Rock­a­bye baby...

High on the rocks

Thinking you’re safe,

and god knows you’re not

Baby is sleeping,

unknowing of its fate

Far, far down

there lies a frozen lake

For when the wind blows,

the cradle will fall

splinter to pieces

like a shabby wooden wall

Here the wind comes,

gentle and sweet

Planning the gruesome,

drawn­out death

the poor baby will soon meet

Forward and back,

the cradle will rock

The wind will softly caress,

all the way down

until the baby’s skull

shatters on the dock

From the high rooftops,

into the sea

No one could hear

the poor baby’s screams

Rock­a­bye baby,

high on the rocks

Thinking you’re safe

and god knows you’re not

Maybe I shouldn't have stripped

Maybe I shouldn't have lied on her bed in nothing but *******

Maybe I shouldn't have got on my back, told her to come over

Maybe I shouldn't have laid down naked next to her and drew circles on her back

Maybe I shouldn't have straddled her lap and pulled off her bra,
maybe I shouldn't have leaned down and bit the soft skin on her chest

Maybe I shouldn't have left bruises on her neck from my lips telling the world "I was here"

But she was the one that kissed me
(in more places than one)

She was the one that tore off my *******

She was the one who grabbed my hips

She was the one who told me the rest stays between us,

sealed like a kiss

I've seen you cry one too many times this year.

and it's too late for an apology- but I will say this:

You waited anxiously for nine months for my adoption papers and immigration requirements to make or break the family you wanted to raise. Thank you.

When I came home crying in the ninth grade, begging to change schools because the girls in my class wouldn't stop calling me "*****", you tore up your roots and left all your friends so that you could give me an opportunity to be happy. Thank you.

After you caught me lighting fires in the kitchen during the last stretch of middle school, you dug to the depths of your wallet and entered me in therapy sessions. Thank you.

Midnight of the week I was supposed to go to London, you came down to the bus stop that I was waiting at with all the emergency vehicles. You checked me into a psychiatric hospital as soon as I was released from police custody in the hopes that a clinical environment would help me heal faster. Thank you.

When you found out that I had put myself into a dangerous situation, you locked down my personal things and put passwords and restrictions around me so I would be safe from the predators of this society. Thank you.

All those times I chose not to come home, all those times I locked myself in the bedroom and wouldn't speak- It was guilt. How could I face the one person who has essentially given up everything for me, just to tell her I'd made another mess that she'd have to clean up?

How could I come home to the thought that I'd failed yet again?

How could I say to my mother, who has sacrificed unquestioningly each and every day so that I could have the comfortable life I've lived, that I wasn't able to be the bigger person?

That I lost another friend, that I'd broken a law, that despite the happy home environment she'd done everything she can to create– I still found myself wanting to die at night. That I still couldn't see past the disappointments of my errors.

You've done everything for me without complaint, and on this day I couldn't be ****** enough to even say "good morning."

It's too late for an apology, but I will say this:

I cannot see myself being big enough to support the two of us in the way that you have. I cannot imagine giving up the freedoms and the niceties that you have for me. I cannot grasp the concept of selflessness over selfishness.

Mom, I love you.

Please forgive me for being so difficult.

Not he/she/they but "the borderline"
The borderline imagines this elaborate fantasy to be necessary
the borderline turns to clinginess
the borderline may exhibit narcissistic symptoms
the borderline the borderline the borderline

the borderline-
a chalk marking on the sidewalk

the borderline-
trees separating territories

the borderline-
a sign stating do not cross

not me
I am human

but since I'm a 'borderline'
you wouldn't know that

would you?

related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'

maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store

"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals

Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."

Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared

and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day

the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country

without so much as waving goodbye

Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers

it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"

and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make

it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children

Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had

i wonder what it's like to be so scared
of every decision

of every word, every action
every relationship, interaction
and conversation

i mean... I'm certainly not curious enough to find out

but i watched the way you tilted your head last night
studied how you looked at the screen

wrote into my permanent memories how
the light cast shadows in your hair

from where I was sitting, I was looking at you from the knees up
and couldn't help but think

how much I wanted to paint pictures on your neck
with my lipstick

headstrong is a simple word. Impulsive, touchy, emotionally-driven-
you tell me to grow up and stop acting like a child and yet you decide to
perpetuate a situation that actually makes you look immature. Funny, cuz
on one hand, you didn't want to act childish but then you turn around,
carelessly spill random details in the hopes to look good. An attempt to be
ratified. You want the upper hand, but in doing that you've made your
inferiority clear as day. I would explain this to you further sweetheart but
the warning signs all say "do not dive headfirst into shallow waters."
even if you were worth the time and effort, I haven't the heart or patience.

