I keep putting myself into a smaller box,
And then complain that I feel claustrophobic.
And I make the walls thicker,
And I make them sound proof,
And I make the doors increasingly harder to open.
And then I complain.
Because I put myself in a room with pictures,
But no windows.
I do it so that I can't see the present,
And I can't see the future coming.
All I can see is the past.
All I can see are pictures of my old boxes,
The bigger boxes.
Boxes that I could get out of.
I'm in one without a door right now.
I'm going to stay here for a very long time.

Would you rather
Have to shout all the things you want to whisper,
Or have to whisper all of the things you want to shout?

You're like that really old brick building,
From the sixteen hundreds.
The one covered in vines and flowers.
It's so old, and beautiful.
But I feel that,
If I look too hard at either one of you,
You'll crumble to the ground.
And all of the history will be lost.

I haven't driven out to see either of you in a while.
I hope you're both still okay.
I think I just want to remember you
The way you were.
I want to shout this,
But I can barely manage a whisper.

It’s the little things that are scaring me. About my OCD, my depression, my anxiety, my PTSD, my eating disorder. I feel like if I write this down it will make sense. That she will read it (even though I know she won’t).

There are things that I got past, left behind, and haven’t thought about in a while. Things that are coming back to me, and they feel like an uninvited guest that is overstaying their welcome. Someone I used to spend a lot of time with. But now I have no desire to see her.

No matter how many oils I diffuse, how many mason jars I buy, how many times a day I do yoga, how many bottles of organic apple cider vinegar, coconut oil, and raw honey I buy

She isn’t leaving.

She won’t let me listen to playlists on shuffle, it’s to chaotic for her. It makes her anxious when she doesn’t know what song is going to come on next. She cleans her ears with Qtips three times a day. Three Qtips each time.  She has to knock on something made of wood or paper 3 times every time she thinks a jinxing thought. If more than 30 seconds passes without doing so, she starts to panic. She can’t fall asleep without her queue filled, her clothes laid out, her bag packed and triple checked, the door lock checked three times, and lotion applied to her hands and feet three times. It makes me nervous and I want to help her.

She’s always tired. She does everything from her bed. It takes her 3 hours to prepare for a thirty minute trip to the grocery store. Another hour to prepare for a shower. She doesn’t care about anything. She goes to class, gets in bed, goes to work, gets in bed. I hate her. She’s so ******* lazy. She stares at her scars, and wishes she had more. She wishes they were deeper. She isn’t going to do anything about it, I assure you, but she can’t get it off her mind. The dog scratched her leg last week, and she’s become obsessed with the new scar. It’s sickening. I want to, but I can’t help her.

She is always calculating and recalculating things in her mind, money and time and schedules down to a T. Always crunching numbers. Calculating how much each minute of a college semester costs, and adjusting for every new factor that comes to mind. She can’t take it when anything throws things off by a single minute or cent. She can’t deal with changes in plans, or cancellations. Even if nothing is wrong. She’ll start over thinking, thoughts rapidly increasing their pace as they violently force their way through her brain. She has to ring her hands or pinch her thighs just to catch her breath. It’s painful to see, and I can’t help her.

She used to have small flashbacks during the day, easy to cope with, more like a day dream. And it’s been four years since they’ve been a regular thing. But now they keep her up at night as she tries to fall asleep. She’s in another place. She can feel it on her skin, she can hear it in her ears, she can smell it around her. She keeps getting lost in this world, and I can’t get her out of it. I can see her trying to fight back, but it takes her forever to shake them. She comes out of it, dissociated with her head spinning, and she has to turn the light on and stair at objects and count tiles or walk around to make sense of things again.  I feel like I’m watching her doing all of this and I can’t help her.

I buy all of this food and cook all these healthy meals, and she throws it all away. She just binge eats yogurt, boiled eggs, fast food and cereal. And I always hear her throwing up after. It makes me sick. She keeps putting boxes of multi grain cheerios in the shopping cart, and then putting them back on the shelf. Every week. She used to eat exactly 1 cup of that a day for about a year, and nothing else (at least nothing else that she doesn’t throw up). Don’t get me wrong, it was an amazing diet for her, but I can’t stand the sight of them anymore. I can’t help her.



I just want to help her move on. Get out of this place. I don’t want to see her anymore. We’ve been friends since I was a kid. Her family is friends with my family. Some of my friends have friends like her, and some have no idea what I mean if I mention her. She doesn’t like to be around anyone, and no on likes to be around her. So I hide her. I can’t shake her. I can’t help her. I get her out of bed every day. I brush her teeth and help her to the shower. I get her out of the house most days. I help her write her emails, do her course work, make her coffee, and clean he room. But it’s too much. She’s a mess and I can’t help her.

I can't help her.

