the roses

i don’t think i’ve ever really been happy.

because i am a girl of long nights, and bloodstains. i don’t want to fight you, so just leave me the hell alone, okay?

i chisel my heart right out of my chest and keep it somewhere far away. because there is a time, and there is a place. but right now, you made a promise, little girl.

so i guess i’ll keep it, no matter what it takes. i’ll plaster on a smile, i’ll wash the dirty dishes ’til they break.

and i’ll clean them up tomorrow, but… not today. because i’m tired, and lonely, and maybe pandora’s box will open no matter what i do, but i still don’t want to encourage it any more than i have to.

so i sit there, in my office chair, waiting for the rain to come. for the endless woods, and the thunderstorm at hell’s gate. i look both ways, and run for my life; i’ll do anything to just get out of this place. but i think i lost a piece of myself in the roses; i haven’t heard from her since.

double checked the address, and sent old-fashioned letters all to no reply. but it’s all right, i guess. just one more part of growing up; i’m told that it happens, sometimes. that i’ll be all right, that the wound will heal with time.

and i have to believe that’s true.


drip. drop…. the storm is over now, my love. so set down your armour; collapse onto the damp meadow. and stare up at the sky. let the rain soothe your scrapes, and bruises. close your eyes.

and let it make the world anew. let it soak through my favourite flannel. and my worn-out jeans. let it wash the bloodstains off of my cheeks.

let it carve out a soft, warm place in my chest. where the tulips bloom in messy rows. where the roses can finally let their thorns go.

let me cry like a little fucking baby in your arms. give me the last push of strength i need to sound the alarms. and let the ambulance carry my fractured body, to a strange place that smells like hope.

and oh, my love, let us be the exception. let this moment change everything; let it pave the way for a better story. let the next generation walk home from school without being afraid. let them put down the keys, and the pepper spray.

let them keep their innocence. let them fill up their daffodil hearts with pancakes, and rainy days, and devastating cartoons. because i hope they never have to feel like i did. like i do.

let them bloom in a thousand different shades. let them be kind, and imperfect, and brave. let them be angry–but pray they never have to feel rage.

the apple trees are dying

the sunrise has grown useless and old.

my stomach churns as peppermint tea slips down my throat. oh, it aches, oh it burns…

but isn’t this what i wanted all along? a nice little life. wailing out my siren song. and i’ll chase after it endlessly. i’ll let some half-baked fantasy string me along. but i never meant to hurt you. and i don’t know where i went wrong…

because the apple trees are broken husks of what they used to be. because i am alone, as the power lines topple. but i have to laugh. because isn’t it so funny? how easy it is, to impersonate a home. but it won’t last forever.

the tips of my fingers turn black and blue. and i’m sorry. that i lost sight of you. drunk on the power, of being so strong and tall. of standing high above the clouds, so there was no one left to make me feel small.

but if i could, i’d take back everything i said. i’d burn it all. i’d find myself, between the smoke and mirrors. and you’d promise to catch me. and i’d let myself fall.

it’s been a long night

you know how it starts. scrolling through twitter for two hours straight, in your mess of a bedroom.

and maybe you haven’t eaten since seven, when cried into your cereal. maybe you woke up to the sound of sirens. or maybe your brain is just like this.

and so your stomach begins to twist. because you’ve been riding a rollercoaster that you didn’t sign up for for weeks now. kicking, and screaming, and begging to be let out.

so maybe your fingers shake as you type. maybe your thoughts flash like thunder through your mind. maybe your feet fall asleep, and the rest of your body sure as hell wants to. because it’s been a long night.

and maybe you freeze in place, every time someone meets your eyes. because i know i do. maybe your body feels like a tired grandfather clock; rusty gears this close to giving up….

maybe my mom is right. maybe we will survive. maybe i’ll live past thirty. maybe i’ll have a nice, happy life.

maybe the grass is greener on the other side. but it’s hard to see that right now.

so i’m sorry. for my cold, jaded edges. for my razor-sharp self hatred. i just don’t know what to do.

because the world is on fire. and i still can’t hate you.