So there's an issue between

you and me

You said yourself to keep the issue between

you and me

So I respected that and kept to myself.

But suddenly this isn't just about

you and me.

You went to one of your friends so that he could get onto my personal pages and mock me

You posted publicly on social media

You called me out in front of an audience

So tell me

What the hell happened to this being between

"you" and "me"?

When I turned sixteen, I brought a girl home drunk and stumbling
A day later, I was interviewed by the government criminal investigation
Two months later, she was disowned by her parents
Last I heard, she's at a rehab in Florida

It's been a long time since I've seen her.

When I was fourteen, I hid cigarettes in my backpack, and lighters in my wallet
Used to sit in the middle of a basketball court and watch my stress float away in a noxious grey cloud
I stashed my twelve dollar pack of coors in a bush behind the half-wall

It's been a long time since I've seen those.

I was thirteen when I found a papercutter in the drawer of the art room.
Took it home with me, fell asleep to the sound of it scathing in and out of its sheath
I once got so frustrated I wanted to slice my throat with it
I threw it out the window

It's been a long time since I've seen it.

When I was fifteen, I went out with friends and got wasted on chocolate liquor
Two weeks later, *****
the day after, tequila
and the week before, strawberry daiquiri
I don't remember much.

It's been a long time since I've done that.

When I was thirteen, I wrote poetry to sort out my emotions

It's been a long time since I've done that...

I thought about how much you hated my drinking habit.

I've decided to smoke a cigarette for every night you made me cry.

You like games, don't you?

Here, let's play...

Whoever dies first-
wins.

look, it isn't my fault your mother named you that

sorry bout that, I guess. take it up with your mom, why don't you?

you have no right to be angry at me for alluding to your status

**maybe you should have thought a little harder about the things you told me in bed

so who does that make me?
am I one person?

or six?

do you exist?
or are you some twisted nightmare I live again and again

if I **** myself, will I die? Or wake up to the next circle of hell?

if I'm delusional
where does my reality stand?

is a beautiful,
miserable place

makes me sick to my stomach

I had the unfortunate opportunity of walking past you in a hallway

cried when I got home

I will not waste another ten dollar's worth of mascara on you
**You're not ******* worth my tears

one, two
buckle your shoes

three four,
open the doors

five, six
seven more tricks

nine and ten,
writing in pen

eleven, twelve,
don't hurt yourself

thirteen, fourteen
fifteen years

sixteen, seventeen
eighteen pills

nineteen, twenty
and thirty will ****


I promise, sweetheart,
you'll be beautiful

so come on sing with me:

one, two,
three more pounds


a couple more,
you’ll be **safe
and sound

my happy place has been poisoned.

i hadn't planned on crying today

I'm not saying you're inadequate, but
someone will always be better than you
the moment you decide you are not good enough

but she's dead now. I've called it an accident for years now,
it's like an inside joke between me myself and all my secrets

I'm not a killer,
I promise. Ignore the broken spine and lifeless eyes, I promise you I didn't **** her because I'm not a killer.

Sure she hit the ceiling. Sure she hit the floor, sure I heard her last breath and realised she wasn't screaming anymore.

But I'm not a killer. No, I swear I didn't **** her.

You'll never hear from her, but it wasn't me of course not. I would never **** her, because *I am not a killer.

when I wanted to turn my wrists into christmas gifts and slice them with paper cutters to see if I could find a better tomorrow written in my veins

where were you

when I wanted to pour my tears into a Xanax and Clorox cocktail and get buzzed on the thought of angel wings tearing my back open

where were you

when I took a heart shaped box full of rotted sweets and poured it in the gasoline that lit our first kiss, watching the good intentions burn to ash on the pavement

where were you

when I tore up the tear-stained ink-heavy pages of love notes and tossed them into my backyard stream

where were you

when I took off the bracelet you made me and tied it to the traffic sign on the bridge where the police found me

where were you

when I was handcuffed to a bench in a stone holding room singing our song over and over again, screaming unintelligibly at every officer who asked for my name

where were you

when I called every night, wondering why you decided not to speak to me anymore

where were you

when I checked my messages and saw "*****" where I said "sweetheart", "******* ******" where I said "I'm sorry."

