I think the hardest thing about breaks ups is knowing that same person who said I love you will say the same exact words to someone else. That there touch going down your arms and shoulders would be done on someone else. That all those promises of getting married starting a family would just be empty but whole to another. Knowing there sweet gentle lips would never touch yours but another's. And after thinking back to all the moment's y'all have had you realize that it's rehearsed every word like a play. That every promise was made with another before and soon to be after. That always and forever would always haunt your mind and wonder if it'll happen again. That your deepest secrets have come clean and now nothing but bitter regret. I guess that's why I hate relationships. Because you never know who truly would be the last.

My anxieties mimic a droplet
Dripping into calm pond waters
Starting at first small,
But rippling and
Growing bigger...
And bigger...
And bigger.

happy birthday, sylvia plath
i'm writing you a birthday letter
because nobody does it enough anymore

i studied your book once and
had a horrifying vision
that i would be rejected
and i would forget language and words and
i wouldn't write anymore
like you i suffered to breathe
i suffered to watch and i
found comfort in *****
i couldn't drink it neat like you did
i could fall asleep
but you didn't

your pain pained me
and i wondered what you'd think of
my writing
if we'd swap poems and

but we couldn't
i suffered rejection too
and for a while the words wouldn't come
i slept more and ate less
i smoked more and spoke less
but i found the words again
taught myself from reading dictionaries of loss
and though my bad habits remained
i felt ever so slightly more like me
and less like you

i got better
i wish you did too

Beauty according to media:
Skinny
Perfect, long hair
Flawless skin and,
Being tan but not too tan
Beauty according to the general public:
Skinny
Perfect hair
Make up but not too much and,
No blemishes
Beauty according to the broken:**
Being able to get out of bed every morning and function properly
even after everything someone has been through
Not being afriad to speak your mind and,
Being capable of feeling a true emotion

Looking around the room I notice many things
The way people move their body without realising it
How the clock's ticks are slightly off time
How the ones that are shown as smart work the hardest because things do not come to them as easy as it does to the others.
The ones who just don't want to be there and the ones who use school as their escape
The writing on the desks that is not neat but nor is it messy
The stains on the walls from feet, heads and hands.
How one fan spins slightly slower then the others
And then there's me,
The girl up the back corner with earphones in, writing non stop to escape the world and hide.
I'm the one no one notices, even though I notice you
Even without looking for it, I notice all that people just skim over or try to hide.
I notice everything but all I want is to be noticed