ill tear myself to pieces just so you can see
how fucked up youd have to be for a shattered soul like me
so im always begging for forgiveness before i even break
and im angry that youve left when youre still on the way
ill spin you round in circles and do a little dance
bat my eyes and rouge my lips so you think you have a chance
 ive already decided that youre too simple of a man
so i scream and shout and kick you out cuz youll never understand
tomorrow i willhate you but ill still wanna talk
cuz my desperate daydream to find another just dont let me stop
well maybe im not magic but im gonna show you
ive torn myself to pieces and theres nothing you can do

 

Rollin In

When i put you through a storm of me, I don’t want to. I think I do it as an excuse or, a warning of my odd and sometimes crazy behavior. Hoping that once the storm passes I won’t have to try so hard to be perfect because I’ve already put the mess of me out on the table. I don’t know how to let you learn about me on your own and come to your own conclusions. I want to tell you all the things i already know that I am and give you a heads start to run. I do it eventually in ever relationship. I won’t let you see me as you do. I’m a damaged mess at best. The outside is changeable. The inside is just me.

black label

i find comfort in black labels and the running red.
how will i ever get better with all this mess stuck in my head
jack and jim knock on my door, then their sharp sister wants to play
i may as well be tied down, cause I’ll never walk away.
can’t cover my indecency, I so often fail
the wires all tied up andthis poison’s getting stale
you know, all this comfort, its all just fake
makin the same mistake, fuck this heart ache
no honest salvation from the pain
cause its the only feeling that stays the same
So I keep pourin the whiskey in my mouth as these old tears burn my eyes
the blood's drippin from my veins but at least i know I’m alive

my temperature is rising
my teeth they are grinding
i feel my blood start to boil and my brain start to burn
if someone doesnt save me from this madness of myself
i might just jump the fuck out of this window to make all the noise in my head stop
i want to punch your lights out
but im talking to myself
anything to shut you the fuck up
but im talking to myself
i want razor blades and booze for days
something to feel and another to heal
both may eventually kill me but what isnt already killing me now
trying to sit the fuck still, keep my jaw in line
i am literally so angry i dont know how the fuck to function
i want to strangle you
but im talking to myself
i want to choke the laugh from your throat
and im talking to everyone else
fuck your joy or whatever the fuck that is
i hate you and i hate it and i want to destroy it
i swear to god i want to punch your fucking lights out
my fists are shaking their voices are making me cringe
i swear to god dont get close to me or i will
i wish everything would shut the fuck up
why is everything so fucking loud.
get me the fuck out.
these stupid ass holes who walk around having no idea the pain im in
telling me to fucking take vitamins
what goddamned idiots
they have no fuckin clue
and i hate them. they should all get the fuck out of my fucking way.

bands and bottles

Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness

My cage was my childhood, the illness is acceptance and truth
So you may forgive me for hiding myself behind bed sheets and books
Behind bands and bottles
For never knowing why you stay and for always waiting for our final day

its funny the things that hurt me.
i have come to believe, in all and every way that this is the role i was meant to play.
somewhere somehow things got fucked up and this became who i am and what i am and who i will always be. the thing, the sex, the body. the face cropped out. the sexy one the hot one. the lets get drunk. never anything real.
so when i think of last night and how i took pictures for you, for the at least 20th time. I’m not mad about it, and even as i delete them now, i just laugh to myself because this is who i am. its who ill always be to everyone. and if I’m not this, I’m not anything to anyone.
Sometimes I get mixed up and wound up and caught up and vent to these guys as if they actually give a damn about my life and some of them can’t take it. they cut me out forever. i get it, and i think a part of me does it for that reason. to push them away because i know. i know they don’t care and i just want proof and its the only way they will stop begging for me.
some of them, they let me ramble via text. they let me say crazy things and reply with “I’m sorry” or just ignore the texts and in the case of last night say “whoops sorry i was  talking to someone at the gym about your old best friend who i used to fuck , did you know she’s single again?” 

soaked

People think I’m lovable and my friends think they love me.
But none of them know about all the blood running down my right arm, or all the years of scars. They don’t know about my prescription drug addiction or all these empty bottles. They don’t know how often I cry and how I find it absolutely impossible to love myself. If they saw me for everything I am, dripping in pain, self loathing and loneliness… I wonder what they’d think of me then

i think its happening
i'm finally falling apart
or falling together
i dont know anything right now

am i me or am i the one in my mind? the one i talk to everyday?
which one is real and which one do i know
has anything in my life been real?
has anyone ever loved me?
its unnatural for one person to have been left by so many people
or is all this loss not loss at all but a result of my own monster?
is it all my own doing? subconsciously have i created it all? and then questioned it all when the monster is gone and im left alone confused why im alone.
Does she take over and cause chaos and leave me to be broken?

i dont know who i am or why or how
im scared
i wish someone would hold me and tell me that they see me
because i cant see myself. I dont recognize myself in photos
its all a mask

and here i am bleeding all over myself wondering whose gonna come and make it stop
because the monster in me wont let me save myself right now

im reading Plath. Writing a journal to you, the only way to communicate.
no one knows and would it even matter if they did?
ive lost my mind, or did i ever have it at all?
if no one can see me, do i even exist?

i need arms around me. i just need someone to accept me and not make me explain. I need comfort. Im so exhausted from constantly diving to the depths of the ocean to catch my breath and save myself.
 

