I'm haunted by my mistakes
Every word venom in my mouth
they tasted bitter so I spit them out
and they hurt those around me
but I didn't care.

I dyed and cut my hair to play the part
of someone who moved on with an entirely untouched heart
it was blonde, then blue, green, and black
I cut enough off that you'd surely not come back
because you didn't like girls with short hair
I still don't care.

I'm haunted by my actions,
every move a cut deeper in my grave,
I hurt those around me in a viscious, Godly wave
Each time it crashed, I'd apologize, retreat
but would relapse, and get the same rush each time I would repeat
I'm haunted by that thought,
that I changed myself so much this year,
from gaining 40 pounds to starting to drink beer,
but I have not cleaned the cobwebs from my heart,
it's been 9 months and I am still torn apart.
Not from missing you, or heartbreak,
but from the repurcussions of these hideous mistakes,
the summer left those ugly scars that turn blue instead of white,
and I hurt too many people to even try to make it right
I wonder if I'll ever heal,
or change in ways inside,
because my hair is starting to break off,
with everything I use on it to hide

Despite how it looks, I forget about you a lot,
I think I do, at least, I've gotten better this year.
This semester took me for a spin, I threw up everything,
but I threw out nothing, just tucked away our belongings,
they gather dust but they wouldn't burn so I kept them,
I've gotten better this year, I think I have at least
It's funny how in March I thought I was dying and
since then I've been using the same sheets because
they smell like you.


You are at the bottom of my cup,
you are residue I didn't finish up,
you are left behind,
bitter taste in my mouth,
you are what I complain about,
but I still make time every day,
to drink until I'm sick,
just to make sure you're still there,
and to feel just as pathethic

Falling in half love
With everyone I meet,
Scared to go in past my feet.
Afraid to open up
Hesitant to divulge feelings
That hang as painful cliches
But hurt just the same
as if they were open wounds
the salty sting, the frantic "ooh"
I love that blood is blue before it hits the air
My skin was fair before you hit me, I hadn't seen that shade of blue,
but it came in different waves, different shapes too.
I still wonder what healing is like for you.

Or if you even had to.

You never had to heal,
never broke,
never choked on your own tears
begging for one more chance to prove yourself to me,
you would never bleed

Remember what I said last night?
Neither do I
I felt my belly, there was no kick
I had too much to drink
Left my feelings in the sink
In ugly bitter patterns
It's been 9 months
I still ache for this
What I'd be filled with
Nausea from a life
instead of a loss
If things worked out right

The next time you miss him,
or want to take him back,
look down at the scars on your arm,
and remember that he will always be a part of
who you are

What do you miss more?
Gaslighting so strong you shook yourself to sleep and let exhaustion run so deeply in your veins you're tired a whole year later?
Or the nights he kept you awake just to argue and bring to attention every flaw you've ever had and how you were so unlovable he'd be the only person to ever tolerate you?

Next time you miss him,
Look down at the scars on your arm
And remind yourself
you don't need to be tolerated
you are art

You don't have to prove anything
to anyone
Especially people who didn't wash the blood off your hands,
Especially those who didn't hold you while you shook so hard you rattled your brain,
You actually rattled your brain,
You don't have to remember
or explain what happened to strangers
whose eyes penetrate your shirt
To see the scars that seep through the white
you owe a reason to no one for why you don't like to fight or speak in front of people
They weren't there when you had to shave your head because it was falling out anyway
They weren't there when you threw away your last needle,
so **** them

According to my calculations,
google, if you're wondering
It would take 11 years to walk the surface of the earth

If you don't count the mountains and rivers and deserts and glaciers that might **** you first, it'd take 11 years to walk to earth

If you don't count the 47392 ways that you could die while doing this, it'd be romantic

Walking 11 years to prove you could,
To say you did

If you forget the time and walk the distance,
And make it there in 10 instead because you were so eager,
you might find yourself at the end,
She might tell you that you didn't have to move mountains or cross rivers to justify the first 19 years you spent dying,
By wasting 10 more trying to find something that you could have found

If you dumped your moocher boyfriend
And bought a book instead

December first,
I don't miss you
Where'd you go?
I was with friends,
I wouldn't know
I stopped checking
December first,
Did we ever love one another?
I can't recall the last three years
because the last three weeks
With friends
Have conquered months of worthlessness
You bestowed upon me
Did we **** for three years?
I don't remember,
He ***** me better,
hell, I **** me better
December first,
You're ugly now,
I laugh about it,
how your hair is so stupid
And how I kissed you forever but you lacked the allure,
and how you look the same in every ******* picture,
And I'm so mature,
Drunken laughing at you online,
With friends, at least
December first,
You mean nothing to me,
It's insane you ever did, December first
you don't haunt me anymore,
I'm not festive
but I'm not sad either, I'm not grieving
December first, my first holiday alone,
I'm 20 and my family wonders where you are but I don't give a ****, I'm celebrating with friends.
I don't miss you because you cut me open last year,
I don't miss you because you always ******* talked over church bells,
And this year I can hear.
December first, welcome back.

Dregs at the bottom of my coffee cup,
the burnt remains I could never finish up,
My poems always had to rhyme and I hated that,
I hated me.
Sediment at the bottom of a river,
it turns from crystal to mud,
still carrying the weight of a 100,000 tons,
but never looking pretty enough.
Sediment at the bottom of a river,
the farther out you are, the bluer it becomes
because you can't see the piles of dirt underneath
or the diamonds that lay beneath

I always wonder what the last song I hear will be,
what words will grace the fingertips of my grave
and will they make a difference in the way that I decay?
What print will they leave on my soul, strong enough to stay
when the oak I said I didn't want, but got, has rotted away?
I always wonder what my last song will be,
if the strings will harmonize with me,
and dance with the wind,
and steal the tears from my family,
because God knows they will have plenty,
when they hear the last song that I chose
before I said my time on earth was plenty,
I always wonder what my last song will be,
if I should make it sad, to make it easier to go,
or happy to make sure they know that's not why I did,
I always wondered if I would still be able to here it, after
God knows that song would be something I could live for, forever