hi, what’s your name, who do you love, do you think the world is ending? i do. i like the idea of dying my hair pink, i know ten different ways to overdose, my friends say i have a pretty smile but don’t always like my face in pictures. hi, my friend said she wanted to make herself throw up her food last night. hi, i know a girl who went to Europe over the summer and all her friends were jealous but she spent the entire summer trying to relearn how to eat. and i wonder if i could learn that too. hi, my friend got drunk and decided she was sad and so she took some pills so she could become happy. i see her two weeks later in geometry. spoiler alert she isn’t happy. hi, i like the idea of fried chicken picnics but my boyfriend says that he won’t stand for animal cruelty. (He’s a vegetarian.) but somehow he is okay with human cruelty because my skirt is always too short and my shirts are always too baggy and I’m just always too faulty for a boy who writes letters to the state about providing more support in the school system. (too bad he can never support me when i say i like how i can make clothes that make girls feel beautiful.) hi, my mom said it’s just a stage to feel sad and that if I only give it two weeks, it will go away. the sadness didn’t but she did. hi, i think that drowning is scary but sometimes i like counting the seconds before i black out. hi, my therapist told me to write letters to everyone who left but i keep addressing the letters to myself. i left. hi, my friend’s boyfriend texted me last night. he said that she wasn’t making him happy anymore so maybe i should try. i asked him if he believed i could make him happy or if happiness was just a concept he wanted but could never achieve. he slept with jessica the next day. hi, some people say that i talk too much about feelings but i am just trying to understand. my heart is a muscle, why does it hurt. my brain is just nerve endings, why is it short circuiting . hi, i punched by hand into the wall over and over again. when it bruised, i laughed and took a polariod. is this destructive behavior or am i just a little sad. i don’t really want to die but i wouldn’t mind not waking up. hi, i am that girl who looks so pretty, my waist isn’t slim but boys like the rest of my antaomy. hi, i can’t tell what i hate more: myself or how much pink hair dye costs
i found three three empty cans of shaving cream / underneath the bathroom sink / and i know that you didn’t leave them on purpose / you simply forgot to throw them away / yet still i fight against the feeling / that maybe you are coming back / because just like the pair of socks i found / after doing a thursday laundry load / and the crumbled five dollar bill / stuck in a pen jar / you forgot me / i was left to go through the wash / feeling myself fade after hours of tumbling over myself / experiencing the gradual shrinking because i find it difficult / to love myself / when you couldn’t / and like the cash / i curl up in ordinary places / hiding in plain sight / and i am so disppointed when every face at the door / isn’t yours / because you packed my heart with your ball caps / tucked in the sleeve of your suitcase / and i didn’t have the courage to ask for it back / because i was hoping maybe you would realize / that wherever you go my love follows / until it leads you right back to me / but you are gone / your copy of the sport’s magazine / isn’t on the coffee table anymore / your colgne doesn’t invade my room / and i don’t hear your deep voice singing along to jason brown in the car / because you left / without me
i find her tender / lipstick smudged / making the illison of a soft smile / on her face / and she asks / looking out at the sea of faces / so familiar that it hurts / “will this all matter tomorrow?” / will the pounds she lost to date him / will the friends she shed / the clothes she wore / matter at all / and i lie / because i have been wondering the same thing / “yes, of course……it has to.”
on January nights i feel as if / i am suffocating / through 3 am nightmares / turn down the heat / turn down the heat / it’s too hot in this empty room / draw back the covers / draw back the covers / and then everything is fire / everyone is burning / he reaches / his touch scalding my skin / i scream / he always hurt / his love always hurt / and now i’m burned from it.
it has taken me a long time to realize / that i owe it to no one / to have to a read a book / when i don’t like the words / and that applies to people too
she’d told me before how / she could already imagine / being the person who brought out / the dimples in his smile / and my mind told me to speak / saying that i had been that person / for him / but instead / i just pushed the heartbreak / down to the darkest pit of me / and decided not to tell her / that he has dimples when he frowns too.
sometimes / a happy girl can’t be happy / sometimes she wrecks herself / into so many trillion pieces / that shards of her / drift into nothing / sometimes she learns / that a good day / can eclipse into a bad / and that boys with dimples / take your hand in theirs / while swinging an axe at your back / but most importantly / sometimes / she comes to the realization / that what makes people / people / is the very same thing / that makes monsters / monsters.
what he saw me as
she was a girl \ who was like a sunset \ all bright \ bold and unapologetic \ but \ like a sunset \ her smile would fade \ leaving you to grasp \ at the reflection of stars \ in her eyes \ asking where her colors went \ to be replaced by darkness \ and \ just like a sunset \ she was never \ the same girl \ for too long \ and some mornings \ she would sit without talking \ because she didn’t believe \ she had anything worth saying \ and during some nights \ she would ask \ if what we had was real / and i think / that she is a better poet / than a girl / because she could turn / all her doubts into adjectives / instead of facing them / and she learned to twist / her handmade heartbreaks / into exquisite lines / so i almost wonder / if she breaks herself / just so she can rebuild / and write poetry.
december 18 2016.
dear diary \ a girl told me today \ she liked me better quiet \ and i didn’t tell her \ i was never loud \ because if i told her that \ she would ask why \ and i would find myself \ plastering a smile across the cracking drywall of my face \ sliding my shutters closed \ and saying with a voice as bright \ as my window boxes \ “nevermind.” / because i like girls better \ when they don’t see me as \ a nancy drew mystery \ waiting to be solved \ for i have made \ a home for myself \ in the imperfect body \ i am housed in \ and girls are choas \ and fire \ and curiousity \ and everything i once had \ but was stripped away \ in the remodeling \ he did to me.
a phone call
when you called \ i was scared to pick up \ because i’m always afriad for you \ afriad that one day i won’t hear your voice \ on the other end \ but instead the mournful crying \ of a white metal beast \ that has come upon you broken \ like only i’ve seen you before \ and rushed you away amid the crowded streets \ in a vain attempt to save you \ because you always told me \ only good men can be saved
the butterfly boy
he let his tongue wander \ into the nectar sweet cavern \ of my mouth \ touching my sides \ with his soft large hands \ brushing over the parts of me \ that used to my favorite \ but i had buried all away \ whispering to me tales of metamorphosis \ like a calling to a church \ burying past all my cocooned layers \ to capture the chained beating \ of my moth heart \ and setting it free