white noise

when i think of you, my brain fills with white noise
like the muffled static on a TV screen, you were always something
that filled the void, that kept the emptiness occupied
but you’re gone and i’m left here wringing my hands together
when the chorus of your favorite song comes on the radio, and
i cannot breathe, i cannot breathe, i cannot breathe
with all of these words draped around my neck,
with the weight of a thousand sharp memories that
still sting despite the thousands of times i’ve tried to demolish them

i used to dance endlessly to the beat of your heart,
but a music box can only wind so much, and now
i’m stuck listening to the same silent scream of
i want you, i want you, i want you,
i’m still addicted to every part of that familiar old voice
though i swore i was finally clean

every day that passes feels like the last page ripped out
of my favorite book, not even worth reading anymore
because i wouldn’t want to waste my time reading a story
that ends without you by my side

frostbitten hearts and remembering your voice

no matter what time of year it is,
my heart feels like a permanent december
as if it’s been frostbitten too many times
to remember how to feel

and i wish i could thaw my brain
from every memory of your voice,
because it still causes me to shiver
even if i haven’t heard it in over six months

i wonder if you’ve set up your tree
with strings of tiny white lights yet,
because oh man, you were my light
and it’s so dark without you
but i still hope that one day i’ll find
the end of this tunnel,
because it’s been forever since i knew
where exactly i was headed with
your hands guiding the way

i hope you are warm
and i hope you are happy,
because even though i’ve forgotten
what true happiness feels like,
just know that i’d still choose to drown
in my own puddle of misery
to make sure you never will

Finding Real

The summer before eighth grade brought immense changes to my personality, as if I had suddenly been hit by a truck. It all hit me at once. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, I felt physically sick to my stomach because I did not like the person I was, or who I was becoming,
I had spent the first years of middle school trying so hard to fit in. I wanted to feel accepted by the people around me, as if popularity would somehow make me feel better about myself. This meant texting people rude things in order to maintain my high pedestal of self-worth. This meant making friends with girls who only cared about their hair and boys and talking bad about other girls. I was so blind to what I really wanted out of life, but in fact, I was just a horrible mess of trying hard to be someone I was not.
I had let myself become someone I never wanted to be, someone I would have avoided if I came into contact with her today. I saw the ghost of a girl I used to know, but she had disappeared and morphed into something so impeccably rude, almost disgusting. I had become too obsessed with the way I looked, rather than the way I behaved towards others. As long as I could accept what was staring back at me in the mirror, I felt whole. At least, I thought I did. But after empty nights of feeling hollow, I had finally come to the conclusion that I was never truly happy at all.
I used to chase perfection, the kind you find in magazines. I desperately wanted to feel pretty, for someone to look at me like they looked at those popular, beautiful girls at school. I wanted to be adored. I had endless dreams of being around so many people who wanted to be me, who loved me, to the point where I couldn’t even find the energy to love myself in return.
I stopped chasing perfection. I knew that I was a mess of imperfect flaws that could never be fixed, but I figured that it was okay. I knew that I would never be prettier than anyone else but myself, and it was about time that I learned how to accept that.
And I did. I began to write again, after two years of pretending that I hated it just to satisfy the sensation of being like everyone else. Somewhere underneath the monster I had created within myself was still a quiet girl who loved everyone. I had built up so many walls around the person I once was and the person I had become, but I decided to knock them down.
After searching for a while, I found her. It took time, and it was nowhere close to easy. There were times when I wasn’t sure whether or not to be the girl who trash-talked, cheated her friends, and spread lies that everyone would believe, or the girl who wanted to make everyone happy. It became clear to me, that happy was all I was searching for the whole time. It was time to follow my heart instead of what was cool.
I made friends with people who loved me for my spark of insanity, people who wanted to be friends with me rather than people who were just concerned in belonging to a crowd. I stopped dressing for other people. I dressed for myself. I stopped telling people how much I hated them. I began to dedicate my time to tell them the reasons why they meant the world to me.
“Nothing good has ever come out of being mean.” When I think of how empty I used to feel, I regret never following my mother’s advice, the same advice she had been telling me even when I was too young to understand it. But I do now, and now I live by those words. I think of how sad I used to feel, and noticed that everyone on the planet has something that makes them cripplingly sad, and now I have the overwhelming urge to help them. I think of the times I felt worthless and insecure, and now I love for that version of me.
I am her. I will always be her. And I love her, no matter how messed up and psycho and imperfect she is, I love being her. In a twisted way, she is perfect- not because of the amount of Instagram likes she gets and what sits on her skin, instead, she is perfect because she is real.

untouched, unfulfilled

i have always existed as a jigsaw puzzle
with one last missing piece
and i have become weary of always
feeling the hollow ache inside of me,
no matter how hard i tried to fill it in
with counterfeit promises and infinite chances

but i have searched for love
in his voice and in the blurry moments
we spent together with his head thrown back
in genuine laughter, and how i thought that his hands
were the only things
that could hold me together,
when everything left in the world
could not

i thought i had finally found love
in the form of blind indecision
but now, you aren’t even here to hold me together,
you aren’t here to fill up the spaces inside
where nothing exists,
instead,
you made the emptiness
feel so much bigger

and I wonder,

a pair of lips locked together
without magnetism,
is it still true love
or just a
distraction?