Maybe the reason we spend night after night
staring at a blank paper
is because the words we so desperately need to write,
are words that have not yet been created.

saturday was the day you left me
the day you walked straight out
of my life using the back door
you made me unlock after
it was shut tight due to
years of broken trust
and an isolated
heart.

slowed breaths and an aching heart,
shrivelled tissues and torn sleeves,
suddenly don't seem to exist,
suddenly don't seem to matter anymore.
because you've reached that moment when the world just explodes,
when you can't contain your emotions a second longer,
when everything you've ever wanted to say comes spiraling out in a jumble
of mixmatched words pocketed from years of love, hate, isolation and determination.
when you feel uncontrollable,
in a good way,
when you feel reckless,
but powerful,
when you feel so incompetent,
but on top of the world.
everything that's ever ended on a low note has been tuned up so that high voices and beautiful noise is all that you'll ever speak or hear again.

my family has always had these little traditions
such as eating together around the tv
or saying i love you before bed.
but what happens when these traditions start to change,
when the house becomes too big to keep us close together,
or when bed times don't exist because nobody seems to ever sleep.
it doesn't matter how much money was spent on counseling,
or how many ativans, zolofts and sleeping pills were popped,
nothing seemed to pull back the strings on the three puppets that were becoming more and more detached by the second.
the concept of money brought us together and pushed us apart,
the lack and the abundance,
the want and the need,
the ultimate destruction of our home.
our quiet home,
once full of laughter, love and emotion,
now an echoey cavern of aching memories that give me just the slightest bit of light to help me find my way.
what is the point of having these traditions,
if all they do is make everything sore to the touch at the memory of what once was,
and what will never be again.

what's the point of fighting for a life that will never fill my hollow bones,
repair my fragile skin,
or pump my lifeless heart?
why do i try so hard to fill this emptiness inside of me with a world that once drained me of everything?
why have i wasted the years away staring at the ground
chasing an impossible reality,
when i should have been looking up at the goodness that was right there all along?
and most importantly,
why do i still let myself be tormented by these voices that tell me that the only way i'll be happy is if i have nothing.
after all, nothing seems to be everything nowadays.

i know for a fact,
that everyone fears lonliness
so then why do people think
that it's okay
to smother others with a blanket of isolation?
no one should have to fight so hard
just to feel like they even,
so subtly
exist.

i'm stuck on the island of misfits
tracing signals in dry sand,
sending smoke through foggy air
and bottled messages across waveless water.

i dance around fallen trees,
and hop through burning fire
explore lightless caves,
and play with wreckless wilderness.

i'm as free as a trapped girl can be,
on this island of hopeful dreams
and warped realities.

imagine what it feels
like finding out that every heavy
breath you take is
wasted on feeding
someone else's breathless
ego.

ever since you've started pushing me away i've forgotten how to breathe
because when the only thing you
ever hear is the screaming of
your thoughts and the
silence in your heart
you start to forget
that you exist
enough to
fight for
your
place
in
this
*******
giant world.

i have a voice
yet it's hardly ever heard
drained out
washed away
existence nearly always forgotten
no matter how loud i scream
how much i breathe
how red i get
the crackling in my voice
and the tears down my cheeks
just don't seem to be loud enough for anyone to hear.
maybe one day
all the noise around me will fade.
maybe one day
i won't have to scream to prove that i am worthy of something more.
maybe one day
a whisper will be just fine.