why "cool" doesn't describe mental illnesses.

In no ways is it beautiful.
I do not feel glamorous.
It is cold.
It is the constant want to stay in bed.
It is loud and quiet
all at the same time.
Breaking yourself into little pieces,
watching yourself crumble,
and learning how to pick yourself up
all over again.
It is missing a meal,
to missing two meals,
to losing twenty pounds
to missing your appetite.
It is not "pretty",
It is not something to aspire to be.
I've gotten to watch the monsters
I was afraid of,
crawl from under my bed
to under my sheets,
and inside of my mind.
I am drowning,
and swimming at the same time.
A cycle of recovery,
relapse,
realization.
You teach yourself
how to save yourself.
This is a type of sadness,
the ones who have it,
don't want it to be.

confessions to past lovers.

10. I never got around asking my father to talk to me about men, because I never thought of him as one. Instead, I asked him for some time. Maybe I should have asked about men instead, but I don't think I would have learned much. I never really got either.
9. I used to think people were really beautiful with the honesty they had when they're drunk or angry. This is until you revealed that you loved me and hated me under the influence of both. Now I can't decide if you really love me or if you just tolerated me. Either way, I'm gone now.
8. I have dated too many men, I assumed were boys and I don't know how I really felt about many of them, does this make me obsessed or confused? Maybe there's something wrong with me. I think I just like the falseness of their words. Artificial things have always intrigued me, how we get it to seem so real.
7. I think I love you. I know it. But that doesn't mean anything. Just another half empty bottle left after a party that everyone is too hung over to finish. I'm too hung over to finish.
6. I know you're not here anymore, so can you stop taunting me in my dreams, showing up as the angel that I thought I knew. The wolf in sheep's clothing. I get it now, and you can go.
5. For the first time in a very long time, my heart is not attached to anything. I want you, but I no longer yearn for you to be there late at night to rub the curve of spine until I fall asleep.
4. All of the candles are getting dim. They're starting to burn out. I don't even recognize the sweet lavender scent anymore, much less, the nectar of your musk. I guess this is really what change is.
3. I spent a lot of time hating a lot of people for hurting me. Maybe I just hated myself, maybe it made me hate me. I let that go. I had none of that with you. I had no hate for you.
2.I did everything I could for you. I defied gravity to keep you around, and you still fail to acknowledge my presence. I can't say I believe much of what comes out of your mouth now. Your actions said it all.
1. Every day I find a new part of me to fall in love with. I am so hard on myself, and it was harder loving myself than it was loving you. Now it's easier to love myself, and I find it painful to continue loving you. My journey has continued.

Blessed Risings.

Wake up with a genuine love
for the fact that you are alive.
Shower with your favorite scent,
lotion with the most moisturizing
lotion,
but most of all
breathe.
Inhale the life around you,
the trees,
the beauty within yourself.
Exhale all else
that holds you down.
Elevate yourself.
You deserve your love
and your attention
the most.

inspire.

emerge yourself in everything you do.
nothing that crosses your path should
walk away without having
memories of your spirit
as a polite gift.
let your energy inspire.
allow others to remember your triumphs,
not just your downfalls.
teach them a part of your universe.
share with them
your happiness.

Waiting.

I can hear the ticking
of the clock above my head
impatiently mocking
the fact that I have become
a fool for your love.
Silent like a waiting room,
my thoughts are the only
whispers I hear in the
silence of your absence.
The replay of your voice
moaning my name.
My heart still misses a beat
when I hear from you,
my fingers still scream
to feel curve of your neck,
your head in the palm in my hands.
Time doesn't wait for any man,
so why am I not as precious
as the thing that ages us in life.
the thing that manipulates
our feelings
our actions.
I'm waiting for the clock to scream
out that you love me,
that you want me.
But when I feel closer,
time just pulls us farther apart.
I'm running out of seconds,
my minutes have lost their value.
I'm still waiting for our hour.

Letting Go.

I clung to you,
like the last petal
on my favorite flower.
I couldn't accept that
it was time for me
to walk away,
softly,
as if it was a secret
only I was supposed to know.
It was a sweet dream
that turned into a bitter nightmare,
and while I wanted you,
you wanted the idea of me,
and it'd be harder for you
to accept the full divine being of me
than it would be for me
to try to be everything for you.
It's okay now.
I loved you,
I still do.
And though I want the best for
myself,
I want even better for you.

Reasons to Not Be Sad.

You are made up of
little pieces
of a mystery.
Of things that can't be explained,
and things that can be explained;
things that have been spoken of.
The Stars.
The Sky.
The Sun.
The Moon.
Every bit of it is inside of
you.
Your divine energy is
full of deep passionate blues,
vibrant luscious reds,
happy-go-lucky yellows.
You have not yet been fully discovered,
there is only a tiny bit of you
that has been understood.
You are the most delicate painting
in a gallery,
the one that most thieves
would attempt to take
at the darkest hour
in the night
and fail at such an act.
You are the beginning,
the intermission
and the finale.
You are Act I,
as well as Act II.
Nobody worth having
ever leaves before your bow.
You are many,
yet you are one.
and you have the entire universe
inside of the crevices
of your special soul.

