yes, i have other things to hold me together.

like poems that are dripping with you, and a small, shy cat who was once a stray like myself.

along with a ghostly stoner boy, who renames the colors of the rainbow and who speaks nonsense phrases, even when he's sober.

and a candle-flame girl who is covered in scars and who hides her pain in too-big hoodies, who hugs too tight and bleeds too easily and who doesn't know what a mistake falling for me will turn out to be, who draws me pictures and writes me love notes and cries into the night because she can tell that i ache for you still.

yes, you smartmouthed fool, i have other things to hold me together. but none of them are you.

Whats the word they use?
Dead.
I should be dead.
2013 I'm young at heart but numb to reality.  I'm pushed around and beaten senseless.
The bruises come and go, but I think Nothing of em.

2016 I'm a little more acquainted to the pain.
Fear looked at me in the eye and moved in with me .
The silent tears I let fall made groves in the ground.
Sometimes I want to feel something other than pain, but what else is there aside ? I dont know .

2018 I know the best ways to land . Face covered, hands shielding, legs running as fast as they can.
I know every foot step, and the weight they carry behind em.
I know the schedule like clockwork.
I know what to say and what not to say.
I'm a good girl.

2019 im a little bolder . So much more smartmouthed. It's earned me newer cuts and swolen bruises but I can stand on my own two feet.
Eyes alert, anger bubbling.
I know every moment and thier intentions.
2020 I'm plotting. Its wrong. But I know now.
I told a friend why I had that on my shoulder. He looked at me in shock.
Mace? A knife? Maybe a tazer.
I know every floor board and how to slip away unnoticed.
But what lies ahead ?
What else can I feel ?
Is it worse?
All I know is I should be dead. And yet here I am.