Her soul sings so beautifully,
echoes of lives blown apart,
and ghosts of history
howl in the holes of her heart
to tell her not to hurt...
you may as well tell her to fly
cant express how much
but it hurts all of the time

but pain is a teacher
it leaves when its lesson is taught
and battles tomorrow
won with the strength that pain bought
Time has no desire to fix or heal you inside
but with time you learn
to confront where you once tried to hide

Her soul sings so beatifully
It sounds like a place that i know
it rhymes with the memories of days
where i played long ago
tell her not to hurt
or allow her to learn how to fly
in time pain and memories
will trigger a bittersweet smile

Im too hurt.
Too hurt to speak.
I go by a sunny day , stop to thank it.
But i dont want to talk.
My voice will be the disturbance in a beautiful moment.
But how gracious are things when
We just stare at them.
Quietly.

Gravity becomes increasingly
envious of everyone: who've put me
down, kept me down - to let me down.

My heart goes to the people out their,
                                                            who write their pain on their skin.
This goes out to the addicts,
                                                 The people who starve to be pretty.
This goes out to the victims,
                                                 Who need to hear that it isn't their fault it never was and never will be.

I write my pain on my body,
                                               Reopen the scars of the past,
                              It hurts to think, breath, write, wake up.
                                       Why does it hurt??
           Please god make it stop,
I'm begging you
                            I can grind the glass to my face erase my eyes,
                                        Eat the glass and disappear from the inside,
                                                    But,
­It all feels like home,
                                   Cutting is,
My security blanket,
                                   And their trying to, take it away from me.
                                    Their sending me away.
          Why?
I need to cut myself they can't take it from me.
               I NEED it.

It's funny
You would think
Your sharp edges
would scrape my skin
and hurt me
poison me with a charm
that I can't resist
you worry about the blood
on my skin

I have held sharp edges
and cut myself enough times
to find my veins coiled in infinite directions
tormented my skin for long enough
that any scrape
(you may give)
heals instantly

If you ever could
cut me open
and reach my soul
you would find the scars
symbolic of my countless victories

I suffer from the love I gave myself
for long enough to become whole again
You look at me and you see elegance
someone who has not known the bitterness of the world

Yet you cannot see the hell
tamed in my basement
it now exists like a fire that burns large enough to keep me warm

I understand,
it is difficult to comprehend
the seismograms of the earthquakes
that came before you
the breaking apart of a home that you didn't see
how I held together this body
like porcelain waiting to reach the floor
fought the wind and the chaos
-now unbreakable-
I do not let it on
I exist hushed like a calm lake
I stand peacefully
As the rage rests under the surface
and you awaken it
-testing the waters you say-
but you get swallowed as soon as the waves approach

There is so much that exists in a human
your barbed self does not know the courage it takes
to be damaged for so long
that one day you decide to become your cure
You run towards an unknown
for long enough and you find yourself
drowning, burning, breaking
and then you glue it together
like you are an artistic remedy

I am not foolish
I am the catastrophe that was
the survivor of the storm
the courageous soldier that lives on
it's bewitching you
Yet you are afraid
of hurting me?
(such naivety)

You don't understand
(the emptiness within you)
You wonder, how strange it is
for me to be so untroubled
with your knives
still in my skin
I exist, in your mind
(with my fire and my grace)
like a gift from the gods
and your failure to worship it
is a fragility
that breaks porcelains
fault lines that bring about earthquakes
and you stand till the wreck of you
becomes large enough
to awaken the desire to heal

I cannot help you
so i hope
someday when you have fought the hell
and as the battle comes to rest
you will understand
the magic of it all