You're a hickey on my neck,
bruised and red,
marking your territory,
refusing to fade.

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

It's been a month since your fragile voice made contact with my alert ears and it almost burns as I admit I miss the way you spoke.
I could never meet your eyes-do I even remember the color of them?
And every glance at you feels like you're drawing blood from my veins when you're not even making contact with me.
Change, change, CHANGE.
It all seems so relevant, or maybe irrelevant and I just want you to be happy but not hearing your voice talking to me feels like a million needle points and I shouldn't let you get to me.
It's been a month.
Have you ****** around more after me before the word "change" hit your tongue?
Or was I just another nothing of a female body to fuel your addiction that actually made you realize that change is all you got?
Seventeen years doesn't get you far, now does it.
But karma, that's going to get you.
You're nothing, 'cause you told us we were something (what a lie!) and it's going to loop back around.
But I miss your fragile voice making contact with my alert ears.

I'm never going to strip for you. I'm not going to stand in front of you and slowly take off all my clothes, while you watch. I'm not a slow person. I will push you down, and kiss you so hard you won't be able to breathe, so you push me away and strip me of my clothes yourself. you'll tear them off like its the one thing you need to do to survive, and I'll tear yours off, my mouth never leaving yours. we'll be a tangled mess of limbs and sweat covered clothes, kissing every part of each other, tasting one another as if we're each other's need for survival. I'm never going to strip for you, because I am in need of fast. I am in need of want. I am in need of you.

they ask you what your greatest fear is,
expecting you to say
the dark
death
falling in love
but no one ever expects the word "myself" to escape from your lips.
they ask you what your greatest fear is,
but no one ever expects you to touch the white lines trailing up your arms,
to touch the scar on your collarbone,
the result of the blade slipping when your hands were too shaky to take it across your neck.
they ask you what your greatest fear is,
but no one ever expects you to say that you're terrified of what your own mind could trick you into doing.

i'm not perfect but i hope i'm still perfect for you, am i still perfect for you?

don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
the ones who are there because
they're driven by sweet words and an even sweeter kiss.
and that drive
gets higher,
it gets faster,
as more touch gets involved.
but they only crave intimacy,
while you crave something much more.
don't fall in love with the ones who will touch you
and make you feel like
you're floating,
because soon enough they'll push you to the ground,
leaving you to question everything with nothing but
the bruises and scars on your body
left over from
their touch,
their kisses,
their words.
don't fall in love with the ones who only crave intimacy.
they won't want you how you want them.
trust me,
because I crave intimacy.

you throw up just to rinse your mouth out with another beer.

I remember when I first smoked.
I thought I'd be coughing for weeks,
but now I smoke a pack a day as if I can't get enough of inhaling a sickly sweet smoke into my lungs.
It reminded me of family reunions and hugs from my long dead grandparents.  
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember when I first drank.
I attempted to drown the shot,
but it seemed like the liquid crawled back up my throat like a fire looking for a burn, but I kept going back for more.
I kept on getting burned, drowning another after another until I couldn't remember my name or the date
when in reality I was trying to forget yours and the day I met you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first time I cut.
Blood poured from my wrist in ribbons of red
and in a sickly way someone in me might have thought it was beautiful,
the way it fell to the bathroom floor in a
drip drip drip waterfall.
the razor cut through skin as easy as a butter knife through butter
and at first I didn't know I would love it so much.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

I remember the first day I met you.
Your brown eyes could go from happy to sad in a split second,
but the grin that formed on your face like an artist carved it on there was so contagious I found myself grinning, too.
Your hands were always cold, holding mine, touching my waist, moving my hair out of my face.
I kissed them to keep them warm.
Your kiss sent fireworks throughout my body, like it was 4th of July
and I was just a little kid screaming at the colors and the sounds as your lips explored mine, and my hands explored your body.
I could never get enough of you.
I swore I'd never get addicted.

At the age of 16, I promised myself I’d never get addicted.
I swore to myself that not one thing could drown me in the ocean that is addiction, but at age 18, I shattered the promise into pieces.

Growing up, the smell of cigarette smoke escaping my mom’s sweaters always made me sick to my stomach,
but as soon as sadness found me at the age of 16, it whispered in my ear to find the addiction in nicotine.
I found myself sneaking into the garage to steal cigarettes out of half full packs,
blowing smoke out of my window at the Devil’s hour.
And at age 18 I replaced the stolen packs of cigarettes with bought packs of Marlboro Blues.
The packs sit at the bottom of my purse, the smell masked by over usage of perfume,
the addiction hidden by me telling everyone who loves me “I don’t like it anyway.”

