"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
code.

Everyone's gardens flourish

but mine still hasn't grown.

Cuts on my wrists
hands curled into fists
will i even be missed

Writing a note
i wrote
i love you and it wasn't your fault

That's a lie
i want to die and
its partly your fault

I can't tell you that so i
Sit and i cry

Why do i
Live like this

Will i even be missed

I talk to myself
A lot

Maybe It's because I know,
That I'm the only one
Who will talk to me

Only I understand what I'm saying

You know when you're young
And you fixate on a person
like they're the only person in the world

I don't think I ever grew out of that

Sometimes I spend too much time
Writing lists
Hoping it will help my brain
Organize all of these thoughts
That never seem to stay in one place
For very long.
Sometimes I don't eat, so I can feel
That familiar empty
Hollow
Space
Inside of me
That reminds me of when I had
So much focus and only one thought.
"Stay in control".
Sometimes I eat everything
That makes me feel sick.
So I can remember that I am
A waste
Out of control
Disgusting.
Every word I write screams
"LOOK AT ME"
And its just
Too loud.
So if I direct the letters into words that dont resemble the hurt then maybe it will quiet down and I can get back to the routine I have so lovingly crafted
From day one.

you are the river.
you're not the dirt that washes through it.
you're not the animal that drinks from the shore.
you're not the leaves that float in the current.
you're not the heat that dries the bed.
you're not the pollution that floods the stream.
you're not the frost that freezes the waves.
you're not the rain that floods the banks.
you're not what passes through you, harms you, oppresses you.
you are the river.

They didn't want to know me.

They just wanted me to be okay.

And I was not okay.