my words tend to trip over themselves
on the way out of my mouth,
almost like they’re racing to see
who can get to you first,
even though they never make sense.

i don’t have anything that i am good at
or know every bit and piece about,
something i can reconstruct
to make you understand why
it holds a special place in my heart.

nobody taught me how to fall in head first,
give myself completely to someone,
and not worry about the innate insecurities
that have always been present
in the back of my mind.

i am nowhere close to perfection,
but can you find it within yourself
to pick up all my broken parts
and try to make something of a girl again?
(because with you i feel beautiful.)

Everyday, I'm asked how I am feeling.
Everyday, I give the same ******* answer,"I'm fine."
What I really mean is,
I am constantly swirling around in the depths of hell.
I am being washed away under the rough current of the sea
And I can't catch my breath.
I am constantly feeling invisible,
alone, lost, broken, weak.
Some days, I can't get myself to leave my bed
because I know that what lies outside my doors is pain.
I am always feeling helpless, empty, at a loss of words.
I can bring myself to tell you though,
I don't want to hear you tell me
"What's your problem? I haven't done anything wrong, I've raised you right. You aren't asked to do much, you have a pretty easy life, people like you, you're pretty. I don't see why you're depressed. Get over it."
You see though, this IS NOT ABOUT YOU.
It is about the fact that
I am continuously brought down,
shamed, hated on,
constantly not being good enough.
No matter how hard I try,
I am NEVER good enough.
So it leaves me feeling pathetic and worthless,
I can help but self-loathe at this point.
I am in a constant state of misery,
but over the years,
I've perfected my fake smile.
I know how to act like I am fine,
when in reality,
I am dying on the inside with no escape.
Because you can't really escape from your brain,
can you?

Since when was I so **** serious?!
I've been trying to change for you
That I've lost my best features
I've forgotten how to joke around
But today I found myself
Shook hands and reunited
And it feels so ******* good
I made jokes about everything
I found myself out of my quiet shell
I'm back to my old self
Not being able to take anything I do seriously
Laughing at myself is my favorite thing to do
Being a ******* goofball
That's what I am
And it just feels so **** good
Come on...
Being serious is no ******* fun at all
So from now on
I will never change for anyone
Because when I'm not me
I don't know who I am
Or who I'm trying to be
And it feels so wrong
That's probably why nothing has ever worked out for me before
Cause I'm a ******* idiot

“antidepressants are for people
who are too weak to handle sadness.”

the typical equation:
depression = sadness,
excluding all other variables that may lead to that solution.
because depression does not just equal sadness.
add occasional good days,
subtract all sense of self,
multiply the amount of people you hurt,
divide yourself into two parts:
the person you are,
and the person you want to be.

maybe I am weak.
I could never quite fall into death’s arms,
only tripping and landing at his feet.

maybe I am weak.
the only knots I was ever good at tying
were the ones in my stomach at the thought
of having to go on like this.

maybe I am weak,
but weakness is part of the equation:
solve for why I am alive.
add my name to the list of things I love,
subtract the guilt and anger and resentment,
multiply the hands that hold mine,
divide myself into two parts:
the person I am,
and the person I once was.

maybe I am weak,
but I don’t need to be
anything else.

all you do is bring me down.
You never support me, encourage me, compliment me.
You tell me I'm a failure, you look at me with disgust,
you treat me like ****,
you expect too much of me.
You shut me down.
You tell me I'll never be good enough, that I'll never amount to anything, and then you wonder why I'm so ******* depressed.
I try my best, but that's never good enough. I'll never be good enough for you!
You only look at my failures, not my accomplishments.
You're ruining me.

You'll never be proud of me.
All I want is your approval,
yet I get nothing, not in the slightest.

I know I **** up a lot.
I forget things.
I make mistakes.
I'm a mess.
But that doesn't mean you have to yell and scream because of every choice I make. You don't have to criticize every single thing I do, every word I say, every little piece of who I am.

I don't know why you hate me so ******* much,
but I'm done. I'm ******* finished with you.

If you don't like who I am, who I choose to be, just because it doesn't fit your criteria,
then you can pack your ****,
and
                get
                           the
                                      ****
                                                 **out.

