I’ll surrender my thoughts to you
They didn’t mean much anyway
But I know you’ll find a way to break them
And find what they really have to say

I’ll surrender my doubts to you
They still hold some pieces of my heart
And I know that you will take a few
And give it to the world

I’ll surrender my heart for you
For it’s already damaged enough
But I know that you will fix it
It’s what you’d do for love

To the two boys who think I owe them something.
My heart doesn't belong to either of you,
and your spindly fingers clenching it
don't look enough like ribbon
to fool me into thinking that
my love is a gift to you.
To the two of you,
so willing to give me
your monthly allowances of text messages
yet not your loyalty.
For thinking that an "honest" apology
fixes me having to question why
just me was never good enough
for either of you.
You were both greedy,
you always wanted more.
Now run free and fill your stomach with all the flavours that will burn your taste buds and scorch your tongue.
To both of you for being willing enough to open my box with a key that I never gave you,
rifle through my thoughts and feelings,
and not even open your ears to them,
leaving the lid off
and the contents strewn across your floor.
For offering to help me pick them back up again,
but only because my "small, little arms" are not strong enough to carry my own weight that I've carried for
fifteen years on my own.
Here's to both of you for putting me down about being small.
That is NOT my fault.
I have a mighty big cathedral for a heart and a generous brain
and that's all within 5"2.
It doesn't make you any bigger than me
(metaphorically).
Your few feet advantage doesn't give you
the power above me,
even if you can see the roots of my hair in more detail
than you would ever care to observe
the fault lines of my cracked smile.
Boys are being taught that
to love me
is to fix me,
that I am some kind of messy enigma,
a project, a goal.
I'm just a girl with a family, a girl with a head, with a spiders web of veins and a lifetime of lessons that I'm opening my arms and my heart to.
You mistake yourself for a lesson,
when I'm fully qualified to teach myself.

You diagnose yourselves
as "depressed".
Mental illness is not an accessory,
nor a quirk to make you seem more vulnerable to me.
Don't brandish it in the air,
it is not a weapon against me.
It doesn't make you adorable,
or some kind of cuddly bear boy.
Everything that's
"killing you"
is just as toxic to me.
You set my skin into blue flames
because I won't give myself to you.
No,
no,
no.
I'm tangled in my rejection,
and it thickens.
I can't be with you out of pity.
My guilt, raging deep within my bowels,
marching violently through my organs,
exploding into a supernova of
thinking that love and guilt are almost the same thing.
"I'll do anything",
I don't want anything from you.
"I'll write you a poem because I know how much you love that."
I also love being respected but neither of you ever gave me that.
My craft is not a tool of trickery,
and your words not a trance.
"I'm not like him".
But you still act like my skin is a carpet to your home,
and you walk across it with muddy boots.

You think you're a blanket to keep me warm,
but you ended up suffocating me.
To the boys who think I owe you them something,
go home.

lock me in a building
a room, if you will
padded ****-me walls
to terrorize my mind
and, most importantly,
fix me
and i wonder
are psychotic girls a good ****

There are days that I feel that I can no longer help anyone,
my words are trapped under layers of regret and uncertainty
and my love is buried too far underground
for even grave robbers to find.
I want to fix everyone that I love
with understanding and commitment
but too many times my skin has been ripped to shreds
by people who are happy with being broken.
These days it is impossible for me
to take more than one panicked breath
before submerging myself in icy water
that I could easily stand up in and walk out of.
I see potential in every crack and scar
but sometimes things should be left shattered,
because sometimes things are not ready to be whole again.
I find myself too often fighting for change in the unchangeable,
looking to heal whatever I see,
but constantly fixing has led me to be broken
and I have found that somedays the only person I can help
is me.

I started going to counseling this week
because my plants started dying

the roots are all rotted
and the leaves are just slowly eating away at themselves

maybe my roots are rotten too
and I need to fix them before I start eating myself up

I'm still a little broken,
So bear with me.
I didn't give myself time
To heal
Or to build up my walls again,
Before falling in love
With you.

I fell once before,
But the one who caught me
Eventually cut himself
On the sharp edge
Of one of my scars.
He dropped me in his pain
And like a fine China tea cup,
I shattered when I landed.

All the fragments of me,
I held together with glue,
They fell apart on impact
And broke even more.

But you were there.
Whether you didn't know
Or just didn't care
About my jagged edges
And damaged state,
I'm not sure.

But you offered me your love
And I'll gladly accept.
I'll fix myself again,
But better than before.
Because instead of glue,
I'll mend myself with gold.