my ears bleed
i could spit&bleed&vomit every single imperfection out of me
but that wouldn't make any difference because each time i look
at you, my eyes bleed with the memories of my past that i wish
so much you could see (how i became so numb, scratching at my
wrists, scraping away all that i don't want to be) but my wrists are
sore from scars over the months that if i were to bleed, nothing
would run from cuts (made too deep) and the blood would taste of
too much of iron (even though, i have already tasted the worst of it).
i'm ready to scream all the pain you cause(d) me in your face
so maybe you could try to realize just a moment of what i went
through (just to lie to myself, trying to prove that you never meant
anything to me). but the truth ble(e)d(s) from scar-covered wrists
that you never want(ed) to see (and only saw the beginning when i
showed you more than a year ago) and i know you think i'm stupid
for even drawing across my arms (but you never saw your name
carved into my skin as a reminder of who left me this way) and
you could never know the emotions i feel when razor meets skin.
and don't try to pretend that i never attempted to show you all
the things you (have) do(ne) to me because i still remember
the silence that hung in the air when i wrote you (and i had to
later learn that you were too scared to write back) and you don't
know how scared i was to even bring pen to paper, type simple
words and then (because i was afraid) send the letters to my
best friend who delivered them to you. and you don't know how
i suffered when she spoke to me (back in february) and told me
what i wanted (for so long) to hear (even though i bled so much
that night and choked out more than needed) that i didn't even
have the strength to walk up the stairs and i felt so unworthy
that i fell to my knees and crawled into the bathroom (only to
stare at the girl filled with imperfections that are too many and
too big to try to fix) but those things are of the past that i can't
forget (i refuse to forget the events that have made me who i am).
i can't show them who i've washed up to be because they would
scream statements in my ears enough to make them bleed and
make me feel (even more) unworthy and selfish of all the things
i've done (but i know that to a few select, my scars are beautiful
in their eyes even when i feel so tainted and dirty on the inside).
i would give anything for some hope to make things mutual
between the two of us (even though i hate to admit that).
author's note: i apologize for the repition (&length) of the pieces in the past few days. i was never ready tosee her no matter how many times i told myself.