a girl like me will meet a boy she loves and instead of loving them,

she will think only of the words she will use to describe them, 

when she writes a poem that night.

i am not ashamed of my soul that i bear whenever i open it.

a girl like me will write about every person she encounters,

and hope that for some reason they stumble upon it,

and spend the rest of their life wonderi...

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i think to be unloved is to be damned. 

for a while i thought myself damned.

can you really be damned at 16?

i gave him two cigarettes this time, 

and offered another two. 

he smoked them till the tips of his fingers burned, 

i wanted to place them on my lips.

suck them, kiss them, cool them.

i sat across from him, nursing one drink, careful with my teeth and my brow.

he...

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oh my stomach! my heart! my chest! 

oh it aches, it aches so it does!

forcing pizza down my throat at a table of my enemies and my best friends.

i hurt, i am screaming at them. 

my eyes, cant you see the pain in them!

am i not as poetic looking as i seem inside my own head?

i wasnt raised by poets, or ones that believed they were.

i always wished one day i would find an album ...

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"i know how to walk from here to there" 

okay, i muse back, 

"so walk through fires with me, walk through" 

i cant. i never have been able to. 

the places that i walk from are the mouths of cavernous houses. 

and from them ive only just realised i can leave.

"i will give you wings and a heart and a lust for the finer things"

good, i need an incentive.

"but you must act upon...

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sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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curled on a velvet chair

in a darkening room

is a monstorous teen. 

outside the blackening,

is a fading pink sky.

the clouds within whisper to shepards, 

"Delighted I Hope"

and on the highest grassy hills,

the shepards face eternity.

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my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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gracefully i perch on the edge of the bus seat, 

so as to convey my feminine, my eyelashes. 

each time the doors open my posture rushes to fix itself, 

my fringe blown out by my hands running through it. 

when i'm most worn out, 

on the days when the world is dragging its feet,

when my joints tingle with pins and needles. 

to look pretty on the edge of a bus seat is a fufillin...

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floating in that acrid pool of nothingness, 

a feather kissed the tip of my nose and whispered softly over my face.

in that moment, decided. 

i watch the village of women who surround me each day, 

awash with a soft awe at their mossy eyes and woolen hands. 

i link arms with the girl i love most on a late night walk, 

running from the boy who asked me to give apart of myself.

...

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i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

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she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed...

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on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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ive been invited to a party this saturday. 

i think i will go, 

i think i will get as drunk as i can. 

to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover. 

im going to act as if i am in a french film. 

i will tell each person a different lie, 

tell them something i've made up about myself. 

these people dont know me. 

dont know me at all. 

but whats more lik...

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i'm choosing to forget the stick and poke image, 

of myself in my head. 

my likeness is one i want to be liked. 

the stick and poke is immature and elementary. 

think your high school aquaintance,

who always wanted a tattoo. 

but 15 was still too young. 

so they mutilated the innocent skin of their thighs. 

the mutliated image of my body, my face, my ugly wretched soul

b...

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when i see the girls who match my soft body,

when i see them wear the skirts, the tshirts, you know the ones.

well when i see them, i feel as though i must reach through to the other side

of the screen that seperates and give them a star shaped sticker. 

the stickers that, while they got their flowers, we coveted on our walls. 

it's awkwardly awkward trying to explain this to anothe...

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to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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