One day I’ll leave you behind

People always ask, why did you stay?
Not, why did she hurt you?

Almost as if they thought it was my fault I got hurt. See the only thing I thought I learned was that love was supposed to hurt.

That’s why my self-love is some how equal to my self-worth, myself hurt. The reason why when my partner goes to hold me, I flinch first. And I’m so tired of having to explain it’s nothing they did.

How it’s my fault that trauma rewired my brain to fear every unprepared touch, every kiss.. do you know what it’s like to retract in fear when my love goes to kiss me? It breaks my heart in two.

It was never supposed to be this way but it will be this way until I get you out of the way.

Erase you from my mind, find my home in this body that I felt like I’d been evicted from.

One day I won’t write about you, one day I won’t try to cut your fingerprints out of my skin, one day I’ll be me again.

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you’re all the fucking same to me now

Tongue like a spike in my own mouth
drawing blood with words
the taste of cooper coins
seep through clenched teeth.
I’m so used to feeling empty that
I’m not sure I was every anything more
She always told me to love with
everything but everything’s never
good enough

I’m always left
with deep wounds left to be stitched
in the comfort of my own solitude
I honour each wound by
their hands by creating my own
so I’m not sure which one was yours
I thought it would be the deepest
but they all look the same to me now

you’re all the fucking same to me now

WHO AM I ANYMORE

She was rose petals, and frilly skirts. Blonde hair and curls, always perfectly placed. She’d drink bubbly teas and ask strangers what their names were. I remember how bright the days were then, always seemed more vibrant than the past. Though these days never did quite seem to last.

She’d fade to this mellow gal, wearing overalls and had buttercups in her hair. Sometimes it was blue, others red, I think at one point it was even hot pink? She changed it so often I’ve lost track. Always smelt of fresh leaves and tea tree oil. I think she was forgetting to take care of herself. You could see the glossiness in her eyes, something wasn’t right but you couldn’t pinpoint just what. She’d hide it well through this ‘healthy’ thing she decided to take up. You know, green tea and yoga on fresh cut grass in the summer breeze. A charade that she truly believed.

Slowly, she’d forget. At first it was the occasional ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’, but tomorrow never quite came because each day would be the same. She switched her high waisted skirts and crop top tees for band shirts and ripped jeans. Her colourful hair was outgrown roots, tied up in messy buns. Not quite so bright, but nevertheless fun. But then.. came the drinking.

One night turned into two. And two turned into a week binge, having to be carried home by the club bouncer because she couldn’t do it on her own. She started asking strangers what their names were again, but this time for different reasons. She seemed to be missing something, herself maybe. That glossiness in her eyes was now a vacant grey and those grown out colours were switched to jet black hair, pierced her nose but swore she was okay. Tea was now whiskey at the bar where you could find the local punk bands play. Doing cocaine in bathrooms with boys she just met who she swears she was friends with. She was fun in a different kind of way. She was dangerous, a hollow shell trying to fill the void by any means possible.

The void slowly began to grow. She stopped going out to drink, but instead did it alone. Drank in dark rooms and wrote about how she used to be. It wasn’t too long ago but it’s hard to think that that was her. Instead now memories haunt her of her dark past and she realized that each part of her was trying to run away. And each time the memory of their hands on her, she would split into the next girl. Each time draining her to the point where she’d forget who she was before it began. And now she’s realized she’s ran all she can.

So she sits there, mind muddled between each of the girls she’s created and the nothingness that’s been slowly eating away at her mind. She doesn’t remember how she got here.

And I can’t believe that she’s me.

i’m trying

I’m trying to prove that I am more than an empty rib cage, but how do I do that when I can’t feel my own heartbeat. When I’ve managed to match the hollow hole in my chest with every fibre of my being. I am nothing. I am nothing more than a memory, one that’s been left crying on the floor for far too long. The rips in my jeans bend at the knee, torn and worn from every time I couldn’t manage to pick myself up. I am nothing more than the empty bottles left lying in front of the door. The door that is my mind, one I’ve used to shut everyone out. I need not be pitied for my own mess, it is no fault but my own for this nothingness. I’ve become this nothingness. Nothing more than a walking hole, with a hollow mind and a broken soul. Nothing to offer other than my bruised limbs and the need to become whole. 

it’s almost my birthday

this day is stained with the blood
I bled for you,
I taste the whiskey I downed to try to forget what you put me through.
I thought I was okay until
I saw a picture from that day
and the memories came through
like a broken floodgate.
i’m less than okay,
I don’t want to exist.
the thought of your hands on me
is something that persists,
and the temptation of self mutilation seems less like a risk

don’t give up, or don’t give in
I’m not sure this time.. which will win

cleanse

trying to find a reason to live in empty bottles, that maybe after my fourth or fifth I’ll find hope at the bottom. I’m on my sixth but I don’t care to keep count anymore.

for I’ve found more hope in the bottom of empty wishing wells than I’ve managed to find in the deepest corners of my mind.

