yes it is another one of these

The first time you didn't rape me, I took six tequila shots and you took me to the bedroom.

I have a lot to apologize for. / But we're not getting into that because I / Would have to remember what we were.

it is exhausting to run so far / only to catch up with me.

i'll make up more excuses for her than she could ever make for herself / and i'll run back so many times that she will come to understand / i will explain away every wound.

Forgive them, for they know not what they do. Forgive me, for I know not how I hurt you. I'm not sure that this is the final version, but I'll put it up while I think it over for awhile.

i have been biting apples since i knew they might get me somewhere, even if it was kicked out of paradise. /trigger warning, mainly si.

You will never not cut their fingers. You will never not cut your own.

I forget how scared I was of everyone before I came out. How I couldn't trust anyone because if they found out, my life would come to an end, figuratively of course, unless it wasn't. Trigger warning for self-harm, suicide, anti-gay violence, homophobia.

This is just a collection of the older poems that I've written that I don't really like, but I want to keep just for posterity.

speak me to nonsense and ask gibberish if I make an ounce of sense

I realized that love has other names. Like help me. I looked in the mirror and said, "I can help you."

The look in your eyes was a promise.

My first slam I ever wrote, written at/for the Missouri Scholars Academy.

I refused to choose a gender from a list of two options, as if our Technicolor world is made up of black and white. //Unfinalized title, I think.

Can you hear me aching as you tell me how pretty I am? Would the word handsome burn your tongue?

I will break open the black holes of my ribcage and hold the nova of my heart out to your celestial fingertips.

I miss when you smiled that smile at me, and we talked about all the things that could be and would be and should be and might be, and you told me that you loved me even though it was frightening.

Some days there's this ache that goes straight down to my bones that even the sun can't thaw out.

It's about time I got a little pride, so don't you dare let go of my hand.

She loves me, she loves me not.

Your riptide words drag me down.

A collection of poetry. /ED trigger.

Daily musings in the form of short poems. One for each day, which I suppose might be considered a "pillowbook". Complete.

We're gutter girls with blank stares and dirty hands.

his hot, bitter breath sends no shivers down my spine.

I think if I keep hoping, someday something will happen to me and I will understand everything. Anything. -- A story of a relationship told through memories and thoughts. /femmeslash

When I was a girl, I dreamt of being...

I burnt my life down with you and I'm building it back up somewhere else.

The way you talked to me in sultry tones seduced me into your world, and I would've stayed there forever.

All of a sudden, I am aware of your proximity to me.

I've been trying to quit for years. /femmelsash

I can finally see the stars for once. Did they ever shine so bright through a wooden wall?

They don't mean a thing.

I look outside and it gives me that time-slipping-nostalgic-sad-summer-sunset feeling.

Why don't you ever talk to me?" Well, let me explain...

A collection of poems based upon the book Catch-22 by Joseph Heller and war in general.

Kurt Vonnegut once said that each of us should stop every so often every day and say, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."

She was a clockwork orange, a cheshire cat, a terminal girl who didn't need dreams because whatever she wanted, she was.

It's not scoliosis, like they ruled out, or a spinal cyst, like they proved.

Watch out.

I can't stay here forever, don't you get it? I'm dying here, dying to say those forbidden words that you can't just keep from me...dying out of desperation for a home.

I'm tired of seeing pathetic paltry girls...

The music throbs, the bright strobes leaving split-second images of a pulsing throng of people imprinted on my retinas. A snapshot.

Sunday and Emery meet when they're both juniors--she in high school, he in college. They immediately connect through their piano-playing, and the attraction quickly grows to something more. But things are never simple, as the two quickly learn.

But when I'm kissing you, the stars align somehow.

A girl like that has no fear.

."Why else would you keep coming here?" "I don't know. For closure. Or something."

It starts with one.

The color leaches out of my skin as I walk, and I become as pure as the snow.

Sometimes, it made me close my eyes and all I saw was green, green, green.

I died.

I'm watching it from my perch, camouflaged in shades of chestnut and pine.

There are ice crystals in my eyelashes and they melt like dreams when I blink.

Because isn't that what makes us human? /possible ED and SI triggers.

what do you know about me? she asked one day at lunch. /femmeslash

Taking one object and writing different stories about it was the assignment. Obviously, I chose a book. And I liked how it turned out.

