She was painstakingly too aware then of the stinging pain
that rejection brought, she was all too aware
Of the gorgeous blonde gossiping about her to him,
she was aware of how she was blaming him,
saying it was all his fault because
he always attracted female attention,
she was aware of his soft murmurs to not get upset,
she was aware of the silent i love you's he told her
with the caress of her cheek,
she was all too aware of his eyes then,
the silent apology they gave for her and she was also aware
of the pity behind them too, the look of wanting to
feel something for her and feeling terrible because he couldn't
She was aware of all of this, so she put on a shy smile
and her always useful mask of I'm fine, it's okay
and with that look given she walked out of the restaurant,
tears already slipping, her composure now a mess
and she slid her back down the wall of the alley nearby
and let it all out, she cried then because
the boy she loved was an artist, and she knew
that he would appreciate everything about
the hour glass blonde the way he would never appreciate
the twig like brunette she was and she also knew,
in her heart that he would be kind about everything,
about the whole thing and that tomorrow in art class
when she told about a boy named Elliot that
she met on the way home, he would pretend it was true
because he was kind and wonderful and patient and
everything she wasn't, he was the opposite of her,
and that she supposed was the very reason
that they could never be together,
because he was an artist and his job was to
create catastrophe on a canvas and have others marvel,
his job was not to fix disasters like her in real life,
that was the job of fiction stories because
in real life he would try, until the end of his days,
to paint happiness unto her with vibrant reds and cool blues
but she could not be fixed and that was the thing
that he would probably never understand
which was precisely why they had to stay away,
he had an aura of happiness that made others
want to live and being with her would break him
which was why she figured he painted curvy blondes
instead of skinny brunettes and it would have to stay that way,
because she was oil and he was water,
and being with her would strike such a fire in his heart
that would only be capable of leaving embers of ashes
so that is why she would walk to bus stop that day,
with a heaviness in her heart, but also an understanding,
an understanding of why disastrous girls like her
could not love happy artists like him,
for the sun and the moon would
destroy earth if they ever loved each other

(h.l.)

The thing is that I don’t know
I don’t know if I’ll ever find somebody who will understand me and forever love me
I don’t know if I’ll end up having my own family and if I’ll live in the big white house with the picket fence

I don’t know if I even want that
I don’t know if I’ll end up an author or a therapist or a doctor
I don’t know if I’m okay, and to be honest I don’t even know the definition of okay
I don’t know if I’m a good friend; I don’t know if I deserve good friends
I don’t know if anything I do impacts anyone and I don’t know why I think and feel this way
I don’t know if I’m going to stop writing all of a sudden and delete this

I am very confused because I. Don’t. Know.
I don’t know if I even have the right to know or if this stuff is reserved for the future
I don’t know if I love or if I don’t and I don’t know what I’ll do if yes, it turns out that I do love.
I just don’t know
I don’t know so many things and I don’t know how I feel about that
I don’t know if I’ll ever live down my regrets and I don’t know if this confusion will ever end

I don’t know if I’m beautiful or even remotely pretty
I don’t know if my friends and parents only say this as an obligation
I don’t know why it matters if I’m pretty or not
I don’t know why I’m so insecure so many times
I don’t know why people who are beautiful say they aren't
I don’t know why I’m thinking so much about what I don’t know
I. Don’t. Know. So. Many. Things.

And I’m okay with that.

she told him, with a cigarette hanging
at the edge of her mouth, to stay away
not for his sake; she was selfish, she told him to
stay away for her
because she knew that it was better to not feel at all
but he didn't listen
he never ******* listened
and that was the problem
he didn't listen when she told him that it was too late,
he didn't listen when they told him that she
was already destined to live a life not well spent,
he didn't listen because he didn't care
he should've
he knew all too well that she was a nightmare,
a freak, a lost cause, but he didn't care
because she was also the girl who taught him
how to drink (even though he never got drunk)
she was the girl who taught him how
to relax (even though he was a stressful freak)
and she was the girl who taught him how to live
and one day, the fact that she was a horrible,
bitter mess escaped his mind
in a way it was all his fault;
she told him to never forget who she was,
but he did
he forgot that she was a life-ruiner, she ruined
people's lives

she told him, with a cigarette dangling
from the edge of her mouth, the puffs of smoke making him
dizzy, to stay away
but he never ******* listened

