Sometimes I envy your ex
     he got the best out of you
turned it to something
          they could just use for a habit
while you treated them
         as your everyday necessity

Let me cover your scars
     make them as part of the art
paint them with our memories
         and turn them
into something beautiful
    
I know your fear  
that this might be another goodbye
   my actions tell more than my poems
     just press rewind
and treat me as your first
       while I love you
like I'm the last

i can’t tell you
how many times
somebody has seen
my scars
and told me
that i’m not really
suffering
-just because of my age

There's something special about
letting someone see you.
Really see you.

Your birthmarks and scars
your weird moles and skin bunches
your heart and soul and worries
and beliefs.

I could be completely naked
and you wouldn't know a thing about me
but to see my body and my soul
is utter knowledge of me.

I would like to
have you see all that my body is
and holds.
I want to show you how
my thighs have stretch marks.
and my shoulder blades pop out.
I want you to know the way I say
the simplest phrases
and how my tongue gets twisted
when I tell you how I feel.

I want to bestow upon you
the intimacy of showing myself.

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicidal ideation and self-harm ⚠
~
A note to any friends who read this post: while this poem is written in the present tense, please be aware that it is merely a memory I write of--not a present circumstance.

~
They say

cut

d
o
w
n

the

road

if

you

wanna

off

yourself

not across the street

but
  

         I
                          
                      j walk,  slashing
                                                 ­    d
                                                        i
     ­                                                     a
          ­                                                  g
             ­                                                 o
              ­                                                  n        
     ­                                                              a
                                                                ­      l
                                                         ­             

onto thighs like lightning bolts

                     caught in the storm
                                   of this limbo
                                                           ­     cuz
                                                        ­              i don't wanna live
                     but
                            i don't wanna die


either.

One of these days
I’ll wear my scars
I won’t hide them
Because they’re a part of me now
Maybe I need to spend less time
Waiting for them to disappear
And more time
Learning to make peace with them

I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve
But I wrote a story on my wrist
Maybe someday I’ll let you read it
But first, you need to prove to me
You know that’s not my only story