Love hunts.

You will sit, unsuspecting pretty prey,
Feeling a steel gaze upon you.
Lurking in the shadows always watching.
Waiting for a chance to swoop in
And then you are caught.

But you enjoy capture.

Love sinks it’s teeth deep,
Takes purchase in warm, beating flesh
And though you are bleeding out
You will weep, when they try and un-pry
It’s fangs from you.

Love is killing me softly,
But I will allow it to.
It drinks from the well of my life
And leaves me painfully thirsty.
But I will never stop it, not till it’s satisfied.

I am no soldier, waiting for my blaze of glory,
No coward, hiding from the fight.
But love?
Love will take me without struggle,
And truly, what a way to go.

I love you and I am sorry
How can I be good enough when I don’t know what that means?
I’ll do better
Even if it kills me, I will
I am so grateful for everything you do
You could have left me to starve, you didn’t, well done

I know the others do well too I just…
I hate them, I hate them, I hate them
Yes I want to be successful when I’m older
Do I really want to live long enough to be older?

It’s just hard right now with everything…
Everything feels impossible
I’m sorry, I’m sorry
I don’t even know what for sometimes,
All I know is that I’m wrong and I’m sorry

I love you
That's why this hurts so much
Alright good night
I hope I don’t wake up tomorrow
...
Yes I’m fine
What else am I allowed to be?

I am 16 and I am excited.
My birthday is coming up soon,
I will be 17 and everything
Will finally be different.

I will almost be an adult.
And my voice will be heard (I think).
I am on the cusp of it,
At the brink of defining my lifetime
(I am picking universities),
Things will be different.

I am 17 and I have makeup on.
(It isn’t great, but my eyelids sparkle)
And I'm wearing a pretty dress.
(A little too big but it sits fine)
My friends say I'm beautiful
And for the first time I believe it.
Things are already different.

I am 17 and I come home.
I am buzzed from dinner,
(They let me have a single glass of wine)
I am high on life,
I feel like I’m infinite, like I’m not so small,
At least not anymore.

Then she sees my dress
And she is disappointed.
She says I look like a “painted *****”,
Not pretty, not more,
Not magical, not different.
And suddenly I don't feel 17.
I mean I am 17, but I don't feel it.

I am 17 and things have changed,
I have changed.
But nothing is different.

I can't.
Its complicated.

She knows too much already,
She's watched every error,
Every fall.

My victories pale in comparison,
To the ever growing list of failures
She has lived through.

I am afraid to give her this.
This flesh of mine,
This soft underbelly I've kept hidden.

What if she's proud of me?
What if she's not?

What if she just sighs
And my whole world shatters?
What if she laughs and I am
Reduced to nothingness?
Worst of all, what if she doesn't care?

What if the softest parts of me don't matter?
What if she just pushes it aside,
And I am ten again
Wondering how hard I'll have to work
To be worthy of someone so glorious?

I am covered in scars from her dissatisfaction,
This is all thats left unmarked.
So I cant show this to my mother.
I just cant.

It is a slight sip at first.
Wetting the tongue and
Soothing the throat.

But soon you are taking big gulps,
Forcing yourself to choke down the frustration
That tries to push its way past your throat.

Now you are drowning
In an ocean of your virtue.
Stomach bloated from
All your long-suffering.

"Have you had your fill yet?"
They'll ask you.
"No, no, there's always room for more."

I'm older now,
And the drink is far too bitter.
It tastes of pain and anger and sadness.
I don't think I could manage a single sip.