if the eyes are the windows to the soul,
then dress them up nicely.
keep all of the anger
threatening to pour from you
behind a locked mouth.
nobody asks the person living
in a well kept home if she is okay.

wear every apology like a thorn.
let them stare at the resentment
that blossoms from those roots,
and let a garden grow from each puncture.
they'll let you talk about your pain
if you disguise it in flowery metaphors.

love is the wide eyed child
that beckons you to this address.
forgiveness is the 12 year old girl
dusting off his promises to change.
you have outgrown these faces,
but you still put them on
because naivety has more to offer.

releasing a bird into a bigger cage
is not freedom.

every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.

it is hard to love someone
while you're grieving
the loss of the person they used to be.

my brother hasn't spoken in weeks.
a headstone reads,
here lies the brother you once had,
and the flowers I placed there are barely living.
I've spent all of my time digging him out of one grave,
only to discover there's an entire cemetery left to unbury.

my mother hasn't smiled in days,
and exhaustion has become
the guest that has overstayed its welcome.
misery usually loves company,
but I am anxious for it leave.

I am homesick for a house
that I once lived in.
I am homesick for a place
where only love grows
from this family tree.

you had made this bed too quickly,
not realizing the sheets weren't fitted
and the blankets were tangled around our limbs.
you were so used to lying in it,
you didn't know how to be honest.

don't reach for me with hands
stained from the ink you used to rewrite your stories.
don't speak to me with words
that should have rotted out your teeth.
don't look at me with eyes
that I once saw my happiness in.

I will not play nice.
I will not worship
the storm that destroyed my home.

in the future,
my life will be so full of love,
you won't be able to look beyond it.
I hope it leaves you blind,
so you will never see the person I'll become
without you.