i know,
that you'll never love me.
but,
dum spiro spero.





                                                    -­YYC

Apparently,
one cannot eat
in the comforts of her own home.
Oh, yes, That's right.
It's not her's.
It's 'her's'.
She, the devil in disguise,
the one who commands you to cower at her mighty might,
the narcissism oozing out of her pores.

Oh no.
I'm sorry.
I literally just described every narcissistic villain mother figure out there.
Shall I start again?

Alright.

When mad at somebody else,
you're her best friend.
While yelling her heart out,
she asks you to join.

You do it,
because it feels good.
Feels good that the monster's accepted you,
so you pretend.

you say a few things,
sneer a little,
watch her smile,
in approval.

but when the time comes, and she's mad at you-
everything in the past,
is used against you.

You can't even defend yourself,
since it's all true,
you did say those things,
yes. you.

as of right now, my hand's a sweltering into an ugly red hue

marks on the back of my arm,
they're going to scar.

but it's not the physical one that's going to stay the longest,
but rather the words,
the blood running after the hurt.

But every time.
she brings me back to her side again.
every time.



                                                        ­    -YYC

when we first met,
I hated you.
hated that adoring, naive wonder in your eyes,
hated how you stuck around like an annoying fly,
amazed at everything;
anything could light up that smile on your face.
I  hated you.
until I didn't.
until that stupid smile of yours,
didn't annoy me anymore.
the sound of your footsteps following mine,
went from a hindrance to being a normality.
and your loyalty,
no matter what **** you had to put up from both them and me,
you still held your head up high,
that halo circling your head;
you lifted my quickly falling soul from its descent,
raised it,
and made me whole again.
I hated you,
then took you for granted.
Didn't realize,
how much I relied on that smile,
those footsteps,
that consistent scribbling,
until you were gone.
I'm sorry.
Please come back to me.



                                                     -YYC

at 4 am,
the world's asleep.
with only the sound of the flickering street lights,
the crickets that chirp at night,
and the occasional sound of tires rolling,
across the highway,
to serve as a reminder that dead silence does not exist.
the sound of the heavy sighs of truck drivers,
crossing miles upon miles of lonely roads,
the smell of the disgusting, overpriced coffee of tired business leaders,
bought the minute they get off their red eye flight.
still;
nothing can change,
the beauty that's there and remains;
at 4 am,
the world's a beautiful sight.


                                                  -YYC

everyday,
feels like,
I'm about to run out of time.
I'm literally chasing him, begging him,
to stay with me..

but,
like just about almost everybody in my life,
he gets tired of me,
and wants to leave.

and so,
he does.

but little does he know,
him of all people,
I actually need most.


                                                    -YYC

I was always told money is everything, my response is where have you been, cause here is the thing, bathe in cash but your still lonely, look around and everyone is fake, and phoney, look up only to realize the stars are your only homie. Cash rules everything, but don't let it rule you, they get mad but know it's true, still empty after blowing two bills on shoes. all the money in the world couldn't compare to being with someone real, reply under your breath 'I know how it feels' but it's only to humor me, say I like like the street and assume I'm g, young lost and living in YYC, truth is Im a hopeless romantic who loves poetry.

"I want to be happy."
"Content woman."
"Successful."
"have a rich husband."

every teen girl's dream,
when asked what the future holds;
what happened to unicorn fantasies,
and our hearts of gold?

now instead of golden hearts,
we want men with trust funds and charm.

turning a cold shoulder to our true selves,
yet complaining about rude names,
when called ****** who're only after wealth.


why do we do this to ourselves?
we're so capable,
yet we'd rather lean on,
somebody who mistreats us,
and doles out small amounts,
of love and care;
we try so terribly hard,
to grasp on,
onto that slippery piece of feeling,
and when it leaves,
we're put back into that pit of empty,
pitch black and dull,
until they come back when they want us,
but we're still left wanting for more.

so, please.
learn from the story of millions.
stories of girls,
with so much potential.
don't force yourself to be content,
when you can bargain for more,
then,
only then,
can we step up the ladder,
to be even to those,
who jeered and mocked,
and took advantage,
of our kind hearts.


                                                              -YYC

i used to get mad,
and cry,
about the little things in life.

but now,
I sit,
thinking how
satisfied
i feel,

it's real,
if even a worn out soul like me,
can find peace and unity,
a bright light in this hole,
then you know,
it's real.

                                             -YYC

dear world,

or.

at least,
this one,
where nobody knows me,
where nobody can really hurt me,
because,
how am I supposed to feel hurt by someone or something I don't even know?

anyways,
i'm just.
so tired.
i can't even sleep properly anymore.
i wake up the second i feel somewhat conscious,
i can't deal with the ******* of being everybody's scapegoat.
and when they need help,
i'm the person they turn to.

just.

even at this point in my life,
why am I still so indecisive?
I don't want to live,
but I'm too scared to use the painful ways of dying.

this may sound like another typical dramatic sad girl story,
but.
for me,
for someone that was so happy,
for someone that was SO confident.
so confident about how much she valued her life,
and anyone who tried,
tried to end their own,
was a ****** that needed to get some help,
somehow,
overdosed on painkillers.



intentionally.

and all I got,

was

the inability to hear for a week.

i don't know who or what's keeping me here;
I've lost all hope for my perfect story.
i'm sorry if i'm scaring you away,
hell,
i'm scaring myself.

but,
i'm probably just 'exaggerating' at this point.



                                 -YYC

Waking up,
That sweet, sweet smell of music.
That beautiful sound of the toaster ding,
And the wonderful smell of sunlight,
Peeking through the careless curtain edges.
It's going to be a wonderful day.


That is,
If I get up.

                                             -YYC