The first snow
When it just starts to stick to the ground
Around nine o clock,
And the snow dances in the streetlights.
And the first thing you think of when you wake up
Is getting to walk in it's beauty.
That's her smile.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The first time a hug meant something.
You feel their arms,
Their shoulders,
Their warmth,
The tickle of their breath on the bottom of the left side of your neck,
And the last moment when they tighten around you
Into a solid, comforting fortress before they pull away.
That's the air she exhales.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most devastating thunder storm.
When the rain is sad,
And not peaceful or light hearted,
And the echo of the cracks of thunder sting your ears.
And the lightening stops getting interesting,
The lightening looks worried.
It looks like suicidal tendencies.
That's what it's like to see her cry.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

Battle fields.
Soiled with distraught courage,
Limp hopes,
And dying bravery.
Yet somehow holding the promise of a victory
That will effect hundreds of nations.
Those are her scars.
Yet she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most perfect day on the beach.
Sandwiches without the sand,
Waves that kiss your toes,
Sun that blankets you with the feeling of security,
And a sunset so perfect
That you wonder if it's real,
Or just a calender's picture for the month of August.
That's her.
But she doesn't think she's beautiful.

How can everyone expect me
To move on
When I'm not even sure
What happened.
I just know that it was a big deal.
I never process things that could hurt me.

It's kind of like staring into space.
You're not looking at anything,
But it's not as if you're looking at nothing.
And everyone around you is still moving around
Rolling in the grass
And laughing and living.
It's the last day.
No one even notices you stop
For just a few seconds.
A moment of contemplation.
No one will catch you on it.
Not even me.

And your hands wrap around
Under my thighs,
Around my hips,
And grab my stomach.
Trying to pull me closer,
And it's kind of funny to see you watching me.
So I grab your hair in my fists.
And fake it,
So I can steal my moment of contemplation.
You're lost in me,
You'll never catch me.

I will be drunk in a few minutes.
It's only noon.
Just the perfect time to throw
Everything up
And out the window again.
The river of blood
From my thighs to the tile
Runs a mere .13% BAC.

We've got ourselves into quite a nice daily routine.
My little ghost boy and I.
Collin wakes me up in the morning with his squirming
He is only four, so you can imagine how early that is.
He eats some cheerios and an apple.
I got to my classes for the day and work,
And Collin plays with his fore mentioned friend, Jordan.
I make Collin something for lunch,
And we practice reading and writing.
We watch some Arthur or Dragon Tales
We run some errands
He has some ghost pasta or vegetarian hot dogs,
Or anything really, for dinner.
And we tell stories till it's time for him to go to bed,
And time for me to write my essays
And do my calculus.
And then I hold my sleeping ghost baby
And rock him back and forth
So that my life doesn't feel so useless.

Rivers are meant to be peaceful,
But I promise,
I'm no Virginia Woolf.

I'd love to share a moment,
But sharing was never
One of my best skills
When I was a little girl.

There's something very sad about
Watching a big boulder erode away
Into millions of tiny grains of sand.

There's something very sad about
Finding the big dipper amoungst the stars
But never finding anything else.

There'a something very sad about
Realizing that this is your last horra
And the party is over.

There's something very sad about
Putting on a blindfold
And taking a sunset stroll on the beach.

There's just something very sad.

I'm sitting here in a club that's very
Well it's dark,
But it's not a place for women.
And who knows,
I think it might be the thirties.

I'm surrounded by men,
All in impeccably fine suites,
I'm drinking countless martinis,
I never have to light my own cigarette,
I know this is what I do every single night.
Everyone fawns over me.

I know that I'm very powerful.
I have the power of a man.
So I act like a man.
Not *****,
Just unashamed.


Maybe I have a rich father?
That sounds right for the time.
I can tell that I am very powerful,
I already know that I am
"Breathtakingly gorgeous".

Everyone eats out of the palm of my hand,
I am fun.
I am free.
I am the untamable soul.

You know?
The one they right novels about.
The one that "got away",
Because she was a song bird,
And one that wouldn't fit in her cage.

And I am to be a married woman.
Someone will disburse my power.
I will become a miserable housewife.
I will have four children.
I will bake apple pies,
I will let my husband
Please himself using my body.
I will help with church bake sales.
I will drink.
I will drink.
I will drink.....

I can't see my self in this head space.
I need the constant rhythm, I need to keep time
But this clock doesn't have a second hand.

My "living in the now" is everyone else's nostalgia.
I always feel like I'm living two years in the past.
I guess that's how long it takes to absorb the impact
When the collision is head on.

When I was younger I was always told I was mature for my age.
Thank you, it's the abuse.
Thank you, it's the ****.
Thank you thank you, it's the trauma.

I'm not being honest,
I'm being truthful.

I remember you once told me,
Right after I had dyed my hair blonde,
That you liked me better as a brunette.
I don't know why I'm thinking about that now.

I can get drinks for free,
I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue,
I can ****** without touching any part of my body,
I can destroy lives and break hearts.


But one time you told me that you like me better as a brunette.

