Is this confidence or hubris?

I wonder about a lot of things 

I think too much 

I like to scrunch up my nose a lot 

I like to love a lot 

I want to pray with you 

I want to pray for you 

I am going to love myself first 

I am inevitably going to forget what I was supposed to do first

I need you to remind me 

I can press my heart in to your hands 

I can mold myself until I fit you 

I fit you 

I licked my ice cream cone and thought of you and thought of crying 

I end all of my stories with “and then I cried”

I like to lick 

I love to suck 

I am not a whore but I am your whore 

I want to be slutty for you 

I want to love you 

I love you in all the things I don’t say 

I am afraid that you will break my heart 

I am afraid that I will let you break something I never wanted to give you 

I never wanted to give it to you, anyway 

I can move on 

I have already started before it is even time 

I am gone 

Jesus Wept

In times like this I see your face 

And I know that you are more than this. 

You have a calmness I cannot seem to grasp, 

peace and love I can only imagine. 

But here, in this moment. 

I see the man, who loved his friend, 

even if the mourning would cease soon. 

You loved your friend, 

and I love you. 

I do love you. 

You loved so wildly and ceaselessly, 

you pushed and charged people, flipped tables, broke laws. 

All for our good, for his good. 

Because even though you loved all of us, 

you wept for one.  

And that is where I find you most, 

in the weeping.  

I had a dream once, but I don’t remember it now.  I don’t remember a lot of things. 

I remember your hands though, I miss you and it hurts me more than I care to admit. 

I thought I was stronger, but is it a weakness to care? It feels like it. 

Panic is familiar to me and I think that is why I like your hands, it scares me and I am used to that feeling. 

I have stopped eating and I am not sure why. 

If this is love, I am unsure about whether or not I want it. 

I need to tell you so many things I can’t say, but I want you to guess them. 

Want you to know, but I can’t tell you it hurts my heart too much. 

My heart is breaking because I care for you, I am sorry I am not good enough. 

I am not good enough for you and it is hard to admit. 

I am ruined, used up, spoiled. 

I am trying to work it out but it is hard without you. 

I wear my heart upon my sleeve; I am not who I am

I have never been taken care of, I have always done the caring.

I know how to give my body, I am comfortable with that context.

I am not comfortable saying my opinions.

I am not comfortable walking and holding hands.

I want to be. I am too afraid to be.

I just want you to love me a bit longer.

I just want to tell you I love you.

I'm sorry

My hands don't know how to hold on

I trusted a long time ago and it never worked out in my favor.

I have always bandaged my own wounds, my mom would send me up the Nile in a heartbeat because she knows I could manage.

I don't know how to be taken care of. I don't know how to be cared for like this.

I know catches, I know snags, I know lies and games and shame.

You make me feel like it's okay and I can't have that, because okay only lasts so long.

And I don't want to feel like this because it leads to me getting hurt.

I might cry when I see you and I don't know why, I don't want to think about it.

I just want me to be okay with you.

I'm not sure I am.

My body is mine sometimes

How can it be taken and stolen and ruined and burned without me even knowing what it was? 

I wish that there could be more peace and less struggle in my life. 

I want a break, a pause, a screaming fight at two in the morning- these things are not mutually exclusive. 

The air isn’t cold but I want to burn a little from it anyway. 

The chairs are all empty and you do not text back and I know this game. 

I know this game because my best friend played it all throughout high school, learning division and multiplication by the space between texts. 

I don’t want to play games I just want you to pull my hair, and bite my lip, and slap my face. 

I said I didn’t but I did. 

My life is full of things I meant but didn’t say, it’s a bad pattern I have. 

I will not hurt you, but you cant hurt me either, but no matter what I can’t make you do anything. 

I am tired, and I miss you, and I am pissed that I miss you. 

I want to go home. 

What is home? 

I lost my license and I don't want a new one but I want to get birth control

I think I have become someone the past me would be ashamed of, but I am not ashamed.

I think I miss you and that scares me so badly and I don't know how to tell you how scared I am.

You make it all okay and I have to work so early tomorrow and I still miss your hands in my hair.

I like it rough and demanding and unwavering and that's why I want birth control.

I wonder if God is ashamed of me now, or of He gets it.

I wonder if you are ashamed of me.

