I wrote the following six years ago when I was 15, my dad was abusive and my mom ignored it I just found it in an old notebook. A child should never feel this much pain and fear. Someday I hope I can make this little girl proud.

Yellow Oak Tree:

The sun is hot and burning

The earth is cruel and harming

Fear surrounds the innocent

Can nothing be saved?

But as I lay beneath you shade a cloak of serenity cascades around me

I am safe

Under the yellow oak tree

Free from judgement

Protected from ridicule

Safe from death

Under the yellow oak tree.

All I want to do is close my eyes and when I open them be somewhere far away from where I am right now, where no one knows me but everyone wants to, and I a chance to finally be something.

I just wish I could tell you that I miss you,

I’m mad at you but I still love you

And I want you back in my life.

The worst you can say is no, so why am I so scared?

I’ve been tossed from the road I once was on

The path before me is paved with uncertainties

My mind is lost in a labyrinth of turmoil

Now all that I know is nothing at all

Wether it’s the hope of love

The grief of love

The lesson of love

Or the regret of love

Once you have loved

It always remains

༄

abusivesubstance:

i went to the beach without you tonight. it was dark out and there wasn’t a single star in the sky, because of course there’s not, theres never a clear night sky when i would want it most. maybe next time i always say, but by the time i get around to making myself look at the edge of the earth it’s always the same when im by myself. i am okay with being by myself. i would still rather have been with you, i still would rather be with you. i wanted to be sharing that moment with you so bad, i craved it more then you’re probably craving some sleep or your own death wherever you’re at as i write this. i hope that next time i go to the beach at one in the fucking morning and sit down on the path and let myself feel for once, it’s because i am feeling your hand squeezing mine or your breath on my neck or your arms wrapped around my body or you. i just want to feel you. and every emotion that comes along with you. your cold or your warmth were all i needed tonight because im just never hallt with moderation.

soooo felt this

She became convinced that the measure of her existence hung in the balance.
That the complexity of her calm fell in the number of idle breaths she took a day
That her beauty was a scarcity of times that she glanced at the mirror without feeling repulsed.
She is fragile.
Picking up the broken pieces that were once amassed to create a woman. Beautiful and resolved.
All it takes for such a woman to fall, is the absence of someone to pick up the pieces.
And instead of being her own someone. Her own harrowing warrior.
She fell.
Cracked under pressure.
She was broken. And needed everything she swore she’d never want.
Searched for her own validation in the hands of another. And slowly wept; wilted away into her own self demolition.
She lived shadowed under a blanket of grievances.
They were no longer the materialistic obstacles that used to hoard her time.
The were deep and dark and ugly.
She’s slipping into a black hole of her own creation. In a list for validation to find value in herself hidden in the arms of another. When will she realize that she is the only person that will give her worth. She is the only one who can understand her value. And she must fight to be comfortable in her own skin and bones rather than listlessly searching for a piece of her, hidden in a puzzle of broken souls.
She is fragile.
But she will live. And she will learn to love the pieces that have gone astray, the rounded edges and the bitterness that keeps her up till early hours. She will learn to look into the mirror and be content. She will pick up her own pieces. Put them into place.
She was fragile.
But now she is found.
Pieced together the broken.
And the broken;
Now forever bound.

r.t.

If you want to talk to him: go ahead
Dial his number and press call
But when he feeds you the same lines again be careful not to fall.

Life’s too short to worry.
Does he miss me?
Or did he move on?
But if you find out he does miss you, be careful not to fawn

If you’re still in love with him; that’s okay.
Just protect yourself from the games he plays.

Don’t let yourself break
Don’t let yourself fall.

But by golly if you want to see him, Just call.

r.t.

A glass frame of mine.
A glass frame of mind.

Staring in at a stranger
Stranger staring back
My mind as good as shattered
Beauty scarred with cracks

A reflective type of window.
A respective type of window.