My train of thought fell off the tracks.
I burned that bridge before I even got to it.

I'm not sure how to explain this.
When I was younger,
I thought that when you died,
You were reincarnated
Into things that were part of nature.
But not organisms.
Wind, bodies of water, and rocks.

And the special souls were saved for storms.
The powerful and the passionate.
Hurricanes and snowstorms.
Sometimes colliding.
And I could always tell if they were fighting
Because of hatred and anger,
Or reconnecting with love and longing.
Or if it was a little of both.

I know that I am magnificent, powerful,and special
But I would love to just be waves
Constantly returning to the coast of Maine.
You and I crashing over each other
Constantly become one.
Stretching out to touch civilization,
And pulling back to our own world.
Filled with fish and boats,
And maybe someone will give us a message in a bottle to deliver.

******* it.
I took you like an antidepressant.
And that wasn't fair,
And it didn't even work.
It wasn't good for anyone involved.
It's tricky trying to find the right balance.

I need to help myself,
And you'd be better off curing someone else.

I don't think I'll be filling my prescription this time.

I have decided I am mad at you.
And it does not even matter.
I do not even care.
Your words have repulsed me like raw onions.
No take backs.
Druken fools.
Druken tools.
Which ones are we?

I know that time is an illusion,
A man made concept,
And anything else
That terrified and pretentious philosophers
Say to make themselves feel better.

But there is no ******* reason,
That four days with you,
Feels like two hours.
And two hours away,
Feels like half a century.

No ******* reason.

Albany Rosaline Smith.
On Mondays Albany went down to the store to get milk.
Her mother always gave her twenty five cents.
Twenty for the milk,
And five for some candy.
All the boys she passed along the way would tell her how she was
Genuinly beautiful.
And she knew it.
Albany was gorgeous.
On her sixteenth birthday she let Bobby Fisher
**** her under the oak tree
Out back in the feild behind the pond.
"You're something special there, Albany,"
He told her.
She knew it was true,
But it was a nice gesture,
So she let him **** her from behind this time.
Albany became Misses Fisher two years later,
Three weeks after graduation.
It was just the thing to do back then.
They had four kids,
And she was a good mom.
Mathilda, Lizabeth, Marcus, and Temprance.
Three of which were Bobby's.
One of which was the town physician's.
Bobby never knew.
He was a mill worker.
He was not very bright.
But Albany was.
Bright and Beautiful.
She died at the age of forty-two.
She was ***** an killed by the doctor.
He was also the mortician,
So no one questioned it.
It was a small town

I feel like a child unable to give up hope.
Come inside.
It will probably start to rain soon.
I know I'm not the best shelter.

I can't breath.
I can't ******* breath.
I feel like I should be freaking out.
Like the
Kicking
Screaming
Lock me up
Because I'm going crazy
Kind of freaking out.
I just feel really calm
And ice cold
And slow
And shaky.
I can't breath though
I CAN'T ******* BREATH.
I can't
brea
th.
Please help me.
I don't know what happened.
I don't know what he gave me.
I don't know why it happened.
I don't know why I did it.
I am an awful person.
I CAN'T ******* BREATH.
It was so slow.
I can't
remem
ber
it
all.
I don't remember when he came back
In the room.
I really don't.
I can't remember
The point where he
I CAN'T ******* BREATH
Got on top of me.
He was just there.
I don't know.
I DON'T REMEMBER.
I was almost asleep.
WHAT DID HE GIVE ME.
I can't remember anything
With any detail.
I ALWAYS REMEMBER DETAILS
I CAN'T BREATH.
I don't remember it all.
I can remember the things he said
And I can remember where he
I CAN'T BREATH.
I CAN'T ******* BREATH.
WHY IS NO ONE COMING TO HELP ME.
started to **** me.
Why did I let him do it.
I DON'T REMEMBER THIS.
I NEED HELP.
I don't remember screaming.
I really don't.
I don't remember them coming in.
I don't remember all of the guys tearing him off me
And throwing him against the wall
And starting to hit him.
And Adam rushing me out to his car.
I don't remember hearing him scream in pain
As I left the room.
I don't remember falling asleep in the back of the car.
I don't.
I ruined my life.
It's all my fault.
I CAN'T BREATH.
SOMEONE ****
ING COME HELP
ME I CAN'T
*******
BREATH.
PLEA
SE.
I don't remember everything.
It just feels like.
I don't ******* know.
It's just so unclear.
There's one thing I do remember.
But I promise
I don't remember when I started to scream.
I just felt like I wanted to die.
I didn't know where anyone was.
WHERE IS EVERYONE.
I don't remember screaming.
PLEASE
******* SOMEONE.


I can remember him covering my mouth.
I CAN'T ******* BREATH.
WHY IS NO ONE HELPING ME.
I
CAN
'T
****
ING
BREA
TH
PLEASE
SOME
ONE
*******
HEL
P
M
E.