where were you

when I tied my last hope to a tree on the beach and swung from it

where were you

when I prayed the rope would snap just as easily as my heart did

where were you

when I stood on your doorstep in the rain, wishing that I didn't remember your address

where were you

when I was passed out on the curb, drunk and alone

where were you

when I was curled under a desk, screaming at the rain and kicking the locked doors

where were you

when I was at the cliffs, counting the jutted rocks and trying to measure the exact angle I would need to fall

where were you

when I finally decided enough was enough,
and took every piece of my glass heart and used it to carve a new person

But love,

where were you

when I needed someone to hold me while I was hurting?

no one gave any ***** about me,
so I don't have any ***** to give to you darling

Maybe we cling to what isn’t real

So when I found you I latched on for life

And I knew it would fall to pieces, because it started out not quite whole

If you were looking for a girl, she died long ago

I stayed by the sides of the one’s who silenced my cries for help

Who told me keep quiet, put my safety on a shelf

I was so innocent...

That’s my appeal

Pretend I have the body of a child, but a grown woman’s mind

Because actually having the body of a child wasn’t a clear enough line

You jump in the deep end not knowing what you’ll find

An ocean full of corpses and bits of a hopeless mind

You’ll reach out to touch only to watch me cringe because the last one who ever saw

my skin

Told me he loved me

Told me he was there for me

Told me to leave my friends behind

Told me that only he could make me happy

If I went with him, he promised to be kind

He told me he loved me

And the boundaries of his love were based on how much skin was in his sight

Everybody leaves, blaming me, saying I didn’t try

I’m too sad to live, too much of a coward to die

Maybe the truth is that I put on a smile, because I’m too tired to cry

I want to be wanted, but no one wants ME

I’m the reason everybody leaves.

I’m a vapid *****

I’m a stupid *****

I’m a Russian-*******-doll, nothing inside me but me myself and I

I’m useless, can’t you tell? I’m not worth keeping around

I’m a warning sign

I’m a wailing siren

I can’t even be bothered to keep my feet on the ground

So when the opportunity came, I fell into whatever arms would hold me

But they were the same ones that broke me

Because the last one who ever saw my skin,

Called me “his”

I was the apostrophy at the end of his name

Because what we had was a cat and mouse game

And you...

You were quite the same

It was my fault, I know

Thinking that two broken people could come together as whole

I’d lie awake next to you, imagining happiness

Is this it? Is love supposed to feel like this?

I thought that maybe what I needed was someone to fix me

But that didn’t explain why I felt so empty every time you kissed me

And being with you was like drowning in liquor

the more you have, the sips get quicker

But too much of a good thing makes you want to *****

Stand over the toilet till your nose is hearing comets

And you.

You told me you loved me.

I’m so sorry

I’m so so sorry I said it too

I’m sorry I got all hung up, sending texts “when can I see you”?

I’m sorry the only time you heard a compliment is when our legs were wrapped together

I’m sorry the only admiration I gave you was in response to pictures on the phone

I’m sorry, so sorry for what I became

Because for once I had the upper hand in this sick little game

See,

He told me I was beautiful, but only in the sheets

He told me that he wanted me, drunk and half asleep

He told me that he cared, but only if he approved of the clothes I would wear

I only loved you with a bottle in my hand

I only needed you in an empty bed

I only wanted you when you started to show that you didn’t want me, too

I’m sorry, so sorry for what I became

But you told me you loved me.

And then you got up and left

I’m a vapid *****

And a stupid *****

I’m a broken doll you didn’t need anymore

Everyone leaves, no one says why

The least you could have said was a simple goodbye.

that i did not lose my mind
i know exactly where it is

it just is not with me

of faking smiles,
pretending im okay

im very very tired
of breaking and beating myself
trying to fit into your cage

im very very tired
of hearing "how are you"s on campus
and knowing that a fleeting friendly second isn't enough to explain

im very very tired
of going out at night and drinking my problems away

im very very tired
of selling myself to feel like i have worth

im very very tired
and sleep just isn't helping

i guess life caught up with me
it's been chasing me down
for my entire existence

but even though it's
caught up, so-to-speak

it isn't quite here yet

and now all my problems
and tomorrows
and yesterdays
and nights

are staring me in the face
waiting to drag me down

of trying to keep a schedule
trying to stay updated
pleasing my **** fans

im getting sort of tired
of trying to be... "deep"
"thought-provoking"
and "pithy"

**** that.

i do not write to please you
i do not write because i want "votes"
and "comments"

i do not write to even keep my sanity in check
not anymore

i write because something nags me so much
that i either turn it into words

or **** myself

simple as that.

so please
please do not think
that my oh-so-romantic poetic suffering
is all for you

it's not.
it most definitely is not.

