Turning wounds into words.

There has always been A fire inside of me Often burning too fierce Scorching my own skin A fire I was never able to extinguish Only tame For the time being But the flames never grew tired

You have to let go darling Stop holding on to what could've been The memories of what once was Is no longer And you're doing yourself no good He's an anchor Dragging you to the ocean floor Stealing the oxygen from your lungs And you're letting him But you don't want to sink darling Do you? All you have to do is let go Let go so you can breathe Let go so you can fly

I was born to be misunderstood An outlier in society A flaw in the system Crippled by the sense that I am more Only feeling less than nothing But I have been here before Its all too familiar Obliviously obvious I can see all the cracks The foundation is falling I've seen it crumble in my dreams I was not born to save you I am here to show you When there is comfort in madness Creation blooms Come and find me I am lost deep in the wreckage

i am no good at all the things i'm good at my entire existence is a paradox a terribly beautiful lovely disaster

i am at home and i am at ease i am the sun and i am the breeze

I've found that other's words Were never quite as therapeutic As unraveling my thoughts onto the page of a journal And another's embrace Was never quite as comforting As falling into my own warm bed I've found that no one Can quite soothe my pain As well as I can myself

Independent and introverted, the perfect recipe for insanity.

I keep running from the girl in the mirror trying to hide a past I feel too ashamed to claim as my own for fear I may appear fragile or the baggage may be a burden for your spotless soul but she is still crawling underneath my skin begging to be set free I want to bury my demons and they want to bury me

death is a selfish force stealing the sweetest of souls before the hourglass emptys and you've said your farewells reminding you time is never a guarantee occasionally clocks malfunction and all the time in the world turns into a few minutes too late

depression is not sadness it's being 12 years old not knowing what's inside of you it's confusion and frustration it's google searches  desperate for answers it's article after article ...this can't be true depression is not sadness it's being 14 years old feeling like you're insane it's diagnoses and prescription pills therapy sessions in a room with no windows it's imprisonment by your own mind ...why me depression is not sadness it's being 15 years old feeling like that was enough time it's sitting in class daydreaming of nooses and sharp objects it's bloody sleeves and hating yourself for liking it it's anger constantly building it's secret keeping demon hiding ...they'll think you're crazy depression is not sadness it's being 16 years old with no plans of graduating no plans of living it's a dirty little thief stealing the things you love depriving you of passion and ambition a black tunnel with no end ...I don't want to live like this depression is not sadness it's drowning and being told just to breathe it's pain and anguish with no sympathy it's loss of control and a taken identity it's a darkness that encompasses everything you are it is not merely sadness depression is dying while you're still alive

I seem to love the things I fear the most horror films roller coasters you They leave me vulnerable yet another fear of mine strip me to my purest form my weakest state I am no coward I want my fears to consume me

It feels awfully a lot like the spring although the leaves are colored red and now instead of mine we are nestled in your bed you give me the same comforting kisses with a lingering taste of doubt you pull me in so deep I can't find my way out words just as sweet holding me just as close but I've heard it all before I've seen just how it goes you say this time will be different making lies sound so pure I'm a victim to your sickness I'm dying for the cure

I use to paint rivers of red beneath my sweater sleeves by no means was it art but the way the scarlet slid across my skin really caught my eye now I paint pictures this time with a brush on a clean canvas not made of flesh im finally making art worth sharing with my sleeves rolled up

I haven't wrote a poem in 29 days a good poem, at least maybe it's because at 2 A.M I'm clutching on to you instead of a crumpled up piece of paper with scribbled out similes of your smile maybe it's because you're an arms length away and no poem could ever sound  like your breathing at 2 A.M

Sunday morning I'm tangled in you crusty eyes and last nights booze still lingering from our mouths messy hair and unwashed skin hands under the sheets searching for each other's embrace our bodies mesh together as one There's something beautiful about the rawness of waking up together me in my most vulnerable state and you dazed and dreamy still clutching to me when the birds start to sing I open my eyes to your drowsy face and good morning smile falling for you harder each time And I don't know how long this will last I don't know how many mornings we have left but what I do know is you're my favorite way to start the day I guess what I'm trying to say is I hope you'll stay longer this time

You asked me what I was most afraid of I lied and said the dark But truly There's nothing I'm frightened more by  Than myself  You left the light on as we fell asleep I let you pretend you were protecting me But darling You can't save me From the darkness in my head