Growing up with an alcoholic father, full of terrifying nights wondering whether or not I’d see him come home after the bar,
I swore to myself I’d never drink any sort of alcohol,
but that was soon broken when I found the bottle of wine no one wanted to drink,
and the forgotten beer cans nobody from my family drank at a birthday party.
I drowned it all, and for that second I understood why my father could want this addiction so much.
The burn was a numbing experience, and I found more relief in shots of mixed liquor and blackouts than any therapy session.

There’s no “growing up” story with the blade, with the cutting, with the self harm.
Maybe I was always fascinated with blades. Maybe I was drawn to it. Maybe I liked the idea of it,
but becoming addicted to dragging a blade across my skin was never something I could imagine.
When the knife first drew blood,
a part of me thought the waterfall of crimson was beautiful,
trailing down my arm in a river of red,
dropping into a puddle like raindrops on a stormy day.
The blade cut through skin as easy as pen on paper,
and I promised myself I would never become addicted,
but the faded white lines on my arms tell a different story.

I remember meeting you,
I remember telling myself,
“****, you’re *******,”
because even if I did promise myself never to become addicted to anything,
I easily became addicted to you.
But you,
you weren’t toxic like every other thing in my life.
You were the sunshine through storm clouds,
hazel eyes sparkling when you talked about something you love.
But it wasn’t how you talked about the items in your life that made me become addicted,
it’s how you light up when talking about me.
It’s how your eyes look before I kiss you,
full of not only lust but so much love,
a love that is so foreign to me I can’t find myself to ever want to stop kissing you.
It’s how you kiss my hand, or my forehead,
or sing in the car when I’m not okay.
It’s how at home I feel in your arms,
and maybe that’s cliche,
but if this is addiction,
then I never want to be in rehab.

Instead of stealing glances at me, then turning away when I feel your sneaky eyes burning on me and pretend I don't exist,
how about you stop acting like nothing had happened between us.
Stop acting like you never hugged me so tight that first week of school,
wrapping me in your arms like I belonged there and at one point I thought I did.
You're acting like you never kissed me once gently,
then let the words "**** it"
escape your lips before you grabbed me around the neck and kissed me again,
hard enough it seemed like the world stopped and it was just us.
Kissed me until I was seconds from ripping your clothes off,
but I pushed you away because I can sense toxic,
and hell, you were beaming.
Stop acting like nothing happened,
like I don't exist,
and instead of stealing glances,
buy one.

the only reason you're alone is because you're too stuck on the idea that no one listens, but you never give them the chance.

the only reason you're alone is because you don't allow yourself to not be.  

the only reason you're alone is because you refuse to get help, you're too used to your depression that it's become your only friend.

the only reason you're alone is because you want to be.

"I love you dearly..."
You spoke those four words to me countless times,
like a mother should
but a mother also should notice
the harsh words that follow
that feel like a bullet her daughter's chest.
"You're tearing this family apart."
"Maybe you should have killed yourself."
"You're going to ruin Christmas."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
And how do you not notice the added bracelets?
Or see how a light's always on in my room in
the crazy hours of the night when you're  
creeping around for another swallow of pills?
Or how I lock my door when I go to a
friend's house so you don't go in there?
You told me you wanted to jump in front of a car.
A train.
Overdose.
You say we don't care.
Is that why you treat me this way?
I'm numb now, Mom.
I feel nothing.
You've done it again.
I thought it was over,
when I just started to trust you.
But now?
Now I don't trust you.
Or anybody.

i’ve barely slept,
i’m running on adderal and self loathing,
a mix that has kept me alive for far too long.
i’ve barely slept,
i want you to kiss me until our lips are bruised and touch me hard enough that traces of your fingertips can still be seen on my skin.
i’ve barely slept,
i miss the feeling of someone’s mouth on my neck,
the feeling of gentle kisses starting at my collarbone and falling lower and lower and lower.
i’ve barely slept,
i’m running on adderal and self loathing,
when what i really need is to find my relief in you.

I wanted to kiss Death one Monday afternoon,
but Death had moved his face away from mine,
instead putting his chapped lips to my ear and whispered,
"my girl, you are too beautiful and too loved, you have too much to offer for something as dark and as lonely to kiss you.
so my girl, I will give you Life instead, and you will take her hands in yours, allowing yourself to be the strong girl I know you can be.
and when it's your time,
I will let you kiss me,
but my girl,
that time is not now."
Death had vanished from my view,
and was replaced with the wonderful mystery of Life.
I took her hands in mine,
filled with the desire that maybe I did have something to offer.

January 21 2016
there's never a day where I don't think about you.
because it's you, you, you.
I can't go a day without thinking about your lips on mine.
it'll always be you.
*and I'm so ******* sorry I can't show you how much I'm in love with you.