I think that I have given you so much of me already I want to take it all back and lock it up and move on.

I am not used to be vulnerable. I am not used to being taken care of. For most of my life I have done the caring.

I think I might shower and I think I might cry and I think I might be a little too much sometimes.

I am not used to this at all. I hope I never get too used to it.

I am in the worst pain of my life and I still can't stop thinking of you.

There's been a shopping cart at the bus stop the past two mornings

I hope you're okay, whoever you are.

I feel as if I should stand vigil, wait for whatever justice there is for whatever this is.

A piece of me understands the joy of leaving behind everything you've ever known.

A piece of me knows what it feels like to be left behind.

I still don't know if there is someone I should call, if there is a report I can make.

When no one cares, who cares?

If you fight and fight and fight what happens when you run out of things to fight with.

If you're the only one who cares, who cares?

I want to be better than I am but I will always be insecure, will always have unique challenges to my life and love.

I'm sorry I'm not good enough to save you yet, I'm sorry I couldn't help you save yourself.

I want you to know I'm worried and I'm thinking of you.

Horny and lonely and hairless

I drank vodka and got horny and missed your hands, but you don't even care.

You don't even care and I had hands once I don't remember now.

My face is warm and tingly and I miss strong hands and someone to pull my hair.

No one has ever pulled my hair but I got 8/11 on a BDSM quiz tonight and I could have done better if I was paying attention.

I swear I would fuck a strong breeze right now if it seemed interested.

This isn't making as much sense as I thought it would but my tongue is thick and my lips need to be bitten.

I want to be bitten.

I want to be bitten.

I want to be bitten.

But that's not going to happen.

Was it a waste if I wasn't suppose to care to begin with?

Was it a waste if I drank vodka and didn't fuck anything?

Was it a waste if your smile wasn't enough this time?

I bought two types of hair removal creams for a boy who won't text me

I am trying to be sexy in my body and it is hard at the size I am.

I love this body, even sick, it does so much for me.

I am literally chemically burning the hair off of my vagina right now and I think that kinda explains my relationship with my body.

I love my body, but-

I will learn to accept it all as I am one day, and I will learn by getting rid of my doubt.

Remind myself I am made of stardust and I have a right to be here.

Read more poems and think about kissing less.

Or kiss more and think about writing less.

Kiss my body myself and say fuck boys.

Talk more with the people who care and worry less about those who don't.

But right now, I am succeeding in burning my labia and writing what might be poetry.

So we'll see how tonight goes.

I hope someone gets to appreciate this work of art.

I have no chill and I'm listening to the mountain goats

God, I love you and I know you love me and I know that doesn't mean anything special.

I can give of this body because it was already taken from me.

If something so sacred can be stolen it makes it seem a lot less sacred and a lot more like bullshit.

I just want to be able to be more casual but I'm not like that and I think that will be okay.

I am strong woman and I comfortable in this body, I love this body despite it's betrayal.

I'm missing the idea of you I had last week, before I ruined it the way I ruin all good things.

I am free to do what I want, but more times than not j want to self destructive things and I like the way I feel when I drink tequila.

Which is probably why I shouldn't drink tequila anymore.

I am messy and loud and brash and I think that that makes me lose my friends. It makes people not really like me.

I'm not very likable, but I'm honest and I care about people. Sometimes too fast and too much and too everything but I care.

I don't want to be so all over the place but I am and I love it. This breathless yearning that never quite leaves me.

I just need to find other people who like it too.

I'm afraid I never will.

I am not made to be yours

I wanted to write a poem everyday this year, but like all my new year's resolutions I gave that up already.

This is a double up because I drank too much, got half naked, and made out with a boy I barely knew.

Now- I barely know myself, I'm acting like I was back in high school. I am not in high school.

How long do you not tell someone your dad raped you? How long do you always text first?

I am not used to my new self, but I am starting to get there.

If I can say yes to something, I will. This is new.

I miss someone. This is new.

I want to breathe a little easier but my skin is not working properly.

I hate playing games but I count the minutes between when you read my text and when you respond, and I need to just be genuine.

My words become twisted in my mouth until I don't know what I'm saying.

I've always been the kind who wants a guy to hold boomboxes out of my window and I never give anyone the opportunity.

