TheseAreOurSecrets

Friday night lights shining on us. My nervous knee brushes yours and I pray that you don’t notice how I shake. We talk about religion and sexuality and the stupid people at school. And I try so hard to focus on your words but all I can see is the color of your eyes. You say you don’t want to date this year not after him. My heart sinks in my chest. My thoughts travel to my girlfriend sitting at home waiting for my text. That’s what we do we wait. I swore I would try to make this distance thing work, but it is so difficult. And I feel so unfaithful because I look into your green eyes and I just want to kiss you. Liking someon

A Letter To Self Harm My lover. My abuser. The more I am away from you the more I want you. I hunger for you and lust for your touch. They don't approve of us my darling. No one does. They say you're bad for me and part of me believes that. But I need you I need you more than anything in this world. I need the blood rolling down my arm. I need the itching of the healing wounds. I need you. I need you. I want you to go away. I need you. They have taken away my supplies darling, but we both know that won't stop us from meeting again. If you call loudly enough I will come crawling to you. You'll meet me halfway with your sharpness. I will find

I never understood those kids in class who can sit there and do nothing for the whole class period until I became one of them. I never understood those drivers who drive off the road into a ditch on purpose to end their life until I became one who thought about it. I never understood girls who cut their hair short and wore baggy jeans and didn’t care what anyone thought of them until I became one of them. I never thought I would be swallowed by mental illness. I never thought I would drown in my own sadness just because I didn’t have the energy to come up for air. All these things that made no sense to me suddenly do because

I haven't slept in weeks. Your name stuck between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I carved your name into my thigh in hopes that I would bleed any thought of you out. I couldn't. I close my eyes and see your face holding that other person's hand. It isn't me. You aren't in love with me. One day years from now when I am over you, you'll think of me and see how you missed out. I'm trying my hardest to sleep. I'm trying my hardest to block you out of my dreams. I'm trying my hardest to puke up your name along with every meal I eat. I'm trying to let the cuts scar over and stop picking at the scabs. You're dead to me.

I was going to post a really long poem about you. I had it typed and ready and everything. Than I thought about how I was wasting my time on you. And how I need to face reality You don't love me like I love you. And it hurts. But it's the truth. So you don't get the pleasure of reading a really long poem about yourself. Fuck that. I would also like to point out that you're so vain that you probably think this is about you. It is.

Introduction She only wrote of tragedies when she wrote and she didn’t write often, but when she did her words flowed like a river and then like a crashing wave of the ocean, pulling you under and stealing away your breath. She always said she was no good, but after the first and second book flew of shelves she great a little more self-confidence. I and everyone else who knew her personally were proud as we watched her grow as a person. She talked at bookstores and made appearances on talk shows and she told her story over and over again so people wouldn’t think they were alone. She lived comfortably in her New York City loft an

I’ve been looking for reasons to stay. To not run from everything. To not swallow a bottle full of pills and sleep. Nothing has been right these last couple of years. I treat everything like a game. And I’m not afraid of the outcome anymore. I’m not who I once was and these scars can prove that. I’ve been dreaming of dying young. I’ve been dreaming of slitting my wrists. I’ve been dreaming that my writing might actually hold some meaning. I’ve been dreaming of actually mattering. I’ve been dreaming that everyone just leaves. I am broken, clearly.