Nothing I do
Will ever be good enough,
Will it?
Not for you,
Not for anyone.
And that gut-wrenching realization
Crushes me to pieces
Every ******* time.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too damaged to be loved. If I don't love myself no one will. I just want to fall in love and not overthink it and feel like they will leave over my imperfections. They will run away right when I need them the most. Why am I ever enough? Why will no one help me?

The bright green leaves picked at by tiny fingers
and your mother taking your boyfriend
red blood
it must have turned from her shirt to your eyes
the night you found them drunk.

Now, it is 30 years later,
those same eyes focused on mine,
Shouting at you in the parking lot of the hospital
to take your badge and burn it
'You aren't my social worker.'

Playing with my life as she did yours.
Me, learning.

How we crawl into the crevices of a mind, crouching in wait
to find a dent
a scratch to pick apart
and send screaming into the light.

We only want the best.
Though, is it for us, or for them?
We never know.

Or do we?

At night, I think of  how we are the same
Twenty-four years apart,
still jumping from man to man like dragonflies,
our colorful wings, torn and glistening.

I found mine, but lose his bright orange youth nightly.
And love is never further away than the next place we look,
but always at just the tip of our tongues,
if we use them right.

I remember at twelve,
practicing break-ups in the bathroom every night.

'I'm sorry, I know you love me, but I have other commitments.'

You were the one with the damage, and it crept over me
a tarp over a clear blue pool on a winter afternoon.
Dead leaves crowding the corners,
tiny bee carcasses: my insecurities piling over the top.

'I'm just not good enough, I must do something about this weight.'

All of your ways boiling over into mine.

The morning I got my first period, you laughed with my sister at my excitement, instead of leaping for joy, and I watched the two of you giggle, my cheeks growing red with anger and shame.

'Aren't I now a woman?'
'Aren't I now yours?'

You always pointed at the corners when I cleaned:
'Do You see that dust? It isn't enough...it's just not enough.'

I've had enough, mother.

The wind blows smoothly into the arms you gave me.
As I write, I am met with a penetrating silence.

This is enough.
It has to be.

You’re forcing my hand, forcing the lungs to constrict,
What will you do
with the bits of love I’ve left to you?

I don’t trust you anymore

“Nothing is wrong”,
Let it be known
I’ve just had a bad week,
Though that’s naive.
A crooked dream
I like to think
about.

I know I’m surrounded.
Blood red hair you dye to stay pretty,
Like the blood drawing sharks in calm waters.

— I guess I deserve it.

I, the shortest word,
I, my true self,
I,the creator of myself,
I, a paragon,
I, exist to be loved,cherished and respected.
I, with am inspires me,
Frees my heart,
Restores my mind.
I am who I am,
I am what I am,
I am enough.
I am the love of my own life,
I am my own questions and answers,
I am the judge of my own reflection.
I am the captain of my own ship,
I cross my own oceans,
Over calm or rough seas.
I am my own artist,
I choose my own paints to bring colours to my life.
I am the architect of my life,
I plan my own life,
I build my life with my own materials.
I am my own soul,
Beyond the time,
Beyond space,
I,my soul does not die,
I ,my soul follows me to hereafter.