red - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, while still lit with puerility. she could look at you with those eyes and show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an ugly shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with poison and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.

In a bedroom in small-town Pennsylvania,
you’ll find an unmade bed,
a pile of clothes on the floor—
clean but not folded,
open drawers and dusty shelves,
a desk in the corner of the room
with pictures laid across it.

When I caught my first fish at six.
I held it at arm’s length by the fishing line
to avoid the slimy scales,
a frown on my face from being forced
to sit silently in the cold.

When my family went to Marco Island,
my sister and I, sifting sand for the best seashells
in our matching swimsuits and hats.
Mom and dad’s fights forgotten in our fun.

High school graduation
posing with my best friend since first grade,
diplomas in one hand and an extra cap held between us
because not everyone survived all four years.

Move-in day at college,
sitting on my raised bed with a grey comforter
and two decorative pillows the color of cotton candy.
Sweat on my brow from southern humidity
and moving furniture without the help of a father.

The pictures are merely snapshots
that lack the full story.

How I learned what it meant for love to fall apart
when I was eight years old.
My sister warned me before it happened,
told me what a divorce was.
I mistook her for joking until they called us upstairs.
Dad cried when they told us, but mom held her tears
until the day he left. The sounds of her cries
escaping from behind a closed door.
“This doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
But that’s exactly what it meant.

How I was taught by my father that love is conditional,
and I repeatedly needed to prove myself
through good grades and unquestioning obedience.
Forced to stay home to spend time with the family,
sitting wordlessly on the couch while he watched TV.
Made guilty for wanting to spend time with friends
because that somehow meant that I was a bad daughter.
It’s funny—I never asked myself if he was a good father.

If you look harder at the bedroom,
you’ll find journals filled with bitter words,
screws from disassembled pencil sharpeners, loose razors, and Aquaphor,
food wrappers stuffed in hidden places,
a closet brimming with junk and pairs of shoes,
evidence of a story untold. Until you.

he told me I am beautiful because I know what the world has to say.

I can tell by the clouds whether She is angry or sad, and I can tell by the sunset if She is disappointed or glad.

I can hear Her whispers in the wind and feel Her pain in every storm.

She is upset with us.

She's screaming, and I am the only one in the world who will listen.

The rusted mailbox
creaks as it’s pried open,
dented door dislodging.
Two yellow balloons
tethered to its post
and bobbing in the wind,
stark color against a slate sky.
The bomp bomp of the balloons barely
heard over the wind’s whistles.

Empty inside.
It’s Sunday
after all. Too easy for you to forget
the day when days
amalgamate into one
long moment. Stuck in an
everlasting condition,
waiting for the day
when your mind
at last
is quiet.

A quiet
that comes when your hands
are busy. Too
distracted by tasks to
dwell on thoughts.

pain spreads like a pandemic, infecting even the kindest of us. sadness is a painful bruise evident on the surface of our skin. we wear emptiness like it is the latest fashion trend. the contagion spreads through our word; it reaches the depths of our hearts. during times like these, we ask God, "where are you?" only to be met with a cold silence. our own twenty-first century plague. we are the rats that carry the virus. the few of us appear who asymptomatic eventually succumb to the pathogen. we overdose on pills and drown ourselves in alcohol to escape pain only to learn that it is inexorable. our words are pernicious and our actions are even more so. we create a false image of unity in the light of unfavorable times, which seem to come more frequently than in the past. we hold each others hands and hold our own tongues hoping that submitting to our government will save us this time. we are wrong, but we choose again and again to hide from the perilous truth; we are not safe from each other or from ourselves. any detriment that we suffer is entirely deserving.

i see things in the dark,
quick flashes in my mind.
the voices scream in my ear,
saying "you deserve to die."
maybe it wasn't real,
but i saw you here last night.
you grabbed my throat,
crushing my esophagus.
you reached inside of my chest,
ripping my heart out.

i wondered why took my heart from me when i would have given it to you, had you asked. i wondered why you stole the air from my lungs when, all along, i breathed for you.