I don't want to tell you that I love you.
The word "love" terrifies me.
The concept of it tears me apart from inside out, piece by piece.
How could such a small word mean so much?
I don't want to tell you that I love you because I see so much heart break,
but when I take your hand in mine,
as it envelopes the hand that once held a blade to skin,
the feeling that surges through every part of me must mean something.
I've felt the sparks of lust before,
but when your lips press onto mine,
the first thought in my mind that invades my mind isn't to tear your clothes off.
My mouth spreads into a smile across yours,
and the next thing I know I'm pulling you closer to me with the fear of losing you.

I remember the first time she was put in jail when I was a teenager.
I was in the psyche hospital twenty minutes out of town,
an out patient facility,
trying my hardest to stop my mind from telling me to rip my skin open.
my dad picked me up that day dressed in his court clothes,
and my mom wasn't with him.
I was expecting that the entire day of course,
but I still broke down when we got into the truck.
my dad and brother work third shift,
and when I started painting a bottle red and slicing it up with a knife,
he called into to work to stay with me for the night.
it was more of his fear of me slicing my skin open instead of the red bottle, than him just keeping me company.
the second time she was put in jail,
I don't even remember it from all the pills I took to numb myself.
I don't remember why she was there,
and I don't remember how the nights felt without her.
today when the cop called me,
I was almost certain she finally crashed her car or took too many pills.
the cop told me she was arrested,
and asked to speak to my father.
the last few weeks between me and her were not good,
you'd think I was being abused if I told you the things she said to me and vice versa,
and who knows,
maybe I was.
now she's going to be in jail for who knows how long,
and the guilt and the regret weighing on my shoulders,
gripping my heart so tight it's hard to breathe,
makes me wish I could hurt myself again,
but what kind of person would I be if I hurt myself when I told you not to?

the scars on my skin will linger on my body like the stars in the clear night sky,
lighting up a blank canvas until the sun finds its way back to hide it.
but the like the stars,
my scars will always be there,
masked only by a light that will eventually die out.

maybe if you love me hard enough we could be as beautiful as the sky

Why did you forget about me?

you told me i needed fixing but you didn't tell me how so you grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up but when you realized that I was too hard to carry you dropped me and shattered me even more

another explicit photo to boost your self confidence,
another cigarette to fuel the craving of another person's lips on yours,
another breathy ****** to pretend that you matter.

love is holding hands in the grocery store,
love is good morning/good night kisses,
love is looking for them in a crowd because they’re the only face you need to see.

love is walking closer to the street because growing up she was taught to be scared of the road.
love is him putting up with chewed straws on large Cokes,
love is hands in hair or heads on chests while tucked in bed on a chilly night.

love is a mind full of them, them, them, an unstoppable thought.

love is all of these things but love also isn’t.
love isn’t always perfect and gentle.

love is questioning your future together when a slip up happens,
love is being there for her when the demons in her mind start to rile up again,
and love is holding her as she recovers for the last time.

love is wondering if it will even be the last time.

love is fighting for a future together that has faded.
but love is being so madly in love that fighting for it is barely a war.

love is the up,
love is the downs.

love is going to sleep at night with a smile on your face because their desire for each other knocks out all the downs.

love is a four letter word that has always terrified me.
it has been replaced with other four letter words-  "lies" and "gone",
harsh words with harsher meanings buried underneath the gentleness of love.
but when I look at you,
I know that "love" is more than just a word.
I know that it doesn't hold nightmares behind its sweet exterior.
I can look at you and see myself loving you for forever,
and maybe forever is too long,
and maybe forever is more terrifying than a four letter word could ever be.
maybe you can't see forever when you look into my eyes,
but I see forever with just one smile of yours.

I want to write a

love letter to

you,

but I can’t

because

I don’t know you

yet.


I don’t know

if you’ll even

be able to

tolerate

the little things

I do

everyday.


How I

shake

my

hands

when anxiety

fills my body

over the stupid things.


Or how I

chew

the

straws

on every drink

I ever get.


Or how even

my

hands

are

shy

hiding under

sweater sleeves.


Maybe how

my

laugh

echoes

in a store

wherever we

go.


Will you be

able to

tolerate

such silly

little things,

my lover?


I want to write

you a

love letter,

but I don’t

even know

you yet.

because of you, i think about the future as happening in my lifetime. because of you, i’m okay with tomorrow coming.
kissing you is the same feeling as the adrenaline that runs through your body while you’re in  a concert crowd.
when you touch me, my life flashes before my eyes but it’s not my funeral anymore.
i think loving you turned me into someone i never thought i’d be but i want her to stay.
anxiety attacks used to be my most toxic friend, but you scare them off when they try to invade me now.
i used to be scared of butterflies, but swarms of them lift me off my feet when you take my hand and i’ve never felt less afraid.

my favorite sound is the sound of the sharp intake of breath you take,
as my lips move from yours to the outline of your collarbone and lower,
tracing every inch of you as if you're a map and my mouth is the pen,
just finding another route to travel on.

