girl-flesh

a. i dissect butterfly wings and place the stained-glass shards of beauty lifted from their corpses under my plastic-wrap flesh, in some sad, sweet hope that  i can become as beautiful as the bugs that you were compelled to destroy because of their obstinate splendor. b. i take mascara and eyeliner to my face and try to draw on some pretty or perfect emotion, but i end up looking like a clown, which is sort of really funny because of how numb and sorrowful i have become just to become appealing to you. c. i take the mutilated face of a shaving razor to my skin and hack out the splinters of butterfly beauty because you

When Mae was born, the room was silent. The mother, and her heart were torn up in the insanity that occupied her mind. Mae was not celebrated, showered with gifts and flowers. She was just, there. As she grew up she realized that the only thing worse than dying too young was not existing at all. Or rather, existing in a world where no one knew your name. On her thirteenth birthday she decided that blood was a beautiful colour and so she painted her eye lids with hemoglobin and blew out the candles. With an aversion to loud noises and just sound in general, Mae made a cardboard box her home and called it Unit 9. Covering her ears, and cowe

theres a girl who has irses the colour of running ink. she covers canvasses with blood-red paint and covers note books in everything she wishes she could be. hanging red canvasses on the blue walls in her room sometimes make her feel as though she's burning. when she comes home from school she lays on her bed and she cries, burning from the inside out. - theres a girl who spends her nights curled in a ball, in the park behind her house. her cheeks are decorated in purple-blue-black bruises and her tights are ripped. i want to hold her to my chest and run my fingers through her sienna hair; hold her hands and kiss her fingers. i want to prot

           he lived in a ghost town. underneath his eyelids lay cemetaries, with shallow graves and tall headstones made of ivory and black opal. his veins were the colour of ashes against his stony skin, and his eyelashes reached out pleading.            she lived in a burning city. people melted into cement around her, and black tar reflected heat into her bare soles as she skipped to time square. she wore her sundresses in every color but yellow, and she was the definition of unorthodox.      &#

I've been known to bring strong men to their knees                                     and leave them there. Call me thursday night - I'll be laying in the bathtub, candlelit with the makings for a pipe bomb. I like to make explosive                                      

Dear Self, I realize today that I hate you more today than I did yesterday. Dear Self, I learned today the extent of how much you can't do anything right and how incompetent you are. Dear Self, I feel you should know I hope you die. Dear Self, It's taking all the restraint in the world not to drown you in the bath tub. Dear Self, Just the fact that I know you're happy even for a second makes me sick. I also know that the happiness you're feeling is my fault. I'll fix that. Dear Self, Get a grip. Dear Self, No one cares. Dear Self, Are you seriously disappointed? What did you expect? Have you ever MET me? Dear Self, Please.

i'm not a liar. but i never told you that you always looked best in black. i liked how your skin would fade to a paler shade of perfection and your perfect teeth would glint a little brighter. and i could pretend for an evening that you were my black and white dream come true. and with you there would be no shades of inbetweens and no grays for us to get lost in. i never told you but it's true.

 + i was never able to tell you, but i hate the way you cook your 'specialty' eggs. you always laughed over your shoulder and told me that they are the best food i’ll ever eat, that i was blessed to get the chance to taste them melt

dear boy, well, the phone won't stop ringing and the baby's still crying. but you are no longer the fourteen-year-old scene boy i fell for. you cut off your hair and you’re now almost a man. you are almost nineteen. you leave lights on because you like wasting perfectly good things like electricity, time, and love. it's like setting a house on fire and just walking away, not watching the beauty in the flames as they twirl. i can't say i'm much better though, because i always want what i can't have. it's lunch time and in the cafeteria line-up, i'm beside the head cheerleader. i look at her tray and say, "i want what she has" because she