"I'm a sad girl/I'm a bad girl//"

I'm a sad girl
but I've gotten better at controlling it.

now I only let myself get sad once Loneliness knocks on my door and invites itself in. it tends to do so past midnight, but it does enjoy keeping me on my toes. sometimes, it'll creep up on me while I'm in the car, and a song comes on the radio that reminds me of you.

I'm a bad girl
but only occasionally.

I'd like to think that I'm a total badass that can pull off the whole "I don't give a ****" attitude. but I can't.
so when you try to picture me as I tell you I'm a bad girl, don't picture me as a mysterious teenager with a taste for wild adventures.
picture me instead as the girl that lashes out at people, and is known for being a bit of a *****.

———

I'm a sad girl
and most of the time, it's because of you.

which, I suppose, might amuse you, because you do enjoy the thought that everything is about you.
but it isn't, really. not anymore.
of course, I think of you, from time to time. but I know I never cross your mind, and I don't think I ever did.
and somehow the thought of that was enough to help me make peace with what happened. I'm okay now,with letting you go. Loneliness has found other people to entertain, as have I.

I'm a bad girl
but not really.

I'm much too vulnerable for that. but I've learned that there is strength to be found in that—in weakness.
I wanted to be invincible, and who can blame me, really? isn't it every teenager's dream to be on top of the world?
but being undefeatable and creating distance between anyone that tries to get you to open up are not the same thing.

and if I had to choose, I'd rather be sad.
at least then, I know that while I'd have crazy mood swings and bursts of darkness, I'd be in full control of my feelings.
and one day, I'll be okay.

I’m ashamed to say I’ve become a bit of a thief;
A pickpocket of sorts.

It started out small.
A few roses from our neighbors’ garden, every now and then.
I knew it was wrong to take something that wasn’t mine,
But I fell in love with the way your eyes lit up
when I held out those little bits of stolen life, stolen joy.

It soon escalated after that.
I saw the way you gazed lovingly up at the moon,
and I became determined to make it yours.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried,
The moon remained unattainable.
(There is only one, after all.)
I figured I’d aim for the next best thing, so
I hope you like the stars I stole for you.

this is an alphabet of all the people
who have dug holes in me,
and of all the people
who are still digging.

this is a gardening guide
for would-be lovers and pretty faces
who do not even realize
that they are carrying shovels.

this is a weather forecast written
from past experience,
a reminder that winter
is not kind on crops,
no matter how firmly you pack the dirt.

this is me,
reflecting on seeds planted.

this is me,
reflecting on seeds left to die.

A,
i suppose it is fitting that the first letter
is also the first person to show me what it is like
to have seedlings sprouting up from inside you,
the first person to show me just how deep you really have to dig
to make the sting last.
you never came back to water what you planted.

H,
i’d like to say to that i ripped out your roots with my own two hands;
i’d like to give myself some credit in all this.
you don’t look as lovely as you used to.
you say i’ve grown distant.
i’m sorry.

J,
you always feel like being on the verge of something big.
you feel like summer, like a deep purple,
a bath of darkness.
you are everywhere that plants do not grow well.
and i have always felt — and still do feel — 
that that is such a grave injustice.
still, though you cannot speak the word “devotion,”
i beckon for more seeds.

P,
my greatest heartbreak.
heartbreak, though, is but a flesh wound when seen from afar.
and so i thank god for the miles between us.
i can feign forgetfulness when you are far away.
after all, what is a shovel in your hands if those hands cannot reach me?

S,
you are but a bud waiting to bloom.
and yet again i find myself so very afraid of growth.

(a.m.)

It's not in the lovely way you speak
Or how you and I just seem to click.
It's not in the way you sing
And how you strum my heart's string.

It's how you make me feel
And fact that you're cuter than a baby seal.
Sometimes, your words kinda melt my heart
And I can't tell the sun and your smile apart.

It's because I want to hold your hand
And your lips are where I want mine to land.
It's 'cause of how you bring me up
When I struggle to overcome a hiccup.

That's why I like you more than a friend...
Because your existence made my fear of girls to end.