I am a smoldering rage.
I am something you cannot hold.
Touching me will only hurt you.
For I am fire.

If I were louder
Maybe my "I love you"s would reach you.

If there were a way to write I love you
On everything
On every surface and every crack and anything else
I would
I would would would.

and what on earth is the point of being,
when there's still that creeping, sinking feeling,
a fire in my soul always reduced to embers,
and hopes crushed to dust beneath heels,
of people who preach of their status above mine.

and what on earth is the point of living,
when i am belittled so often in my despairity,
that words of "others have it worse" from people close,
eventually became words of my own,
and i poisoned myself so willingly.

and what on earth is the point of continuing,
when all i see is bleak and dreary,
where in my sadness over trivial, unimportant things,
like spilled coffee or being unproductive,
have me ready to pack up my backpack and leave?

what you did is back then,
when the future was where i am now,
and the past is where i resided, and
anything in between then and now,
was enveloped in static.
because
after what you did,
i couldn't remember anything else,
and
the static between times
became static in my ears
and my brain.
and the static tells me ...
die, or suffer.
...
...
...
...
huh.

I am often up til 3 a.m.,
the hands on clocks merge and jump,
and I often miss large chunks of time,
because that's just how it is.

this dance is the same one as before,
and before and before and before,
nothing new, the audience has long left,
bored.

still, even with empty rows,
empty seats,
im pulled along, god's perfect, tragic puppet,
ive memorised the moves,
i could do them on my own,
but never have i been released from the strings.

the song is sorrowful,
but it comes from my own mouth,
cracked tones, a bittersweet lament,
i cannot sing anymore. please don't make me sing again.

reset the stage. we start again.

I thought I was enough,
giving your world all the things you needed and wanted,
I thought you were happy,
but I was always just falling short.

Your favourite colour was green,
so green was a theme I went with often and gave you most,
but who would have known your green was an envy that caused you to cheat,
and I finally found I was just falling short.

Childhood is like snuggling in a big, warm blanket.
Then, as I grow older,
I lay my arms over the top.
I become an adult, and the blanket is ripped away from me,
just like my mum used to do when I wouldn't wake up to my alarm.
Quick, and cold.
I shiver.

a small space
between being
and not being
and i would like to be
but the world so hates me
and wants me to not be
but i will fight to be me.
i will.

A little circle
it spins around and around and around
maybe I'm thinking too hard
Or maybe I'm just dizzy.

although I am having a difficult time
without a home,
he feels so much like home that sometimes,
I don't even notice anymore.

Missing what I do not yet have,
texts of "I love you" filling a heart that weeps
and it does so weep for him.

and although my selfishness is something i despise so often,
this agreeable warmth is something
i almost want to myself,
because as long as there is someone to love me,
there is also someone to save me.
and although you cannot FIX me,
you're still going to be there,
and you're still going to hold my hand through a rough patch,
and if i am possibly to fall,
you'll laugh, sure,
but you'll still pick me right back up.

its because you love me,
or whatever.

as easily as I fall in love
I fall out
as if I'm going off a cliff
and as if the sky is falling with me

the sunshine follows me
no matter how far down I go
the sun will go where I go
dare I fall for him too.

i am comforted by thoughts of him,
the fire inside my soul when he's on my mind
is far more comforting than i could have thought.
and the way these thoughts present themselves to me,
can be a lot to handle,
and i dip inside myself
and god do i wish it was him instead,
to lay over me
and share in this passion in togetherness,
rather than in two separate places,
alone.
and although poetic now,
the act of touching,
is almost entirely lacking
in poeticism.

people always represent love with roses
for the simple fact of a flower with thorns
because love can hurt.
there is yelling
and there is hurt
and there are times where all we do is cry
but i cry those tears for you,
and we apologise to each other (although too much)
and at the end of the day youre mine
and youre mine
and i would give the world to be nearer to you
in a heartbeat
i would give everything.
for you.

i learned happiness from someone else
found my light in a boy i could never begin to love healthily
and although we talk,
he's no longer enough
and my courage shrinks smaller with every day that passes
and i thought maybe cutting myself open
and finding that small coal of a sun in me
would help me
would show me its there
but its dead
gone
goodbye forever

in another life
i was probably happy without attention
from boys who just wanted to ***** me.

this is not that life.

to be fair,
the sunlight i found was not pleasant,
and it burned me like any sun would had i gotten to close
i tried my best to be there, but i was there much too often
and i didnt protect myself!
how silly!
with the lack of protection when being so close to him,
i burned,
and the brilliant ball of flame that was the man i had fallen for
hurt me without knowing it
and even now,
whilst i imagine ripping my sun-burnt skin off
and  relieve myself of the pain of his kindness,
i would still let him be close.

i would still let him be close
because although i know what he wants of me
i know the sin he sees in his mind when he speaks to me,
pretending to be lovers
is still better to me
than just being his friend.

i will depend on the sunshine that others provide for me
all of my life
and although its unhealthy,
nobody's ******* healthy.

the truth is that i cant be my own sunshine.
but i will not cry anymore over what could have been.

