hurt is not a thing
you pick up and carry around with you

guilt is not a thing
you pick up and pretend it's okay

love is not a thing
you mop the floor with

no
hurt is your experience of it
guilt is how you deal with it
love is what you do with it
whatever it is
that's okay
it's okay
it's okay
shh...

There  Are  Poems
Inside  Of  You
That
          *Paper
Can't
          *Handle

grab my branches
and lay your head to sleep
as the wind caresses
the chimes deep in our souls

constellations fall on me
as i watch you dream
breathe in, breath out
your face so serene

leaves sway against your head,
combing through black silk
my trunk always for your protection
you will never be alone

roots intertwine, digging deeper
into the warm, moist soil
the sun, although too hot,
would never have let us burn.

a season went by,
we ate the fruits unabashedly
i was happy.
you were happy.

a storm rolled by,
i was left broken in the whiplash
severed parts scattered
but it did not matter
you were with me

that didn't last
you didn't even say goodbye,
not a word, not a sound
and now i am alone on this melancholic plane

roots uprooted
trunk slashed through
branches broken and bent
leaves and fruits plucked and hurled

you left me to die
but still i long for you

i will never know why
i will never know why

The point of it all was to not feel a **** thing.
But here you are
Here I am,
Here we are.
Stuck in a moment we both don't want to leave.

You look at me with disappointment and ask if I’m hurting myself again.
For a second your grasp on my cigarette burnt wrist turns into
Her hands pinning me down with the most loving and gentle hold imaginable
Before I’m brought back to the reality where she doesn’t love me and
She never ******* did.
Yeah, I hurt myself.
But these burns spelling out her name are nothing compared to the tears
And gashes and scrapes her absence left me with.
How is it fair that someone can destroy me in my entirety,
But as soon as I try to make my body match the rest,
I’m labeled a danger to myself?
Nothing is more dangerous than
Loving someone who doesn’t give a **** about you.

this body isn't a temple
if anything it's a church that catholics have sworn is haunted
by years of whispers and catcalls and screams
it's a house that has never been truly beautiful or taken care of
with broken windows and scratched walls
that kids run away from and shudder while passing by it and wonder if anyone lives there
it's a mask that has been marked by an illness that's symbolised by masks
it was marked by commands that were never quite done
if it was a color it would be a dark old grey
if it was a sound it would be a weak quiet whimper
it's a source of fun when i used to be "up"
it's a source of fear any other time
it's something that i've been always told could never truly belong just to me
that i'm supposed to give it to someone, not too soon but not too late
but not to someone with curves and long hair and soft features and
if someone did get it first he would get forever because that's what was decided years ago so it has to true, right?
if anything it was always supposed to be ran by rules and lines that could never be crossed
if anything it's a word said years ago still stuck somewhere in my mind forcing itself closer to my thoughts, so i can remember it as if it's tattoed on my hand, with me every second
if anything it's a force that's constanly trying to be the most important but never can be, not quite
if anything it only ever works the way it was supposed to when the chemicals in my brain don't work the way they were supposed to
if anything it feels like it will never be worshipped, loved, adored how could it be when it's not a magnificent castle but an old house that's falling apart
if anything it feels like it doesn't deserve to be good so it's not
if anything it's like a meeting so bad that i don't ever want to leave, a conversation so bad i don't ever want to really end it, a material so bad that i won't ever completely rip it
if anything, it's mine