Sad Poems

"Love will not heal me"

I had a therapist tell me once.
It was ironic how much love I gave out cause I didn't give much to myself.
She laughed like self love was a sick joke.
I chuckled..
And cried at home.
I'd had someone tell me once,
I could not live anyone else until I learned to love myself.
This time I got to laugh,
This time the sick joke was mine.
It was me,
I might as well wait forever.
I remember hating myself at the age of seven.
Journals filled to the brim with criticism by eight.
I had enough pages to stitch them into wings, to fly enough to the sun.
To see my tears turn to steam,
Felt the wax burn on my shoulders and mold into thick skin.
I was nine when I wanted to die.
Thirteen when I found a solution.
Figured if I cut my legs enough gravity would let me go...
When it didn't I tied a pillowcase around my neck,
Twisting like the rope swings I knew so well from childhood.
Hear my heartbeat point in my ears like a warning drum, then fade.
I'd almost convinced myself I'd done it.
When I started writing,
I smeared my blood in every page.
To remind myself, that everything beautiful has a consequence.
I hoped to stall the clouding long enough
- to give myself to the craft and let myself go.
I have died so many times.
So when I told you;
That loving you almost makes life worth it, i was not joking.
When I tell you that loving you almost makes me forget how much I hate myself, it is not poetry.
Loving you is taking all the love I could never give myself and putting it to good use.
It is reminding myself that: if someone can love a dying thing this way, can hold the weight of my body and give thanks for the way it holds back.
If someone can kiss the scars,
Administer the pills,
Absorb the bad days,
And wake up smiling next to me then I can try to breathe again.
Cause self love does not always come first, or second, or even ever.
Let your live be the guard rail on the ledge.
Be the drawers that hide all the sharp things.
Be the body that carries my collapsed frame into bed.
Be the flowers you bought cause even though they are dying too, they still dance.
Love will not heal me.
Will not wipe my slate of a body clean,
I will always be a woman of wounds.
A broken heart and melted skin.
Love will not heal me but it will hold my hand if I ever heal myself.
And maybe teach me a joke,
That I can stay alive long enough to laugh at.
I love you,
Enough to want to love myself too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm back from London and I had 4 mental breakdowns at night.
They even called my teacher cause I was saying while crying I want to die and I can't do it.
But overall London was pretty fun.

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND I BELIVE IN YOU,

!!!YOU NICE, KEEP GOING!!!