are they really poems or is this just my diary? idk, idc
i'm upset and i'm crying right now, and i'm mad that i'm upset and crying.
i don't put a whole lot of effort into poetry but i feel like if i did i would end up censoring myself.
i used to censor myself a lot online because i fed off of the mystery. i liked it when people would ask me if i was still alive or okay. i liked being cryptic because it made me feel like i knew more than everybody else.
i put up walls and didn't let anybody in. i hate myself and i hated myself back then.
i want to paint but i'm getting a headache from staring at this screen in the dark. the lights were making my room too hot.
tomorrow i am going to eat sushi with my family and pretend everything is fine. on friday i am getting a haircut. in the meantime i have a lot of stuff to do. over the weekend i have to work. i have to find time to do everything i want to do. i never have any time and life is so stressful. i want to throw up. i feel overheated.
i want my boyfriend to stop being cryptic and quiet and passive aggressive. i hate that ****. i'm not cut out for marriage if this is the way it's gonna be.

let a boy
make you feel bad
for anything
don't
let girls
make you feel bad
for anything
get on a plane and go to vegas
if you want to
stay home
if you want to

yesterday i learned that boys with long hair have "flow"
yesterday i made a new friend (but not a boy with long hair, maybe sort of but not really)
i am tired of driving my Honda Accord and im tired of worrying if it's going to break down
but the boy with (flow) has an escalade and long hair (flow) and a voice from California (flow) and knows slang words (flow) and his parents pay for everything (money flow)
not fair, imo
life's not fair. life's hard. i told my mom that when she said i don't have the stability (flow) to do anything alone, on my own, i think she's crazy, my life is spiraling (flow)

i started as a
small seed
i grew into a flower
suffocated by weeds
but i'll be
******
if i'm not the
one
to save
myself

Two pills twice a day will make your hair grow back and your **** turn black
I'm excited to have my body back
except
nothing is guaranteed
I might go back to the doctor with my heart on my sleeve
confess that nothing seems to be what i need
nothing works, nothing sticks
except for the needles from the blood tests that say
"you're fine"
even though i see red all the time.

Push pins. Little drops of watercolor wasted ink, shimmery gold and murky green. Bottles and bottles and bottles of unfamiliar pink and red and blue. So many colors. So many thoughts in my brain that bring me back to you. I never drew you, but I wanted to. Maybe. in my subconscious. But I was afraid, because I didn't want to accept that you didn't want anything to do with my hands.
These hands are ugly and broken and these hands are what made me.
I'm an angry person and I am bitter. This is why I write.
You'll never see it because you hate me.
I torture myself wondering why you hate me.
I wonder about you constantly and it's sick.
I look at somebody's old pictures and I feel a longing for human connection. When I'm presented with an opportunity, my body rejects it. I float outside myself and I can't speak. My body is so broken. I broke it myself. I broke it with my thoughts about hating you. Hating you, and knowing you hate me too, makes me hate myself.
I have so many complicated relationships. I wake up in the morning and I stress about how I'm going to stay connected to the people who care about me if I don't text back.
I threw a fit about you not loving me. Now that you're trying to love me I am disinterested. I feel done. We have been carrying on a conversation through text messages that, face to face, should only take ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if we had coffee in our hands.
I don't want any more small talk. I want to be understood on a deep level. I want someone to support me through all the crazy that is my brain.
So many words but nothing to say. nothing makes sense. i want to write fiction. i want to write fiction but it's really about me hating you. i wrote a book but it ******. somebody i love reads the book and says i am broken. somebody reads the book and apologizes for treating me like ****. they don't treat me like **** and i tell them so. i make myself a victim. I am ugly. do you wake up early? i don't have to work tomorrow but living and breathing can feel like work sometimes.
nothing makes any sense and I am jealous. I don't want you to love her. i want you to love me, but you don't. you do but not in that way. not in the making out kind of way, unless it is convenient for you. i kind of want to make out with you on country roads again. i remember, we were so close to my house, and i was feeling this weird thing inside like "please don't take me home" and you said, right at that moment, "want to drive around?" and god, i miss driving around, i hope i don't die before we can drive around again. i don't know why i think i would die before that. i am worried more about you coming back than something bad happening to me. i feel like you'll never come back sometimes.
i am lonely. i am so ******* lonely and i want a friend. all of my friends are gone. my partner is so amazing and perfect but i feel like i need more in this life. i don't know what i need. i fantasize about old partners and old *** and i feel so guilty. i even think about the man that abused me. how ****** up is that? my body is broken and will not respond.

you used to encourage me to be somebody and do what i like but you sit in your room and you're lonely, you want me to save you but i can't because you've built a wall of books and created a language barrier between us
we don't communicate, you don't speak to me, you can't make eye contact, you can't breathe around me, and i can't breathe around you, and you make me feel like locking the door is too loud so i hold my thumb over the **** when i twist it
twist my arm and get me to speak, i tell you how ****** my day was and you reciprocate, we both hate our office jobs, the difference is i quit mine and you're still miserable
we are both miserable but it's two different things, it's two different worlds, two different too different, you can't relate to me, i think you think i'm a child but 5 years doesn't mean you've seen more than i've seen
the walls are shaking from the thunder. two years ago that's something i would have told you, but now i experience these things alone because i take comfort in the privacy. i take comfort in knowing that you don't know everything anymore. i take comfort in knowing that you didn't know everything before, either.

i felt myself getting sick with you. we were in the car and i broke out in a sweat. my mouth tasted metallic. we sat in traffic on a road where there's never traffic. everything was spinning but i still had to drive. my throat was closing up like it does when i eat walnuts. both hands on the wheel. white knuckles. nothing is wrong. the sun is shining and it's a beautiful day!
love and light, everyone!!!!
i came home, i passed out on the bathroom floor, i passed out on the couch, i wore my robe and told myself i had to ride out these chills. my body shook but this is my normal.
there days later i am in the hospital with an incurable disease!!! love and light!!!!
you water your flowers but you don't text me. you get a new chair for your apartment but you don't text me. your baby brother is born. you don't text me. you break up with your other friends. you don't text me.
why am i owed anything? because i'd do the same for you? because love and light? because it's supposed to be everything you stand for, that reciprocation of love???
still waiting, i'll probably accept the call when you decide to make it, unless i'm dying in a hospital bed dealing with my disease or in my own bed dealing with my emotions. because that's not what you need.
what do i need? nobody asks me what i need.

sleeping on the floor and dreaming about
nail polish
what does that mean? I'm confused too so I'll launch an investigation
you promised you were vanilla but
i think it's more like grape. or hot chili pepper.
Wipe the mirror of the steamy shower fog to find the answers.
i don't like what i see, but
I force myself not to care. it's the only way i can forget to know you like i thought i used to