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
Tag: teen
rapunzel
the stone was no barrier
her soul couldn’t break
the tangled yearning of her heart burst free
and swooped from the windows lip
to caress the clouds in the ever width of blue
and twine about the thatch’s peak
a faux yellow to her gold
and she smiled at the ones who claimed
she had never tasted freedom before
(a witch in her own right)
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.
my therapist does not believe in soul mates. she says it’s bull crap. “‘they can’t die if you never stop loving them’” she scoffs. “if that was true, you wouldn’t be in therapy.” she is not my therapist anymore.
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
dimples
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
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.
i get up late / and stretch my muscles / like a tawny jungle cat / opening my jaws in a small yawn / saving my roar for another day / and for all the mothers / who cautioned their daughters / of the wilds of the world / and taught them the ways / of the scurrying creatures / that lie underfoot in the foliage / you are not like my mother / who brushed my glimmering pelt / and crooned old lullabies / telling me that i shared a similar bone structure / to wondrously wild things / and i could change the world / if only i learned to roar truth
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.
dear diary
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.
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
Perfectly Imperfect Me 