I don't even know where to begin with this one - nothing could have prepared me for you.

Nothing.

I KNOW mental health issues are real, but if stigmas are the rain-clouds baby you are a hurricane.

No, more like a tornado, I finally understand why you can only get a few minutes warning to take cover.

No one can predict the sudden build of pressure. It's palpable. Raises every hair on my back it is animal fear, all wide eyes, lizard brain and heartbeats.

You lash out with the coordination of a drunk at the bottom of a bottle, sparing no one in the crossfires

But as fast as it begins, it is over, and I am left shaking teary-eyed in the rubble and ruin wondering if that natural disaster was actually real.

I look around and I can't figure out if I'm Dorothy or the witch beneath the house. And can a twister even hold remorse?

I close my eyes and click my heels three times, wishing I was anywhere but here.

dear basil,

this isn't about christmas,
though i hope you have a good one.

this is about crying.
or more like
how you don't.

i would say i don't want you to
but i know you.
and your eyes are my eyes.
so i need them to cry.

if they won't cry for her
let them cry for me.
cry for the me you lost
cry for the you that you can't find
cry for the person in the mirror
who doesn't ******* deserve this

because you don't.

YOU DON'T ******* DESERVE THIS.

just because your bruises are healing
doesn't mean that your skin is okay.

it's cracking.
you're cracking.

break open.

love,
basil

Why do I feel empty
When I've had plenty?
Didn't know when to take the last shot
Or when it was enough

All I want to do is to give up
No more strength in my body
To lift a single cup
Always trying to be someone I'm not

I've grown tired of pretending
And tired of existing.
I am empty
I am lost
I am broken.
I am sad and I am miserable

But no one listens to me
Please just listen to me!
I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
Please!

Just listen to me.

Today I sifted through hundreds of poems
Reading each one, letting the words seep into my heart
I breathed in the broken lines of broken souls

I long to tell these weary poets that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't much further
That despite their exhaustion, there is still hope
That the pain is all worth it in the end

So, dear poet, who has happened upon this,
I wish for you to feel peace, or at least I wish for you to feel something
I wish for you to keep fighting
I wish to tell you all of the secrets to finding love

But now I hesitate
Who am I to tell you to be strong
When I am simply quite the opposite
Who am I to tell you to keep walking
When I fell to my knees long ago
Who am I to tell you to leave your pain behind
When I am wallowing in grief
And guilt
And disdain for my own self

Dear poet, I may not know the secrets
Or life's purpose
Or the beauty you bring to the world
But I do understand
And even if I may not know you, or your story, I hold love for you

This love is pure and true and I reserve it in my heart for the day you may need it most
Which is perhaps today
For today
I sifted through hundreds of poems
For an hour or so
I scrolled through your words
And I felt nearly every one

He probably deserves
to be accidentally thrown
into a garbage truck
some cold Monday morning,

but I don't think it's his fault.
I love him.
I don't know and probably won't
until we're ash.

❦