Sometimes I hate myself so much.
And in these times,
I learn to love pieces of myself.
Like the soft curve of my jaw
Or the glimmer of my tired green eyes.
I grew from hating the ways my ribs showed through my pale skin
To loving the way my belly feels after a filling meal.
I grew from loathing the way the darkness under my eyes illuminated my chronic fatigue
To loving the softness of my eyelashes brushing my eye bags as I take a moments rest.
I grew from beating myself up for not being able to get exercise
To taking walks under the suns forgiving rays.
So, while I may hate portions of myself
I also can find moments to reframe my thoughts
Into the forgiveness I am seeking from the dark recesses of my mind.
While some days I hate her,
Other days I think of her as an old friend
And for now,
That is good enough.

She is existing between life and death.
Most "waking" moments feel like a dream,
and days pass like coming of age movie montages.
Only she is not the main character.
She is a side character whose only purpose is to be in a scene to further the plot.
But where do characters go once they've served their purpose?
Are they doomed to a life frozen in time watching the main characters live their happily ever afters?
Or do they cease to exist the moment no spotlight is on them?
The answer eludes her.
Despite being in the best position to know who she is, she remains clueless.
She was forced into a flat character arc so early on that she felt that it was easier to comply rather than to experience more trauma trying to resist.
She serves her purpose being one thing.
The geek.
Or the nice girl.
Or the outcast.
Or the *****.
But never all at once.
Never can she exhibit more than one trait.
After all of the titles given to her by others she merely accepted them as who they are.
Why try to define yourself when others are going to do it for you, she thought?
Because she was one thing she could never develop further.
Her character arc was flat.
She wasn't allowed acquaintances, friends, or partners that weren't determined before her use expired.
She was forced into the place between life and death alone.
Forced to watch both life and death alone.
And forced to experience the numbness alone.

I miss the smell of you.
The scent that lingers
long after you've been gone.
Cologne and cigarettes
stick to old bed sheets
like a leech on skin.
Yet it could be remedied
so very easily
with detergent.
Instead,
it deteriorates painfully
with time.

I long for love
without heartache.
To be free from pain,
loss,
failure,
and sadness.
In a world shrouded in darkness,
I long for the light.

and when I lay here
bathed in the morning light
I think about times long ago,
when you were here with me
bathed in the same glow
and drinking coffee
after sleepless nights
wrapped in only our sheets
and looking at the sun
as it rises over the city.
oh how I miss you here.

I have never felt more alone
than I do
wrapped in your cold embrace.

her hands were coated in paint
dripping from her last project
in which she painted herself
as someone she wasn't
and fell in love with that person
only to realize
she couldn't keep up the masquerade forever.