed to breathe.
she only ever felt alive when she was touching him.

it’s starting to be just you.

i’m not so tired anymore.

my eyes sparkle in the sun & my presence brings a smile to your face,
i’ve learned to accept that i’m worth so much more than i think.

sometimes i still think that i will end up killing myself.
maybe that’s not a bad thing,
maybe these deadly thoughts filling my mind in the middle of the night is just fate telling me it’s the way i need to go.
maybe it’s how i balance out the universe.
i’ll run my finger along the bright blue veins on my wrist,
calluses getting caught on what seems like a million scars,
and maybe i’ll start to pretend that i opened up my skin again.
maybe a smile will creep up into my face when i think about what songs would play at my funeral,
an eerie message whispering to me that i do not belong here.
maybe the universe should be telling me to keep loving him,
to plan our wedding,
to plan our future,
and wedding bells do sing in the back of my mind,
but the idea that he’s not happy anymore sings louder.
the idea that i should give up before my heart gets torn out of my chest screams so loudly i feel like i’m going deaf.
maybe drowning a bottle of pills,
or wrapping my Malibu around a tree
is still written at the top of my Christmas wish list,
and i still wonder if these thoughts are fate’s way of telling me i do not belong here.

i have been thrown away so many times that you all are just enjoying digging through the ******* trying to find pieces you want to like

“please tell me how the **** i’m supposed to deal with losing you.”

you should have told me you were seeing someone again.
(did i really need to?)
you promised me. i ******* trusted you.
(your first mistake.)
******* for making me ******* think/
******* for taking my trust and ******* on it.
i hope he’s better than me.
(he wasn’t.)
i hope you’re ******* happy and you don’t miss me.
(i am but that doesn’t mean i don’t miss you.)
you never ******* cared.
i won’t ever forgive you for this.
(did you forgive me?)
you never cared like i did.
that’s over now.
(i cared more than you know.)
next time have the ***** to say it instead of making someone think there’s something when there isn’t.
(i told you i was toxic.)
don’t just push them away until they realize by themselves.
i thought you were different.
(i wasn’t different! why was i different?)
i heard your voice, you didn’t care.
(being numb is a strange feeling.)
tell me to go away, say we are done.
(we were after you did this.)
you were never my friend. you wouldn’t be like this if you were.
(i’m toxic.)
you aren’t the same. you used to care and be so sweet.
(a person can’t change in a month.)
i deserve better than this.
(you deserve way better than me.)
i wanted to give you everything.
i wanted to ******* take care of you and help you. i wanted to give you all of my time and energy and love and i would have done anything for you.
(i don’t know if that’s true. no one can give another all that.)
you need to ******* get yourself okay because you’re just gonna keep hurting people.
does he know that you’re gonna hurt him?
(he hurt me.)
you’re my death cup now.

/texts received after i said i needed space.

holding a new hand after 3 years of the same familiar fingers curled around mine is a concept i never would have thought i needed to master.
his hand isn’t yours;
his fingers don’t meet mine like yours did,
but holding his hand makes me feel wanted,
something you never made me feel these last few months.
i’m always going to love you,
but i think i’m starting to fall in love with a new hand grasping hold of mine.

i stopped writing because i didn't need to when you were my paper and my lips were the pen

i always asked you to take me to the museum,
just so i can look at everything that fascinates me.
but you never took the time to take me there,
to do something with me that i’ve always wanted to do.
you never took the time to make me happy with a simple $9 ticket and time spent with me on a saturday afternoon.

i met him for the first time,
and he held my hand smiling and laughing at me as i showed him everything that interested me.
giddy and as carefree as a child,
that’s all i’ve ever wanted.
to be brought to a place that i enjoy with a person that i enjoy,
but i guess seeing me happy wasn’t on your to do list in this lifetime.

running around the basement of a house i’ve never been,
i don’t think i’ve ever felt so content.
high on strong ****,
buzzed on ****** beer,
the bump of cymbalta taking its effect on my brain.
happiness is surging through my veins,
and everything seems all right.
underage ******* clinging onto the person i love more than anything,
so i lock my lips with his,
a giant “*******” to each girl who wants more than to hear his music.
60 mg of happy drugs running through my system,
i’ve never felt more content.
my best friends at my side,
the love of my life singing his heart out on a makeshift stage,
and everything seems to be okay.

i hope it hurts you,
seeing me with him,
a photo popping up on your snapchat feed.
i know you miss me,
and i know you want to try again,
and maybe i do too,
but i like the power it gives me to make you hurt.

please do not touch me like you touched her.
i am not her, but i think you knew that already.
you just refuse to admit it,
instead tracing your fingers down my back as if the curves of my body were the same as hers.
your hand will not fit in mine like how hers fit yours.
please do not touch me like you touched her.
i am someone else.
you can’t pretend to hide your longing for her by trying to find relief in me.

sometimes I feel like my only childhood memory was hiding in my sibling's room while you fought, while you were so drunk the only thing the bottle told you was to use anger to hide the self loathing you carried. how the screaming rattled the walls, and the smell of beer filled every room in the house. how I was so young, I didn't know what was going on. how could I have known what was going on?
but in the end- thanks for choosing your addiction over me.

i promised myself i would never again become addicted to another’s touch,
but here i am lonely bed passed midnight,
only wanting you to trace your fingers up my thigh again.
only needing you to touch me again.

