serenity pt. 2

"they just don't understand,"

she told me,

debunking my issues

with a slip of her lips

as we drank bullshit

through plastic cups

of lemonade.

we couldn't trade numbers

or email,

but we could barter our stories,

so i sold her my suicide note

for a smile.

in return,

she let me peek into the life

of a sixteen-year old girl

who smoked weed once

and thought it was the best feeling in the world.

i learned

curiosity didn't kill her,

but she almost killed herself.

she was ashamed of her scars

but she wore t-shirts,

because recovery is wearing your broken heart on your sleeve

and hoping everyone has stitches.

unfortunately,

we were all the needles,

but i would've ripped myself apart again

if it meant she'd be saved.

it takes courage

to collapse

and she was too goddamn brave.