Self Portrait

I am a lover.
I am everything I was cut out to be.
I am a joyous blessing;
a lesson of life.
I am loose, not in between my legs
but in my spirit.
I fly free.
I am a write you a poem type,
wanna hold you in my arms type,
need to be reassured type
woman.
I am a set fire to the rain,
cry with you,
always gonna be your shoulder type
woman.
I am amazing,
not only in my strengths,
but even more in my weaknesses.
I can only love with all I have,
not some sometimey
half for half
give up and quit type love.
I walk clumsily into a room
with more grace than a swan.
I am a contradiction.
I love freely, with protective ways.
I strive for excellence.
I strive for a journey.
I strive for a success that money cannot touch.
I am the sun rays that rob your room's
darkness at the break of morning.
I am the first sip of tea.
I am a collection of scars,
a collection of thoughts.
A limitless amount of memories.
I am.

Embrace.

i embrace your hurt.
it gives me just enough
ink until i get my
fix.
im a feign.
and I’ve never been addicted
to any drug
but the false love of another person.
i can’t understand.
i embrace your hurt.
while you’re hurting me
you’re fueling me
im waiting for
the moment where you burn your finger
because you left me.
and i know you know it in your head
but i want to remind you too.
because every time you whisper into another souls ear
you’ll be cursed with feeling
my touch against your neck
my breath against your lips.
I’ve never understood your complaints of my love.
my apologies,
but you’ll have to live with the confusion too.

Broken Glass.

you were like a
broken glass that had been
glued back together by another path in your past.
you were delicate.
and i wanted nothing more
but to be part of the reasons
you stayed together.
no matter how i adjusted myself
to fit inside of you
like a rose in a too small vase.
your pieces were still wet
and sticky
and i did nothing more but
get glue on my peace.
i loved every bit of you.
every piece.
even the pieces of you
that you tried to not acknowledge.
but i did.
and that was never good enough.
i was still told to be more quiet.
less soft.
more absent from myself.
i never meant to cause pain,
but there came a point where the glass got thrown
across the floor.
and there was nothing really left of you,
but pieces.
yet i still changed myself.
dropped more petals,
took the thorns off of my stem.
I’ve never experienced hate after love,
but the fire you spit out
was only put there to scorn me.
and i cannot figure out
how many more
petals and thorns
you would have wanted me to rid
before you would have loved me fully.
before i could fit inside of your pieces.

Behind Your Childhood Door.

honestly, you ain’t always gonna be able to understand
the why of people, even when you been there.
you aint gone be able to get the closure and understanding you want, except from yourself.
other peoples' actions don’t reflect your love.
let them reject your love.
let them burn every door you made available to them.
let them take for granted what you handed them,
like they take for granted their morning showers.
and then,
when they realize what you gave,
you leave. 
people are never gonna turn out to be
what you wanted them to be.
they will never show you off,
like you wanted them to
and you’ll remain a poster
behind their childhood bedroom door.
they’ll never admit your importance in their life until you’re done with them.

love aint real.

love is
so unpredictable
so unfair
confusing
complex
there when you need it
gone when you want it.
but really always around.
one of the biggest illusions.
you think one thing
feel another
and then theres what is really occurring.
don’t give up on your peace.
it shouldn’t make you give up much
but your old ways and bad days.
1+1 & 2+2 type simplicity.
we were taught what to think of it.
but we aren’t the best at showing it
expressing it.
letting it go.
when the times get tough do you run.
or do you step in a slightly damp sidewalk of concrete
so you can get stuck
watching every one else happily
not
in love
love ain’t real.
but it is.
and sometimes it isn’t.
but its wanted.
vulnerable.
needy.
it is love.

Tired

You’re still stuck in my head,
and my god,
I’m getting bored with
the fact that my mind has become a
slave to the
“thought” of us.
of me. and. you.
like you were the only river connected to the sea
and I, just could not get enough of your scent.
how you touched me like I was
the last soft thing in the world,
and you couldn’t just wait to indulge in my soul.
and I can’t get over
how your mouth feels on mine.
 I gave myself, so openly,
so freely, raw
like I didn’t previously build up every wall possible
a lock without a key
like I didn’t want to taste any other man,
except the king that I was supposed to love.
and you brought those walls down.
there is no other one that can open me up
 like you.
I can’t get rid of you
the trees
                              the stars
                                                            the sun
they all whisper your name.
and early in the morning,
when not even the birds are awake,
it makes me sick.
you, you make me sick.
I just can’t fathom that you
might not want me
like I want you.
and I secretly hope that I could get drunk off of your scent,
and you can get high off of my love,
and we can balance out our lows,
sort out all of the puzzle pieces
we thought would break us.
stumbling over each other’s feet.
 you’ll fall back into my gaze,
the one that won’t even last five seconds
                              now.
and you come as quickly as I cry,
and you go,
as easily as
you make me cum.
and fuck, I mean I crave you in me
even when you act like you don’t
need
me,
like you didn’t fall in love with me too.
you’re like a bad spell, a good spell,
and you can’t tell how I feel,
(cause lets be real, I don’t know how I feel)
and you took out a piece of me,
the same way one took the forbidden apple
off of the tree.
you left me bare
and I can’t find anyone
who mentally intoxicates me like you do, taking my existence.
my breath comes so easily
with you.
and I am tired of writing
poem
after poem about you,
and having dream after dream
about you
about someone making you their home,
like MY heart doesn’t still sit so deep within you,
waiting on your front porch
for a cool breeze that may never come.
and I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I’ve waited
I cannot take, how the love of my life
how I might not be the love of his.
you were so delectable
and we were so beautiful.
and I can’t figure out how to keep my heart from hurting,
while I wait for the moon to show.