i don’t know who you are, but



i will beat you.



i don’t know why you’re here, but



i will overcome you



i know you’ll be back tomorrow morning,




but,




i will smile,



even as you **** me.




i will smile,




till the very end.






i will not






give in













to you.

why didn’t i
say anything


why didn’t i
do anything



please
please
please
i barely see you anymore but please



don’t go
please
i’ll do whatever i can...



you deserve life.



don’t leave,
don’t die
i’m here
even if you lie
i love you—
you are a great friend
don’t leave
don’t leave
don’t leave


now, i just sit here stupidly and wonder





what could have been?

what have i done?


my heart
has been filled to the top with liquid—
a glimmering red,
so much so that
it just
burst open.


what have i done?


my heart
is a porcelain doll.
so beautiful, that you want to touch it, but
once you do, it shatters into a million pieces,
because you drop it.


what have i done?


my heart
is a thief with a knife.
it holds it to your chin,
as you struggle and squirm underneath the blade.


look what i have done.








look what i have done.

you held my trust
like a glass in your hands—then you crushed it,



and blamed me for the blood



dripping down your fingers.

line up,
you’re a model.

stand by the others,
they’re all models.

get up,
you’re a model.

the judges select the prettiest,
the smartest,
the fastest,
the best ones of all.

they choose everyone
other than you.

all the pretty models walk one way,
while you walk another.

they have wonderful temperament,
while you break down for no reason.

they have wonderful bodies,
while you just aren’t good enough.

they act with grace and humility,
while you slam your fists into the wall and scream your lungs out.

they smile and dream,
while you have nightmares and
your face twists into a horrible frown.

guess you just



weren’t enough.

what do i write?

i can write all i want, but

the thoughts won’t come out.

what do i play?

i have all the keys but

nothing figured out.

what do i draw?

i have all the pencils but

i don’t have the inspiration.


how do i feel?

i have all the thoughts but




no way to tell you.

what do i do when

the skin on my chest isn’t
real enough to be
opened?


what do i do when
the buttons of my blouse
don’t fasten so
you can’t pull them apart?


what do i do when
the heart inside my body isn’t
really beating at all and
everything is rotting away and dead?



what do i do when




there really isn’t anything wrong with my head?