I bow my head in solitude, my hair hanging loose around my eyes like a safety net as I mourn for the girl who I used to be
the girl with flowers spilling out of her veins like poison seeping into her skin
the girl who thought those flowers were beautiful and needed to be picked no matter how much they dried and wilted
the girl who would shower with the lights off every night because she couldn’t stand to see the sight of her own body naked
or see the pattern of the faded, scattered stems she left across her wrists
the girl who let strangers into her home because she couldn’t figure out a way to say no the word crawling up like bile in her throat eyes closed in an attempt to shout “this is my home and you’re making me feel like a guest.”
the girl who loved so deeply it cut her, like thousands of minuscule knives twisting into the carcass of what she used to be
a tree that once stood proud and tall chopped down to the stump because her words and thoughts grew too powerful
I mourn for the girl whose heart broke instead of beat I mourn for the fallen tree and I mourn for the girl who used to be me.
and to the girls who have also learned to expertly balance themselves on the delicate line between dead and alive the girls who carry the universe inside the pupils of their eyes the girls with flowers in their veins and gardens full of ripped up suicide notes in their souls
my heart can't handle this rewrite I just want to be loved
to the girls with sore bodies and open chests that float with enough broken promises to fill landfills
to the girls with sore bodies turned battlefield
to the girls whose sore bodies were once their homes but now feel as foreign to them as the taste of a stranger’s tongue on their own
to the girls whose bones turned fragile and cold because they gave their warmth to the stranger who broke into their home
because they gave everything to the stranger who didn’t understand the word no
because they gave themselves to the stranger who left and forgot to close the front door.
to the girl left on the floor with dirty knees, your arms out, reaching for the sense of security you thought you lost long ago
I mourn for you
someday you’ll be able to return to your home without the boulders of shame you’ve carried on your shoulders for years
your tears will not be wasted instead they will water the garden in your soul that was once filled with suicide notes but is now filled with hope and trees that continue to grow
someday you will feel relief.
it will flood through your veins hot and wet like rain on a warm summer’s day
you will feel relief
you will raise your head to the sky in victory, your hair falling loose around your shoulders like the limbs of a tree
and you’ll remember the girl you used to be
but you will not miss her.