i fear this may be
me at my best—
half-hearted smiles
held together by thread,
words that choke
before they leave.

if this is all
i have to give,
then what good
am i to anyone?

even my shadows
have grown bored
of following me.

I hate myself.
Ah, what a shocking revelation.
Another day, another shipwreck,
Like I ever had a map to calmer waters.

I hate myself.
A song stuck on repeat,
An anthem my mind refuses to rewrite,
A weight pressing against my ribs, unyielding.

I hate myself.
And here comes the grand finale:
The urge to tighten, to silence,
As if choking on air could quiet the waves.

I hate myself.
So much that even my reflection looks away,
So much that even my shadow hesitates to follow.
So much, and yet, I am still here.

But you are here.
Somehow still standing,
A survivor of a war no one sees,
A heartbeat that refuses surrender.

You are here.
Your chest is tight, your hands are shaking,
Your mind swings between stay and run,
But at least you still feel, right?

You are here.
Breathe. Or let your body do it for you.
It knows how to stay afloat,
Even when your mind is begging to sink.

You are here.
And you deserve better.
Not because it’s poetic,
But because no storm lasts forever.

You are here.
And so am I.
So tell me, do we drown, or do we learn to swim?

I am not apart of my body
And I'm not apart of my mind
These places aren't real and neither am I-
I find comfort in this feeling, oddly satisfied.  

I fade away forgetting the pain
Stuck in this haze
I can't seem to reciprocate a single conversation
Slipping away they think my fate is seldom at the devil's gate
But truly I am just dissociating away.
I can't seem to remember what it was they hated
But I no longer feel the weight of all that's been done to me
Spinning freely away from your gaze.

My memory is stuck. Someone took a key and locked it up and these painful thoughts seep through the bars causing me to feel ajar, I feel panicked I feel disgusted. The pain I thought I hid from is now being digested.

Piece by piece get it back in tiny parts, float away and forget the pain please protect my heart. I can't seem to remember what it was you've done to me, but I know in my bones, my body never felt like home, because it was you who had injected me and infected me, with your sick sticky specimen, locked up in your basement den, ruining my mind teaching me to fly.

My head is nearly leaking methanol disguise my self hide it all. I believe I'm a doctor I know I can prescribe it all myself. Self medicated nose full of Xanax lines i can't seem to get inside my head. Heart is bursting out my chest, lungs are full of cigarettes, God It was such a mess I loved it. The chaos he created, made me replicate it, a cycle of doom there's so many men in my room, who am I anymore?  

Front view right above myself just so I can watch my body rotting. This self destructive part of me is so **** exhausting. How come no one sees my cries how come no one saves me from these lies. Im feeling lonely. Each person came and took a awfully big piece of me I'm starting to fall apart so easily.

Sixteen years feels like too much.
When all you've felt is enough
The cold bitter wind just let this be the end of me, so maybe I can float away for real this once instead of in my mind
I can't make it this time.

The goddess in the wind, kissed me tenderly and told me it's time to win. I felt the warmth and I started to sing, that's when I turned 18 and you gave me a ring, we rebuild all the parts they broke together, and while I may still float away, my angel boy is there to catch me when the wind blows me too far away, slowly and tenderly wrapping my torn heart in his arms,
He saved me.

Ash trays not cleaned in a year
I keep coming back
Clean and then again
I chew out the nicotion  
My throat ran raw
Years of yelling and smoking and longing

Maybe I’m the rain
Peaceful and angry
Im cold. shivering
A reckless force filled with too much love
My lungs stabbed and shattered
You called me a butterfly
Then you proved what my heart cant take

My old dress sits there
I long to sit in it again
Everyone i've ever loved is 6 feet under
Or miles away
I write because i loathe who i am
Who you are
Because the love you don't give me
Is all I have for you

The pain you bring me
Goes to my soul
Myself


Im borderline between clean and addicted
Between you and me

here’s what they never tell you:
to be loved,
you are supposed to be perfect.
smile wide.
never stutter.
keep your darkness tucked
behind your teeth.

but what if you show your cracks?
what if your scars scream louder
than your laugh?
what if your mind is a rainstorm
that never stops pouring?

will they run,
call you crazy,
lock the door,
swallow the key?

or —

and here’s the terrifying part —
will someone stay,
hands steady,
and say:
"i see you,
storm and all,
and i choose
to love you still?"

and if they do
how do you stay?
knowing that you are
worse than they can ever know.

"you’re my second favorite,"
they said,
and i smiled,
like it didn’t carve
a jagged truth
into my chest.

i am the runner-up,
the consolation prize,
the one you call
when no one else picks up.

there is no space
in this world
for someone like me—
almost enough,
but never.
quite.

they say it doesn’t matter,
but why does it feel
like i’m disappearing?

what happens when you're forever stuck in a transitional phase?
where the hours to days to months and years of time
keep repeating,
where you live in loops while you wait
for something better to come
or better yet - to be something more,
to become something you've always wanted to be.
but your floors are still covered with things you used to love
and its getting harder to do your laundry every week
sometimes you don't want to be home anymore but you know you should;
there's no where else to truly go,
nothing like a home.
what happens when a signal
finally dies out?
does the receiving end ever stop to acknowledge
this loss of electrical power?
no more surging through the seams of life,
i stay stagnant without wanting to be.

how do you measure love
when your heart is a wildfire
& theirs is a candle?

i want a love
that burns my skin
just to prove it’s real,
but they tell me
that warmth
is enough.

maybe i want too much—
a love that spills over,
a love that consumes,
but isn’t that what love is
supposed to feel like?

because if it’s not desperate,
if it’s not all-encompassing,
then how do i know
it’s real?

they call it "too intense,"
but all i hear
is "not enough."

Days spent inpatient
Couldn't save me from me
Years spent in treatment
Failing to set me free
Dozens of medications
Just to be told it's BPD
Hundreds of coping mechanisms
Yet you still won't believe
I've worn myself out trying
To fight for a release.