Not a single material thing will ever
make me happy

Not even **love

Real feelings,
realities,
experiences,
memories,
and unspoken secrets,
absolutely ****

By now,
I am just so **** sick of caring

I've been hit by a wave of helplessness

A feeling of imminent something
that's about to happen

I see it most, clouded in red, when I'm in my room faced with a mountain of "not done yet"

I feel it most when on scales, unevenly balanced and soon to tip

Stay? Go?
Hold on? Let go?

I'm with it most when I see the boxes spilling from every corner of my life

Memories screaming dont leave me
Don't leave me

I live it most when tearing down photos, ripping down paintings,
giving away keepsakes

I taste it in the air when I'm driving with the windows down,
Wind roaring at me, children's rhymes taunting

I can smell it in the foods I eat,
the restaurants I might never see again

I hear it loudest in the words I speak, goodbyes all waiting at the back of my tongue
Yet shy of hellos still to come

I live it when I pack my bags,
zip and unzip my suitcases

I am tortured by it while I consolidate my life down into a single box

A feeling
A valley
A sinking, dreaded chasm

I'm standing on the edge

Of unfinished business

I keep losing my train of thought

I really would like to find it,
but sometimes I'm afraid I don't even have the ticket

I lost my train of thought

So I decided to go looking

When I found it, it was derailed off its tracks

Wrecked completely, in flaming chunks

I found pieces of it hanging from a cliff

Other pieces somewhere in the depths of the ocean

And yet more pieces,
Still on their track and chugging to their doom

I lost my train of thought,
maybe it's best I didn't have my ticket

Whatever memory of you
Whatever small tribute to us
A physical manifestation of days gone by

I broke
Destroyed
Tore at the seams

And I'm not sure what can be repaired

We’re all here today 

We all exist in the present,

yet we base our beliefs

our thoughts
and our feelings
 on the past

What if we looked up and forward,
 rather than down and backward?

We’re here and now,

so why are we so
fixated on yesterday?

We can be anything we can fathom

we can work toward whatever we put our minds to

So rather than being the weeds in the yard

that need to be pulled every week,

the plants that drown the beauty

in their wreathing claws,

suffocating those which are trying to grow,
We can be the array of flowers

the gorgeous landscaping 
that makes children stop and stare

So grow as though yesterday didn’t happen, and like tomorrow is all that you can see

Because in the end, all that matters is what you did today

She's pretty and she's popular, so she must be a

She's friendly and she's giving, so she must be a

She's loud and she's mean, so she must be a

She dresses in long skirts and covers her hair, so she must be a

She wears shorts so tight they don't button, so she must be a

She's quiet and she cries, so she must be a

She doesn't talk to anyone so
She talks to everyone so
She does this
She does that

She acts like this, she dresses like that so we have to put a label on her

Simply put, I'd like to call her a girl

that when you love someone,
You love them with everything

You love them with their hurt

You love them with their scars

You love them with their tears,
and you love with all your heart

I think I may have found that,

Slightly broken and well-worn

But what's love without its hiccups,
most disease can be cured

But I'm still waiting for that someone,

to see me as I am

I'm waiting for that someone

to be here and now

You love someone with everything

Scars, tears, and hurt

They will love you in return
with your scars tears and hurt

And they will love you beyond their own pain

And I'm waiting.

I've got my heart right here,
I've got my scars right here

I took a risk with you
and I won't regret it

Just as long as you don't

My world isn't falling apart
so much as it's **crumbling

I'm sorry I'm so broken,
I'm sorry I pushed you away.

