When I was born,
My mother held me.
She loved me truly
And without restraint.
I was new
And not afraid.

When I was five,
My father held me.
He loved me on weekends,
But never stayed.
I was innocent,
Yet I felt shame.

When I was nine,
My sister held me.
She loved me when my stepdad yelled,
She hid me away.
I believed in fairy tales
Up until that day.

When I was fifteen,
My boyfriend held me.
He loved me when I hurt myself,
Until he did the same.
I was at fault,
I took all the blame.

Today I'm sixteen,
I won't let you touch me.
Don't love me, I'm not worth it,
Or so my demons say.
Maybe when I'm twenty,
I'll escape my chains.

I couldn't tell you
what perfection is.
For every time I try,
my mind closes its windows and locks its doors,
frightened by the concept of flawlessness within a single person.
I could, on the other hand, list the many things perfection is not.
perfection is not twirling a blade between your fingers, wondering where it will leave its mark next.
perfection is not buying shirts 4 sizes too big to cover up what we think is there.
perfection is not tilting back the bottle again, promising yourself that it is the last time.
perfection is not the face I see staring back at me each and every day.

once I saw a girl,
with long brown hair and red wrists.
and I thought, how could someone so beautiful be so troubled?
once I saw a girl,
with deep blue eyes and no strength left to stand.
and I thought, how could someone so weak ignore what will make them strong?
once I saw a girl,
with scared wrists, slumped against the bathroom door.
and without thinking,
smashed the mirror.

You wish to feel something, yeah?
You just want to feel some real pain?
Something real?

Go to the kitchen and retrieve a ***.
Fill it with water all to the top.
Place it on the stove right there.
Watch it boil away your cares.
Now take that water at its peak.
Now drop it on your legs and feet.
Feel the blisters begin to form.
You'll wish that you could feel no more.
Even when it's all cleaned up.
It stays there burning like the ****.
Continue on about your day.
But the pain remains all the same.
So if you cut, I think you're a fool.
Because you're breaking all the rules.
Pain is not something to be controlled.
Pain is the hope that leads you home.

I work in kitchens, so pain is gain.
And to think you inflict it everyday...
You need to stop and get a job.
Cutting is only here to rob.

“Do you think there’s such thing as loving someone too much?” I asked him and searched his face for his reaction, which he didn’t show.

“What do you mean?” he questioned.

“I don’t know, do you think it’s possible to just want to love someone so much and save them, when maybe they’re already too broken to be fixed. I mean, maybe it would have been better—

“Don’t say that.” Michael interrupted, “Noah, don’t say that.”

“I don’t know, Michael. I mean, if she’s really that unhappy, was I in the wrong to send her to rehab? Was I wrong to want to save her and make her happy?”

“No, you’re not in the wrong.”

“I mean, if she really doesn’t want to live anymore, am I being selfish for wanting to keep her alive?”