My mind tells me I deserve to bleed
That it’s okay that it hurts like hell
That it’s good that the blood won’t stop
Because the blood is mine
The blood is of the person who messed up in conversation
The blood is of the one who’s eyes are devastatingly like her father’s
Of the person who got to school 4 minutes late
And for the one who just sat there class while she knew that there was someone somewhere in pain
For the one who wasn’t there to help them

But my mind also asks me
If my blood is the same
as the three year old who’d play
with napkins and pens
Because creative and strange
Is far better
Than bored and average

My mind asks
If the skin that I tear open
Is the same skin
That the 7 year old’s tears poured down on
Because she was starting to understand
That her father’s behavior was not normal

And even though that ******* that is my head told me to my face
That I am unlovable
And that I deserve to bleed
It somehow had the nerve
To make me feel guilty for yet another thing

It told me I was hurting
the little girl who already
Was struggling

And it told me I was hurting
the grandma with grandkids on her lap
Of whom I’m threatening
Deprivation of snuggling

My mind said
That by doing that
I deserved to bleed and suffer even more

And as the pain starts
It asks me again
If it was just me that I’m hurting

“Are you okay?”

Sweetheart, I write poetry
And some kindhearted people said I write it well
…
That can only mean one thing
My mind is an unescapable hell

“Yeah, just tired”

Maybe it's ***** and dusty
And gets flooded with water sometimes
But it's more mine than anything

Poetry hung on the walls
From those on this genius website,
Paint accidentally on purpose spilled on the floor,
Art supplies on cardboard boxes decorated with pictures and paintings of mushrooms, frogs and jellyfish just because I think they look cool,
Stars made out of tin foil hung from the ceiling pipes just because

No one else really likes it in there
It's just a basement after all
But is it?

I remember when 2nd grade
We had a lockdown
But I had so much to say
So much that I felt it very hard to stay silent

I wanted to know why someone would try and shoot us
And why turning off the lights would stop them

But Mrs jones had just shook her head
And shoved a lollypop in my mouth
(I didn't say another word)

I wish I could do that to my head
It won't shut up

What if they weren't even silent
But no one cared to see where the sound came from?

What if they knew where it came from
But didn't care enough to fix it?

Oh brain
Please stop
...
I don't need anymore thoughts

Dear, if you are cold
I will knit you a sweater
From every strand of my heart

Dear, if you are scared
I will knit another one for the monsters in your head
And together we'll hope
That the warmth will help to make the wounds hurt a little less for them
So they won't have to squeeze as hard
And they can just gently hold your hand

And then maybe
We can all hold hands together
Watch the world
And do nothing but be alive

My dear friend, if you feel like you're poetry
And the world doesn't even know their letters
I will write a book with you
From the pages of soul

Dear, if you feel alone
I'll show you that book
So you'll finally know

Will you knit a sweater for my monsters?

Why did they have to tell kids
That the moon wasn't really following their car?

I liked to think that it was protecting me
I liked to think that it knew that I may have not been safe in that car
That maybe it cared enough about me
To choose me
And keep me safe
Even from afar

When trees would cover it
It would get scared it left me
And that I was all alone in the world
But then my teacher told me
That I was

"It's an illusion" she said
I hid in the bathroom and cried
I felt lied to

Why do they take that sense of wonder away from us?
Why couldn't I still believe that the moon follows my car?
Why couldn't I still believe it was keeping me safe whenever I was in my dad's car?

Now I look up at the sky when I'm driving
And see the moon
And wish I would still try to send it messages of thanks
And sometimes I do
Even though it seems silly

I pretend that I believe that the moon still follows my car
Even though it stopped many years ago