My lipstick stained your lips

From a passionate kiss to a tender smile

Yet, something changed.

As you got out of my car and into yours, my lips burned

My words went stale behind my teeth

Molding the underside of my tongue

I wouldn’t dare to speak

I think your words went stale too

Cause the moment I got home, you called

We said things we couldn’t then

We now understood the moment

But even as our call ended

My lips still burning

As the mold slowly started to rot my tongue

My lungs now full of the spores that spewed from my throat

Something was wrong with my words

They weren’t making it past yours

Now all that are left are spores crying “Yours”

Is it too much to ask to have happiness in this life? To be treated like you’re worth something, or have a future in sight? 

Is it too much to ask to walk through the halls and not get talked about? Or stared at in a crowd? 

Am I not just a regular girl? 

I mean I know I’m not the prettiest in the world. 

But I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Is being nice really such a hard task? 

I’m tired of seeing more and more victims on the news. 

Because they were subjected to bullying or abuse. 

What was the reason? 

They didn’t have the newest pair of shoes? 

Or maybe they didn’t have the same political views. 

It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear your excuse. 

Is it too much to ask to feel safe at night? 

Or for all of us to have the same rights? 

Is it too much to ask? 

Why does the color of my skin define me? 

We all look at the same stars at night. Can’t you see? 

Why can’t we all just agree?

Is it too much to ask to not be used? 

I mean really, are you dumb or just confused?

Because it’s not too much to ask, and you’re not excused. 

Cause we’re not broken forever, we’re just bruised.

What if I told you that every time I said good, I lied. 

I’m indeed not fine. 

And if I took one look behind,

I’d find a trail of lies because I’ve said “good” way too many times. 

How are you? They ask,

Fine

But if I really told you what’s on mine 

You’d lose your mind. 

I don’t know which way is worse. 

Trying to pretend that I never hurt,

Or saying good before I can think 

It spits out of my mouth

Like some kind of curse.

No, I know what’s worse. 

Hearing, “How was your day?” 

Now I have to find a long way. 

To shorten up my terrible day. 

So that you don’t have anything extra to say. 

“Are you ok?” is simpler though 

Say yes

Think no. 

But you can walk away before they ever get to know.

“How are you?” simply mocks me. 

Like if I even tell you what’s wrong would you

Rock me? 

Hold me?

Just listen and get to know me? 

Lying is a sin. 

So I’d much rather you not ask what’s within. 

Bringing your happy day to an end,

If I answered with “I don’t even know where to begin.”

I’ll just continue to hide. 

Head down. 

Eyes low. 

With a simple, “good.”

To silence the feelings inside. 

They pretend their habits away, 

Addiction isn’t in their vocabulary. 

They’re normal parents. 

They raised us fine. 

But we hide at the sound of footsteps, 

And flinch at the closing of doors.

Their habits came in between us.

They tore our family apart. 

I want to escape the reality they made for us,

But where is there to go?

It lives in my head. 

Addiction isn’t in their vocabulary, but it sure is in mine. 

I watch it everyday. 

There is nowhere to hide.

The lightning blazed through my window in an alarming array
Demanding my space
Depriving me of the comforting darkness that hid me away
That hid my mistakes away
Suddenly, the light scorched me
Blinding me until the comforting eclipse became a rare occurrence
My room became the old stage
That I, once again, was thrown onto with nothing but a costume too glittery to ever be comfortable in
The curtain lifted along with the eyes
They were set on me as the lights displayed every inch of me
“Perform”
With eyes heavy and lungs not ready, I danced
My footwork was sloppy as my pointe shoes crushed my feet
I was thrown to the ground with a force people said was passion
This was not dance
This was not fun
This was not what it once was
Another flash sealed my fate and I was jolted away
The demanding light rolled away with a deep rumble
What was left of me was half awake and in pain
When the darkness returned and the comfort deepened again
I was left behind the curtain of a stage counting each beat
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Eight steps that could make or break me
Eight steps that defined each performer
Eight steps I didn’t know and wouldn’t be able to understand
Just eight steps before I was illuminated once again.

Hurt.

Not the physical pain.

Not the hurt you feel when you fall off of your bike.

But the hurt that is unhappiness or sadness.

The hurt that is caused by words or actions.

Hurt. 

Hurt can put you in a deep, dark depression.

It can- cause you to think things.

Things you never would have thought.

Still, 

Through the hurt, you smile.

You smile for your family

You smile for your friends

You smile for yourself

Hurt.

Hurt makes you believe things

That aren’t true

You want to believe everything is okay.

But you feel like it’s not.

You want to believe things will get better,

But the hurt you feel makes you think otherwise. 

Hurt.

It makes you feel like your life isn’t worth living.

You feel nobody cares for you.

That nobody loves you.

But there is someone that loves you.

People do care about you. 

Your life is worth the world.

Don’t let the hurt consume you.

I tried to hold onto something, 

Anything.

Still I sunk into the hot water

Yet, even as I tried to hold myself,

I gave away

My skin sliding straight off the bone

Then I sank.

All that was left of me was my skeleton

The blueprint of my flesh to follow

And even then, my very bones felt hollow

Like the bone marrow itself wanted nothing to do with me

So it, too, fled

It was then I realized I was finally dead.

As I opened my eyes. Feeling the breeze brush against my skin. 

The shivers running over my body. 

Hoping that it stays forever.

The feeling of life and hope. 

Hoping that the world won't take that from me.

Hoping that the life I hold in my hand stays together through everything. 

Holding it out to someone that deserves it. 

No one deserves it. 

But Someone gave it to me so I guess I do. 

I deserve to feel the air against me and breathe in the trees or flowers that are around. 

I deserve to walk on the ground that my ancestors once did. 

Everyone does. 

Letting the world move around us. 

Not taking it for granted. 

Holding our hands out to each other. 

Learning to take care of each other. 

Never taking it for granted. 

Holding it, savoring it, not letting it escape your grasp.