 Im tired of tearing my mind apart in hopes of removing the memories you’ve left in me, for they’ve become ingrained in every part of me.

my skin crawls like when you were next to me. Something no shower can remove, no matter how many I take. It always feels like there’s a layer I cannot remove, one that can be temporarily hidden under the blood I’ve bled.

instead I pour alcohol down my throat, not that I want to drink.. but in hopes I’ll feel it cleanse me from the inside out

just for one night .. 

scars and prescription bottles 

I sit in skin that doesn’t feel my own, it’s a detailed map of each hand they’ve laid upon me.

See?
This is the scar from that 8th grade boy.

See?
This is the mark from when I thought I was unstoppable, glass was my kryptonite.

See? This is the scar from that one time.

You know the time I tried to run in front of a car because I thought that if it hit me I wouldn’t have to go back to see her.

The scar isn’t actually from the car or from tripping over the curb, it’s from that glass she threw at me when she found out I tried to kill myself.

All I remember are the bruises she created and the feeling of his grips on my wrists, nothing more than a cage I can’t escape from.

Why didn’t they tell me that you can’t escape your problems if they’re within, but they did.

They did.
I just didn’t want to listen.

I don’t want to listen, but I can no longer ignore the scream of my own voice.

I no longer recognize the face in the mirror. Almost as if I don’t want to know me, why would I?

That would mean remembering the touch of strangers on my skin, and that feeling has become far too familiar. 

I wish I was as good at refilling my happiness as I am at refilling prescriptions bottles.

My body feels more like a pharmacy, not a home but more like hell. I don’t feel like me anyway, so it’s all worth a shot – 

at least I know it’ll numb me.
and that’s better than not being me. 

hot water for cold thoughts

Water droplets dripping off my hands,
Pooling on the the floor beneath
As I soak in this bath
that I’ve ran too warm

Hoping to singe the skin
I no longer feel fits me
Given no satisfaction as there’s
a barrier of numbness, like a cage wrapped around my limbs

Slowly, I can feel myself drifting off
into the nothingness I’m oh so used to
This protective shield that keeps
my gentle heart guarded

The problem with barriers is mine
has become impenetrable
I’ve become insensitive,
unresponsive
to my surroundings

The happiness I once felt is a dull sensation, if anything at all

Sinking lower,
I can feel the water rising
Oh how I wish I could lay beneath
the surface without a need for air

Although
I long to feel the water fill my lungs,
I cannot take that last breath
Instead I float in the emptiness
that’s become my mind

The dull numbness has now become
a fierce flame
Though I do not move
As my eyelids close to allow the pain
to seep through every crevice

I accept it,
No, I welcome it

For I’d rather feel pain than
the hollow sensation that’s been growing within me

The water has pooled over the edge
As my mind follows
It’s become too much,
I can no longer contain it
I watch as it spills onto the tiles
Filling the cracks with my
overflowing emotions that
I’ve bottle up for who knows how long

Again, wishing for satisfaction
that never arrives
Left longing for some sort of emotion to creep up from the darkness
But left with the disappointing
reality of nothingness

I’ve become a shell,
desperately awaiting for my mind to come home

Messy minds and hands that don’t feel like mine

I sit in a dim lit room,
trying to put my thoughts
into sweet poetry.

I write with hands that no longer feel like my own.

And my minds a fucking mess,
but no one wants to hear that.
They want unrequited love,
they want emotional spoken messages.

It’s hard to write that when your thoughts make you want to blow your brains out.

I’ve thought about dying
everyday this week.
I can feel myself slowly slipping.

The numbness sweeping through my veins

like a warm embrace
as I take those pills
and down this drink.

Close my eyes and await the morning,
if it comes this time.