I've grown up so scared
in the past.
Forced to grow in habitats unknown
to myself or friends.
I feel within every fibre of
my being; the aching boredom of
being awake.
My body holds so much sadness,
but under layers of skin
and muscle and deep
cuts there is a softness
needed to be rediscovered.
I only mean well, but
when scared, I say things
that upset people in the hopes
of pushing them away
yet pulling them closer.
My shell is tough and uncrackable,
but if trusted, I poke my head out
now and again to show you
a smile
or a tear,
once in a while.

We sat on your bed. It wilted under our weight.
Old and frail- stale to a fault, we always said.
Side by side. Knees touching knees. Hands
in packets of sweets from the corner shop.
How many can you fit in your mouth? I got
eight. You beat me every time.
We laugh until we ache. Funny pictures.
We jump in slow motion, I catch your eye and
we smile.  My best friend.

I sit in my bed. It's strong under my weight.
New and durable- Squeaky to a fault, I always say.
Cushion to a body. Covers suffocating hard. Hands
on a face, smudged with mascara from Asda.
I can fit four hours worth of crying into one if
I think hard enough. I beat my record every time.
I sob until I ache. Funny picture, that is.
I lay in slow motion, my phone rings in my ear and
I smile. My best friend.

The call isn't from you.

Woke up in a rush of light, piercing
my eyes today. Too bright to keep
them closed or open.
I can't find my slippers, eyes rubbed,
yesterdays mascara under eyes
like bruises from lack of sleep;
evidence of my lost mentality.
The Supremes sang Baby Love in the kitchen
on the radio- he never turned it off.
Three balloons;
Happy Birthday!
Eighteen!
Drink up!
Hot pinks and purples next to orange walls.
Cards in hues of turquoise and blushes of red;

none are from you,
my dearest friend.

Beatings. Cries. Shells raining down like
tears from his mothers face! Another coffin
to pay for in all this madness. Who cares if
she's lost everything she held dear to her?
She's screaming;
"He's too small for all this space!
He's too small for this place! His boots
don't even fit him right!"
Limping up and down up and down towards
the end and even then his eyes won't stay open;
all this fighting for what? Another war?
Another scream? Another ten million voices silenced at
the hands of word like bullets.
With the rampaging, and the madness,
the air becomes too much.
Things like to implode and combust like silence does...

is that...it?

is that what silence sounds like?

I always expected more
than what I could ever get.
I woke up and smiled;
convinced; this is home.
This is it. All I ever wanted
and needed in this world,
here in this tiny space.
I can't remember when
I last did something
great. Meaningful.
Something you could be
proud of. Smiles and Pleas.
Like the sound of the bird outside
my window; fluttering like
a flag in the wind.
One gust could set her sail.
Set her free.
One slice of the knife sends the
carrot top rolling off the board;
onto the floor. Knock, Knock,
Knocking in panic on
the bathroom door.
One pull of the trigger
and I'll be asleep.
Far away from me...
Or rather...who I became in the end.

The feeling of being pixelated,
of being weightless and nothing.
Swimming in the air,
and watching sober friends
waiting down there.
It's like wading through
keyboard keys.
Square. Unorthodox.
Choking on letter x's,
using them to spell
'help me' in sign
language- you
don't speak it.
Blinking in morse code
at your teacher, tugging down
sleeves. Hiding yourself from
your reflection- Make it think of
you as a child; untouched. unchanged;
pure.
I swear I'm still me.
I'm paper soft and tearable.
I swear I'm fine.
Toes curling under hardened shoes,
blisters on your big toe.
It throbs under the pressure.
Grounding you.