when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last

i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud

today i walked west
but only for a couple of minutes before i reached the old church that i've lived next door to practically my entire life
it's from the '60s, and as soon as you walk in a sign is still hung in the entry that reads
"Colored Church" with a cross underneath
i always loved it here
it's small
cozy
with a ringing sense of familiarity
much reminiscent of the people who gather here every Sunday
really,
it's been my quiet place for a while
somedays i come just to bask in the uninterrupted silence that it offers
but most, i sit at the old, nearly crumbling piano that's slightly out of tune
at the very front
and i'll just play for hours
simply to get lost in the echos of the pitch that's just barely off, but that's not unlistenable
it's become somewhat of a sanctuary to me
and i'm probably crazy to seek solace in a place whose very nature, more times than not, tends to frighten me
but maybe everything that i fear
is what ultimately will bring me the most joy

at least that's what i will let myself believe

I should feel the sting of betrayal
Maybe later, I will.
But for now,
All I wonder is
How did I let myself believe it?
A strong friendship, so fast
Can never last.
Not for me,
Anyway.

I thought you just had
Ups and lows.
When you could make me smile
And laugh
And feel wanted.
And when you could make me question
Why I was even here.
Holding back tears
Id never let fall.

I wanted to understand you
In a way no one ever could for me.
I thought we were strong,
That we would last.
But I barely held on for 8 months.
And you?
I dont even know when you let go,
Because I never saw the ties between us fall
In the first place.

Ive given up on you now.
At least,
Im trying to.
Its hard
When someone makes you feel
Like youre on the verge of okay.
Even though you arent.
But they can also push you off the ledge
And watch you dangle.

I thought you had love for me.
And you might.
But what is love,
If it is not shown.
I cant just be loved.
I need to feel it.

My faith in you,
Has not all been drained.
If only I could tell you all this.
And make you understand.
But I cant risk
Your icy, yet burning heart,
Leaving a deeper hole in mine.

I wish you would know,
That it still leaves a small crack in me.
That I couldnt see you,
All of you.
I wanted to
I really did.
But even though,
The things that hurt me were small,
They mattered.
They really did.

Youre in good hands.
I hope if Im right about you
Being misunderstood,
Like me,
You find someone.
If you havent already.

Unlike me,
This wont end with pain for you.
At least,
I dont think so.
I was not significant in your heart,
Like you were in mine.

I dont feel the sting of betrayal yet.
Later, I will.
But for now,
All I wonder is
Why did I open up heart again and
Believe?
A strong friendship, so fast
Can never last.
It never did for me,
Anyway.

how to tell my parents
how much I've been hurting
I don't want them to feel responsible for my brain
being ill
i don't want to scare them
i don't want them to worry about me
i don't want them to be upset with me for not
talking to them about why i'm always crying
i don't know how to explain to them what i feel
because if i tell anyone fully what goes on in my
brain i will actually be all alone, even though it
already feels like i am.