Loneliness is a record player
Sitting in an attic
With no record

It is when you look into life’s mirror
And see you’re not alone
You see the monster of your mind creeping up behind you
Whispering loud enough that only you can hear

Loneliness is the loudest silent scream of them all
Yet no one can hear how loud you feel it
Through any bathroom stall

i wish i could go back in time
and see my younger self
and warn him
that it would only get worse

Perfect doesn't mean without imperfections
Because imperfections are lovely
Perfect means that I wouldn't have to you any other way
So when you say you're not perfect
Because you've made some "mistakes"
I want to cry
Because those mistakes are beautiful
Because they are part of you
And you my friend,
Are perfect

Stay extraordinary,
I love you

I would climb mountains
Hijack cars
Walk 26 days
And almost die
If that meant I could hug you
Even one time

bracelets

those things made of strings
were given with love

a secret promise lies in every one I (s)wear

still, it’s broken
and
it’s
all
my
fault

one because I pulled too hard
one because it ripped apart
one because I got it that way
one because it didn’t work anyway
one because I lost it
one because it never fit

I love my bracelets
but every one I wear
finds its way to never wear

they give me new ones
but they don't hold
still the only one that survives
was given far too long ago

now here I am
with my jar full of broken promises
cause I don't give up
broken or not
all cause I loved too much

and see what’s the price

a jar I keep

every single one
broken
in hope not to be forgotten

every morning, 
i stare at the mirror --
looking into my own eyes
like they belong
to someone else.

my smile feels forced,
stolen.
like i borrowed this body,
and forgot 
to give it back.

i don't deserve it.
i neglect this body,
my shattered heart
would survive better
in someone
more loving
and patient.

im thinking too much
again.
why won't you say anything?
all i said was --
"i miss you"
is that too much?
am i too much?
am i not enough?
should i love you?
it's only been a week..
i can make myself --
if it makes you happy.
am i texting too often?
did i send the wrong emojis?
was i not funny enough today?
not talkative enough?

****.
im thinking too much..
again.

one day my teacher asked me
why I always wrote in lowercase letters
her glasses perched on the top of her beak
she squawked,
"you were not taught that in school, young lady.
it is not proper, young lady."

and I gripped my pen tighter
or maybe a little looser
it's hard to tell lately.

but I looked in to her black beady eyes
and disapproving frowny face
and whispered "see how I am whispering
do you see how you are leaning closer
like I have a secret
more intimate, correct?
that is my writing:
an intimate secret.
for you"