you ripped at my skin and broke my bones.
you tore my eyes from my skull and forced them to watch as you tortured my soul;
and when you were finished, you threw the glue at my feet and demanded i fix myself.
maybe it isn't real,
but              
       i            
          am
                 fine.

these things i see so often, can you tell me if they are real?
they have been haunting me for so long.
it's almost time to say good-bye.

these things i see so often, they are coming for you too,
you better run and hide:
they will devour every inch of you.

she and i, we had our differences.
but we did agree on one thing,
how madly and consumingly in love with each other we were.
the love we had for one another was beautifully underrated.
we misused and mistook each other,
yet our love was raw and passionate.
you were my kryptonite as well as my strength.
my god, how you inspired the light inside of me.
my heart pounded like a pair of sneakers in the dryer when you touched me.
and it grinned, you made my heart grin and swell with love!
i don't care much for the way our tale ended,
only that you keep your promise to never love one like you loved me,
to start and finish each day with me on your mind;
not living in regret,
but in silent remembrance,
choosing to cherish the way i know you felt when i grazed my fingertips along your neck and kissed your dimples.
because we may have separated,
but you will always be imprinted on my heart
and i, yours.
with pieces of your heart filling the holes in mine,
you will forever be a part of me.

there once was a girl who sat upon a swing;
this girl was broken, all she could do was sing.
she sang a song filled with sorrow, hopelessness, and pain.
she sang so beautifully, the stars called out her name.
her singing was perpetual, just as a star shines.
if you sit on a swing, you can still hear echoes of melancholic chimes.
her death was tragic, that of a star;
she fell from her swing and was left with thousands of scars.
the pain was enough to rip her apart,
so the broken girl took her last depart.
along with her, she took the stars from the sky;
and created the moon as her final good-bye.

and suddenly the ocean roared with life,
waves crashed into the coast,
washing over our bodies as we lay in the sand,

your lips tasted of salt water taffy,
your breath against my neck felt like an ocean breeze,
your hands tickled my skin like the sand against our feet

i closed my eyes and let myself sink deeper and deeper into the shore
the saltwater filled my esophagus
and i screamed your name
but you just watched me sink further until i was no more

1. forever is not a promise, it is a choice.
2. it never stops hurting.
3. his smile may feel like home, but if his eyes look through you; he is not your home.
4. find the goodness in each day.
5. your body is a temple. life is about learning to worship your own self.
6. make a list of kind acts you witness, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. this list could save you.
7. do not let your fear control you.
8. you are not your mistakes or your pain.
9. depression is a mental illness, something you cannot help.
10. emptiness is a mindset.
11. you are loved.
12. you have the right to feel things that are not exactly good.
13. your worth is immeasurable.
14. you are not a burden to the people who truly love you.
15. there is always hope.
16. productivity is a form of happiness.
17. protect your heart, but do not hide it.
18. everyone deserves to be loved, you are one of those people. embrace that.
19. go the extra mile, it builds self-esteem.
20. people think differently than you. not everyone has other people's interests at heart.
21. always do what makes YOU happy.
22. do not give up on something that you want.
23. it pays to be kind, eventually.

the sky opened up and rain spilled onto my fractured back. drops of water slipped through the tiny cracks, traveling through my body to mix into my blood. the thunder clapped in my ears with a loud thud, shaking the organs shielded by my rib cage. the lighting struck with intensity and rage, sending jolts of electricity through my veins. heavy pellets of water slammed into the windowpanes, shattering the glass and leaving cuts on my hands. the trees crashed to the forest floor right where i stand.

and in all of this catastrophe, i only thought of you.
of your lips against my neck,

your hands on the small of my back,

your eyes meeting mine in the darkness of night,

your i love you’s which were spoken without any words at all,

your beautiful smile that bandaged my bruised heart,

but most of all, i thought of how you used to carry some of the weight too.

