I cut my own tongue
on it's razor sharp edges.
Lacerated words arise
from hidden places.
The sweet salt drips
down my cracked lips
and onto my
What have I done?
I need to stop telling myself I'm terrible.
Summer HomeI think you've ruined me
in a way that doesn't quite hurt
as much as it suffocates sweetly.
There's something about
looking back on everything you've said
and finally seeing each lie
as they scraped your bottom lip
on the way out.
I think I was addicted
to the taste of your blood
when I kissed you.
It seemed to mingle well
with my tears
and stained my lips just enough
to mark your territory
as the summer home
that seemed more fun
when you were younger.
Mr. MelancholyI fell deeply inlove with him.
in his gray suit
and his black tie.
He always had an eye for fashion,
and he'd dress me down well.
He'd call me beautiful,
and reassure me that the funeral
they eluded to in their jeers
was a wedding for our souls.
And our honeymoon
would be spent side by side,
as it always should be,
laying down under the stars.
A stone on my finger,
and a stone on top of me,
carefully adorned with flowers,
As my dress turns to lace
and then to dust that slips through my fingers
in rhythm to the ticking of the clock,
he sews my next corset
between my ribs.
It's steel-boned spine crushes me
ever so lightly over time.
The difference so subtle
I wouldn't have known it was real
if it hadn't been for the stares.
I suppose I have gotten thinner,
but he assured me again
I was beautiful.
His design was built to fit a skeleton,
and I wanted to please him.
In sickness and in health,
'til death do us part,
and my parts have
This Place Is GarbageThis place is goddamn filthy
and we are all trash.
No matter how you look at us
or what someone says about us
at the end of the day we all
deserve to be taken out.
I won't deny we are flawed
or even at times disgusting
But at one time we were desired.
Someone wanted us,
maybe even needed us.
But we were broken and used
and then tossed away.
That's how everything fucking works
and you either get used to it
and accept that you are rotting away,
or you realize that you change over time.
We are still rotting.
We are still dying.
But found things can be used again.
An artist's warehouse is a dumpster.
Scraps of cardboard are walls.
Egg cartons are hills.
Broken glass are mosaics
and someone fucking needs you again!
I can not change your mind
on how you view yourself.
Just as you can't change mine
on how I view you.
Call yourself what you may,
my beautiful shard of sharp metal,
you may use yourself to harm yourself,
you may rust and dirty up,
but you are the centerpiece--
The Comfort of Pale-Smile SadnessMy pockets know the back of my hands
like I know the world through
my teary eyes
and just-as-blurry mind.
I'm sure if I ever left the comfort
of closed-lip, pale-smile sadness,
I'd fall right off the orange horizon;
drowning in the migraine-inducing sun.
Because a cold night kisses hard
and love is dropping your legs over the roof
with the gently-used notion to ground yourself,
but instead you just breathe knowing you've already fell.
It's All For YouI know you will never see
what I see in you
because we have different sets of eyes
and different minds.
As much a part of me
as I wish you were,
you're still just you
and I'm just me.
So the person in the mirror you see
is a demon
and I see an angel
and they're constantly fighting.
But evil always wins because it doesn't
like I do.
So you took a liking
to broken glass
at such a young age,
that when you started to grow up,
the skin of your tightly-clenched fist
grew around the shard.
Now it's just as much a part of you
as the knuckles you damage
and the toes you use
to keep your balance
once you finally get up;
maybe to fetch a glass of water.
You've spent every second
trying to cut your own blade
out of your hand,
hoping you'll bleed out
all the mistakes you think
belong to you.
And I know you've heard
a million times
that everyone makes mistakes
but there's truth behind cliches
and those things weren't your fault.
I know you know
exactly what I'm
Invisible EvilI fucking hate this feeling
that there's a hand on my throat--
some invisible evil--
and it's not even mine.
I don't even get the pleasure
of personally squeezing
every drop of air
out of my lungs
and letting it wheeze
through the tiny,
between my lips.
I have to sit here
and watch myself
in the mirror
as it takes my life away
and dulls my eyes
and brings me to my knees.
I have to pretend
I can breathe
just to answer the phone.
I have to pretend
that I don't count to ten
like a 5 year old
afraid of the dark.
I have to pretend
that I just don't want to
instead of that I can't
because I never got the courage
to try and learn how to swim,
or learn how to cook,
or learn how to live.
I can't stand in line by myself
because I can barely stand.
I can't strike a match
for fear I'll get burned
but I've mastered finding blades
and unscrewing screws
and weighing myself
every time I go into the bathroom
because who could love me
unless I was thin
and—oh my g
DandelionShe told me I was a weed
that she should've pulled out
when she had the chance.
