daily cups of tea

I take one step forward excited and eager before you each pull me back three steps reminding me I cannot forget. I cannot forget.

let it out those tears should drop and burn pathways into your face do not forget pain.

i waste my afternoons laying in bed wondering why it is the clouds look like they're here to stay and why you never call me. my mornings are also like that in the sense that i'm here to stay and i'm waiting for death to call me. it might sound morbid the way i yearn for endless sleep and how to catch your eye but it is nightfall now and really its no surprise how i haven't moved an inch since yesterday's yesterday and just to let you know i haven't changed my mind since.

when i woke up from my nap today, i got a text and for the smallest moment i thought i had finally woken up from a bad dream.

there are things or activities that people are really good at or really bad at and it just so happens that I am really good at making really bad poetry.

No I do not want to hold your heart Yes I would like you To hold mine No I do not want to have a good life Yes I would like to die So I pray Savior Pray Savior So I pray.

I am still holding on as if tightening my knuckles around your heart will force you to bleed out affection for me.

Any sort of emotional bond, a connection that arises from constant interaction with another individual is welcomed as I have forgotten how warm one can feel with the presence of another.

eighteen. driving to school tick tock nineteen. driving to school tick tock twenty. driving to school tick tock twenty-one. diploma and heavy eyelids driving from school tick tock twenty-five. tick tock twenty-nine. tick tock close eyes. sit. stand. walk this way. walk that way. sit. stand. collapse. tick tock tick tock

i feel as though i have desperately reached out to an outstretched hand whose grip wasn't very strong. The hand belonging to empty promises saying "i'll always be here" forgot to make it clear it would let go if the weight of me was too heavy for them to hold.

it gets so unbelievably quiet at midnight, so much it is impossible to ignore the roaring sounds of discontent and loneliness that I carry inside. shhh midnight, shhh; all i want is peace.

my mother says an eighteen year old should not have prescription bottles littering her bedroom floor or a weekly appointment to talk about why she takes seven pills a day one for every person who walked out on her, or stepped on her, or crushed her hopes and dreams. an eighteen year old should never be hiding away behind a blue computer screen where she's found comfort in intangible individuals rather than the arms of her father. I think she said an eighteen year old should have plenty of friends, who take her out to nice restaurants, parents who welcome her home together, and more than likely, not one, but two guys courting her because she's the loveliest person they've ever known. an eighteen year old, she says, should be glowing with happiness and excited for life. (i am sorry mother, but i am flickering and even then, my computer screen shines brighter than me.)