sometimes boys will whisper  
i love you's too quickly
and you, anon, will believe them
with your gentle heart, and
capacity to believe in miracles.

sometimes the first guy isn't
the only one,
sometimes you didn't like him
to begin with and that's okay.
i know you wish it was that easy.

people say to look for love
in all places, but love likes to hide
in the nooks of bookcases,
in cars parked under trees,
in his reflection in the rear mirror
as he glances to see you
walk past with your heels too high,
and smile too giddy.

but that wasn't love.
love is mutually shared.

sometimes you fall in love
and it will hurt worse than that time
you broke your wrist.
you will shake with tremors
of madness and you will
remember his name.

it's like hearing a song
you haven't listened to in years.
something jogs your memory
and you still remember the lyrics.
you will list his hobbies,
his favourite colour, with
perfect memory.

anon, you keep finding love,
and you keep losing it,

but be patient, please.
when you are ready
tell love to come another day.

i say i don't much like running
always been a bit fat for it to be honest
but threaten me with something beautiful
and i will run faster than i ever thought possible
in the opposite direction.

the worst part about good things is that there must be bad things to create a contrast
or there would be no good to dream about
and it is the good that i am most frightened of
i do not know how to conduct myself
after these last few years.

i know i can handle the bad.
i'll cut my arms and smash my head against walls
and cry at ceilings with the lights off, quietly
but i will survive in the end
not for me, but for the people who it would hurt too much to endure.

the good -
the inexplicable, weightless happiness
is something i cannot understand
something i cannot fathom
the unknown, the unknowable -
the most frightening thing i can think of
and it is what i run away from
treating a funny, beautiful boy who only wants me to be happy
with silence
and fear
and suspicion
becoming what i hate
despite anything i attempt otherwise

i am so fearful,
that i make myself ugly.

i like to think of my eyes as broken cameras that can't focus properly on their own
i love my glasses honestly
i love to take them off when i'm in the passengers seat of a car at night because the city's fuzzy lights look so pretty
you don't get that with 20/20 vision

captain's log, #1
 
2/26/16, 4:06 a.m.

my heart is growing, but has turned into an anchor. i guess a bigger heart means a heavier one, too. i remember what lightning bolts feel like. the elephant's feet are back. 

captain's log, #2

3/3/16, 5:05 a.m.

i think i know why night is the enemy. without light, there's no colour. i look out my window now, i can see a sun peeking over the horizon, and i know that the world does not spin for me. so why doesn't my brain work the same? i don't remember how or when this infinite night crept up, but i feel like someone took the saturation bar behind my eyes and slid it all the way left. i miss outlook. i miss the sun. 

captain's log, #3 

3/3/16, 9:52 p.m.

your bones get so weary and cold that all you're able to do is sit in the shower with the hot water all the way up, and it makes you feel less disgusting for a bit but we all know that letting water run over your body doesn't clean it, or your mind, of this filth. the greatest romantic couldn't make what you did to me sound remotely beautiful. many nights i have stood desperately scrubbing and washing my skin until it's raw but your touch still lingers.

captain's log, #4 

3/5/16, 3:14 a.m.

there are too many things in this world that i crave. i long for a different body, a different place, a different me. the rational parts of my brain know that this is what i've had, what i have, what i will always have and that i should just make the most of it, but depression creeps from somewhere dark, far below where my feet stand, and moves its way up my spine like a fiery slug. i am now realizing that the devil on my shoulder never left, only lied dormant. 

captain's log, #5

3/7/16, 2:10 a.m.

been driving too fast with my eyes closed. been smoking again. been forgetting to eat. been thinking a lot about the fine line between, "i want to die," and, "i don't want to live."

You who have done wrong, who thinks your right.
In subsequent to your anger towards me,
you have no [right].
Still i ignore your snubs
treated it as a bluffs.
Glad that you ignore me
at times, even if you bore a grudge on me.
I'll received it as a parting gift
to forget whatever causes of grief
you've done.

I know this words will never reach you,
cause in life i don't want to give birth
to more misunderstanding. I am already
misunderstood and mistreated at times.

I just want to live-up to the silence of my comfort.
My independence is enough
to have a strong mind
and a stable heart to withstand
all the backslash of tongues.

a quote says:
everybody needs somebody sometimes
well i don't need one when I'm still able.

He's an ocean.
He gathers my worried thoughts and tosses them to the breeze;
He carries me through bumpy waves and tempest seas.
When he's near, my insides throw themselves against my skin,
Just to be closer to him,
Just to be closer to him.
And none of it is tragic,
Because when I'm with him my heart beats steady in my chest,
And none of it is sin,
For when my organs need rest,
He lulls me to sleep again.

The color yellow splatters on the white porcelain.
The bristles flatten and slide down his cheeks as yellow lines replace tears that can't fall anymore.
The white walls cry and the yellow paint grows like Daisies.
The pedals fall, the white fades, and the beautiful yellow clumps like sand in water.

"And though I close my eyes I see La Vie En Roses" creeps from the record in the corner of the bathroom.
But he opens his eyes.
Yellow fills the tub and La Vie En Rose can't be true.

His hairs are matted down with yellow paint that grips his skin like concrete.
He dips his hands in the tub and smears the yellow paint into his skin.

The record scratches.

He exhales and paints drips from his nose and mouth.
The sound of paint dripping onto the floor from the tub haunts his heart.
He breathes in deep and sinks below the paint.

And for now everything is okay.

If he can forever remember the color yellow, he'll never cry again.

Her favorite color,

Yellow.