When Will It Be My Turn?

Just wanted to tell you that you’re doing amazing! Keep up being the best YOU that you can be!!

Thank you so much!! This made my day!! This is incredibly sweet!

my wrists are tinier than the size of a water bottle, veins peering blue and green as they wrap around what so little of what holds me together.

they hold scars on them, deep and some that are fading.

so I wear long sleeves, on days where the sun blasts and burns my cheeks red and tan.

my scars sometimes glisten when my palms brush against the steel strings of a brown stained guitar. and it tingles like the lines on the calluses of my fingertips.

hands that have seen so much greif. elbows protruded with bones that are sharp as knives.

with the gust of the wind, I could break. and I pray for that everyday.

I’ve been losing my appetite

I’ve been losing my appetite, and no it hasn’t been recently — it’s been years.

My whole life actually. It’s always been like this.

Have I always been scary to look at?

I lay on the floor of my room staring at my ceiling through the gaps of broken fingers, wondering if I’ll ever change. I don’t know.

That takes strength though, right? I don’t know if I have any more of that left. The fight in me has disappeared.

The only ones fighting for me now are my parents shaking my frail body like a rag-doll as I stare into the abyss reminding me that I’m still alive. That I need to drink water. That I need to eat. That I need to take it step by step.

But all I feel is this impending doom. I’m tired of everything. Everyone. Me. I'm tired of myself feeling tired. I’m mean and I’m usually never mean. Why am I being so mean? Especially, to myself.

Someone once told me eating wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, it was meant for survival. I appreciate the way they tried to help. But I think they failed to realize I’m tired of surviving. I’m exhausted, actually.

So I’ve— like always, been losing my appetite. Everything tastes bland, everything is so uninteresting, and everything isn’t worth eating for.

like I’m five again

I hear the distinct footsteps across hallway floors, voices ricocheting off thin walls, cabinets slammed with force, and the door of the fridge being thrown off its hinges.

“I thought we moved passed this”, a thought that runs across my mind often. But it seems like we haven’t, and I’m hiding in the depths of my closet with puffy eyes, arms with scars, and knees to my heart. like I’m five again.

Every scream and yell triggers a shake from my bones, clattering from the last meal I had last night. Teeth clenched in aptitude and tears falling down with every hitch. like I’m five again.

I double check if my door is locked & if I have enough blocking it by force. Because words are words and threats are threats, but actions to end my life are much quicker.

So quietly I hide back in the nook of my darkened closet, tears so quiet that only the ants can hear them. Hiding this part of my life like it’s another Tuesday morning, smile gracing my hallow cheeks, and telling myself everything will go back to normal. because it’s just like I’m five again.

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 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.

You haven’t called

You haven’t called, so the last time you did I fell right back asleep. I keep telling myself, this is for the better.

You called again, I shifted my time to be spent with someone who actually cared. I’m happier now.

I keep telling myself to let you go. But I feel so mean forcing myself to say goodbye, so I tell myself to take it slow. And I’m not gonna lie, this distance, is making me feel sick to my bones.

God. I sound like a bitch, but you’re the one who told me sometimes I need to be more of one. So I’m sorry if I need to be one for you.

I cry so much

I cry so much that I’m tired of seeing myself in the mirror. Eyes swollen and chest swelling with gasps of air.

I’m not sure how I’ve gotten this far yet regressed back so much to the point I’ve lost who I am.

I’ve failed myself, and especially my younger self.

So what’s the point in crying? I’m over that too.

Over myself & every little thing I fought for.

comfortable with being forgotten

I’m getting comfortable with being forgotten, at least, I hope I am. There are moments I stay up late at night crying, wondering if you’ll ever be the first to text me if I’m alright. But then again, I don’t know if I even come across your mind.

I wish— I wasn’t this way. I wish— you cared when i needed you most. And I know you say you do, but I don’t actually feel it, see it.

So now maybe it’s time to be comfortable with being forgotten by you. I hope wherever your new path takes you, you’re happier than when you are with me.

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.