i watched him from across the room. his cheeks turned rosy when he saw me standing there. i thought for a moment he would smile at me. i knew him well enough that i could sense him consider whether he wanted to approach me or ignore me. when he turned his head away, i realized he choose the latter. my heart swelled with disappointment. and in that moment, all i wanted to do was curl up in my bed and cry the pain away. but that wasn't an option. i wouldn't let a silly boy get me down.

ha. now, i remember those words-those stupid words-i whispered to myself that night and i feel anger. my ignorance was overpowering. i can still picture how many stars were in the sky that night because i remember looking up and shouting out. i would share with you the words i spoke as i walked home all alone, but they are irrelevant, painfully so. what's important is the sorrow i remember. it swept through my entire body like a wave across the sandy shore. but unlike a wave, it stayed with me; a scar on my heart. i think about this night and my hands tremble the way they had when i unlocked my house and traveled up the stairs to my bedroom. i was alone.

and now i realize,
i will always be alone.

there is something inside of me that will always burn for you.
it’s like my bones are embers; and every day since you left me, they burn less and it hurts less.
i have scars from the times you got too close,
burns all over my body that remind me that your idea of love is pain.
i still can’t catch my breath from the oxygen that you stole to keep your fire ignited.
you are an oxygen thief, your quick hands and charismatic smile.
i didn’t realize that i had been holding my breath until the day you disappeared and the air surged from my mouth.
it’s been three months, fourteen days, and twenty-one hours since you left.
and i am learning how to keep myself warm. but some nights,
i look desperately for a spark in the pile of ashes that you left at my feet.
because even on some nights, it is hard to stay warm on my own.

I can't escape you,
for your name is carved into my bones
and your smile is sewn into my memories.


I can't escape you.
there are scars on my skin where your hands
       have been.
there are blisters on my lips where you have
         kissed.


I can't escape you.
I saw you in the school corridor today,
and I felt myself gravitate toward you.
I wanted to feel your hair between my
         fingers;
I wanted to feel your lips against mine.
being safe in your arms is the closest to
home I've ever been.
I could feel my muscles ache to reach for
           you.
I was close enough that the smell of your cologne hit me hard.
your arm brushed mine,
and I tried to play it cool.
but all I want is you.

dear inamorato,
lightning strikes in my heart for you. our love is electric; a love so powerful that it could be the end of everything. because of this, we must be apart. the spark between us would have eventually led to fires and floods. we were nothing but destruction epitomized, the manifestation of pain. our love cannot be. although my heart is cool embers without you near, our love could only end in inevitable detriment. pay attention closely, our last storm is approaching. look to the sky, this is my good-bye. our love was cumulonimbus clouds and lightning strikes, i cannot forget and neither can you. i hope the sun shines, and you wish for the days when it was nothing but rain. i hope that you can remember this electricity. good-bye, my inamorato. good-bye to everything. can't you see, like a flash of lightning, i had to leave. so promise me that you won't wait around for the next lightning strike, for i am not coming back. our final storm has begun. look to the sky, look to the fading sun.
                                                            ­                                                          love,
 ­                                                                 ­                                 your inamorata

winter
his warm hands touch mine, and i get the feeling that everything will be okay.

spring
his lips lift the melancholy further from my heart each time they touch my own. now, i am sure that everything will be okay.

summer
his breath begins to smell like my father's had when he came home from work at night. my head tells me to run, but my heart holds me in place.

autumn
instead of using his hands to warm mine, he strikes me like a match. i dont light fire, so he tosses me away.

bones.
bones.
bones.
you are made of bones.
lo
ve
.
you are made of love.
you consume the darkness.
you swallow it like glue.
you force their mistakes down your throat
and conceal their hate in your heart.
you drown yourself in oceans of lies.
you hand out your light like it is only an object,
but it is not.
you are your light,
the light they desperately need.
so who will they turn to
when you give away the last of your broken pieces.

you told me of your secrets, and i whispered mine back too.
though, i dont think you heard me over the sound of your own words.
i caught every secret you throw at me and buried them all with my own,
but my share of secrets bounced off the wall that you had built
and tucked themselves further into my expanding heart.
i tried to tell you that i wasn't very good at catching things,
but you didn't seem to notice my lips part and spill out words.
no, you just carried on spitting secrets off of your tongue
and expected me to keep them for you whilst i got nothing in return.
yes, it's true that you made my heart grow bigger,
but it wasn't full of love; only of the secrets you forced me to give a home to.
and i kept these secrets for you,
i gave them a place to stay because i thought that is what friends were meant to do.
it's funny, i never asked myself
but who's friend were you?