Maybe I opened more social medias,
maybe i did it to gain extra attention.
Maybe it's a way to cope,
with the ****** things that have been done to me.
I cope with these horrible memories,
by making myself an object for the internet.

and there is someone i love,
he, patient, while i not so.
**** the universe for making me so uncertain,
when what i failed to realise that i was always,
always certain of you.
there are stars within your soul, and you are my light.
you are my sun. my stars.
and i will do anything for you.
**** anyone who gets in the way.
mine.
such a small word, and yet it fills my heart to overflow.

and tonight,
thats not so bad
and tonight,
i love you
and tonight,
you are so ******* perfect.

mon étoile.

if there were better words to say it,
i'd say it all.
were there a better way to show you,
i'd do anything.
but i love you.
i love
love love love love you.

mon
étoile.

she whispered to me of sacrifice,
of the suffering i must endure for a beauty unmatched,
and although it means nights feeling empty inside,
at least the goddess of a failing practice will love me.

life no longer has the same shine
that it did when I was young
now all I do is sit on my phone
and play Solitaire
because where's the fun I used to know?
Where's the fun I used to want to have?
Am I doomed to be this way for the rest of my life?
do I never get to be happy in the same way again?

things that are not real:

- salami (never had/seen = not real)
- a place where someone belongs with no issues
- perfect parents
- yesterday, because every day is today
- the shadows in corners
- love without sacrifice
- blue raspberries (bc its blueberry and raspberry!)

things that ARE real:

- hearts
- the itchy feeling of sweater sleeves
- the sun the moon and the sky
- grass when you lie down in it
- the sound of rain when it hits the metal roof
- human connection
- pretty places i (and you) have never been
- orange juice
- me

Licking tears away with your warmth,
your sunshine dries them,
maybe they will taste good to you.

I am simply not going to see things the same f-cking way as you do
and that scares the f*ck out of me.
Not to be coy.
Not to tease you with an asterisk.
Not to censor my feelings.
Not to frustrate you.
Not to make you go "don't do that"
Do not
*******
test me.

Rip me open,
rip rip rip,
until you see nothing but a shock of white,
my stuffing spills out onto the floor,
and now you have a mess to clean up,
and I am oddly empty.

i preached of you like they were my last words,
or as if you were my favourite book,
or a movie i watched a million times and swore up and down was good,
to friends who weren't a fan of the same genre.
i preached of my faith in you,
and although these words fell upon deaf ears, i preached still.
because you have been safety.
comfort.
home.
and i picked you apart,
and my mother hears so much about you,
and at this point she has got to be sick of it,
but i continue.
i continue.
i.
i bet.
i bet that i
am just your secret.
and that's okay,
sometimes i just wonder why.

Circles and squares and triangles
dance across my vision
annoying,
dark,
spotty...

Maybe they were right
maybe I would be better off!

i honestly wish the situation
would pass quickly
and honestly i wish i had a say
but she is the one its about
not me
i am her sister
but my opinion is not relevant at all
and i am just a watcher.

for two weeks,
i had stayed comfy in my home,
because April showers sure do pour.
if i had known me coming back were a problem,
i would have stayed home again today,
because what would i listen to your scolding for?

Someday my bones will protrude,
pushing up like daisies across the fields of my skin,
because I have died over and over,
every day I died,
and this one last time I will be beautiful and sunken in,
and this last time Ana will have controlled me;
when Ana said she wanted me dead,
I knew she would someday make it happen.
Because I cannot afford to be saved,
someday I will be the one the funeral is for.

songs that remind me of you
are flowy and make me
have memories that arent even mine.

"What Falling In Love Feels Like"
is the first.

I write music.
I write music and I sing,
I sing a lot.
I play the piano,
I play piano and I write music and I sing.

Hello,
dear sky,
dark and gloomy sky,
hopefully tonight your clouds will part,
and the stars will show from above.

one day, a cup ramen and tap water.
one day, a burnt pizza, because i'm stupid and forgetful.
one day, a single hot pocket, cold in the center and tasteless.
one day, a bag of chips and a 99 cent arizona tea.
one day, a zebra cake.
one day, a 50 cent soda.
one day, nothing.
one day, a passing thought about stealing from the store.
one day, a lingering thought about stealing from the store.
one day, a startling fear that i'll starve to death.
one day, a cup ramen and tap water.

Maybe if I get too stressed,
maybe teachers will see it
then again I'm already to the point where I'd rather die
than do my schoolwork

In love with sunshine
so far away,
yet if I try hard enough I can feel it,
maybe this will last,
maybe this will last.

the way my lips felt after a kiss from you,
a spark that I can never find with anyone else
the way your hand felt with mine,
my stress like ice under the skin of my hands while yours were a warm summer sun to melt it away
the way you spoke to me,
your words gentle like a breeze I know from places too far gone to remember...
your touch was gentle, and
if I didn't know any better,
I would say maybe I could feel it again,
but life is cruel, and liking me was your mistake.

But I will always wait anyway,
even if they day we get back together
happens to be never.

when i think ive gotten past it
it creeps back up
it wraps its tendrils around me
a suffocating vice...

please help me cut away
before i disappear.

There is a garden that I want to go,
a place where I can be alone,
a place where I will hang my head -
quite literally, because that's where I've planned to be dead.

your words would set me ablaze,
a firepit for a stomach as it churns,
it burns,
and i am all warm inside

and all you did was give me the time of day.

all you did was speak to me so kindly,
and then
my face was red
and i shook.

maybe 5 am isnt the best time to rile me up...
not that i was complaining.

a shard of broken glass
will not lie and tell you it won't hurt you.
if you mess around with broken glass,
you already know you could get injured...
yet why is it that a piece of glass
is more honest than a human?

I am always running out of time
I am running down a spiral staircase
the hands following me and spinning in a way I can't quite describe
besides quick and skilled because it goes on forever
I can hardly take a break
before the hands catch back up to me
and I am on the run again.