I slipped and fell in a cross walk in front of New York's morning rush
I picked myself up and am pretty sure the whole left side of my body is bruised
On the next block a man looked at me and said "wow you're beautiful"
Its never easy but no matter how many times I fall down,
I just need to keep moving forward and remember I am beautiful

lessons learned through public humiliation
they are many

I’m watching a movie, one I have seen tens of times and never tire of, as “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros plays in the background of the opening scene. I had seen Edward Sharpe live just five months before but it came over me like someone else’s memory.

To me, its almost impossibly cool that I saw them live. As it comes back to me I remember  how I felt alive as hell and how the live music woke me up.
I also remember, how trapped I felt being all alone at this outdoor concert in Brooklyn. Everyone around me sharing a picnic with a loved one or group of friends.
I picked my spot on the grass, set down the trash bag I brought to sit on, and I was by myself, feeling alone. I have attended countless concerts and festivals alone, and this time the powerful rush of the familiar and unwelcome sense of loneliness filled me with pain.
Then the music started.
I remember getting up and running to the crowd, leaving my trash bag and consciousness behind. I remember feeling free and like I was spinning and the music was my echo.
 
—
I came to New York half expecting things to play out like a movie. Not in the way that movies turn out perfectly, have a happy ending or any of that typical crap.
It was worse. Deeper and more delusional.
You know how in a movie, someone will attend a crowded event alone and the writers have set up the scene and the character so that the audience thinks “Wow, that person is strong! Fearless! Doesn’t give a fuck!”? And the audience keeps applauding the characters courage to say fuck it to their pain and all the ass holes. And inevitably the character runs through the streets, or spins and spins in bliss and self-discovery. “Yes! This is awesome! I am a badass!”
Well life isn’t like that.
Nobody knew I was on a lawn somewhere listening music.
And if it comes up later, the first question I am asked is “Who’d you go with?”
I am not asked about the event, or the band, or even music at all. Instead like a punch to the stomach “Who was there with you?”.
I have tried various ways to answer this question, to say alone without sounding sad. After years of practice I have settled on “I didn’t go with anyone, just me.” And in response, almost every time, people ask “Why?”.
Their tone says something must be wrong with me. And hell, maybe there is. After all, the truth is, I couldn’t find anyone to go with me.
But I think the raddest, most important part is that I went anyway. I didn’t need anyone else. And I didn’t let others stop me from being around things that make me feel alive, like music. That’s the 5th concert I’ve gone to alone in the last 6 months. No one ever really knows.
Because it isn’t like the movies where the audience understands the unstoppable nature of the character is a loud and theatrical “fuck you!”  to society, to “Who’d you go with?”.
In life, real life, It’s waiting in line alone, drinking at the concert alone, a walk to the subway alone, a train ride alone, and walking in your door alone. Sitting on your bed recounting your night in your head, alone.
Its quiet.
Some days I go 12 hours without speaking aloud.
So if a girl has a life but no one ever knows, does it exist? Is it still a life?   If no one knows how I take my tea or whiskey, and if they don’t know what makes me breathe, who would know if I stopped?
I keep going for music and art. I keep going for me. 

If a girl dances in Brooklyn, but no one sees her, did she ever dance at all?

un-hide

Is it wrong that I want someone who will love me for my sadness?
Who will love me when im negative as hell,  for all my hidden despondence and not just see that one bit of me and mistake it for my whole?
I want someone who will love me for my bad jokes, my scars,  for the nights when I can’t explain why.
I’ve been looking for someone who will love me in-spite of these parts of me - why have I never thought,  even for a minute, to look for someone who will love me for all that I am.
when i grow up i will teach my children that they are to be loved for every inch and to never hide who they are.

i keep painting, knitting, reading, writing, watching, playing, drinking, dancing
and still, feel there are not enough distractions to take my mind away from you
my paintings are piling up but so is the pain in my heart.

Because I didn't always walk through the open door...I opened my own

raw and real

My favorite things are beaten up and broken. My favorite scarf is ratted and held together by a thread. My favorite shoes are 14 dollar canvas sneakers that were once white . They keep my feet wet in the rain but they always dry just fine. My favorite boots are five year old leather covered in permanent dirt and mud, but they have walked with me through San Francisco rain storms, Canadian hills, Arizona’s saguaro desert, Surf City sands, and New York's slippery snow. My favorite t-shirt is stretched out with rips and tears throughout its thin cotton.
I too am beaten up, broken and sometimes held together by a single thread. But like the tough canvas of my sneakers, my tears also dry; like the scarred leather, I keep moving through storms even when covered in pain and permanence; and like the thin cotton, I still stay together when i am falling apart.
I think the reason I find beauty in imperfection is because it’s raw and real.
i believe there is power in accepting yourflaws as a part of your strength.

