Familiar.

She was okay when I couldn’t quite speak.

Couldn’t get my words and my thoughts to part. So she’d lay her head against my chest to hear the beat and read it like a chart. I guess you can say…

She knew me by heart.

And she was okay when the ice set in.

When I let my emotions be replaced with depression. When my need to sleep became an obsession. Everything I once loved, I viewed as less then. When I looked at what was gone instead of what I was left with…

She was okay. I guess, in a way..

it did not feel like she was leaving me. She didn’t know this version of me.. She could not read this loveless being. Didn’t know the darkness, the anger, or the sadness she was seeing…

Seeing a stranger made it easy for her to part. The space in my chest was now empty, and…

She only knew me by heart.

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Patience.

She assumed this would be her cocoon.

That from this cave, a beautiful butterfly would bloom.

So she never minded the lack of room.

But May turned to June and still she remained in utter gloom.

Summer’s Sun to Winter’s Moon, and…

She watched the darkness continue.

Can’t say she’s not pleased that her wings need more time… the small black walls with their enclosed design comfort her mind and well….

She’s much too tired to learn fly.

The Negotiate.Her. (free write)

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I used to only want the best for me.

Held my head up so high, even the sky seemed limiting. Like butter, my self-esteem spread over everything… how I used to be, who I was, and what I will be.

Now here I am… still standing.

Legs shaking, as I desperately try not to fall to my knees… See, life’s endless testing made me too weak to carry my self-esteem. So completely unworthy… I resort to bargaining.

I will take your half-heartedness, but… well maybe you can at least give me the right half of it…

I will make-do with your eye wondering. It.. has to land on me eventually…

I can stand being forgotten occasionally… besides, I was born being lonely.

I will make do with your day-late wishes, forced smiles, weak hugs and cold love…….. Yes, I think this… this is good enough.

Selling my heart at a discounted rate… In exchange for… this thing……. should be ashamed to beg for something I can’t even give a proper name…

Just. Please. Give me what you can and I will work with what I get.

I will forgive what you forget.

I will learn to live with being the next best thing after the last thing, if that means I’ll have reason to be. I have no right to demand anything, but please,

Just…

Leave me this thing.

Influenc.Her.

He bleeds honesty. So.

She keeps a knife in his chest.

Penetrates his flesh.

He cries integrity, so she keeps his tears fresh.

She’d mention she has good intentions.

Encouraging him to be his best.

Connected to him through his weakness and pain.

She knew it was possible to make someone change.

Somewhere between the hurt of her last broken heart and gathering the will to restart, she picked up a piece of knowledge to which she held firm:

They will only learn if it burns.

Shhhhhhhh

I’ve cried everyday this week.

I should have been more specific when I prayed for consistency.

Afraid to think because thoughts open vaults that hold spinning records of bruised melodies, buried histories, and harmonies of dark memories, and…

I’m just tired of listening.

The pulled strings of my nerves serve as the acoustics.

I guess even thrillers require theme music.

The dramatics of my anatomy is entirely tiring. So I’ve prayed for silence, and ever since, when I hear those records turning- flooding inside of me with rhythms of catastrophe, naturally my eyes get watery.

Thankfully,

I’ve always cried quietly.

Saved.

saved

Look out the window at that ocean view. I’ll come to you in waves.

With your next appetite, Ill be exactly what you crave.

Look in the mirror and we’ll talk face-to-face.

Close your eyes. I’ll make a visit in your dreams.

Turn up the volume to your tunes, and Ill surround you in streams.

I will travel through the noise and underneath the silence by various means.

Ill be on your fingertips- the same ones you took away from me.

The fingertips that stopped touching me, pointed me to the door, and made me feel unworthy.

Yes, let me go but you won’t breath easy. I’ve already unpacked my being next to the things you promised me.

Wanted me to feel put out. Abandoned. Forgotten. Lonely.

But while you were preparing to disconnect from me…

I made a home in your memory.

Self Care.

Her writing became a band aid. Underneath, you’d see where scars laid. Bookmarks the spot of her oldest wound. Turn the page to her newest bruise.

Open cuts between metaphors. Each chapter covers swollen sores… surrounding Similes of ripped flesh like pages torn. Paragraphs of skin graphs. Broken bones under fresh drafts. Fractures wrapped in comic laughter. Notepad enhanced as her fingertips danced.

Write,

erase.

Type it up,

stop.

Read.

Backspace….

Keep typing,

re-writing.

Proofreads and editing.

New pain. New page.

Write,

re-read and write again.

Hearing the growth of her never-ending cracks. Knowing Her heart is soon to collapse…

Open a new doc to prepare for impact.