i hope you miss how i read in the car on our road trips,
how i gave you a hush and a smirk when you talked as i read an interesting paragraph.
i hope you miss looking for me in your concert crowds,
how you raised your eyebrows and saw me laugh,
singing along,
your biggest fan out of everyone in the tiny room.
i hope you miss my kiss,
my touch,
my ****.
i hope you miss how it drove you wild,
‘cause i sure as hell know it did.
i hope you miss my breathy moans on your mouth,
how i dig my nails in your back.
i hope you miss me like i miss you,
because i want to go back to you,
but i know i can never do that.

i just want you to feel the same way that poetry makes me feel.
whole, alive, confident.
poetry makes me scream the truth,
and i want you to want to be honest,
scream truthful words from the tops of the highest buildings,
or whisper your deepest secrets into my ear.
i just want you to feel the same way that poetry makes me feel.
wanted.

i wake up sad often
in the middle of the night when the entire house is quiet
with nothing or no one to tell it to
i wake up sad often
my chest aching and my mind screaming
and not one thing to help me soothe the thoughts
i wake up sad often
and i just want you to hold me again

overthinking, overwhelmed, under appreciated

if you love someone you’re supposed to notice them
telling her that she’s beautiful more often doesn’t lose its meaning,
the lack of telling her, makes her feel meaningless
saying that you will feel like it will sound forced makes me feel meaningless
if you think it all the time, why the **** would it lose its meaning?
i am not beautiful
i am not enough
and i will never be enough
‘cause you pay more attention to them,
when i’m in bed crying myself to sleep over and over and over and over again
you’ll drop everything for someone you’ve only known for a month when they’re not okay,
but you won’t bother to drop everything for me
you’re supposed to be there for me
you’re supposed to help me
you’re supposed to ******* be there

i can’t find the strength to fight for people to stay

i always found it easiest to scream my feelings out on paper, but now i find it easier just to have me scream them when you're on top of me.

"what does it feel like, being so numb that caring doesn't even cross your mind?"
"have you ever put ice and salt to your skin just to feel and see the reaction?"
"yes."
"it feels like that. pain, but a pain that's inviting. a pain that makes you curious, so you keep the ice there just a little bit longer."

verbal abuse was the one thing that came out of your addiction that tore me apart. words and phrases that crawled up my spine, words that made getting punched in the face seem less painful. you may have forgotten every bad thing you've said to me, but I haven't. I always tried to forgive you, but how could I forgive you if you just kept throwing those words at me? you just needed your high to feel sane. I'm going to take every word you've ever said to me to the grave,'cause you're not worthy of my forgiveness. but in the end, thanks for choosing your addiction over me.

now i know why you drank so much during your lifetime.
i know why you were so angry when you were drunk,
the truth always comes out when a person isn’t sober.
i know why i had to grow up being terrified,
why i had to hide when the alcohol was coursing through your veins,  
and why i lost so much sleep wondering if you’d even come home from bar.
you’re such an amazing person,
and sometimes i wish you never met her so you could have lived your life to your full potential.
i know you love me to death,
that i am your daughter and you regret how scared you made me,
but i wish you never met her.
i wish you didn’t marry her and have children with her.
i wish i wasn’t born,
because if i wasn’t,
you’d be where you want in life.
not laying in bed at 5am being screamed at and scared to lose everything you’ve earned in life.
i know why you drank,
because why wouldn’t you when dealing with someone else’s addiction?

each time he kisses me he kisses me like he’ll never see me again / each time you kissed me you kissed me like you wanted to never see me again

i  hate every inch of me, every centimeter, every millimeter.
i can't hurt myself, so let me find my relief in you.

don’t you ever dare say you didn’t expect it.
when i finally crash my car into a tree,
take a few extra pills with a bottle of *****,
or trace the blue veins on my wrist with knife,
don’t you dare say you didn’t expect it.
don’t say i was beautiful.
don’t say i was okay.
because i screamed i wasn’t so many ******* times,
and yet you still left me crying on the floor,
wanting sleep more than for me to feel better.

maybe if you didn’t **** up with me so terribly,
you wouldn’t find yourself drunk crying to my best friend,
saying how you won’t be able to handle hearing a song that makes you think of me.
maybe if you didn’t **** up with me so awfully,
you could have still been holding me in the concert crowd.

my body was yours once.
it was yours to explore,
to touch,
to scratch,
to kiss,
to learn.
i think that was my first mistake.
this body i’ve made my home in is mine.
the only person who should he exploring every flaw,
and scar,  
and disaster on my skin is me.
your fingers used to trace the scars on my collarbone,
but now mine do.
i’m learning how to love every bump and flaw on my body
so when i finally let someone love me again,
i’ll teach them how to love me fully.
i wonder if you ever loved me fully.
my body was once yours,
but this shell of mine is beautiful,
and ugly,
and wonderful,
and the only person she belongs to
is me.

i want to be called beautiful again,
a word that sneaks its way into a sentence you say to me,
something you don’t realize that you’re doing.
i want to be called beautiful again,
and i want it to always mean something,
not lose its meaning if it’s said too much.
i want to be called beautiful again,
so much so that i start to believe it.

i just want you to feel the same way that poetry makes me feel.
whole, alive, confident.
poetry makes me scream the truth,
and i want you to want to be honest,
scream truthful words from the tops of the highest buildings.
i just want you to feel the same way that poetry makes me feel.
wanted.

my favorite thing in the world is when you jump into the cool lake on a hot day. it's mid July, the sun is burning your skin, and you're sweating in your swimsuit. you've been waiting all day to get to the water, to feel the coldness envelope you in a shocking iciness. you jump, and suddenly you're surrounded by blue. your eyes are closed, but you can still see the sun above the surface. you're only under for a few seconds, but the jacket of cold water washing away the summer sweat makes it feel like you're under for hours. when you resurface, the summer heat is nothing. that's what it felt like to kiss you for the first time.