i never liked the color red

my emotions make themselves known by pumping my blood faster and faster until my breath can’t keep up any longer and my head seems to forget its place during the day is under the sun, not rested on a pillow in my blackened room

my emotions spiral themselves around the bagel i brought myself to eat and i can’t help but wonder how it would be to live without an urge to reintroduce my finger to my throat and let them dance around for awhile

my family says to control my emotions but i keep letting my emotions control me until they burst out of my dirt-colored eyes, creating a muddy monsoon that sweeps up any sliver of hope and rushes it away with all of the people who tell me i’m a liability

maybe the problem is me because my days of the week pill container is full of chemical happiness but my heart remains empty, longing for the days when my nervous system did not rely on prescriptions to stay alive

as i resist the temptation to let my anger swallow me whole, my lilac manicured nails fight the urge to make drawings on my skin that has been broken too many times to remember

my emotions continue to control me
and i don’t want to remember any of it at all.

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hopes, dreams, & haircuts

I’m losing my grip on everything I’ve ever held close, not sure how to grasp onto things that are slipping through my fingers like the crumbles of dirt from which the person I am becoming is growing

The temptation to cut off what is dragging me down and watch it fall to the floor with six inch locks of my fiery hair is consuming me more than any heartbreak ever did. To finally have control over something in my life would be my greatest feat, even if it’s just for a moment.

It is difficult to understand how I can mourn my old self and also long to make everything new. To start over, forget who I am and focus on who I am becoming. I don’t know how to live a life of self-love, but God knows I’m trying. This October, I hope I can look in the mirror and smile, knowing I’m well on my way to a happy heart and some semblance of bliss.

monsters under the bed

little potted plants
white duvets
crinkled sheets
and a bleeding heart

dim lights
stuffed giraffes
my favorite sweater
and tear stains

how terrifying it is to
be in a place so safe
but feel so
in danger

19

i am from pigtails and plaid skirts and penny loafers with a lucky penny slipped inside
i am from therapy sessions and pill bottles stacked up in the closet

i am from sleepovers and ice cream dates and striving for perfect scores
i am from wet pillowcases and puffy morning eyes

i am from long walks with good music and running to pound away my thoughts
i am from scales and calculating the caloric value of a grape

i am from family dinners with jeopardy as background noise
i am from grieving three losses and praying i wouldn’t be the next

i am from writing and target runs and sleeping til noon
i am from whispers and name calling and sweeping sorrows under the perfect expensive rug

i am from shopping and reality tv and historical debates
i am from covering up the damage i have done to myself with sleeves and a smile

i am from the light and the dark
i am from always waiting for the sun

dear life

There are no words in any language to describe the feeling I get in my chest, like something awful is happening even though I’m halfway through a laugh with my friends.

I hate the way my throat grows a lump big enough that I swear it could crush my entire body. Sometimes I wish it would, because God knows it’s already crushing my spirit.

I’ll never understand how I can stare at a wall and feel so empty, so hollow, yet feel everything all at once. Underwhelmed yet overwhelmed by life at the same time.

I don’t know how I can sit across from a person every week, protected by four comforting walls and a promise, divulging every nook and cranny of my mind, yet still feel like I am losing control.

I can’t comprehend why it brings me comfort to cause my body pain. How a sting can feel like relief. Like the hurt is flowing out of me, yet regret and disappointed rage in.

And so the cycle continues.

gravity

my whole life,you’ve wanted me smaller

my ambition is too much
my thighs are too much
my brain is too much

you try and try to shrink me
but i refuse to get in your box

i can only imagine how much you hated that i made you heavy
weighed down
burdened

you carried me those nine months
but i’ll carry this demon a lifetime

             -i’m sorry, mom

worth it.

the heartbreak and pain
were not accidents
for they led me down a narrow trail
accompanied by old monsters
lonely and shattered,
i fought them off

there i was,
winding through the forest and crawling through the gravel
torn up

on an isolated and dangerous path
that led me right to you
and to myself

conditional

guilt suffocates me like cellophane
each layer clinging tightly to my body
one for each year of heartbreak

she says her love wraps around my being
what she doesn’t know is
it fights so hard to break through the barrier she has built
it pulses against me
unable to penetrate the 19 layers of pain she has provided

and through tears
she whispers,
“you know i love you, right?”

despite all her cruel words
she expects me to know this
to wholeheartedly embrace it

i can see it,
but i cannot feel it
for guilt and shame overwhelm my senses
and suddenly i am drowning in my memories
admitting to a love i do not feel

wrapped in this godforsaken cellophane,
a gift from my mother
i am bursting with emotion, yet empty

wrapped so tightly
desperate for love
i walk around suffocating
desperate to feel
something she cannot provide

         —i know you did your best, mom

recovery

i use to swing along the line of life and death in my mind
teetering with reasons to stay and reasons to go

how could i ever think such thoughts when there are sunsets that make even the most pessimistic of people stop to gaze,
with hues of orange and pink and lilac
covering the horizon in swirls and gradients so beautiful that only the naked eye can capture its true essence

how could i ever think such thoughts when there are sunday mornings filled with pancakes and my father in a small café
hearing the clinking of coffee mugs and the strange yet familiar laughter of strangers

how could i ever think such thoughts when there are beaches with velvety sand and a symphony made up of gawking birds and the sound of the ocean kissing the shore,
filled with naps in the scorching sun and the reading of new novels that have been left in my bookcase for months

how could i ever think such thoughts when there are soft kisses and passionate kisses laced together with sweet smiles and the whisper of “i love you”, leaving even the most grounded of people up in the clouds

the sad thing is,
i know exactly how i could think such thoughts
because they once took up all of the vacancies in my mind
they are unwelcome visitors that still bang on my door from time to time

to the broken:
i hear you,
i see you
i will hold your hand until you see light again, just as people have done for me
and i will walk with you until the heaviness turns to feathers of hope