but bringing it up seems weak

Did it become part of your interior, between the tv remote and the picture frames?

Did it end up in the back of your book shelf somewhere between the unread books and the ones from your childhood?

Did it end up in the garbage bin or did your anger use the pages to fuel the bonfire you held with friends?

Tomorrow, the burning taste will be back, but I'll light just one more, and then never again

And i don’t have to show you were it hurts, you‘ve gotten these bruises from walking into those sharp-edged walls you built

but not all boats look like they are sinking, until you‘re head under water, trying to stay afloat when someone is using you as their life jacket

Though your shimmering reflection called to me, as mesmerising each fragment was, and like a fool i was, i stepped into your condescending traps, never realising those pieces were never mine to hold, but just another girl‘s path to walk

but oh you would play me like your new shiny toy, never confessing why you did it, just sliding into inboxes

all of it to be looked at through a filter, where mine happened to be foggy, a foggy shade creating some sort of pathetic pitying, that would be so convincing, it had convinced me too

but as pouring rain put the fog to flight, and the skies became an aquamarine blue, my tragedies became poignant stories

but my past didn’t wash away when all of it unravelled , but instead brought me you

I never knew my father, but my mother always said he disgusted her—

and so, I came to feel disgust for him too. Maybe we disgusted him, after all.

I look again, studying my reflection, and realize I should disgust myself as well. I am, after all, my father’s daughter.

Though not much of him remains in me, I still carry his hair, his eyes, his blood. And in that blood, I should feel like a monster.

I am the product of two people who were once in love, but now, years later, they no longer speak.

I stopped speaking too.

I changed my hair, tried to convince myself that these aren’t my father’s eyes,

but the blood is his— and the blood of a man I’ve come to see as evil runs deep.

i love the moon that i used to think went wherever i went

i love the sound of the birds when the winter cold disappears and my depressed mood melts with the snow

i love flowers but mostly the memories they bring

i love the simple things

but i can't love myself the way i love flowers and raspberries because i'm harder to love than that

loving isn't always easy and my worries tell me it should be easy

but i didn't always love the color pink or the taste of raspberries and i once chose the sun over the moon

love isn't always a constant, a straight line to the desired destination

The music played, a hollow sound, The laughter of guests a distant hum, As I glanced at the empty seat beside me, Where your warmth was meant to come.

You forgot my birthday, left me alone, In a crowd that could not fill the space, Your absence marked a hollow tone, In the celebration’s faded grace.

I wore a smile for those who came, Masked the sorrow I couldn’t hide, While my heart ached for your presence, For the love that slipped away with time.

You get lonely, you forget me, As the bottle’s comfort fills, Old memories rise like ghosts, With every sip and swill.

You get lonely, you forget me, Lost in that nostalgic fog, Where laughter echoes faintly, Through the labyrinth of the grog.