now i see the stars.there was a time when icouldn't catch my breath whenever ithought about you , (crippled lungs and-boy, you hit me like an asteroid,there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,even withoceans of my tears cried onnights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,andfor a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,weighted to the ground andburied in myself, butwhere there is no light there are no shadows, andsometimes, i wonder if i miss me.yes, yes i do.i may not see the moon, but
beauty (lost)and i swear, this is the last time he'llpin me to the wall(he tells me i'm a work of art,but after all this time, i'm still just a girl)too young, too young, the walls whispertoo late, too late, i sobbecause this battered body,this girl with the scarlet tattoos, she is too tired to escapeand her wings won't work in the rain.and as i suck in air, i wonder, how many more will have to endurethe pain of not being their owni have heard too many screams, all at once(God who i stopped believing in,if you can hear me,let this end, so that when i am walking in the streetswith my child, i can swear,that she will neverhave scars on her back,she will neverhave welts on her heart)
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
she's gone, she's gone.don't tell a broken girl withgrief pouring into the juts of her cheekbones,hunger suffocating into the curves of her ribs,that her eyes are madeof moonlightand her hair was weaved fromsunshine when you arelight years away and millennia too late
wishesi am not a flower,if youtear outa piece of me,stomp ithalfway between cracks in the sidewalk,it will only die.butour lips fit togetherperfectly, likeall the broken pieces.[maybe it was just a dream.]
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
dear depression,(master of the umbra)i hate you.broken whispers, lonely promises,you are the worst of lovers, owning all, butnever seeming to be satisfiedeven with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,but yetyou still hang onto meyour clawsraking across my heart likemy pen ripping across the bloodstained page, likelightning across the skies, (vengeanceraining down from the gods i used to believe in)"don't let them catch you,"you breathed into my ears.an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)the fog was sluggish and deep.so blinded, I hidin the shelter you offered me(i still hear those echoes)my rib cages are my prison bars, my heart bound by these chains...you chopped off my wings and left bleeding stumpsand told me i was never bound for the skies.(shattered glass, lifeless eyes)Set me free.
back then,i was a wildflower girl,(battle the mountain,savor the rain.)but2 am, this is when i miss you most, becausei,i am not atlas,i cannot carry the worldon my shoulders,in the darkness,in my shadows,aloneso i will just tell myselfoverand overand overto hang ontohope, because i have nothing left anymore, not eventhe boy who tasted my namelike sucre on his lips, not eventhe boy who knewevery inch of mein the moonlight,
after all this time,my heart is trapped within lungs, andthe more i breathe, the more iremember- hecan't stand it sometimes,i knowwe're both broken.but ocean boy, i'm chained to you.(maybe i'll be an anchor) soon my lungs will breakwith me.itouch you through a gap in thefence- sand white asinnocence,eyes bright asstars.so please,horizon.tape us back together.
fall in love with (splitting hairline fractures)we swallow blues insteadof talking them out. oh,kids like us are specters,spectacles: boys countingrib(cage)s & (de)composing don't you hate (this body) is a vesselwe're deities or tomb-raiders; noin-betweens for writers these days
Morpheus Hexi.I am the moon walker,the black coffee athletein the star-dotted evening gown.I am young, but I feel old,like an antique withfresh paint.Sleep lives in my shadow,a morphine caregiverwith gentle hands,but I dare not fall into his arms.There is a sad knowledgein his eyesthat I do not trust.ii.You left me behind,but my pillow stillsmells like you,and now my bed feelslike a fucking coffinwithout you in it.iii.Nights like thismake me wonderwhat it feels like to die.It bothers me thatonly the dead know,and they refuse to share their secret.One day I will find outthe truth for myself,and that scares me.iv.Three a.m. teaches youhow to suffer quietly.Sleep pulls on my sleevelike a black-cloaked child.He tells me everything will be alright(but by morning, I knowhe will be gone, andI will be alone again).
treasureI watched beauty die today.She said, "I've lived too longand now nobody knowswhat I really am."
