“I am deathly afraid of almosts. Of coming so very close to where I want to be in life that I can almost taste it, almost touch it, then falling just a little short.”

“I usually become a ghost to those who no longer deserve
my time. 
I’ve never seen a point in explaining my absence to someone who failed to appreciate my presence. 
You don’t owe any explanations to those who hurt you.”

Trauma moods

I have survived a lot of things: High school, hormonal acne, his weight on top of me. I’m either falling in love or running away from it, fire constant in my brain, staying even after I am left. This is not a poem that demands pity. Someone told me once that you begin to be afraid of the person you love. While my parents argue loudly in the room below mine, I paint my toenails. I read the fashion magazines I horde under the bed. Blow dust off of snow globes. Shake them. I recite poems sitting on the window ledge, let down my long hair. Three cups of coffee or don’t bother, or go back home, or stay in bed. Sometimes, but only most of the time, taking care of myself is difficult. I don’t always ask the right questions. I forget to take out the trash because I tell myself that my boyfriend will do it. I don’t have a boyfriend. When my hands start to shake, I hold them.

you’re the type of woman a man would never let go of you’re the type of woman men regret losing nothing about you is ordinary choose someone who knows this… never settle for less than who you are…