My Wrists Are Tinier Than The Size Of A Water Bottle, Veins Peering Blue And Green As They Wrap Around

your eyes are swollen.

yes I know, I’ve always been this way.

your wrists are scarred.

yes I know, they’ve been holding my pain.

your cheeks are hallow.

yes I know, my stomach has been turned inside out.

your ribs are showing.

yes I know, they poke out of my shirt.

Now you know, I’ve just always been this way. and this is how things have always been.

I’m sorry

I’m sorry you think about wanting to d!e everyday. I’m sorry that life has been so hard that to you, that’s the only answer.

I’m sorry that to me, that’s the only answer through this pain is eternal slumber. And I understand, I don’t see an answer out either.

I woke up today

I woke up today hoping it’d be much better, but the war in my head brought me back down. The rain poured down and my heart started to ache. I picked up a pen and wrote until I cried myself to sleep.

My eyes grow weary of the salt that burn them every night, of the thoughts that are branded into the depths of my brain, of how unworthy I am of just being.

I dreamt of drifting away until I could no longer feel my feet, until my thoughts were filled with raindrops that cleaned away the ash.

I had hoped again, today would be different. and maybe tomorrow my hopes will come true.

fingertips

my fingertips barely touch the surface of the mirror, in what reflects my most vivid of dreams. to be loved, touched like I’m a secret that’s meant to be told, and a reflection that’s seen but never meant to be shown.

i imagine what it feels to be admired, to match an energy so surreal my dreams can’t even begin to create a scene so magical. so what is it? will i ever be loved, respected, praised, or celebrated?

my fingertips have calluses from wrists bruised with scars deeper than stains. calluses so thick I can’t feel what I want to, and I don’t know how to react. to myself, to the world, and to anything at all.

so I shout, and I scream. and no one hears anything. maybe one day, I’ll be able to finally feel something.

i wait

i wait by the mailbox everyday, hoping, wishing, that maybe a letter will show up. a letter professing their love back to me, their appreciation of my existence. maybe, just maybe, it's all in my head. how i'm not meant to be here. how i'm not worthy enough of being loved. of how their blank stares are just words of judgement of how i'm so much better off without them. and yeah, maybe theyre right. i am better off without them. but somehow i just can't let go. maybe, i'm used to the thorns on the stem of the flowers they give me. the dead, burnt, crisp, flowers.

I wish I was loved

I wish I was loved, unconditionally. through days when my energy sucks up a room with my blank eyes. through moments when I’m too scared to speak up for myself. through times when I want to speak my mind and instead keep quiet because I’m scared of being alone. through thoughts of wanting to run falling off a cliff when I can’t take it anymore. through my soft voice screaming to be heard when the winds push me off my feet.

I want to— love myself unconditionally. through days where i want to give up and yell at myself to do better, be better. I wish, I loved, unconditionally.

Thank you for being you. Sending lots of hugs and good vibes your way!

needed this today! thank you!

Whenever I wait for you

whenever I wait for you, you never show. whenever you say you wanted to talk, you never ask.

whenever I asked for you to be there, you never came.

whenever I gave you a gift, I never got one. whenever I made time for you, you were too busy.

and maybe— i do this to myself because i hate myself. maybe i'm just meant to be unloved by people i want to love me. maybe i just overthink every little thing, and at the end of it all i'm just not meant to be with you.

I remember

I remember how he looked, his hand on my bed and the other on my shoulder. His yellowed thick smile laced with the smell of beer and sweat.

I remember the words whispering out of his mouth, silent and slow— as the door remained locked. My anxiety creeping up above my shoulders and staying constant in my bones.

I was four, I was nine, I was ten, I was thirteen, I was twenty-one.

I was twenty-two,

I remember a cop ever so silently looking me up & down. My anxiety shaking my hands and reeling my stomach into itself.

I remember, everyday, I remember.

I told someone I wanted to d!e today, and I thought they would help me feel better. But I didn’t feel anything. And neither did they.

Maybe this is the sign I needed today.