walking nightmare

There are so many other girls with perfect hair and skin and eyes and compared to them, I am a walking joke. I am an unfixable calamity of dark grey circles under my eyes from staying up all night because the thoughts in my brain always seem to bloom at the worst times. I am the weight of a thousand words that sit at the tip of my tongue but refuse to come out. So please don’t ever tell me that I am flawless because that word is so far away from what I aim to be. At the end of the day, I want to be so incredibly flawed and real and incurably human but still beautiful because of what is inside my heart instead of what sits on my skin. I have slowly become a whirlwind disaster of running away from your toxicity. I am a hurricane of good intentions gone wrong but I can promise you that you’ll never find a perfect person that could love you as imperfectly as I ever did.

human metaphors

i am not a metaphor
for the cracked sidewalk
that sprawls outside my door
growing unwanted weeds,
littered with faults and things
people don’t want anymore

i am nothing like the sidewalk
my heart is not made of cement
and it is not used to being walked on
yes, i have faults, but i was not made
to be stepped on repeatedly
because i am human, not asphalt
and my heart is often stuck in my throat,
not steady enough for your heavy words-
not built for your harsh footsteps

i am not a metaphor
for the card games that are played
in rundown casinos
filled with bustling people
with foreheads gleaming sweat,
the sole ambition to conquer the first prize-
people just like you

i am nothing like the card games
and i can’t keep pretending that
nothing bothers me, with
a permanent poker face
and always settling to be the sore loser
because i’ve spent too many forevers
hidden under your shadow,
and it’s about time that i pulled a joker
because i am tired of always letting you win

lying, lying, lying

i used to write about him
in tattered journal pages
and in cheesy poems
but i didn’t want to admit it

i didn’t want to admit
the fact that he was gone
and writing him into paper
wasn’t going to bring back
the person i once knew

i didn’t want to admit
that i wasn’t in love-
that instead, i was cold and lonely
for endless summer nights
in the pitch black vacuum of my room
when everyone else was sound asleep
and i should’ve been, too
i guess at that time
i just didn’t want to admit
the fact that i was too busy writing
to realize i was just lying to myself

so this is me finally admitting it-
this is my apology letter
for blindly lying to myself,
for believing the miserable lie
that writing about him
would bring us back to life

because so far it hasn’t worked
and i’m undeniably sick
of lying to myself
and ignorantly believing it will