Y2FU

We live in a time when the Internet and drugs will love you back. The Internet gives you love through likes and followers and drugs give you friends in your dealers. Because dealers aren’t dead beats any more they’re your neighbor, your friend, your crew. I miss the times I didn’t have the ability to know all of these things. because now, running from them seems wrong. Without being connected I’m loosing my connections. And I have to wonder if our friendship keeps us together or if Instagram does?

arc of time

I dont have time for a lot of things.
i know i have as many hours in a day as everyone else but my depression takes up a lot of time.
its like having to care for another person except this other person is very sick and living inside me.
it takes me so much longer to do normal things. I dont use this as an excuse. in fact, i think i do even more because im relentlessly seeking distraction.
But it still remains true that i constantly feel like i have less time, not enough time and am losing time.
Things like getting up, getting in the shower, looking in the mirror. These things are not simple, or easy, they can take hours. fucking hours. i hate it, i try to fight it. but its like someone sitting in front of you holding you down saying “you cant do this, youre a piece of shit,” its so hard just to put one foot in front of the other.
i think i am a good example because i thrive at work and i try really hard to fight my disease, even with all the medications i take i have to fight every minute. Lately ive been feeling so confused, so mixed up and turned around. Like i lost myself in the fight, in the battle. In the missing time. Somewhere in between my eyes opening and before they close at night, im just gone. im nowhere and im nobody. Im losing time, memories, ideas, sanity. Anything that ever seemed to make this fight worth fighting. Parts of my brain seem to have gone missing. taken away. not by drugs, but by the endless loneliness of these past 3 years. soon ill be nothing. and it wont matter that i used to be able to make pain into poetry. even if i let go of the pain now, even if i knew how or could find a way, it has already destroyed me. its been 8 years since it all fell apart, and everything since feels like a fucking blur. one distraction after the next that was never enough to fix or heal the gaping hole that remains inside of me. all ive done is get older and more screwed up. trust less. hate more. enjoy less. fuck more. and grow to absolutely hate myself. im the worst person ive ever met.

I have always thought that the year ruined me. But the idea came to me this morning, out of the blue that maybe what it really did was set me free. Maybe the life it really ruined and sent down a path of no return, was hers. All my secrets being exposed by her hurt many people. it made me re-evaluate my life and left me completely alone, abandoned by anyone i had ever called a friend. She went on to have years of perfect pictures, she also fucked up a few more peoples lives, she worked her way into the heart of the one i loved the most. I often felt that she won. That she never suffered for what she had done and that she got away with all her sins, all the the ones i knew about but kept to myself. But the truth is, her sins and lies will continue to eat her alive. And now, i have none. perhaps i owe her a thank you, for her attempt at ruining my life may have saved it. Pushing me out of town was, well, the unclean, break that i needed to start my life over. its been 8 years, i still feel the shame like it was yesterday. it haunts me every damn day. Maybe its time to let go.

Honestly, ive realized lately im just doing all this until the day i crack.
ive always thought it would come. and in a way i can feel it coming now.
im putting on this show, this face, this life until the day i just cant handle the pain of pretending anymore. soon a day will come when i cant hold it in anymore. when all the pain and when all the rage needs to come out. and it will. and i will run wild and free and be broke and alone and scared.
im scared of the day it happens because it will and i dont know what ill do. its like i wake up in this life everyday wondering if its the day ill put all this behind me and start to really live.
when will i stop trying to keep up appearances? when can i let all of this crap off my chest and to who? when can i bleed and make a beautiful mess out of my pai?. when can i break free of this prison ive put myself in...

And lately I’ve been feeling like I actually might die from being broken, from all this pain and for the length of each day I keep it inside. It’s not the longevity of the years but of the minutes that start to kill me. Slowly, painfully. Holding back tears every goddamn minute and I’m just not sure I can get up any more

she was the worst person i have ever met. 
Of course, i didn't know that when i met her.
The faults within me are many. This one being that I always assume people are inherently better and above me. So, in many ways, I handed her all the power that she so greatly adored. I was the kind of person who compensated for others. if they were uncomfortable or felt awkward, i felt that I could alleviate their discomfort. That's what I tried to do when I first met her. She was insecure and inexplicably shy when we met: always covering her mouth when she laughed, bringing her sister along everywhere out of habitual fear. I was the opposite. i conquered my fears by pretending i had none. Looking back i realize she must have envied me from the start. On the outside, i was everything she wasn't. confident, carefree and beautiful, independent, outgoing. I wore it well, that mask, to hide what i felt inside:  a broken shell of a person: fat with frizzy hair, tape wrapped around my chest from a recent surgery, zero friends and hundreds of fears, terrified of going back to school where the last two years still haunted me. On the inside, behind all the paint, I was fragile, mold-able. And she was a sculptor looking for a fragile mind to shape. For the next 3 years, i unknowingly let her twist and turn me, shape me into who she wanted me to be. In so many ways we became one, Inseparable.. I hardly even noticed that it happened when she started taking everything i loved, everything i was and parading it in front of me louder, bigger.  Id fall in love with someone, and he would fall in love with her. We were one, but she was better. She was the sculptor, the power, the artist. She made me into a daisy, so she could stand tall as the rose.