Who am I? Who have I been?

At night I climb into the palms of your hands and I wonder how it is I fit so easily You tuck me beneath your nail beds for safe-keeping I habitually shrink myself when you're around; making room for your ego I hide my teeth in a crowd, I wouldn't want to make a production of my existence I love you like a morphine drip to the heart You love me like a postcard hidden in your junk drawer that never quite gets mailed out This love is a double-edged sword plunging into my most weakest parts This love reminds me that I am alive This love takes me by inches Unexplained cancellations (an inch) When you never call me back (an inch) Unreciprocated 'I love you's' (an inch) You are making me smaller You leave me with no ability to grow I say 'I love you' and you say 'thank you' but your gratitude will never measure up to my sacrifices Your gratitude is diluted with ignorance and arrogance and I marvel at how there's any room left for me at all My body will no longer lay on your surgical table of mistakes; my innocence acting as a cutting board, I refuse to let you take the last parts of me At night I am alone I stretch my fingertips to each corner of my mattress, sprawl my legs out as far as they will let me My toes curl beneath the blanket I allow myself to take up space I am alone This is what it means to be in full bloom

I wear your memory like a noose Strands of rope made of uncertainty; a ring of hellfire wrapped around my neck I bite my tongue to avoid saying your name Volcanic ash lingers between my teeth, there are earthquakes engrained in my feet Creating seismic waives with every inch I pull away Ripping out every spark left in these bones; collapsing to my knees... I eternally crawl back to you.

Do not look for his ghost when you go soul-searching. Do not swim to the bottom of the deep-end to see how long you can hold your breath. You've been holding your breath since the day he left but I promise it's okay to fill your lungs with more than his absence. Do not let him near you. You can't start a fire without A match but his fingertips will burn you to the ground if you let them. He will sift through your ashes to find the parts of himself you refused to let go. You are so much more than a resting place for his mistakes. You are both the lighthouse and the storm; even after everything has been lost in the wreckage, you will always find your way back. You are still salvageable.

Your body is inviting but your affection is endlessly elusive My late night assurance of 'last time' falls upon deaf ears while your silver tongue persuades me into believing 'for now' I am dressed in uncertainty, dancing beneath your silhouette You lead and I follow; waiting to be abandoned in the wreckage of my own bones and optimism My dear, what have we given each other that cannot be retracted How do we thrive off complacency? How do we exist without knowing when to surrender?

Lillian Grace, It is a Saturday morning as we sit in the living room watching bubble guppies for the 400th time this week. By that I mean you watch bubble guppies as I watch most of your breakfast miss the route to your mouth and as it falls to the floor I can't help but think 'My god, she is perfect.' In the years your mother tried getting pregnant with you, I was trying to stay alive long enough to write this poem. I was lashing out against my own body; I became a tidal wave of destruction swallowing salt water to sterilize self-inflicted wounds to stay alive long enough to meet you. On March 3rd you made it into this world, all 6 pounds and 7 ounces of you, despite the chord being wrapped around your neck. You, my dear niece, are a fighter. I wore a black and white striped dress with red lipstick to the hospital because I wanted you to remember me as something beautiful. As anything more than the ghost in your baby pictures I planned on becoming. As you were placed in my arms, your unused hands reached for mine and gripped my thumb for safe-keeping and I've been wrapped around your fingers ever since. I went home that night and set fire to every suicide note I had buried in my nightstand. I put the scissors back in the kitchen drawer and flushed every last capsule of Prozac down the toilet. I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began creating anagrams of your name when I finally stumbled upon 'Lace nail girl' The origin of lace means tied and there is no stronger knot than the one you have so delicately wrapped around the ventricles of my heart. There will come a day when your lungs feel too big for your chest. It will feel as if a cord is wrapped around your neck and you won't be so quick to fight. You will question your existence in this world but this will always be my promise; I vow to remind you every day that you are the same strong baby girl as the day you were born, that you are the very reason I still exist, and that you will always, always, be my lace nail girl.

There are no skeletons in my closet just remnants under the floorboards So on the days I feel small I bury myself in the wooden cracks I learned to hide from my mother As a child I’d use her everything to play dress up Now I’m finally old enough to fill her shoes Sometimes I hold my wrist up to my nose and swear I can still smell her perfume Her scent lingers of goodbyes and neglect and a summer night has never felt colder My veins are as blue as the ocean I’ve been swallowing too much salt-water lately Green eyes filled with envy of simpler times when the air was clean and so was my heart I am nothing more than a fragmented puzzle-piece body made up of ghost stories You will forever haunt me; Your presence is never- ending.

