Today, On The Anniversary Of My Final Suicide Attempt, I Went Out And Witnessed The Black Lives Matter

come teach me why flowers grow better with blood-based fertiliser. come bury me in the ripe plum of your body, tangle around me like ivy. see, im so tired of dragging around this empty casket of a mind. see, i know I shouldn’t but baby, I’m fucking hopeless over you.

https://www.instagram.com/p/B2QGigMgA9j/?igshid=mq9ym29p2mhg

salting wounds with poetry, and counting losses with a pen that’s run dry. tomorrow will be one year since you hurt me for the first time (oh how quickly time flies). and it angers me that everyone can still read your name in between these lines, that your pulse is still the rhythm of my poetry (and my life).

how casually you haunt me, old friend. i am no longer afraid of the memories you left on my skin (though i moved cities to escape them) so perhaps i can call this a year of growth. but is it really, when i spent months trying to fight the urge my bones had to rearrange themselves into a different woman?

the 29th was hot last year, and it is hot today too. but i’m not that girl who was complacent in her own destruction anymore, no. ive left the demolition site for good.

now, i kiss the girl i was and i thank her for staying alive, hold her and say that i’m proud she survived.

oh you’re lovely at being the victim, aren’t you? pout your lips and say that you never knew what you did to me. held me like i meant something to you. broken glass jaw, splintered ash and telephone calls. oh how silly i am, oh how naive.

you laugh and holy hell, I can’t stop staring. the way you throw your head back, teeth flashing like small breaks of sunshine through leaves. it makes me feel as if I’m witnessing something holy. your neck tilted like Michaelangelo’s David as you laugh and laugh and laugh, the happiness spilling out from the deepest part of you. my breath caught in my throat, stunned. you looked beautiful. god, so beautiful. blonde hair, green eyes, blushing cheeks. the poet in me smiled softly, knowing she’d found a new muse, knowing she’d happily let you destroy her. perhaps this is how Icarus felt, flying too close to the sun, knowing he’d burn and happily accepting his fate in exchange for a couple of fleeting moments near god.

breaking breaking breaking

I ask for forgiveness,

for a sin I haven’t committed.

bow to the pillar of greatness or madness or whatever there is.

hospital bed number 5,

you’re not here. you’re not here. you’re not here.

(I don’t want you to be).

suicide wraps it’s fingers around my neck and whispers sweet nothings,

flashes of blood and the noose and the pills the rush and the silence

the silence the silence the silence the sil

(I can’t breathe)

i close my eyes and wait and wait and wait

it’ll pass, I tell myself, just breathe and let it be.

I hope you find yourself whoever you are

I hope you listen to music and fall in love and go dancing

find your happy ever after,

with ur messy hair and teary eyes

hospital bed number 5.

just to be clear, you can do this too

trigger warning: self harm

it’s been a year since I last hurt myself, an addiction that took all my willpower to overcome. I know I can fashion words into something beautiful but there was nothing pretty about all that self-hatred, all that anger, loss and pain. all that pain coiled in my stomach, gnawing at me from the inside. there was absolutely nothing beautiful about scarring a body that works so hard to keep going. I can’t make this beautiful or romantic or wistful. but it’s over now. I can breathe. I just want to let that fact be.

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