siren boyonce upon a november,i fell in love with your eyes(you laughed quietly at my pride, and pressed your lips into my neck anyway) please,justbreathe me in again, hold me close, even if only for a second or do i need to imagine you therebecause the winds do rip and the storms do tearand you, you were always my shelter but today i'm drowning in your arms sothe glass will only break
for the people with depression.one day, the pressure becomes hard to take.I don't know what to do, only know that it achesThe past is just haunting, and it keeps going onDon't know anything anymore, only that something is wrong.It was the loss of a love, the death of a friendHalf of my heart that I wish didn't endI knew he was gone, but I couldn't believeSo I hid the pain in cuts under my sleevesNo reason to smile, no reason to liveI cut because blood's the only thing I can giveBut now I know that I'm not alone, there's someone who caresOne person's gone but everyone else is still thereI know that it's painful, I know how you feel.I have depression, PTSD, I know that it's realBut one day I got up and hung into lifeAnd day by day, I avoided my knifeI wrote free verse poetry, shed all my tearsDrew all the good things I ever had in my yearsLittle by little, I healed very slowlyIt's not over yet, but I'm not as lonelyWhat I'm trying to tell you is to believe and to hopeYou don't have to die hanging
goddesssky mother, i buried myself once.i was not a seedling, just a cutting, but in the arms offather earth, not sure where to go,i faced the sun. do you want to meet him again? you can't see himtoday, but he left shards of himself in me,my love, you would like him.He is forever, like the ocean, but while it's gentle, and warm, and bright.i once dropped a basket of wildflowers onto his heart and he planted them there.(and i hope he isn't like the others, i hope he doesn't let them drown.)because, sometimes, i wish i weren't as delicate as thoseforget-me-nots i braid intomy hair, i love too much and need even more.my lips still tingle with his laughterwisdom, you were always a storyteller, sotell me,why am i not the same, why are therestars trapped in my ribcage and nebulae bursting in my heart,really,how long will it take this constellation veined girl to find herself again?
12:16 amisn't it a great chance,us taking it all andrunning with the colors;our skin windy andour thoughts dry, me wanting to kiss you and youwanted to seize thestars. we are nothing morethan our desiresin the end; i will belocked between dusty pagesand you will be tossing stones withApollo. we live inside a metaphor.the way your skin feltin July stand for so much morethan a passing of molecules.
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,it's more of a hurricane than a firesince he broke in & burnedmy curtainsmy floorsmy bridgesmy selfbut sometimes I see her with a lighter& she finishes what he didn't do(I think she's afraidof settling in,being quiet)but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights onto frighten away the bridges & the peopleso no one will come inside& smash the teacups, steal the pipesbecause since he burnt her beds outno one lives there anymore
three ways to fall aparti.we were seventeenwhen you promised me thatthis tiny dustbowl ofa southern town was not going to beeverything my life was made of.it wasn't hard to believebecause the maps you'd spread acrossyour ceiling never lied (since you claimedit was easier to dream when theywere stuck above youin the night).i remember the lines you'd drawnin a felt pen, red because it seemed important,seemed louder than the rest, andi remember how youwould trace the roads with your eyes until youfell asleep. you had a knack formemorizing every escape route, and when i asked whyyou answered that it was because one day youwould have to run.when i asked if i could fly away with youyou said yes, and that night i dreamtof runaways and falling stars. i never was sureif they were supposed to mean something bigger than us.ii.sometimes when i lie awake at nighti wonder now how far we mighthave gotten if we ever left, if we had jumped intoyour old impala and left the road behind us -it's too
lunarWhen I was six years old,I decided I wanted toeat the moon.Mom with her pink frayed bathrobeand tired eyestold me to go to sleep,that I had school in the morning.Dad with his stacks of booksand prickly beardtold me that it was impossible,the moon was too distant.Well, guess what?I ate the fuckin moon.And it was delicious.Bitches can't tell me shit,I'll eat the fuckin moon if I want to.
