“How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?”
(never have you been more profound than in your prayers, murmuring: spare me your grace, spare me your grace because never have been self-loathing more felt than after midnight when all else is dark and heavy and consumed)
why is it that you can do everything you possibly can to love the people that you love, but still it isn’t enough. still, they won’t let you touch them when they bruise or when they bleed. how do you wrap your arms around someone when they won’t even let you know that they’re crying on the bathroom floor with a knife inside their chest. when they won’t let you see the peeling wall paint. why is there so much quiet suffering. why do we, and the people we love, do that. don’t you know that it only leaves others feeling displaced, staring at their hands, aching to be more—to be enough. please, open the door, let me in. even when i’m not knocking, i’m there, waiting, listening. are we so scared of being vulnerable with one another?
it took me so fucking long to get better don’t you dare take that away from me
Some days the air will be more salt than freshness;
some days your bones will be more pockmarked than pomegranates.
But no matter how full the universe is of dark energy,
it still manages to make the night sky look beautiful.
And no matter how full of scars your lungs are,
the tissue still produces that wonderful voice.
There’s a reason whirlpools flow differently
on either side of the Equator: because opposites
are the only silver linings that can ever turn into gold.
When each day is a suicide note,
find strength in holding the pen that allows you
to express your feelings instead of letting them fester inside
like craters buried deep in the skin of the moon.
When every morning is another reason to stay in bed,
find joy in the nights when you’re able to get out of it.
You can wail all you want and ask the Grand Canyon
how it feels to breathe, but all you’ll get is the answer
that sometimes it hurts to be so empty.
So fill yourself instead,
until all that’s left inside your head
is everything but the desire to be dead.