You are planted in my capillaries breathing oxygen into my blood You turned this wasteland of bones into a blooming bed of roses I will never understand why you planted yourself in dirt instead of soil but I admire your ability to grow in the worst conditions Lately I’ve been tripping on your roots and cursing the ground I walk on instead of blaming my own two feet for keeping you ingrained in my body I never thought I’d be the home of something so beautiful yet I have been taking drastic measures to pluck every last part of you out As much as I admire your appeal all you do is pierce the skin This is my apology for being too weak to accept the thorns

Every exhalation of the cigarette I promise will be my last, reminds me of the smoke signals I saw crawling out from your bed. I thought we were a match, so I slid my body across yours to create some kind of spark to keep us burning. But your flame couldn't compare to the empty that was buried in my chest or the frozen forevers hidden under my lips. I'm sorry my body was made of winter. But I swear, I've never felt more frigid than the day you left. I've been taking shots of starlight to burn out the taste of you lingering in my throat and I finally understand why dad started drinking when mom left. I keep praying God's voice will finally be there at the end of each bottle but all I'm left with is regret. I can't seem to find solace in a man that thinks I don't need you. How could I not when my hands quiver from withdrawal of your touch? I swore I could feel you in my bloodstream but I knew you were gone when I started pulling icicles from my veins. I've been dipping them in ink and writing down memories until I can no longer hear the broken record of your voice. You were the perfect anecdote to my writer's block but my god, I am so tired of the cold and the lonely. I remember you with each breath, yet you're only reminded of me when your lips touch ice and I'll be damned if I'm condemned to writing the same story a thousand different ways. I think I gave you some of my empty when we kissed. But I'll trade you that for the sleepless nights and collected dust upon my frail body. I've been bargaining with God again. Crawling on hands and knees and making empty promises for him to reciprocate with forgetfulness. In return, all I get are words of reassurance from my therapist that the stages of grief are almost over. All that's left is acceptance.

I see you dancing between the lamp-light. Making shadow puppets appear across my bedroom wall. I watch as your beehive hands tremble to reach for me while I plead to kiss every last drop of wine from your lips. As if I'm plucking grapes straight from the vine into a basket of forevers. You, are a basket of forevers dipped in sunlight. I know each time nightfall steals you away, you'll sing me a melody at daybreak; bellowing through my blinds to say you missed me. My body is a jungle gym. Practice scaling my spine like route setters; baby steps. Climb to the highest parts of my arrogance and avoid asking questions. I will meet you at the top and lead you to drink from my bloodstream. Tell me I taste like rose-petals dusted upon satin sheets. Swear you'll never come back down.

The snow has collected in my pores. I’ve wasted my days letting myself freeze over. Symphonies of the universe begun beckoning outside my window while I was too busy drowning in the skies, hoping to find land. I am young and I am flawed. My body dances in motion alongside the naivety that I have heavily grown accustomed to. I rely on a compass to follow the direction in which my mind is headed. It points me to the clairvoyant and hidden in her deck of cards is The Chariot. It lay there waiting to advise me on my unbeknownst ability to walk straight across the wire; perfectly balanced, even on the days my heart feels too heavy. This life has been a glass-shattering reality. It has left my hands decorated in scars shaped like a desperate attempt to make things better. In retaliation, I have assembled this body into a recycled stain glass window. My beauty was built from the wreckage. I am blessed with the broken parts of myself that I could not fix.

My darling, We are not meant to be together. I am sorry to inform you that destiny was not our fateful friend bending and twisting reality to bring our souls as one. I do not love you because I have to, but instead because it is my choice. You are my kidneys filtering out the good and the bad and there will always be both. But I choose to love you even on a Sunday morning with Saturday night’s wine stained to our teeth. I will choose you with every inhalation of my breath because you are buried 6 feet deep in my veins. You’re prepared to die for this love but I assure you the war isn’t coming. This love will never be in ruins with our bodies as standing gravestones. I will choose to love you when your curls fall flat and when the green in your eyes fade to gray. I’m not terrified of what comes next because this choice means walking life’s road hand in hand with you. My darling, I will love you on the days your hands are too weak to hold on. I will carry you on my back like a shell, as you have always been the home I live inside of. I will never view your body as a burden too heavy because we once walked this earth without each other and it only brought us in circles. Only with you is it that I go forward and I choose you every step of the way. When our ashes spread across the sky we will embark in the same current, float atop the same river bends, I will travel this world with you and it will be so beautiful. I know my words confuse you but I remember as a child opening up the blinds before anyone was awake. I would watch the morning light break through the windows and dance upon my living room walls. You are my light, and I will always, always let you in.

When I first met you, I could see the sun’s rays of envy reflecting through your irises because there are speckles of stardust splashed across your cheeks and a firefly heart trapped between your ribs. It shines so bright that if you placed it in the center of our solar system, Pluto would never freeze over. I remember when you came to me with laughter and a bottom lip swollen with all you know as love. Her fist, looking to break some part of you, in temporary insanity forgot that only time can kill a star. And on the fateful night your light fades, star-gazers across the world will wish upon your body that they can one day be just as beautiful.

