clock

and are you disappointed? (you must be)
that you didn’t see the nails under my skin
the backwards-ticking clock in my head

no one has left this place without scars
each one tallied by me

i was told everyone isn’t wrong, i am
but i’ve won every game i’ve played up until now
and i should be disappointed
i’m not

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6.00 am

i swallow fake medicine down with wine
and moments later i’m shouting from your rooftop
it’s love that makes me
sipping on champagne with your laugh around the edge of the glass
a plastic drink bottle in my backpack because i broke everything
but you woke me up in the morning,
‘did you make it?
‘did you survive?’
i swallow my good times back with flat wine
never enough, though

the parasite (narcissist)

i put my hands under people’s skin like a parasite because i don’t want them to forget me
and then take my hands from their throats and pretend to forgive them
everything i have done is to punish everyone for everything they’ve never done
i’ll bleed you dry because my eyes read between lines that weren’t said
how young is too young to be made of nothing
to pull my organs and bones out so everyone can see the crater of where i used to live
i take compliments and drink them down so i can stand to be alone,
give myself a fake upper hand, a supply from a dead-end
i wish i could love myself like i loved myself all the time
but i am skipping at the same time for longer and longer like a broken record
one day i won’t play anymore

———sometimes i am better
———i come home to Her
———She is me, but She makes me better
———She is the narcissist
———i invite Her in because i am hollow
———i invite Her in because She is the only one who can love me

dinner guest

i am quickly reacquainted with my year 8 depression
more familiar with who i am when i am no one to everyone
more familiar with myself when rolled eyes hint at a perceived lack of self-awareness
i am not thankful and i have never adopted kindness
i am graced by my guest more commonly known as Hypocrisy
and stupid dreams that died when i tried to
i let everyone take home a different clone of me because i don’t need her
and i never loved her
there is nothing genuine about this and my fingers have been crossed for eight years.

pretend people poetry

i used to have a green jumper
and a blue, pink, yellow …
i wish i could mourn the tasteless poetry i no longer get to read
no longer have the privilege to pretend to feel
or the wasting goodbyes i spit too frequently years too late
but i can’t step outside in my green jumper
because i’m covered in your gall to call me selfish,
ugly, worthless, i am covered in the low self-esteem gifted to me
i wish i could mourn the pretend people poetry
and the way medicine drowns its eyes in foggy late-night swims
it is more like carving a clay-like person inside this skin every day
because Greed for acceptance got me covered in hairline fractures

a walk across the park

i found something out
my tracing paper is what they call a lonely child
with poems bleeding from her arms, a walk across the park
i’ve written every bite of love i’ve taken from anyone
and no one wrote about me
i slipped on the tears they sketched of themselves
every possible heartbeat away from my cruelness,
no one wrote about me
a turn-around side-ways glance, i tempt fury in people too tired to grieve me
make sure not to waste the paper or time

i shed my skin hundreds of times a year but my skin sticks to the walls
i remember everything at once in a moment