scissors
dark
red
marks
help
get me out
i need to leave
this house
the sharpener
calls
as the walls
fall

help me
please
                          i'm
              s p i r a l i n g
        
         down the rabbit hole
                                           but now
                              alice is gone
         all that's left
                   is the

                            mad hatter

a rose garden
filled with beautiful flowers
on the surface
but inside is a tangled web of thorns
every petal another lie, another
"i'm fine, i'm ok"

topiaries in twisting, beautiful shapes
all of roses
lovely on the surface
a fairy tale come true
but that's just what it is

a story

but when the flowers wilt,
when the topiaries grow wild,
the thorns grow larger until they start to stab themselves
millions of tiny punctures
as the music plays
and the petals fall
and the thorns strike the heart
and the vines grow over the corpse

noise
the piercing screams of little children
"no no no!"
i dont want a shot
screaming crying help
but nothing shows
trying to stop the noise from
consuming you as it creeps in
with tendrils made of
every
          little
                  noise
that you have ever or will ever make
but now
you're silent
as you war in your head
clutching your knees wishing you
couldn't hear plugging your ears its too much
its too much its too much its too much
its so hard to breath or move or do anything at all
because everything makes a sound and theres already
                                             plenty
                                              much
       ­                                         of
                                               that

i'm okay
(i promise)
i'm not going to kms
(i promise)
i'm getting better
(i promise)
i'm eating
(i promise)

(with fingers crossed)

please mom
it's getting worse

i don't know
               what to do
     the surface
                            of the
                                   w
                                   a
                                   t
        is                        e
             gone              r
          and
i'm  
                         ­       d
                                r
                      ­          o
                                w
                   ­             n
                                i
                ­                n
                                g
in
   the
                                  weight

                      ­                            of
                                  ­                       the
                                                             ­   world
i don't know
              when
                       i'll
                           go


                  can i become a kid again?
and live?

She stares at the ceiling
cracks whispering her name,
over and over.
hundreds of tiny breaks hid by glass skin

Wrists a scarred mess
carrying every
“I’m ok”
like a rock in her chest
a temple of happy lies
but when one brick falls,
the walls crack open

Dancing in the shards of glass and debris
sharp edges,
bleeding heels,
every cut,
a reminder she will never be herself again
each shard embedded,
an endless silent scream

but when she shatters,
it's not like the movies,
no slow-motion
or music
only the raw snap of a soul
pushed too far
bending
until it breaks,
shattered into a thousand pieces

glassgirl no more

i never seem
to be able to

to be able to
be
accepted

to be able to
belong

but
fitting in
is

different than
belonging


molding yourself
Into the
neatly
labelled
boxes
life sets out for us

to fit in


becoming what people want from you

hiding your
true self.
hiding behind a mask

hiding yourself

fitting in.