How do you explain living with a hole in your chest
as if talking about it somehow fills it
somehow makes it better
somehow makes the bitter pill easier to swallow
but talking about it doesn't make the sickness in my brain go away
or hurt any less
talking about it gives it shape and a body
gives it two legs to follow my every move
and two hands to wrap around my neck and choke the life out of me
it gives it lips and a tongue to whisper in my ear "it's better this way"
"they don't care about you"
"just one more inch off your waist,
one more pound off your body,
just one more year of your life"
I was barely fourteen when I tried to **** myself
First by slowly starving myself
Second, three years later with medication changes and razors  
There was nothing tragically beautiful about my sickness
About my downward spiral into self-loathing
Nothing glorious in my struggle to remember to breathe
I watched people my age having the time of their life
While I was stuck watching from the side because I was too sick,
Too fearful,
Too weak to join them
I shriveled away until I was half the girl I was before
Now two different medications later
I somehow learned to breathe again
Somehow relearned how to take care of myself
My chest is still a bomb site,
But it's no longer an open wound
No longer filled with hard liquor in hopes of catharsis
Sometimes recovery sounds a lot more like "I'll do better tomorrow"
Than "I'm sorry for today"
The truth is still a knife fight
But I'm not losing the war anymore.

She couldn't be a mortal, just simply born;
but truly a goddess, ignited, free from form.
-
The day the ground met with her delicate toes
was the night the stars aligned in symmetrical rows.
-
In dream, she dances and glides upon air.
Awake, she braids comets in the threads of her hair.
-
My greetings seem hollowed, I am drifting afloat.
The language of fondness is a lump in my throat.
-
Her outline is gleaming with a soft, vermilion luster.
Her eyes, subtle jasper, urges your core not to trust her.
-
Not a staza, nor an epic can contain flawless grace,
or the yearning I feel when we are sharing this space.

She wept for her children
At the end of the day
Wishing God gave them a mother
Deserving of their best

She wept for herself
As she lay upon the pillow
Feeling she fails them at every turn
Hating herself for their shortcomings

She wept without knowing
Her best is more than good enough
Their tests strengthen her resolve
She is exactly the person they need her to be

I'm not a typical teenager
I don't facebook things
Or post my life to the world
I don't tweet
Or Twitter
Or all the other
Networks
I don't instagram
In fact
I don't like pictures
If me. I hide from the camera
Hoping no one will
Click the photo button
I don't party
Or stay out late
I sit at home
Watching TV
Or better yet
Cuddling up with a good book
I don't waltz around
In revealing clothes
Hoping for a boyfriend
I don't act all bubbly
I cry and worry
I don't worry about boys
And dates
I worry about depression
And cutting and if my
Friends are really fine

I don't doodle or draw names on a binder
I write poetry on a site called helo poetry
And the only thing that upsets me
About that, is that I didn't find it sooner

****** darling
You pretty much own this helpless heart
Knock on wood
Because every time I plan to despairingly sit
I end up fallaciously understood
Desire one and get two
Because my personal algebraic anomaly
Leads me
Then leaves me
All but a clue of what to do
Which lane to travel in
Nor which direction to go
But why not follow nature’s advices
The basic instincts, intuitions
Institutions and devices
Of this heart
But, this is just I
Feeling completely unplugged
I’m simply praying my anatomy will prevent the falling part
Of falling in love

You know that feeling
That feeling oh, so painfully sweet
When you go reeling
In every direction
And some unknown to man
I'm in that feeling
That feeling that has been and will be shared by every human

But I fear to speak of this feeling
I fear it
Not because I believe I have an inability to describe it
Not because uttering its characteristics would make it too real
Not because it would force me to face myself
Not because it would force me to feel
Not because I am holding on to the feeling
And speaking of it would make my sweet vice disappear
Not because when I speak of this feeling
I'm in a virtual world
In which you hold me near
And we stay
There
That way

My fear of this feeling
The one that sends me reeling
The one that every human has, is, and will be feeling
Comes to me
Because of the very fact
That all know it
And if I show it
Would my little drop of red rain
Come to change the color of an ocean?
So it ripples though
With enough strength to
See what this heart has done
To break this one little girl?
Not specifically special in any sort of way
And have my display
Be noticed?
And have this one little girl
Be saved?