"You complete shit lord."
so I gave my nephew a set of avengers cookie cutters and last night they made some sugar cookies with them
most of them came out REALLY GOOD like
and iron man
but then there’s…
I can’t BREATHE
“How are you only seventeen?” They said,
“how are you so young but have all this
going on in your head?”
I don’t know,
I really don’t. I can’t explain
to you why I think death is the answer to
my problem, I can’t tell you why I think
soul mates exists because when I met
him it made me believe in something,
and fuck, isn’t that better than nothing?
I can’t speak about the scars on my thighs
because each one of them, according to
you were caused by lies, the lies that I told
myself, that I was too ugly, too fat, too dumb.
I still don’t see them as lies, because god
damn you don’t see myself through my eyes.
I won’t open up to you about how he ripped a
piece of my being away from me that night,
and no, I won’t open up about how every
evening there’s a fight. I will maybe tell you
about my mother, and how she thinks I am
crazy, and strange. I could never tell you face
to face about my suicide attempt, and how
I had it arranged. I won’t talk to you about
anything, nothing, not even over a phone
call. You’ll have to read my writing,
because trust me, it explains it all.