Your smile* is medication to me
Your story is inspiration to me
Your body is an addiction to me
Your words are hallucinations to me

Your love was what saved me
Your eyes were what enslaved me
Your mind was what craved me
Your tears were what caved me

Your looks are what will conceal me
Your hatred is what will chill me
Your anger is what will fill me
Your departure is what will **** **me

I cut
Just to feel alive.

I cry
Just to feel pain.

I skip meals
Just to feel worthy.

I don't sleep
Just to feel something.

Now, I don't even know
If I'm feeling anything at all.

Why do the most truthfully heartfelt
statements begin with, "I know it's silly, but..."

No. Stomach your apologies so that
the rest of you won't remain
undiscovered. You're a map made of
resignation
with feelings about yourself more
tangled than yarn woven in and around
all your bones.

I want to make brutal honesty the new
fad. Have everyone fall in love with boldness
in words
so that it becomes
therapeutic to hand out paper keys during
conversations
to unlock someone's heart.

Scream out at the top of your lungs,
I WAS A FAKER TILL NOW
and smile
because you know you've never spoken
truer words
and because
nobody knows it.

Honesty has now become your
secret, and it will be the lightest
load you've ever had to bare.