I dreamt last night. And when I woke up this morning, I was new.

Looked out my window this morning. It's true, but also a metaphor.

So god help me, I'm going to live.

Scarlett and Alize are two very different girls who are held together by love. But what happens when change inevitably happens? Can they make it through the winter and hold their lives together?

It was simple. It was good. poetic prose...very short.

he spends his lonely days locked in the rectory.

You were never mine.

A oneshot one-sided conversation of what happened to a young pianist. Yes, I know there are no capitalizations and there are run-ons. It was written this way for a reason.

A collection of six-word memoirs.

Did you ever lie to me? A snapshot. /slash

You didn't have to give me scars to match yours. /Domestic violence. /mentions of SI. /femmeslash

i took your hand and drank you in with all of me, all of me. and your eyes, they saved me then and there. /femmeslash.

i can't finish the song i was writing her.

it rained again last night.

Two-shot. A look at the two sides of an ultimatum.

I went to the bookstore today...

A little story of Charlie and Rosemary. I may continue it, maybe not. /femmeslash

Every story hasn't a happy ending. oneshot /femmeslash

I do not change. I remain.

I need an exhalation of the soul.

I just want to talk to you, person to person.

It's the excuse I use.

Why don't you commit a genocide / of you and me?

A collection of haiku in stream-of-conciousness format. It's meant to be that way, swear.

You lectured me about sonnets and polygons.

A compilation piece of things I've written.

A quick oneshot about a girl, a first kiss. Set in a reflection-type style. I might do something with this, I'm not sure. /femmeslash

Thinspiration will be my salvation. /ED trigger.

The one where you get old fast and die by seventeen.

Punch me, for all I care. Just quit making that stupid face of yours.

The eensy-weensy ones that go straight down to the bone. Inspired by a line out of Cabinet of Curiosities by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child.

Tomorrow we'll do it again. This piece is in a pair with "I Don't Even Care". They went together, but not well enough to be a singular story. /SI trigger.

They call it a "relapse". Part of a pair of poems that just didn't fit as a single story. Goes with "Relapse, Rewind, Repeat". /SI trigger.

A set of six haiku. /ED trigger.

He'll live forever. Didn't he think himself clever?

Can't a daemon have some fun?

She smells of old books and basil.

The weeping woman drowns herself in vodka.

A two-liner about a girl with trichtillomania, the compulsion to pull out your hair. I thought of this from my dear friend Jelly.

Why cry so sore in the starry night?

My love, you are my lotus.

Those harpies' thrilling voices.

Or rather, unprotected.

We arrive among shrieking cries.

Unblinking.

.

The first line is based off of the last line of the Odyssey's Book One. The rest, let's say I was bored in Engrish today.

I shouldn't be so afraid, but I am.

I saw the body behind your door.

See if you tell me to relax.

2-dimensional, 3-dimensional, 4-dimensional?

A little scar of a heart, carved into my hipbone. /SI trigger.

A story I wrote for English class. We had to write another story about Theseus and his battles, and I wrote this from a slightly feminist perspective, because I don't like how the princesses are always saved by Theseus..

You're a sinner dressed like a saint.

I see them in my windowpanes.

Her words were like thorns, but her touch was like sunlight.

Written half in English class, half in Spanish class, haha. A collection of words that can be read two different ways.

Fat? Skinny? Somewhere inbetween? All I want is for someone to tell me I'm just fine. /possible ED trigger, but not really.

Another wee haiku.

Kind of a glimpse of what goes on between me and my mom sometimes. I actually like this one, ha.

They can't tell me that it's wrong.

You will jerk away from your friends as if they have poison on their hands because it just hurts so bad to be touched. /possible SI trigger, but it's vague.

Haiku are nice, eh?

This is about when my parents found out I SI. Very personal, so be kind, frplz. /SI trigger.

I know it's weak. I know it's dangerous. /SI trigger.

My explanation. /I don't see any trigger.

I've long since been gone.

Another haiku I wrote while mostly asleep.

A little haiku I wrote when I was 75% asleep..

My grandmother died of Alzheimer's, and I wrote this describing how I felt about it, I suppose.

I can feel her sometimes.../possible ED trigger, but it's vague.