I still love you
I hate myself for what I’ve done
I can’t stand missing you
Your absence weighs on my heart
I weep when you come to my mind
I hope you’re well
I hope things are better
I... I miss you...
And I... I still love you

I’ve been told I have walls,
That aren’t too easy to break,
They’ve been up for so long,
That my smile is entirely fake.
They’re made of unshed tears and a broken soul,
Of emotions that have taken their costly toll.
Tear them down if you feel you must,
But it takes too much to gain my trust
Strip me down to every pebble and stone,
Shatter me like a mirror and break me to the bone,
But don’t you see you’ve already lost,
For even my walls have a cost.

Let's tear her clothes
She is a doll , she says nothing,
Okay, she is fine.
Let's scratch her body
She says nothing,
Okay, she is fine.
Now let's cut her hair,
She don't feel
She don't cry ,
Okay, she is fine.
And our fun is over!
Now let's burn her
She says nothing,
Okay, she is fine,
She still smile.

There's a monster
we all have inside of us.
He doesn't have a name or a face,
not a single image he uses
with his many hosts.
He instead shifts his body
to fool everyone into thinking
that he is a friend
instead of a deadly parasite.

Sometimes his name is anger.
Anger is tall. Broad.
He is handsome in a way
that makes women faint
and men envious.
Anger is loud. Rash.
He says things he may
or may not mean,
but he'll never say he's sorry.
Anger sits deep inside your chest
crushing your lungs
and suffocating you

Sometimes his name is anxiety.
Anxiety is small. Worrisome.
This would not be a problem
if you knew how strong
he could really be.
Anxiety is quiet. Concerned.
Anxiety lives inside your head,
pulling the strings of your emotions,
keeping his eyes on everything you do.
He is waiting for the perfect moment
to have everything
crash around you

Other times, his name is depression.
Depression takes many forms
He can be so tiny, so minuscule
that you would do anything for him
because you cannot see
what he is capable of.
He can be as tall
as a ten-story building.
You do as he says because
you fear that he will crush you
in his palms.
You have yet to realize
he is already doing that.
Depression is a weight
inside your stomach.
You cannot get out of bed
on days he is the giant,
and everyone thinks he is gone
on days he is as small as a pebble.

His name can be PTSD
It can be anorexia nervosa or bulimia.
Maybe for you, he’s paranoia or OCD.
Perhaps his name is Schizophrenia.
Social anxiety or DID,
Insomnia or ADHD,
Body dysphoria or Bipolar disorder

His name does not matter
He is within every single one of us.
And the only way to make him stop
is to acknowledge he is there.

So anxiety, depression, and anorexia nervosa,
I know you’re there.
And I’m taking my life back.

I've never seen an angel dressed in red

walking ahead
my sight has not returned

you burned my tongue
I breathe through the smoke

I've never seen a million faces inside one
you spoke carefully

running far
you found my name

I'm thinking of ways
to see you again

it's times like these
I wish I was faceless

I'd sit back on a lawn chair before a wide ocean,
look at the sparks on the sea and the sky
I'd think and think about beauty like it's not a waste of time

I'd drown my mistakes with years
The skin their hands touched would disappear.
I would get drunk somewhere in the beaches of Guatemala,
kiss strangers--

like the lights over the ocean at night,
like still water.

I would breathe, for once.

i am not a poet for you,
for the words i write come from
the deepest parts of me
spilling out like a river,
a never ending stream of
words falling grasping and drowning
i am not a poet for you,
these words do not sing for you,
you do not get to hold and touch
and squish and shape them to your desires
i am not a poet for you,
my words and pain belong to me, they are mine

— i am not a poet for anyone but myself // a.

We are strangers
to each other.
Like two leaves
falling to the ground,
like two snowflakes
dancing in the wind,
like two stars
fading into dawn,
alone and free,
with untold stories
of our own.