And you know,
she was right about that
but I wish she'd just snapped me
at the neck instead.
(There would've been
a lot less pain
How To Fit InHow to Fit In
Let’s start off with your appearance.
Because you need a disguise to hide
Inside of a crowd.
Strip yourself of all of the clothing you use to express yourself.
So you can get lost,
And never be found.
Fix your hair,
Cake on some make up
Because in a crowd.
Looks will always speak louder than words.
People don’t want to hear what you have to say,
They just want to see a pretty face.
Fix your eyes that are too big.
You have too many ideas.
They rage around inside your head,
Like birds trying to escape a cage.
But never write those ideas down on a page.
Is a sin.
When you’re trying to fit in.
Just let them fly away.
Never to be seen again.
Now that you’re vapid,
Dull as a rock.
Not an original thought to be seen.
Yes, you’ve achieved
But was it actually worth it?
Trading in everything that makes you so spectacular.
To fit in with the rest of the main stream crowd.
Stop trying to
radiancei am running
on blood and light
fluttering firefly chasms
in spaces once
i spit silver silences
that colour quickfire
a vivid fragility
i'm not faded;
Only your body.
To what matters
Only to what has value to him.
Your marvelous self
A Letter To The Girl Who Hates Her BodyA letter to the girl who hates her body.
A letter to that girl
Who scrolls through tumblr.
Admiring all of those models.
With thigh gaps that look cute with skirts.
And a waist that you can barely see.
A letter to the girl
Who looks at models,
For their curves.
The way their hips go outwards
And their size D cup breasts.
Please don't look in the mirror,
And hate the girl you see.
That girl is you
And she should be loved unconditionally.
Because you deserve love.
And how much love is not determined on your waist size,
Whether you're chubby or skinny
You're still so very pretty.
You're so perfect.
So for every time you look in that mirror.
And tell yourself you aren't worth it.
That you're arms are too big,
Your hips aren't big enough.
I am a woman.
I am strong.
I have a body like a castle.
A kingdom made just for me.
And I will not destroy that castle,
By trying to starve myself.
By taking brick by brick and dismantling it
Dreaming Keeps the Dreamer SaneTo the dreamer.
The one who sits and stares into corners of the class room.
Dreaming of some place better.
Whether that place is real or not.
It is just anywhere other than here.
We paint over the whites of the walls.
Our minds are the paint and our eyes are the brushes.
Turning ordinary objects into castles that stand 30 feet tall.
And people into characters for our plays,
That fill our imaginative brains.
We tune out the lectures out of boredom or from wanting to escape.
We turn the blank of our note book's page
Into a mess of jumbled words of a song.
That we once heard as a conversation in a coffee shop,
It sounded like a soft tune then, just filling the silence
With soft mumbles and whispers,
Of a stranger's life that we heard bits and pieces of.
We create symphonies out of the rain
As the thunder rolls in the distance.
We turn the noise into music in our brains.
Something to distract us from the pain,
Because in the end,
Dreaming keeps the dreamer sane.
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondly
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
That's So Gay"That's so gay,"
Is what you say,
You've pushed one
Of your friends away.
"Oh no, honey,
Boys don't play
With Barbie dolls."
By enforcing gender roles,
You are killing
And telling them
That you'll love them no matter what*
Don't push your loved ones
With things you do or say,
Because words hurt;
But they hurt most
From the mouths of
The people that told you,
They'd always love you.
Saying, "that's so gay",
Or making them behave
In a gendered way,
Is telling them
That it's not okay
To be something
They can't help.
(And even if they could,
And it will hurt them
And every time you're together,
They'll be wondering;
"Am I wrong?"
"Do I really belong?"
Every time you say something like,
"That's so gay",
You burn someone's trust away.
And you can't build anything back
You Can't Compare PainAny pain is valid.
Some pain might be stronger than others,
And might be there for more tragic reasons.
But don't tell someone to be tougher.
Because someone else has it rougher than them.
The person you're saying that to
While the stuff they're going through
Might not be as bad as stuff others are.
It is still pain.
And pain hurts no matter what type of rain
Whether a drizzle or a downpour.
You're still going to feel the ice cold water pellets
On your skin.
I've heard someone say,
That you can't be depressed because you have a roof over you head.
And while I am very, very sorry that some can't say the same.
You should be ashamed
For saying such a thing.
Pain is not something that can be ranked,
It is not something you can compare.
We all still feel depression and despair.
Because we're all humans with emotions
Everyone gets sad.
So don't go and make someone feel bad
For feeling a certain way.