This body is so cumbersome and empty
full of bones I dream of breaking

so ****** the idea has become that
I ****** to the thought

of how great the spoils are of wasting
this perfect body away

I am growing tired of this skin
how it hold me captive

gripping tightly to the ivory prison
I gush, the thought of carving in

A primitive temptress, a ghost of the past
a shadow on white fair skin

How I wish to paint it red, to rekindle my flame again

How cumbersome this body can be

It’s been ******, and hit, and starved, and stuffed
What more could I wish to be done?

It craves the oil in a pain of rage
It loves how my skin must boil

Oh god may I ask
Was this what you intended
When you created man in your image
Do you hate yourself just as so
So am I just another flawed creature born from a perfect god.
Destined to stray from his lies.

Empty stares and glazed eyes,
dragging my feet walking to the tub.
Stripping down to my bare self,
helplessness washes over me.
I don't want to see what I've done to me,
the scars, fresh marks,
the guilt, shame, pain,
these wash over as I dip into
my memories.

To the few people i've given away my secrets to:

The moments I spilled my truth to you, the fragile flame I call hope had finally emerged from the deepest cracks I call me, and cried for help.

I don’t do it for attention.

Okay maybe i do it for “attention” but when you call help “attention” it makes it feel wrong.

I remember when I realized she was telling on us.

i know when I walk late at night and the quieted light I call life, inside me, flickers weakly and posts my 2, 3, 4am walks for anyone to see
she is screaming for help

I realized one day those walks were filled with hope of an inevitable demise. These sidewalks have no place for any being at hours when demons creep but i'm so comfortable under the moonlight with my demons in tow. ******* help me

One of the most dangerous signs for me is when you think im fine
spoiler alert i dont think ill ever be fine but

You see me in public. You see me smile. You see me reach out and make plans.

This my dear friends is my goodbye

Just to make your last memory sweet because it’s all you ever wanted for me
But so unattainable.. Until now

Her eyes blue
Her hair a soft brown
She is perfect

She doesn't see her worth
She keeps going after the guy that hurt her
Over and Over

I wish she could see how much she is worth
She means the world to me
But she keeps hurtong herslelf for a guy who doesn't love her

I cant stand to see her hurt
She deservs the world
She is tall and smart and beautifull
She is funny and kind and soft
She has soft hands

She's loud but gental
She is a picture perfect girl

All I want is she
She is which I am living
She is which I am happy
She is which I long

She is my Yellow
My Blue
My Red
My Green
My Orange
She is my rainbow
She is my light
She is my stars
She is my galexy
She is my moon

And she is my insomnia
She is my reson
She is my guding hand
And she is the badage of the wounds I give myself
And she is the trash that took the blades
And she is the mended heart break
She is the bottle that I never picked up again
She is the pills I put back in the cabnet
She is...
she
She
SHe
SHE
SHE!!!

There once was an ordinary girl.
She kept the most beautiful garden.
She tended it often to keep the beds vibrant:
Her flowers were the brightest,
Most eye-catching scarlet.
She hid their Garden from others
Out of fear for what they'd say.
Her Garden is kept secret- It's only for her.

One hot summer day, Mother found the Garden.
Our protagonist was yelled at and forced to stop
Because her parents didn't want her having
A Red Garden.

She tried to stop gardening.
She now hides the faded plants.
She hopes nobody will find them.

She is now writing so she doesn't garden.
The gardener wants to stop
To keep her parents happy, she needs to.

No matter how addicting gardening is,
She has to stop.
No matter how beautiful the red flowers look
Our gardener needs to stop.
She doesn't want to be sent away.

---

So if you see somebody's Red Garden,
Or even the dried, withered bodies of flowers,
Please don't ask them about it.
They'll just lie about their Garden-
explaining it away as clumsiness
Or scratching themselves on something.

Morning, day and night,

hopelessly I wonder,

Knowing nothing better?

Facing other fears?

I saw red and I saw silver.

when has blunt steel been useful?

like a wave of light,
there is nothing
there is silence.

then the guilt draws in, tiptoeing silently,
was it worth it?
what had I done?

there are no riddles no games

that was me
or was it me