"And if you're in love you're the lucky one because most of us are bitter over someone."


If you go to hallmark the sections read: 

for the father

with sympathy

missing you

what I’d like to know is where’s the section for 

glad you made it another day.

I took a razor to my wrists and called it self harm. 

Scratching and burning and cutting left scars on my skin,

but what about the scars on my heart?


I fell in love with you and called it self harm. 

Because it hurt all the same.

29.09  9   #sh   #poem   #poetry   #words   #writing   #writings   #tw  


I wish I had said hello.


I would like to be inside you

but not in a sexual way

in a discover you sort of way 

I’ve always wondered what it’s like in there.

Sorry for saying sorry

I’ve been told more times than I can count 

on my hands and toes to stop apologizing. 

To that, I usually say sorry. 


I exist in an apologetic state where I’m always trying to

atone for things I haven’t even done wrong. 


If you’ve forgotten to reduce 3/6 to 1/2 on a math test

your teacher will still take off points because you didn’t simplify. 

In other words, you didn’t entirely complete the problem. 


So if incomplete is wrong, 

then are my thoughts incorrect? 

Are the questions without answers that race through my mind a problem? 

Because what I’m hearing is “not enough”

not complete enough

not long enough

not close enough

not ________ enough?  


You always tell me to stop apologizing for not being good enough. 

I’m sorry for that, too.


Blooming flowers are seen near the glacial ice toe on July 14, 2013 in Kangerlussuaq, Greenland. (source)

A change in thoughts

For a long time I asked myself

“What kind of dad doesn’t love his daughter?” 

but now I’m starting to wonder  

“What sort of daughter is so terrible she can’t be loved?”

For my dad, who couldn’t say “I love you.”

I was not born a terrible person.

I was 8 pounds and a few ounces ,

but that was before life started to 

weigh me down. 

I was not who I am today. 

I was wide eyed and innocent, 

and maybe that was bad because I saw

things I wasn’t meant to see. 

I cared more about naps than anything. 

I’m thinking that even then I knew

 that sleeping was easier

than being awake. 

I was good and pure and delicate. 

I was ten and thirteen and four and two. 

I had done nothing wrong except exist, 

And I deserved to be told “I love you.”