When, in time, where a moment
Of intense desire tips the jar of elucidation
Sets loose a smoothly sailing stream
Down a hungry throat
To the awaiting gullet stuffed with malaise,
Can the rage of enzymes be heard?
Will the breath of despair, and the wailing brew
Of alcohol make peace in silence,
Or is the feat of the battle proclaimed in slurs?

When, in time, will the meager klinks of newborn knees
Ring as explicitly as creaks in an ancient house?
Will screams of hunger conceive compassion
Or should thee be mocked and exiled
To recover from the blithe shame of dependency and impatience?

Hear the sounds tread in darkness
Pleading, crying in the embrace of frigid walls and sterile corners.
Record the rhythm of footsteps
Echoing and fraying -
Taste the smeared sweat of exertion.
Count the patches of lost paint
Stolen and stowed beneath polished nails.

Hold me similarly while I recover.
Show me while I regain sobriety that I was caught
When, in time, I was lost in misery.

I am two parts. One part is still a child. She is immature and lazy. She knows only to do, never to think. She never got to grow up. The other part grew up too fast. She is strict and wise. All she does is think and think and think. She never got to be a child.

Why does my husband only love me when it doesn’t interfere with his career?

Why does my mom only love me when people are watching?

I keep having this nightmare where I talk to people, but no one hears me because I’ve lost my voice. I’ll scream at them and they won’t even spare me a glance. You know, it’s crazy because it happens sometimes when I’m awake, too.

My dad is dying. I want to go to sleep.

My brother is dying. I would gladly take his place.

Caught somewhere between “I don’t need anyone” and “please come back to me."

He started hiding the liquor in the house. I don’t know whether to hug him or hit him.

I often think about my life. I’ve worked so hard to build a happy, healthy routine for myself - something safe. But I don’t feel safe. I feel like I can’t ******* breathe.

Why does 3 AM come and go so quickly?

Last year I cracked and gave my mom the link to my poetry page in hopes that maybe she'd start to see and feel things the way I do. The other day, I asked if she had kept up with it. She said she didn't know what I was talking about.

The holidays are upon us and I cannot go home. I cannot face it.

My youngest sister is getting baptized on Sunday. She wants me to be there for her. I would rather bleed myself dry than go…but I will go. This is what I do.

My writing is **** recently.

My therapist tells me to imagine that I'm in a room. I'm safe and no one can hurt me. No one is around, I am alone. Nothing can touch me. I feel nothing. I open my eyes but I'm still in that room. I'm still in that ******* room.

I was 4 years old. FOUR YEARS OLD. And it took years for me to realize my childhood had ended when I was just 4 years old.

long black hair and white pale skin
piercing eyes whilst sipping gin.
don't know what's happening but let's begin
our story.

flashing lights and thumping bass
I can't even feel my face.
I feel like I'm going into
dangerous territory.

now your putting your number in my phone
and saying that you need a lift home
but I can't see and my head
is blurry.

but you look so good so i give in
not knowing what's going to happen, not thinking
we jump in the car and begin
our journey.

we're driving fast through the hillside
then some lorry comes past and hits the side
of my car.