am i enough?

tonight,
i walked in the snow
watched it drift down
and surround me,
listened to the silence.
as i stood there,
it seemed crazy
that i could ever want to leave
this beautiful world

i know the snow won't last, though
and as it melts
the fantasy will melt away with it
i hope the snow stays for a while,
if only so that i don't have to face real life again.

i can't tell you that you'll be okay
because that would be lying
i don't know if anything
will be okay,
and honestly
i can't say for sure that you'll make it to college
but i can say this.
i can tell you that you're strong
that you've made it this far
that you are loved,
even if you don't think so
i can't predict the future
i can't tell you when you'll have your next breakdown
i can tell you, though,
that you can make it through
the future doesn't matter,
not right now
and you have made it through breakdowns before
so prove yourself to the universe
once again.
prove that you are a survivor,
determined to live
even when your own mind
is telling you to die
even if you're not okay,
if in ten years
you're still in the same dark place-
that doesn't matter,
not right now, at least
right now
you are alive
you are still here, against the odds
you aren't okay,
and i'm not going to lie to you
but you are getting there.
slowly,
and painfully,
but the end is in sight.
so please,
be there to see it.

survive.

Red
Seeping down my thighs
Staining my skin,
Forming ridges
And valleys
Monuments
That only I can see
Attesting to what I've done

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't