It's Monday morning and Dad tells me to get out of bed and get ready for school. I tell him that I can't because the bus is going to crash today. Even though I stayed awake all night trying to convince myself it wouldn't happen. It never did. But my mind is a scratched record stuck on an endless melody of 'what if's?' and I can't pull the needle off the track. So I don't get out of bed. It's Tuesday morning and my alarm goes off, but I don't leave my house until for therapy that evening. I tell my therapist the school is going to catch on fire. She tells me it probably won't, it never does. What she does not understand is that 'probably' can also mean 'possibly' and the possibilities are endless. It's Wednesday morning and I force myself to go to school. By 2nd period my lungs are balloons that refuse to inflate. My heart is sweating, my tongue is dry, and I remember the doctor said panic attacks are only temporary. But my therapist said I have an anxiety disorder and depression, so I know they won't be going away anytime soon. My classmates stare at me as I gasp for air, wide-eyed, until I'm told to see the nurse. They send me home and I don't leave my bed for the rest of the day. It's Thursday morning and I'm too embarrassed to go back. It's Friday morning and I still haven't found the strength to pull the covers off from over my head. It's Saturday morning and my mother who lives out of state wants me to visit. I tell her I don't feel well. I don't feel well because it's raining and my brain is playing the same image of me sliding off the roads over and and over andover again while anxiety whispers in my ear that if I leave, everyone I love will die. Depression told me to swallow every prescription in the medicine cabinet. Anxiety told me there's no point, I was already dying. Depression told me to bleed out. Anxiety told me to cut vertically and not horizontally because my mental illnesses were a team. They thrived off of my ability to stay alive. Their voices were so loud they drowned out the truth of my own reality. My thoughts lost in translation; filtered through my disorders before they could ever reach me. Sunday morning I tell my dad I want to be homeschooled. I get a letter from my therapist to give the school and they tell me it'll only take two weeks. Two months go by and I finally withdrawal. I spent my days lying in bed, fighting the urge to read labels. Fighting the urge to taste something sharp with my skin. When I was 6 I thought there were monsters under my bed, but by the time I was 13 they finally crawled into my head. I spent most of my time sleeping, but one day I woke up with the energy to pull the needle off the track. In that moment I loved myself more than anything because I had made it. I didn't have to fight anymore. It's 4 years later and my boyfriend's parents tell me I'm not good enough for their son because I didn't graduate. I still see my therapist on Tuesdays and when I tell her this, she asks how that makes me feel. I tell her 'graduating might be someone's biggest accomplishment, but being alive is mine.'

All is fair in love and war but addiction has never played by the rules. I have watched cigarettes become a noose around my mother’s lungs and I never could save my father once he started drowning in a sea of bottles. I am the product of always needing more. Their lack of inhibitions runs through my veins; my body was made with a biological inevitability to grow attached to something. You were the first reckless thing my hands could grab ahold of and you have forever altered my brain to a state of chronic impulse. I relapse each time I hear your name and I can’t help but follow in my parents footsteps trying to forget you. I have blackened my lungs and turned my stomach into an ocean but nothing tastes sweeter than the sound of your name. My body withdrawals each time you sneak out of my bed only to crawl back into hers and I wonder, why do I and the people I love continuously destroy ourselves in the pursuit of momentary bliss? The answer is you are written in my DNA. My body tells me I was born to love you.

Your eyes leave cigarette burns on my skin. I am turning to ash in the remainders of what we once called us. I was more nervous the first night I held your hand than the first night we slept together and I think that’s because this time I was hoping you wouldn’t let go. Like Thomas Yorke I woke up sucking a lemon and these past 5 months I can’t seem to get the sour taste out of my mouth. I tried washing it down with bottle after bottle but you are the stomach acid slowly eating me from the inside. The sound of your girlfriend’s name lingers in the back of my mind and I wonder if she even knows mine. Am I even stained to your lips? Can she taste me like all my lovers have tasted you? You stay hidden in the back of my throat and I try to swallow you down but you’re embedded so deep there is nowhere left for you to go. Each time it’s 11:11 I wish for you to feel anything but regret for me. But the minute passes and maybe that’s the universe telling me our timing will never match up because I will always be too late and you will always be one foot out the door ready to make your escape. I have become a ghost because any self love I had died when I knew you viewed me as nothing more than something to pass the time. This is an apology letter to myself for letting how you feel about me become the reflection of how I feel about myself. You are not a mirror and I am not just hands and knees pleading on the floor; I am so much more. I am the girl rising from the ashes to tell herself to let go and to remember who I am. To remember that you are not all I’ve ever been and you are not all I will ever be. I will forget you in time and when the clock changes… I am free.