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

9:20pm // YOU CANT END WHAT DIDNT BEGIN

I’m not sure what happened,
but somewhere along the line our nothing became something to me.
the worst part about that is 
now every fibre of my being is screaming to run,
to ruin it.
it’s screaming that it’s one-sided.
that while 
my heart is bursting into flames,
yours is trying to pour cold water to douse me with pain.
that I’m preparing myself to run into a brick wall again,
and soon enough I’ll be covered in bruises.
I didn’t want this to be anything,
and the problem is that it isn’t anything.
yet,
my heart has tried to plant its roots in your garden
while yours is trying to pick me out like a weed.
and my mind is saying
to stop trying to grow with you because
I’m not a flower you’re willing to feed.
though I’m unsure if my mind is playing tricks again,
and I’m not sure if you’re just a friend.
the worst part?

I don’t want to ask,

because frankly.. I’m scared to be right.

names

when they said his name, I didn’t think of the way his hand touched mine. for a second I forgot about the words I spit from my mouth when his tried to taste my tongue. no, I thought of when he spoke your name and asked what I saw in you. I remember that night you kept me safe when his hungry eyes saw me as nothing more than a mouse to chase. I may not remember that night, but I’ll never forget that in my darkest hours you were my light. I was the match and you were my flame. now you’re nothing but a burned out wick and I’m smoke in the wind. memories of us have began to fade but I’ll never forget how we burned together.

dear god, we could have set the world on fire.

2:16am again

I can’t stop crying and it’s not like a tear now and then. It won’t stop and I can’t stop, I don’t want to. I just feel so lonely, and not a lonely that I’m used to. I kept tell myself and others that you need to be okay on your own but I’m at the point where I’m always alone. I drive people away. I don’t have anybody. I keep thinking I have you but I’m not even sure I do anymore.

I think I’ve made up this delusion that you still care and are in my life, because without that I’d truly have nobody. I’ve opened up to you and I’m so scared that you’re closed off because that would cause everything to fall apart. We don’t even talk, and you’re not even there when I call half the time. Probably more than half the time.

But I think I would go crazy to know you’re actually gone. Though I also want to know if you are so I can hide away from everyone. Without worrying if I’m leaving anyone behind. I’m just.. I don’t even know anymore. I’m nothing.

I don’t want to exist, in some ways I feel like I don’t. How that is, I’m not quite sure. I mean I’m here but not you know?

I know you must get tired of my late night texts/calls, but if you’re up please answer. You’re the only person I have that I actually talk to and I’m just feeling.. I don’t even know..

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. 

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 .. 

branded

The numbing of my knuckles as they come in contact over and over with the tiles wet from the shower I’m using to try to feel clean again.

Somehow I still feel their hands on me. Fingerprints left like stains, they feel like a birthmark I wish I was never born with but I was never born with it.

Instead I was branded.

They were not something you could wash away, skin deep. I’ve tried to dig them out, believe me 
I tried.

My body is my home and I never invited them in. They threw a welcome party, one that costed me the cleanliness of my own skin.

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.