1 AM
your words are violent,
but your lips are sweet
-
2 AM
you ripped my heart
from my chest
-
3 AM
i'm drowning in sorrow
that you caused
-
4 AM
why did i fall
for your sweet lips
-
5 AM
the pain is tearing me
completely apart
-
6 AM
your violent words
slit my wrists
-
7 AM
your sweet lips
kiss my scars
—
and it starts again.

dear friend,
tears may fall from your eyes
and sadness may engulf you,
but it does not make you less of person.
your inability to function most days does not make you pathetic.
if anything, it makes you human.
and although you hope every breath you take is your last, you are still strong.
you are still deserving.
you always will be.
nothing can ever change that.
not the scars you hide or the guilt you carry.
not the sorrow that controls you or the shame you feel.
you are a small part of this vast universe, but a part nonetheless.
just as he or i.
we are equal individuals through all of our faults.
we were sculpted by the same hands and function just the same.
you will be wrong.
you will be hurt.
you will be afraid.
you will be consumed by shame.
you will feel powerful, overwhelming anger.
you will be resented.
you will be disparaged.
you will make mistakes.
you will break down.
you will seek solace.
you will experience greed.
you will have more faults than you can count on your ten fingers.
because you are human,
and you cannot change that.
                                                             with love,
                                                                    (i.s.)

the words have ceased to flow,
and it feels as though a part of me has been torn away. i hate to ponder over my inability to express myself because it is crippling. the world has ended. inside of me, my little universe has imploded. my words seem to never be good enough anymore. every attempt to sort through my scattered thoughts and to express myself proves futile.
im afraid that i will never be the same again. i  have lost the thing that means the most to me. i have lost everything, and i won't ever get it back.

i inhale the frigid air and let it take place in my heart. i exhale, watching my breath in front of me. i let the warmth escape without a fight because i know with all of my heart that the world needs that warmth much more than i do.
i lay my head in the snow and look up at the sky. the stars twinkle, but somehow,
their perpetual light fails to reflect in my eyes. every breath that i inhale feels like i am swallowing more and more of the earth's darkness. i want it to stop, i don't want to suffer for these people anymore. i close my mouth, i pinch my nose. it would be easier if i ceased to breathe. perhaps there is still time to save my organs from being completely stained by their sin. is this the purpose He intended for me?

The mountains, the sea;
Nothing is as far from you as me.

Do not waste a second worrying about the details of every situation. If you let yourself get caught up, you'll miss out on important and definitive moments. Do not waste a second wishing you could change times that have already occurred. The decisions you proceed to make should be your only focus.  Do not waste a second punishing yourself for when you are wrong or when you hurt someone. Forgiving yourself is the first step to living a happier, healthier life. Focus on making yourself better. Do not waste a second getting caught up in the drama that entices and intoxicates every person around you. Do not waste a second being full of insecurities and doubts. Love yourself. Trust yourself. Take the risks you want to take without worrying about the consequences. You will deal with those as they come. You can handle any problem that comes your way. You are powerful and capable.

I never knew that emptiness could feel so heavy

i hate that i see the good in you and that i let you back into my heart every time.
i hate that i can't love someone who loves me.
i hate that you need me and that i need you.
i hate you for using me and loving me
and using me again.
it's an endless cycle and i hate it.
i hate you because of how much i love you.
i hate you because you don't deserve my love.
i hate that i love you despite all of this,
and i hate being so full of hate.

misspoke.
made a
mistake. am
too much space.
want to erase &
retrace my steps. can't
face myself in the mirror
every word, an error.
stumble like
a drunk
with shoulders shrunk
over what to say

should i
shut up? you've
had enough