I'm sorry I took you for granted,
when all I really want
is just for you to stay

I found something today, in an odd place

I stumbled upon it and it was all. Fragmented

Alone, pierced, and abused

I wasn't sure what it was at first, but upon looking closer I saw it
and barely recognized it

It was something I'd lost a long, long time ago

And here it was before my eyes: dead, broken, and hidden

My whole **** life is a déjà vu

Yesterday, I could've sworn I'd lived the same moment
Maybe in a past life?

What if my "past life" is exactly the same as this one?

Then what?
Am I stuck?
Can I change anything?

Will I always have a sickening sense of vertigo when I see a 'new' face?

I've lived the new things, I've seen the new faces

Maybe I've been tossed into this life because I lived it wrong the first time

Something tells me I might just live it again

Maybe it's sick to think there is only one way to get someone to notice you

Maybe it's awful that they aren't noticing you, in fact they've never seen your face

But is it so wrong that they like what they see?
Is it so wrong that you like the way they respond?

You like the way they talk,
even though they don't know your name

You like the pet names and ***** sentences

You like the way they suddenly can control you
without touching you

But you know you can never tell anyone
No matter how "innocent" it is

But really...

Is it so wrong to want someone to think you're *beautiful?

I sometimes think I'm like a web site
in a way that's a bit hard to understand

Every day, people use me
Every day, people get frustrated with me
Every day, people- somehow -love me

And every day, someone finds the parts of me that haven't been patched up yet
The parts that are 'buggy' and unresponsive

They never look twice
because to them I'm just a dumb site with a broken link

It's honestly not healthy, how sick I sometimes get

I have a set of records between myself and I:

I once went nine days without showering

Three days without eating

Two days without talking

One day without my mind even in the right places

The record I'm working on now  darker, nastier and I can't believe I've even touched it

I had gone a year without--

And then a month without----

But then those scores broke and I'm not even down to an hour without----

There's something scary and beautiful
about doing something wrong

There's something scary about almost getting caught, someone nearly finding out

There's something beautiful about getting away with it unscathed and feigning innocence

There's something nasty about knowing its bad

Something terrible about not giving a **** either way

There's something scary and beautiful about doing something you know is wrong

We'll call it **exhilaration

All the things I've managed it do in my life

I've felt guilty for at least half

Maybe it's true that I'm going to hell
Maybe it's true

People sometimes ask:
"If you could have one thing back from your childhood, what would it be?"

A favorite Barbie doll

A play pickup truck

A missing parent

A dead relative

Me?

*I want my innocence back

Let's talk about heartbreak
and the feeling of being torn apart from the inside out.
We'll talk about the relentless waterfalls streaming down your face,
talk about the emptiness and numbness when the hurt is finally done

Let's talk about pain
and the absolute lack of physical ability to even register the effects on your mind.
We'll talk about how much you don't want to talk about it,
talk about how alone you feel and how helpless you think you are

Let's talk about humiliation
and the loss of control.
We'll talk about your need to stay hidden behind plaster walls of makeup,
talk about how you can't even stand to hear your own voice or see your own pretty face

Let's talk about depression
and the lack of emotion
We'll talk about how dark your world is,
talk about how tomorrow is unfathomable and today is unbearable

Let's talk...

Pardon my presence,
But I'm waiting for a friend

Excuse my desolation,
he said he'd be here in a minute

Sorry I'm in your way,
I thought he might call

I can't move, no, he won't see me
if I'm not right where he told me to wait

I apologize for inconviniencing you,
but I'm waiting for a friend

He said he'd come
He said he'd call
He said he'd be here

I'll move my bag

Here, let me get out of your way

No, I don't need a ride

I was waiting for a friend,
he said he'd stop by

My question is

How is there shame for the guiltless but no guilt for the shameless?

Why should we feel sorry for the unapologetic?

Why do we glorify the victimized and discredit the victim?

Who do we look at with judgement in our eyes?

I know you
In fact, I know everything about you

I know the way you tie your hair up,
Left hand over right in a loose bun
twist once, twice, and then shake

I know what music you listen to,
Alternative rock, at half volume
and you skip nearly half the songs
past the first forty-five seconds

I know the way you dress,
but in fact, you never wear dresses

I know the way you think,
You used to have a mantra
"Concealer is for girls who have something to hide"

I know what shoes you wear,
and you tie the laces of your boots
in a double knot

I know the way you look at people,
you refuse to see only the surface
but your judgement is critical

I know you because we're
together always

I know you
I know everything about you

But I'm not obsessed with you,
I am you