and that is the story of the boy who lives on the corner
of the street, he smokes a pack a day and sings shallow songs
still reminiscing in the memory of the girl
who ruined his life

she cried, she cried because she would never be
good enough for someone else, she cried because
her mother didn't love her and neither did her father,
he loved beer and her brother more than he did her
she cried because she was so entirely alone in this world
and she had a dream once and now it was what
felt like light years away and god she wanted to end it--
she wanted to end the suffering then and there and
she could do it so easily, just one step off her balcony
she knew she was being young and dumb and naive
but in that moment she didn't care, she didn't care
because the future was what felt like light years away
and she wanted to end it all now,
and so she did

there was a storm today, it was full of thunder
and lightning, it reminded me of the way you smoked
cigarettes because even though i shook every time
the lightning struck, i couldn't look away
//
i think i'm supposed to reminisce about
you being gone, i'm supposed to cry and shake
and lose my will for living because you were my
miracle, the one good thing in my life that was
supposed to make me special and now you
are gone but instead i just stare at the
windows covered with rain and wonder if the
sky is crying because the earth orbits the moon
and not the other way around, maybe the earth
is sobbing because it knows that it
is no longer special for it was reminded today that
it is only another planet in orbit
//
it was pouring rain today, it reminded me
of you, hopefully wherever you are it is raining
and you can imagine the earth shaking and the
clouds sobbing so that you can see what you've done
to me and shake your head and try to come up with
another excuse
(h.l.)

do you know that sinking feeling
and that aching in your chest
when you see him holding hands with her?
well, that's exactly how he feels
every time he sees you chase after him
he loves you, you love someone else, and
i love a boy who does not want to be loved
by me
so don't you dare tell him to move on and find better
don't you dare break his heart
and dismiss his love so easily
when you can't even give up on
the same love
you so easily make fun of

i really hate you i do i know i do because
every time i hear your name my blood boils and
there is a scream begging to be released stuck in
my throat and ******* if you look at me one last time
i'm not sure what i'll do because no,
you do not have the right to play with my emotions
you do not have the right to tell me you love me and
then leave you do not have the right
to

make

me

fall

in

love

with

you
no, no, no

you do not have the right to only talk to me when you
feel like it or when you feel insecure because honey, i can
love you in all those times, but you do not have the right to
tell me that you love me too

especially if you don't

The thing with poetry is when I start
I can’t stop
It’s as if everything I've tried so hard to keep in
Comes tumbling out
And sometimes I admit to things that
I didn't want to
And most times I can’t deny the truth
because it’s written onto paper
With every line comes my undoing
And little by little
I can feel myself breaking away from the ties
That I am bound by--
slowly I am becoming my own person
The thing with poetry is when I start
I don’t want to stop.
(h.l)

This is how to make your child feel worthless.
This is how to make them regret being born.
This is how to teach them a lesson. Doesn't it hurt? This is discipline.
This is how to control your child.
This is how to deal with a drunken man.
This is how to feel like hell and still hold your head up.
This is how to act okay.
This is how to heal a broken heart, remember save whisky for last.
This is how to hide the scars he gives you.
This is how to cook.
This is how to clean.
This is how you pray. To who? Don’t ask.
This is how to love a man even if he hurts you.
This is how to live.
This is how to endure the pain.
This is how to be beautiful. That looks painful. Tough luck, pretty hurts.
This is how to put on makeup.
This is how to make a man weak.
This is how to lie.
This is how to live a broken life.
This is how to survive.
This is life.
(h.l.)

and I want to take it all back--
every laugh, every whisper, every blissful moment,
I want it to be gone like every shred of innocence I ever had that
you had stolen
I want to pretend that you are just another nightmare
and that I have awoken
I want to feel again
to be alive
to be whole
I want to be the girl with the sun kissed, scar free skin
I want to be the person that I used to be before I met you
and it all burned to ashes
I don't want to be another abandoned building that was taken out of order
and I don't want to join the list of victims you had made
I don't want to be yours anymore

I want to take it all back.

I like to run
Not because it helps me think
Or it helps me calm down
Walking
Gives me too much time to think
About all the ways the world is ******* up
When I run
All I think about is
How the flowers seem alive and the cracks on the sidewalk are
Actually beautiful
I like to run
Because when I run
The world that is drowning seems to have finally taken a
Breath
And I’d like to be apart of a world that breathes every once in a while
So one day
I’m going to run.
(h.l.)