I am okay, even if I wasted all my new year's resolutions on you.

I am okay, even if it hurts sometimes.

I'm trying to be kinder to myself but it takes time

I've learned not to be afraid of myself and that is okay.

I am a living, breathing, person who will continue to breathe and live.

I want it to be okay like it was, but maybe it wasn't and I didn't do it right.

I'm sorry

Messy, but cute and a little too scared

It was all hands and teeth so fast I'm not sure how we got there.

I didn't know I was so wanton but that is what tequila will do to a girl who doesn't flinch at shots of tequila.

I want to be who I am, and I think that's okay for now.

I should not expect anything, I'm learning this detachment takes time.

I remember hands and teeth and I think I said I loved your teeth.

I would not shut up, but that was okay. At least I hope it was.

Maybe I should learn to walk before I run, but I've never been patient. I've never been the kind.

I hope like a butterfly in glass that a child sees, first with wonder and then with horror at what I thought was beautiful and innocent.

I've taken to writing on my phone and I never read what I write. I don't believe in edits, on principle.

Hope is a spring bud, a pitbull who can lick instead of bite, an ice cream cone being handed across the counter.

I get so angry with my hope I don't know what to do with myself, except learn again how to be.

Hands and teeth and hope and tears, early twenties with jobs and school and cars is too much too fast.

I've never been one to take things slow.

I've always been one to hope I did.

It almost slipped through my fingers and then-

I almost let it go and

I could almost breathe

Tonight was a very strange homecoming

I hope you're okay

I love you

I just want to have a rest and a cuddle

Let me sink into my good space

I can do real well for you

Let me not feel it untill I feel it

Please

The words have stopped making sense at this point

Breathe into it and push

I'm so sorry your pain is now my pain

Or rather my pain is yours

I'm still sorry

I'm still breathing

Please like my poetry because nothing else is working right now and it makes me feel okay I guess

I had a dream last night that I made macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes

I want to grow up one day, but I also spent my high school career dreaming of being a cat

I've been raped by my own father, so I'm always a real fun time at parties especially when half naked punk 18 year olds say they can ruin me when I answer only truth in truth or dare

I've never been afraid of words, they are the only home I've ever own

I am afraid of my own hands and time and the way 3,000 miles is tearing me apart

I feel like I've stopped writing poetry, but I'll keep writing and calling it that

I don't want to grow up at all, I have no idea how to be on this planet

My nerves are shot and I am full of restless energy and the words sound thick and sacchrine like cough medicine

I really think I felt once, a long time ago, but I'm missing it now and I don't know if I should go to mass or get tied up and fucked

I want to make sure I'm not broken and I'm not a car and I don't know how to figure it out

Talking instead of meowing might be a good indicator, and being able to type on a phone also points to human rather then feline

I still don't know when to use then and when to use than and I'll probably never learn

I had a dream last night and all I remember is staring at a pot of mashed potatoes and a skillet of Mac and cheese and crying

This is just to say I'm trying to write more this year and Beauty and the Beast ruined me

Whenever I'm walking alone

I think about shoving men's noses into their brains

Sometimes I taunt them in my mind, just to prove I could if I have to

I haven't forgiven myself for not doing it when it really mattered

I learned that from Twilight

The idea of men lurking in alleys and women shoving noses into brains

Which is kind of awful, but still true

You didn't lurk in an alley, you lived in my house,

You let me trust you

I still imagine shoving noses with my palm

Quick and fast and bloody

And you'd be gone for good or

They would be, not you, you are in

Prison

Atleast I found my footing eventually and had my day in court

It wasn't as messy but it really fucked with my head and I did have a panic attack at a mall and convinced myself I made it up

I thought the Twilight thing would make a good line but I remember it as the only clear memory I have before you took all my memories and replaced them with your hands burned into my skin

On the bus today a man smiled at a little girl who was so excited to be walking and

I wanted to shove his nose into his brain and day her joy is not for you

You will hurt her and break her and she deserves better

I deserve better then men on the street and walking alone

I need to let go of all this pain but how can when everyday we learn of more men who need their noses shoved into their brains

I guess this is kind of just what happens now

I live and try and in my head I

Shove men's noses into their brains

At night when it's dark and I can let myself feel

Again