Dear Frustrated,
These are the things I wasn’t brave enough to say to you,
even in text.
I didn’t lose my phone, or your number or track of time. I
can assure you there is no message mysteriously stuck
in my outbox, just waiting to be sent. There was no family
emergency and I’m not just “working through some stuff”
right now. I am not too busy at work, or out of credit and I
have good service.
I have made the regrettable, yet conscious decision not to
text you anymore.
I have all but convinced myself that being open and
honest would only hurt your feelings, even though I know
it’s a lie. I know that what I’m doing is not fair, but right
now, my fear is stronger than my guilt.
I never set out to hurt you, but suddenly, I can see no
other ending to this story.
You aren’t imagining things.
There was a time when things were good, even great. We
did connect. I did really like you.
The smiles, the jokes, the intimate moments—they were
all real.
But then, something happened that made me realize
we’re not quite compatible.
I wish I could tell you that it’s not your fault—that there’s
nothing you could have done differently—that the problem
really isn’t you.
The problem is that I believe we want different things. I
can’t quite put my finger on it, but in my mind, we see the
world through different glasses, we speak a different
language and we live in different futures.
And while I may be able to make you happy right now,
I realize that I won’t be able to make you happy in the
long run.
I know you must think I’m an a**hole for what I’m doing—
that I’m stonewalling you because I don’t care about your
feelings. In truth, I’m simply scared. My emotions make
me so uncomfortable, that when I try to express myself,
my words get tangled.
I am worried that if I attempt to tell you how I feel, I will
accidentally say the wrong thing and offend you. If only I
was willing to endure that one, slightly awkward
conversation, I’d save you months of frustration.
Instead, I have chosen to withdraw.
I will lock up my feelings, as I always do and pretend they
don’t matter. I will ignore my guilt and tell myself, this is
for the best.
I know it’s too late, but, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for putting my own emotional welfare ahead of
yours.
I’m sorry for dragging you behind me while I try to make
my cowardly escape.
I’m sorry for making you feel like you’re going crazy.
And finally, I’m sorry for ever giving you a reason to doubt
yourself.
The way I have tried to deal with this situation
is proof that you deserve better.
You deserve someone who is willing to say the wrong
thing, to have the awkward, necessary conversations.
You deserve someone who isn’t afraid of their emotions,
who is willing to be vulnerable and share themselves
completely.
More than anything, you deserve to be happy. And while
no one person can ever give that to you, you deserve
someone who is willing to do whatever it takes to help
you find your happiness within.

january:
"you fill my lungs with meaning,
and i'm exhaling my reason for living.
even though it hasn't been cold for months,
i can see my breath like the smoke
you blew in my face when you told me you liked me
morethanafriend and i asked if that meant best friends"

february:
"the real question is how do you tell someone you might be in love with them and you slit your wrists and took some pills last weekend because of it?"

march:
"i think
in the most simplest way
you are my everything.
i don't need anything more than i need you
not even oxygen,
i could breathe you in
and my lungs would work better
than ever.
you could bump the blood through my veins
my heart just might pump properly
the steady beat beat of a heart
opposed to the frantic beep beep of life support
you make me
strong and free
full of love and want
instead of illness and an i.v."

april:
"i want your hands wrapped around my throat. i want all the metaphors to become a reality. i want your fingernails leaving marks on my pale skin. i want knives because your nails aren't sharp enough. i want bruises and scars all over my body. i want people to ask me why and how. i want to let them know and i want to watch the glares and listen to the shouts when you walk past. i want everyone to see every word you've ever said to me, every single time the blade pierced my skin. i want them all to stop seeing me as a lonely little girl who's desperate for attention, but as a victim. a victim from everything you've ever said and done to me."

may:
"'i fall for people way too fast.'
'i know it'd be really easy to fall for you.'

