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i may die from the rumbles in my stomach when i starve myself.
i may die from the blade i dig deep into my skin.
i may die from the alcohol i drink to drown the pain.
no one talks about how it itches.
it burns it stings it stains
theres little streaks of shame
on the back of my pillow case
as if I could hide it
when its that close to my brain.
dear depression, i’m going to be honest: this is an ode i’ve written before because i have the habit of giving life to my monsters by giving up my own. this is an ode i’ve written before
I met a girl once,
whose hair absorbed sunlight and face repelled it.
She said she was allergic to daisies and fireworks,
armpit fat and turmeric
dear the person we thought we could trust,
here's to another night,
of being curled in a ball,
sobbing out my emotions.
you hurt me again.
and it left me confused as to why?
To the ones who press blades to their thighs. I ask, do you also think the dragging metal feels like the clouds in the sky? People think we are weak but they don't understand that the pain we create is a pain we seek.
Mistrust and suspicion rule in my brain
They run cross country inside my heart.
Loud thumping, mind racing, loosing the control
Your breaths quicken and your sight blurs.
One
The first is always the hardest. You have to push yourself into it. Cutting into innocence, cutting into your soul. At first it stings but soon it subsides and you crave the lingering feeling of control.
The first summer that I saw blood when I went to the bathroom was the first summer a boy slid his hand down my shirt, the first summer I learned my body did not belong to me, that I was either going to be powerful or property. I learned quickly
"Write about a trouble in your life," they say-
but in no way
can I relay
the way that I got laid
when is it approprate
to give up and give in
when can the breathing stop
and the struggles cease to be
must this tradegy continue
must there be a crash and burn
cannot this end here and now
Deadlines
Closing in, a crouching tiger
Waiting for me to fail, say something wrong
As if I didn't hate myself enough already
"Quit making excuses, there was plenty of time for this assignment"
it’s the one four-letter word that doesn’t get censored in newspapers
but instead gets thrown around in Call of Duty victories,
“haha, dude i ****ed you!”,
it’s not lust
