Better Off

I fount those pictures you took of me

Early last summer

Hidden under my bed sheet –

I wonder, will anyone see such beauty in me again?

And I hate myself for wasting your love

Time and time again.

 

I hope you’re well,

And I wish I could apologize

For putting you through Hell,

But we both know I’m no good

At saying how I feel

Out loud.

 

Everyone is sick of desperately

Trying to sort me out –

And no one can seem to read me

Quite as well as you.

It’s clear you’ll be better off without me,

But I cant say I’ll ever be okay without you.

Mascara Stained Tears

Tell me,

How can you love yourself when

The only person to have ever said they love you

Was telling a lie?

 

My mind and my body have been taken advantage of

So many times I’ve lost count;

The scars and bruises on my skin saying more

Than my words ever could.

 

How can I see the beauty in me that others see

When they’ve not seen the fingers that have traced my body

And all the things they’ve done?

 

There is no beauty in the

Mascara stained tears that mix with

Bright red blood

On my bedroom floor at two am.

 

There is no beauty in the way

My hair falls out of my head and

My skin bruises at the slightest touch,

No beauty to be found in these decaying bones.

 

Tell me,

How on Earth could you love me

When I can’t even love myself?

 

text message

Don’t trust

The perfectly spelled  out messages

They send.

They tell you want you want to hear –

You can’t hear the shake of

Their voice

Over text

Or see the sweat

On their palms

Or the tears

In their eyes.

Don’t trust

Anyone who’s ever given you a reason not to

Or failed to give you a reason to.

This world just wants to break you down, baby.

Don’t let it.

That Girl Is A Storm.

That girl is a storm,

Her ribcage rattled by the tempest

inside her.

Visions and daydreams wash over her like

Tidal Waves;

She often talks of the ocean in

her chest,

But rarely does she mention the

Shipwreck.

Her voice echoes like thunder over a

Spacious canyon,

And she is destructive as a great bolt of lightning.

She’ll laugh as you get lost in her

Hurricane eyes

And if you aren’t careful she’ll drown you beneath her

Clouded skies.

Magazine Clippings

Leave school to write poetry

Make friends with empty streets

The only perfume you wear comes from magazines

And try as you might, you can’t figure out what the graffiti means

Fill your veins with coffee

Until you feel real again

Let the cold sink into your skin

Until you can feel again

Bury yourself in books and poetry

Stare down at empty streets

Cover your walls in pages from magazines

And hope you can figure out what all of this means

Before you become just another teenage tragedy

Half Dead Flowers

Let’s dance to Joy Division

And kiss to Morrissey

Listen to music and lay with me

Until your scent is on my sheets

 

Bring me half dead flowers in the morning,

And trace my smile with your

Cigarette tainted thumb

As you kiss me on the cheek

 

Whisper coffee-kissed nothings

Into my impatient ears

As I watch you forget to lock the door

Every time you leave

War Machine

Have you ever noticed

How some of the most powerful things,

From great ships to destructive war machines

Are referred to as “she”?

And how women are compared to

Black widows,

Vipers,

And the ever mysterious sirens of mythology?

 

So why has society always told me I must be

contained?

That I must be clever,

But not too clever;

Pretty, but not so pretty

As to intimidate.

 

I’ve spent my life in a box too small for

My being;

My mind opening up and threatening

To spill out of the corners and

Flood my surroundings with

Inappropriate opinions and loud observations.

 

I was told that to be a woman was to be

Weak;

They said I fight like a girl,

And I didn’t understand why that was an insult

When I asked, all they said was

“It just is”.

 

And now, when someone tells me I fight like a girl,

I say “Good, you should too.”

Because a woman is a war machine

And can destroy your fragile ego in a fraction of the time it took

To tear ours down.

 

As Laurel Thatcher Ulrich once said,

“Well behaved women seldom make history.”

So watch in awe as I

Rewrite the rules of this war

And fight it like a girl.