you carried me in the room.

set me on fire.

I wept, so you cut my hed off to keep me silent.

what am I?

or, what was I?

Recently I have recieved a post dedicated towards me in a "romantic" way. But nothing about this is romantic.

Some older men think it's okay for them to prey on younger girls over the internet, because it's how they feel towards them. But never ONCE have I ever been asked if I wanted it. This isn't the first time this has happened, but I still get so sick and afraid every time it does.

THIS IS NOT OKAY.

I'm (almost) 17, and I have a boyfriend.

NOTHING about being hit on, in a gross way, when you don't want it, is okay.

And then after blocking said person they have decided to change the post into a "hate" post.

I would say good, but this doesn't help. Reading something that is hurtful and hateful towards you, still makes you feel like shit.

SENDING HATEFUL MESSAGES TO PEOPLE IS NOT OKAY!

So please, consider the person on the other side of the screen.

For the time being I will be absent from Prose; for this is too much for me to handle and I don't feel comfortable anymore.

We are

R

U

N

N

I

N

G

out of

T

I

M

E

(so let’s make the most of it)

I wish I could say

I have had a happy memory with you

but every one is stained

with anger

with darkness

with blood.

Mother,

why couldn’t you

just let me smile?

For once you were

caring

but you let

the moment slip away

when you decided

there was nothing wrong

with a punch

(physical and emotional).

Why,

why must you be this way?

I’m sick of dealing with a child

I’m tired of dealing with your conflicting moods.

(and I know you will never change but I still hope).

I want to love you

and I know you want to love me too

but it's hard

(you are mentally not fit to be a mother).

So I think I will take

these broken

memories

(these sunny, burning, painful memories)

and leave

you

for good

so that I may never have

to endure the blistering

a g o n y

of betrayal.

(but I won't leave, because I have to protect the younger ones from having memories like the sun)

Have you noticed

the impact of the virus

on the world?

The clear blue waters,

the green trees,

the wild animals,

people caring for one another,

people actually giving a fuck about mental health,

safety a number one priority,

and time spent wisely?

So much

good

has come out of this.

But as soon as

the Coronavirus ceases

it’s the end

of every

beneficial effect.

(There won’t be clean oceans, more trees, welcoming arms, and contentment; for humanity will destroy any positive progress that we have made—we always do, eventually).

Have you ever

looked over an edge

and felt a sort of

invisible weight

pressing down on

your frozen frame?

Every end

to a stable platform

leads my thoughts

to the unstable

emptiness

that comes from

o n e

s t e p

f o r w a r d.

Every time I look down

with h o l l o w eyes

and mystified lies

my heart beats slower

(as if it knows

I’m okay with the way

the ground sways

closer

beckoning me

to let go.)

Every time

I lean over

an edge

my mind

p l u n g e s into rivers

swimming about

in thoughts

rushing past me so fast.

(fear courses through my veins like ice).

When I stand

close

to my death

my limbs

f r e e z e over

(I can’t move, I can’t move, I can’t move).

You’d think

it was the distance

between

me and the ground

that I am afraid of.

But it isn’t the falling

I’m afraid of;

It’s the knowing

that I want to

take that one step forward

into the unstable abyss

that jolts me backwards

with heavy breaths.

“I’m just afraid of heights” I say

but really

I’m afraid of myself.

Midnight is not a time

it is a feeling

that sends oceans through my mind

and shocks my soul to

l i f e.

lilacs softly sway

to the sweet hum

of her sugary voice

dipped in crystallized rays

of sunny days.

her lips melt

my shivering heart

into pools

of fragile emotions

flowing endlessly between

the cracks of my soul.

she tastes

of lemongrass

and feels

of petaled flowers

that arose

my senses

to infinite heights.

she has found a way

to wrap me in a warm filled bubble

that makes

the world

seem so small

yet so large,

but it’s with careless knowing

as the only

thing

that matters

is living

with this golden goddess of mine.

Apparently,

my type

only consists of

toxic fucking assholes.

(i thought you were different...)

Sometimes

it is hard to breathe.

My lungs

are compressed

by

b o u l d e r s

that sit

on my chest

weighing down

on my life.

Sometimes

it is hard to breathe.

Life whips

around me

like a

t o r n a d o

and

I can’t

get

a moment

to gasp

for

a i r.

Sometimes

it is hard to breathe.

But it’s only because

I find

myself

u n c o n s c i o u s l y

holding my

b r e a t h

for

30 seconds

60 seconds

120 seconds...

Sometimes,

it is hard to breathe—

so

I just don’t.