Yes, it is my fault
Yes, be angry with me
Shout at me, insult me
Hurt me, blame me
Show me your
Anger and sadness
The outrage
The heartbreak
Throw me your
Issues and words
Keep throwing and shouting
Yes, I can take it
Do whatever you need
Even if you hurt me
Do whatever you need
So that you can stay
Even if it bleeds me
Stay here with me
Even if it's unhealthy
Please
Don't leave me

Sat for dinner, let’s have a meal
I’m gazing left and right,
The goal's to avoid eye contact.

Swallowing,
The taste is alright but I can’t hold a fight.

That masterly delivery -
A simmered misery,
Served daily.

Cooking the exact words to belittle
My stomach grows humble.

///

Parents,
I’d like to be brave but I bury
In spite of my age I hurry.

waiting for a hand to
reach out that was never
there, no one to help me
I was alone, made stronger
but I didn't need to be strong,

I needed to be safe.

that it soon will be over

that I'm not here, not now
that I feel everything I don't want
that I feel nothing but aversion

that I fell into a sinkhole
that I might be filmed and
that I'm not recognizable, he is, so

that I have proof
that I dare to show
that I don't know who he is
that I'm afraid of what's to come
that I'm going to die painfully for the reason

that he infects me incurably, but also
that he himself will perish much worse
that he will be humiliated by everyone
that he wishes himself miles away, of misery
that he falls into a sinkhole

that it will swallow him up frightfully, yes
that it buries him alive
that it dazes him in a scary dream

that he roams in it for years
that he only after that will fall asleep exhausted
that he wakes up from his delusion again

that I stop him with love
that I receive him with love, but
that I don't get pregnant

that meanwhile, I'm thinking all
this

I often feel as though
My childhood scarred me-
Marred me, knocked me down,
Emblazoned insecurity in scarlet
Upon my fore brow;
“Damaged.” “Unworthy.” “Trash.”

Not meant to succeed.
She does not belong.
Hidden behind a mask of perfection
Desperate to cover angry letters,
Scrawled in crimson, tender, raw.

War victims: people

who suffer from the sad fact --


that there is still war.

I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.

My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.

Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."

My love is... confusion.

I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.

Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?

I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.

What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?

I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.

Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.

Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.

Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.

...is being alone really so bad?

Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.

The woman and the girl
are one in the same

She finds joy in wall rainbows,
And loves the rain

She makes crockery
Imprinted with dinosaurs,
She likes shopping at thrift stores
For clothing that screams whimsy -

Beaded necklaces,
dark velvet
And cute embroidery

Videogames
With quests primeval,
And moral threads
That aren’t so medieval

They whisper,
“There’s more to the journey
than simply good vs evil.”

                        
                                              The void still exists -
                                                  That gaping abyss

                                                           Cold as glass,
                                                         But weightless

                                              It does not pull now
                           She can stare all she likes now
                              It's all but a fascinating sight

                                              There is no question
                                                     Whether to stay,
                                                                     Or to go

                        Eleven was such a long time ago