Distorted truth
Claimed it’s credibility like a crook
Hidden behind a lie
Can’t get back the toll it took

Blank Canvas.

To her, everything meant something

But she failed to find her own

Meaning

Until she dared to see the roses as flowers

And the stars as

Night

Deciphering symbols and mixed metaphors begging the universe to be her masterpiece

the rain came with floods

and the sun came with droughts

And everything had meaning which meant nothing at all.

The torment of seeing everything as an artist

Would paint the trees red and the sky golden

And the day the facade would fall

Was the day she saw the roses as flowers and the stars as night

No more chipped paint people

No more skies stroked with glory

Just a world

That for the very first time was a blank canvas

She planned to keep

r.t.

We speak without words
And breath without air
Our hearts compose without beats
And we shine without glare.

The earth seems silent
whenever we are together
The loudest of silences
Forever and never

r.t.

Looking for all the right answers
in all the wrong places.
Looking to find myself
in everybody else’s faces.
Can’t keep praying
for what I swear I don’t need.
Can’t keep trying to understand
a book I won’t read.
I expect others to see value
in a place I never do.
I expect my plans to succeed
though I don’t think them through.
Obsessive.
Compulsive.
Right in all the wrong ways.
Seems like I’ll be stuck here choking on self-hatred
till somebody stays.

r.t.

It’s late and I miss you.
You were to be my everything
My refuge
You kept me safe.
From myself.
Happy.

It’s late and I miss you.
My mind wanders
I’ve thought up
A million things to say to you
Things I won’t.
But wish I could.

It’s late and I miss you.
And life is short.
But so was your temper.
And I’m still trying to make sense of what happened.

It’s too late.
I miss you.
You called today.
Not even the warmth of your voice could salvage the icy front I had put up.
You weren’t here when I needed you.

It’s late
and hopefully now you miss me.

But I think I’ve finally stopped
Missing you.

r.t.

If I write you into my world
Then I haven’t given you up.
I tear pages of you from my heart
Erase paragraphs of your existence
I try to rob myself of your presence
And still I seem to cry tears made up of your promises and
breath air polluted with your words.

If I break my own heart waiting for you
And scribble it on a page
Then I haven’t forgotten you yet
You don’t know the color of my eyes
The taste of my lips
or the pigment of my cheeks
when you say hello.

If I write myself senseless stories of you
Being everything I ever wanted
Then your breath is still in my lungs
I exhale.
Trying to expel your beautiful taste
that has become far too addictive.
I choke on good intentions.
And bleed desperation.
Desperate to forget about you. Desperate to no longer depend on that smile to set my day into motion
and that voice to lull me to sleep.

I try so hard to erase you from my mind, to cleanly reap the seams
binding you to my heart,
and binding my heart to my sleeve.
It wasn’t until looking you in the eyes
for the last time that I realized,
my inability to form
a coherent thought about you
unless it was spilled across paper in permanent ink, was the tangible prison destined to tie me down for all eternity.

You see, I had erased myself from the pages of your book, only to find that you cluttered every chapter of my own.

r.t.

“It’s whatever”
He said with tears in his eyes
He hid away
Broken.
I didn’t fall for his lies
His parents drank often
He promised himself he wouldn’t
I told him to stay strong
He told me, he couldn’t
He got home from school
Everyday exhausted
Nobody realized his strength
Until one day he lost it.
For him to inhale and say yes one more time.
To a life he was robbed of
The most complex of crime.
He sat in class silent,
But when asked he would spill
Because all he needed
Was someone to listen and be still
He’d tell them his story
The one he told me
And they’d watch amazed at the new depths they’d see.
A boy who was strong
A boy who was clever
But when concluding his tale
He’d just utter “it’s whatever”

r.t.

The words became heartbeats more alive than myself
And the ideas became words
Books strewn on a shelf
Collecting dust
Just enough to cloud the mind
Picked up and swept away
A dusty dream to find