Ive been told that the wrinkles under my eyes are ugly

that the calluses on these hands that I have gained from picking up my own head are disgusting

that these bruises on my legs that decorate me from all the times I fell from being pushed away are self inflicted

and that I'm just after attention for wanting to spill my guts by letting my life drain from broken skin.

While you're stitching my wrist you might as well stitch my lips sealed,

because my words are made from salt water

and salt water ruins paper-

so if I ruin this too how else will anyone read my feelings?
 

Stitch my mouth closed for the sake of both of us

Because I'll only beg you to continue stitching my body until am nothing but train tracks left that you'll use to leave-

so tell me, when you leave me, will you stick to the beauty of a person, or the bruising of their heart?

Sticks and stones may break bones,

words may never hurt-

but no matter what it's the silence later that kills.

After all,

Bulletproof is only another term for target practice-

'I love you' is only hallowed to the point, made to kill.

I'm afraid of being left alone

because if I'm left sitting here

like the train tracks that are left still in the countryside

I'll only be used as an example of history gone wrong.

A derailment of trust, hope, and pride

Risking my own innocence for the chance of happiness

optimist turned pessimist,

at least if it all falls apart I'll know I was the first to say your name-

first to say your name, and last to even remember mine.

So scared to be left alone that the words "please don't go" find their way onto the greeting sticker

HELLO I'M ________

I could put a million words in that blank line but I don't think i'll ever be able to comfortably put my name

because I've repeated the names of so many others that I think I'd end up putting

Broken

because in the shade of it all thats what I really am

a misspelled word in a dictionary

surrounded by others, but completely alone.

Nobody understands that being scared of the dark

that being scared of what's under the bed,

that being scared of the things that tap on windows in the night

Isn't like the fear of being the only one there.

Because it is us who wish every single time the sun goes down that there is something in the room with us,

that just maybe the things that go bump in the night will understand how it feels to have the door shut on them better then the people we surround ourselves by

that maybe we can find conselence in monsters-

because it is in the silence, the pure and unholy darkness that has made us the same thing.

A fear so strong that its grip is like iron restraints around our necks,

keeping us from chasing the people who leave to try to make them come back.

Its the fear of knowing what the future has in store for the unwanted,

being abandoned in trash cans and thrown into the river bed

arms tied, plastic over head

the unwanted.

Its the fear that the feeling in our guts will never go away

that one day the sickening twist of our heart will finally be wrung loose,

and most of all, its the fear of what we will be left with when that horrible feelings

leave us too.