W H Y
can't i stop thinking?
do i even care?
does this resonate?
did i write this down?
did i get involved?
am i the one you trust?
don't i know?
did this even start?
do i put trust in people?
did i get so close?
don't i think about?
am i so sorry?"

june:
"[...] i'm going to **** myself and if anyone gives any ******* CONSPIRACIES AS TO WHY I KILLED MYSELF I'M HAUNTING EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU PLEASE JUST PUBLISH ALL OF THIS I HATE YOU ALL STOP ACTING LIKE SOFT GRUNGE IS ANYTHING YOU'RE ALL TWELVE KURT COBAIN IS DEAD GET OVER IT"

july:
"i want to be in the backseat of a care where 'belmont' is only the name of the avenue by my uncle's house and coughing is from a cold. i want to be in utero with booming voices of people i've never met, trying to figure out what life is and how i'm going to get out. i want to sit in the back of my parents' car, heading back from my uncles around one in the morning, counting canadian flags to try and stay awake. i want to be twenty five, visiting my home for the first time all year, enjoying my parents' presence again. i want to have no idea what words like anxiety mean and my nightmares are of clowns, not the sickening reality i'm living in."

july:
"we kiss
and we are the first human beings
to ever experience perfection
because nothing has ever been
this wonderful and so so beautiful

and as we kiss
i am making vows against your lips
'don't **** this up dont **** this up
dontfuckthisupdntfckthsp'

but we are still kissing
and i'm whispering, 'i love you'
it's too much for you and i know
i've already ****** this up"

august:
"when we met i was like a broken puzzle piece. you folded me so the crease on my side from being broken was still noticeable, but i fit perfectly. at first, i felt out of place. like you had just jammed me in there. i tried to fit in other places and for a while, it worked.

but i always ended up back in that same first spot."

september:
"THERE ARE ALWAYS REASONS FOR FALLING FOR THE WRONG PEOPLE. YOU JUST HAVE TO LOOK FOR THEM. IT MIGHT BE A LIFE LESSON OR IT MIGHT BE TO GUIDE YOU TO THE PERSON YOU BELONG. MAYBE YOU MET SOMEONE OUT OF THEM. MAYBE THEY INTRODUCED YOU TO GOOD MUSIC. MAYBE THEY MADE YOU WATCH YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE. YOU HAVE TO STAY POSITIVE. NOT EVERYTHING IS A NEGATIVE EXPERIENCE."

october:
"today i decided i needed to stop thinking about you.
i smashed my wrist against the headboard
until all i could think about was pain.
when it started to bruise,
the colour reminded me of your hair."

november:
"fuckshitfuck
you're in the other room and i haven't seen you in so long and i guess i thought maybe i was over being in love with you but i'm definitely not i just want to reach for your hand and tell you how beautiful your eyes are and how badly you make me laugh i want to cover your ******* body with poetry ******* for making me feel like this"

december:**
"the cold winter air makes me wonder
how long it's been
since the first time you kissed me and said you loved me
then pretend like it never happened

the snow on the ground makes me wonder
how long it's been
since i left and swore never to speak to you again
only to tell you i missed you a day later

the ice from my rooftop makes me wonder
how long it's been
since i buried a hole in the cold icy centre of your heart
and called it home"

I wanted to write about how the curve of your smile made me tense inside, the way his harsh words echoed inside my memory. But the only thing I could seem to muster up the courage to write were things that were vague and dishonest.
I shelf my feelings for the sake of becoming someone else. For the sake that some day I will be worth something, to someone- anyone at all. You spoke your words to me and I listened to them like a poet, unsymmetrical and all relating. I felt dead again.
My heart had trouble calming that night as I danced your words around the edges of my mind, back and forth and over again hoping to hear from you. Hoping to understand this language in your mind that I don't seem to comprehend too well. You're often not too english. More so metaphors and undertones of sarcasm. Of off handed remarks and cynicism. I can never read you.
I want to blame it all on you. That the hurt that lies within my heart is all because of you, but the blame is on me. Though I am not the only innocent one. Your words a thousand scars upon me. Your words a skipped disk stuck in the CD slot, constantly reiterating in my mind. I don't know how to read you anymore.
You were once the person that held all my secrets like they were gold and you let me understand things in ways no one else did. You just listened- but now I realized you were just awaiting the moment at the bridge of my words to jump off. Onto something more fruitful that was to your liking. I've never felt good enough.
So I take the long distance road maps to destinations I haven't seen and I look at every option before I decide to travel again. You were the road less traveled. You were the cornerstone of every decision I had made. The land-mine for my insecurities. I let you trip me up. I didn't even try to catch myself. I let you trip me up- somehow I'm still falling.
Still awaiting at the foot of your words and the edge of your thoughts for something, anything to guide me home again. I feel lost inside your love. The distant river has overflown and I've forgotten how to swim again.