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.

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.

you’re still looking for me in the faces of all the new girls you kiss

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.

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 tried to tell myself I can't love another before I can find love in my own body,
but your smile was too bright,
and I knew the butterflies in my stomach weren't towards my chipped black nail polish and sad brown eyes.

His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.

the pills made me feel something when the boys didn't.

It rained today, but it wasn't those March thunderstorms that all surprised us.
It rained from her dark brown eyes,
a mix of water and salt that you would think you were near the ocean and not Lake Michigan.
It was rare to see her cry,
water mixing with the dirt color of her eyes,
making the mud we all despised,
enough mud until you slip and fall whenever you're around her.
No one dared to wipe her tears,
we stood in fear,
because this beautiful creature was always the one who wiped ours.
But here she was,
small ocean waves crashing on the sandy color of her cheeks,
and we couldn't do anything about it,
because we weren't aware even the strongest broke,
even the lake had ocean waves.

i don’t think i could ever process the fact of losing you.
abandonment issues are one thing,
but you’re getting older,
and i’m getting sadder.
i can’t stand the thought of waking up one day without being able to tell you a joke,
or get told to “be safe.”
i can’t stand the thought of not being able to say back “promise.”
we’ve seen each other at our worst,
and maybe that’s because you raised me,
but i feel like it’s more.
i know how you tick,
i know how you work,
i know how you love me.
i could never process the fact of losing you.
not because death scares me,
but because you are everything to me,
and i can never lose that.

it's not the self harmer tucked safely away in the back of my mind that wants to crawl back into the familiarity of old habits.
it's the blade stolen from my father's tools, traces of dried blood still gleaming.
it's the bandaids kept in my desk drawer, there if needed.
it's the marks on my neck from rough ***, a pain that sparked the craving for a different distraction back into my body.
it's the fact that i'm never told the truth, my life fueled by lies for years on end that just need to be forgotten about.
it's the racing thoughts,
"he'll leave you"
"he'll find someone better"
"he doesn't even love you, it's a lie"
"you're nothing to him, to the friends you think you have"
"everything she says isn't a joke, it's all the truth but you're just too ******* dumb to realize it"
running on repeat in my mind each and every night like a broken record.
it's the lack of sleep where the loss of blood could take the place of the pills that stopped working months ago.
it's not the self harmer that craves the blade again,
she just brings it out to the open.

i pick at my skin it a desperate attempt to pull the anxiety out.
if it could ooze out every pore and tear,
maybe i wouldn’t be shaking,
fueled with the rage and fear panic attacks hold.

i pick at my body to rip at the insecurity.
scars are a sign of my fragile self image,
makeup is the mask i use to forget.
a thick black line tracing my eyelids;
a heavy layer of powder masking the blushing of my cheeks.

i pick at my mind to understand what this diagnosis means to me.
i pick and i pick and pick at every idea and thought of this hell the universe has placed me in.
i tear and rip at them until my mind is as numb as my skin.
i pick until i can pretend i can understand.

I want to write you terrible poetry about the way you look at me,
and paint you pictures of your favorite things that leave a sparkle in your eye.
I want you to hold my hand with the thought of never letting go because you're scared of what could happen if you did.
I want you to read me your favorite passage from your favorite book,
and let me just listen to your voice as the words fall from your lips.
I want you to touch me in the places where I fell for someone else but they didn't catch me, and kiss me, whispering on my lips that you'll never drop me.
I want you to want me as much as I want you.

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.

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 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.

I gave you my heart but instead of taking care of it as you would yours,
you smashed it to pieces so all I was left with was a broken heart and an empty chest.

i'm trying my hardest to reconnect with old flames,
but it's nearly impossible when they either only talked to you because they wanted to *******,
or decided that finding another high was more important than holding onto a friendship.
i can't count all the friends i lost on one hand,
the sad reality that people do leave,
no matter how often they tell you they'll stay.
i'm trying my hardest to reconnect with old flames,
but nobody wants anything to do with me anymore.

"I wanna be strong, but it's not easy anymore."*
My favorite band sings these lyrics so delicately,
and maybe I don't relate to the entire song completely,
but these nine words always catch my attention
as the song comes on the silly little playlists I make,
the few songs I put together to try and cheer myself up
on days where I all think of is drowning myself in stolen liquor.

But these songs,
these songs aren't happy,
these songs aren't sweet,
these songs shouldn't be categorized
in the category of "cheering me up"
but somehow they do.

And this is why I never believe
when someone tells me
bands and the lyrics they write,
the words they write can somehow
turn into perfect melodies,
can't save someone's life.

can it be night again,
where your hand is stumbling through the dark trying to take a grasp of mine,
and even though the dark blinds you,
your fingers lace through mine,
and i feel safe.

"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."

“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.