iHer eyes clouded bynightmares of the pastAngst controls her lifeas shadows chase hereach and every day
I Am A Shut InThough the dimensions of this roomNever actually changeI can feel the walls closing inDoes that seem at all strange?My experience of the worldTells me not to step outsideFriends say that I am paranoidBut I think that is a lieBecause each and every personThat has lifted me upHas just as quickly dropped me downWhen they have had enoughMy experience of peopleIs that they’re only bornTo compete with one anotherAnd cause each other harmIf they haven’t got it in themTo inflict the painThen they will do it to themselvesTime and time againMy experience of friendsTells me not to expect muchWhen they’re crippled by the feelingI’m the emotional crutchThough I too can feel the struggleI’m always strong for themI have a cast-iron constitutionAnd spine that will never bendAnd don’t think I am not ambitiousMy plans will unfold in timeThough my four walls have seized my bodyThey’ll never hold back my mind
collisionsi.it is dark, unfamiliar,but your fingers seek out his,and you know thenthat you are at homein his harmonyeven if justfor now.ii.hold him;he's incendiary, sure.a veritable (volatile)molotov cocktail ofnot-okaywatch as he emerges,ashen-limbed from a cocoon of youto entwine with the threadsthat hold you sane.iii.smoldering indolentcoal-flicker eyelidswant nothing more thanto hiss and steam;than to coolin your stillnessiv.redolent of broken-record risk-taking chances untilthere's nothing leftbut scratches and glitches in the wordworki mean woodwork,i mean, skin.but oh god, he loves youjust like this,like that,this way.v.this is a choice:you may destroy him,extinguish his flamesand half-bury him inthe ashy remnantsof his own conflagration but it's an impotent powerthat is granted, not taken.
clipped wingsI wonder if gods fear dying.
the way you speak through incisionsoh, disaster dweller, you werebone-ache blue & cyanotic.we wore lonely luminescence'round the wrists that heldour god-hands, but you werelivid skin & anesthetic to thetouch. a river of pitted veins,you said: we'll all grow weary ofthe rising of our ribs someday.
Suicidal Tendenciescourage doesn't comefrom the fibers you'reborn with. You aren'tbrave when you decideto be.when you wakeup in the bedsmeared with yourown self destructionand you act as thoughyou aren't crumblinginto the carpet.or when you holda piece of shrapnelto your veins andwant to sever every lastone, but you throw itout the window.or when you standon the sunsetwith clouds straddlingyour mind and yourwhole existence readyto hurl itself over therailing, but you limphome and through the screendoor and pretend to walkon air again.That is bravery.
you have seven days to live.1.the news doesn't hurt:it's his eyes that hurt you,the glimmer of his pastcreeping in just likehis father used to creep inat three a.m.with a sin on his mindand rage on his hands.he waits for you to react,but you don'tbecause he's suddenly seven again,hiding bruiseswhile mommy criesin a ball on the couch.2.you think timeis a funny thing.people talk about itlike it is an object:"I need more time," they say,like they will go to the store laterand buy more.but you know that timeis more like an ocean wave,with an endlesspounding that continueslong after we greet the dirt,and we want more time,but time doesn't want us.3.he tries to force youinto his wrists,his ankles, his collarbone.he thinks that if heloves you enough,he can save you.you know that he can't,so you cut through himnight after night,searching for an exit.4.sometimes death scares you.you remind yourself thateverything ends,no matter how much you wantan infin
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desksat school.i don't think they liked the language i usedwhen i wrote how my heart was beatinglike headboards against the walls of people fuckingat 3 am to the sounds of joy divisionwhenever you read me paintings at dawn.they were going to send me to the counselor,but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,so they just let me go.but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roofand laughing when we argue about rimbaudand sighing as we start to die.
things that fall apart2:36, new york city, i canimagine youlooking out your window,watching the cars pass by instead of the waves, andsomething isn't right, because there's ocean in your blood andi anchor you.love,you still believe in the girl i used to be, butshe's been gone longer than this white sky summer.