maybe i’m mad because i didn’t call this shot
didn’t call the break and the fall
this time
but i ache for you
i ache for you and your hands and your love
spent the night crying into my pillow and heaving heavy sighs of discontent
we both cried before you left
last hug, tight
last hug
last.
you told me you had to leave to find yourself again
we lost who we are
as much as i get that i want to scream
why can’t we do that together
side by side why
can’t you love me like fire
instead of the wind that put you out

i was ready to give it all up
the boys the dancing the times without you by my side
living with you was my home and my bliss and now i must pack
yet again
and leave
yet again
back to a place i can’t call safe
exactly why i left it
for you.
you said you’d always catch me but now i’ve fallen to the ground
never kissing in the rain
2am cursing your name

how do i live if it’s not with you
you say you love me but that can’t be true
you should have told me when you knew.
but you couldn’t face me, could you.

i love you with everything i have left
and i could write for decades about my aching heart
but what good does that do
when i’ve already lost you

I wanted you to be the one
But for now we can’t have that
Everlooming fights and
grasps for attention
We aren’t “us” anymore
Im not “me” anymore
and we need to find that again

Right now you cant love me and I cant love you

but maybe one day..

Run through expensive hotels
Just to come home, play Mario Kart in our underwear
A high-stake love, we burn like fire and cry like monsoons
Holiday flashes become traditions,
Movements of our hands and our arms keep the peace
The making of our love sneaky and frequent.

Ask you to run away with me into the moonlight
To never be seen again
Messy wild and barely free
Eighteen with too many cares and too many scars to hold alone
So let's hold them together
You can't heal my wounds
But you help relieve the pain

Four hands and two hearts ache for one another
Let's build a fort under your desk
Stay there till the morning light.
Movies I can't help to sleep through
Making out through every *** scene
l'll spoon you, kiss your bare back
Hold you tighter than

Drive until there's no more road,
Hands on knees light in the rearview mirror
driving in lingerie just for the ******* risk

Showers shared soothe the soul so hold me close and dear
Wash my hair and I'll wash yours.
The spot in my back that only you can reach.
Feel your heart beat through your chest
Your wet hair slicked back
Piercing blue eyes that melt me like wax and a flame
you are my flame.

We're messy and wild and inconsistent and angry and loving and full of so much.
Keep me safe and ill keep you wild
Until you return, my dear.

I’m hurt
But always from the point of my own sword
The problems cease to fade however skin unscathed leaves me unfulfilled.
I am a disease to my own mind,
Falling deeper into this depression, not falling, walking, I have the power to change direction but don’t know how.
Happy is threatening.
Happy is unsafe.
Happy has never been safe.
Happy means danger is hiding around the corner and if something else doesn’t cause it then it must be thine wounds that cause another’s.
Unhappy in love yet I am perpetually the problem. An outsider sabotaging the loveliness, a few days apart and suddenly a knife is drawn at the throat of an undeserving victim.
Because happy was never good enough for me.
Empty and jarring and sad and sorry and a passenger to the being who wreaks havoc and distraction, the builder of walls and the entity that pulls, no, snaps the strings holding my heart together until the final
Snap
He won’t get angry
He won’t budge
In efforts of sanity and peace he lays down and takes your anger and your resentment though most belongs directed straight at you
And he doesnt say a word.
Takes your bullets and your dagger and your sword and doesn’t breathe a word of anger. Not one of discontent.
Envy and anger and black putrid feelings ebb out of my skin and touch him yet he is not the rightful barer of my wrath
I am.
The sole disaster belongs to me.
I bring the storm to the bright days.
I bring the hail to perfectly smooth bumpers.
I bring the underworld to heaven just because it’s never quite enough to keep me full.
Empty and empty and empty.
The tin man’s cries have yet to reach the emerald kingdom.
And I have yet to find my peace.

I'm tired.


and I don't mean the tired of slippery fingers and prominent yawns

I'm tired of life

I'm tired of living without a pulse my blood
running cold and
mechanical the light in my eyes no longer
there.

The blood
that runs through my veins is thin
slippery like the oil that makes the wheels
spin
without the squeak.  

I see the world as a machine
cogs turning well-oiled nobody asks you whats
wrong
outside its fine
inside the storm brews
and I'm so tired of love songs that never
explain how angry
and sad
you can be when you're in love

and how your anger isn't caused by
him
at all
yet why can't I accept that.

im jealous and im sad
that he doesn't care enough to ask why
work through it as i would him
there are certain things he doesn't
get

but since when were you easy

its not his job to know you like the back
of your scarred hands
or to make your eyes blue
they've been grey for months.  

feeling a bit Billie blue
the days get darker and yet
his reassurance does nothing but
make me fear the burden that grows with each
kiss why did i let him fall for me
why did i let him make that sacrifice
maybe its better to leave him maybe he has a chance
at happy where im not there
god knows I don't make him happy anymore.
i cant even make me happy anymore

im tired of not knowing how to love you right.
im tired of being upset.
im tired of being angry
im tired of living in your shadow
im tired of not being good enough for you
im tired of being your burden
im tired of being tired

so listen before i go

it was never you.

How must i shout my love for you
when im kept hostage by my thoughts
It seems impossible
even to see your glowing love
i feel it on me like the suns rays
M.
I
am in love with you
irretrievably.
and i hope its you.
I hope its you.

It has become customary to press a blade to the inside of my left wrist when she tells me I am worthless.

I ache for the blood to seep from my damaged skin, pumped through my body from my damaged heart.

I sit in silence and wait; for him to come in and comfort me, to show me care and compassion, but he doesn’t.
Not anymore.

It’s hours.

I made a plan in seventh grade that the anklet would stop the burn of silver.

Anklets break.
Promises break.
It all becomes okay.

After the death of my grandmother, the last time I thought I would do it, I found a red string.

Tied it around my ankle.

Promised myself I would never do it whilst it was on.

But bad days exist.
And so do scissors.

And everlasting stress that never leaves and an easy way to feel without feeling.

Blood bubbles when it seeps through the gaps in your skin.

And it hurts but what hurts more is the ache in your chest when she tells you
you're stupid
             you don't respect me
                        you owe use
                                    we own you
                                                I want to hit you
                                                            c­hange your attitude, girl
                                                            ­            Watch out
                                                             ­                       Obey me
                                                              ­                                                             I AM YOUR MOTHER  

as if mother, was a synonym for god.

Guilt and hurt and god how did I end up here again?

It's knowing the answer.

Its knowing blame is bad and modesty is good and pain is for the ones who love but love is for the ones who are free from pain.

It's having to keep silent because asking for support is like giving her another bullet
            another thing to say
                        another reason to want to die

And when you pick your own crying body up off the floor, bruises from biting and pinching and hitting and clumps of hair and tissues of blood,

It's being alone.  

Its the eerie silence that follows.

It's concealer on wrists. It's looking down to avoid eye contact. Its wishing someone would ******* notice.

it's structured loneliness.

it's the skills you had to learn all alone.

It's fighting for breath, not knowing whether to stop or breathe.

It's about helping others

                                                               ­         before ever helping yourself

It's being called worthless at the bottom of bad days

It's your own problems magnified because you don't hide them well enough

                                    It's hurting
                                                                ­       and I want it to stop

I write as the blade is pressed to my wrist once again.