13 Reasons Why

13 Reasons Why the book and show of the same name is full of shit, from a mentally ill person

  1. When I was going to kill myself I did not have the energy to write myself into the follicles of explaining why I was no longer, never mind record 13 tapes for the people who buried me
  2. You could fold me up fragile as tissue paper, the most colorful part of me was the blood I fed to the drain, my skin was already the color it would become post mortem otherwise
  3. If I had the energy to record those tapes, it would have gone to finishing work because wanting to die all the time is exhausting, people are still baffled I always made it to school when I was 10 feet underground, numbed out to the world moving around me
  4. Love does not cure mental illness of any facet
  5. No I’m serious – the love I felt overpowered everything but my illnesses, I still vividly remember how his hands felt in mine and the reassurance that I wasn’t alone in the cold that inhabited my chest, but death breathing down my neck didn’t cease for a lover
  6. Pretty imagery does so much to erase the grimy reality of being mentally ill
  7. Bullies are not all jocks and popular kids, trust me
  8. No really, trust me on number 7. Enduring two years of bruises unexplained to my parents and eyes of those around me averted each time one of my friends hit me, I lived in fear. Another two of a lover filling his poison love into my lungs. All already outcast, they needed to feel power over someone.
  9. Not everyone dies, but not everyone lives comfortably after diagnosis either. Many of us float between, living in discomfort most of our lives until deemed “cured”, if our illness can be.
  10. You will never be fixed by someone else’s love. Seriously. I can’t stress this enough.
  11. Mental illness isn’t pretty, it won’t be flowers and muted colors. It will be patchy cheeks from crying and anxiety attacks severe enough to render you unable to speak until it’s over.
  12. No one is affected the same, I slept for 10 hours a night while my best friend didn’t sleep. Both avoiding food, bones hollow as a baby bird freshly hatched.
  13. The scars you leave probably won’t fade, no matter how much miracle concoctions and creams you try. Do not take a blade to your skin to be edgy, do not do it period. Take it from a serial self harmer. It becomes an addiction you cannot drop. Do not do it because you think it’s cool.




The spring allergies developed 6 months after leaving the man who promised me forever

Coincidentally, his birthday is in the dead of spring

My body tries to rid itself of percieved toxins

Or the remnants of his touch months after dusting his fingerprints away

His poison words decorated with flowers twisting into “but I love you”

Lowering my casket a little lower with every argument crucifying me

Having me paint you in the likeness of a god

So that when you left no one would listen to the girl who cried wolf

The only compliment I have left for him is that he is a wonderful actor

His fake tears in the spotlight so no one would see the ghost he left behind

The shell of me pried open with his delicate fingers working in time with the poison oozing from his lips

Dotted with poems illuminating his love for me

Because I was the only one his heart was tangled up in

I guess you were tangled up in me, you left behind some thorns

Each time I see you my heart bleeds a little more

Cheeks stung by tears that flow as rivers

Y’know I just blame the pollen now


My hands don’t keep quiet

The twitching started after the years I do not talk about

Always waiting to run away

Asking for forgiveness each time I tiptoe around the secrets I keep in a chest by my bed

The obituary my betrayed hands wrote my then dying body lying at the bottom

Waiting to resurface at the perfect moment to remind me where I came from

There is no easy way to cry in public

My legs often forget that the time to keep running has long passed

Itching to move every time I sit down long enough to tear my chest open wide enough to let me bleed for the world to see what they did to me

Blame has nowhere to settle down but on the scars left where no one knows to look but me, faded to white but still visible enough to know the graveyard remains

Tears no longer flow rivers from my eyes

Many days I feel evicted from my own body

I trusted them

The acid of their names drops my heart to my knees

My heartbeat keeps my leg bouncing – my heart had no road map back up to my chest

Maybe my hands were never meant to sit still

Only created for them to create in the aftermath of a devastating hurricane

Because only then did I pick up a pen and begin scratching my life story in poems


My name is hand-me-down re-purposed by my own hands

My maternal grandmother was born to a family of artists in 1931

Weaving yarn together with needles on the couch is how I remember her through my childhood

I started crocheting 2 years after her death because my hands didn’t know how to sit still

I have been told neither could hers

Painting was one of my first loves in life, always being the one in class to have paint on my face, my clothes, in my hair

Throughout the house her paintings hang like a warm reminder that I’ll carry her not just in my name but in 14 years of memories I try so hard to not let go of

The name I wear as a locket around my neck, paint dotting my clothes as the photograph inside

Some days I wonder if she would be proud of me now

But I am also very much my father’s daughter

Unapologetic in brute honesty, I am not a lady like she was raised to be

I talk with the rhythm of my ancestors, too fast, too loud, too uneducated

Maybe she beams proudly that I fight tooth and nail to get where I need to be and I can’t see through the stubborn eyes my father gave me

I still wear her name proudly, not giving anyone the satisfaction of claiming it doesn’t fit in their mouth, so I should find a new one easier for them to pronounce

It’s been five years since you left and all I can hope is that between books, you see my laughter returning, voice booming, and succeeding


For Ainslie Sr., from Lil’ Ainslie

To the man who cared for me after the man I can only talk about in my poems:

You finished taking all that you left here in boxes filled to the brim

All but one photograph lost in one of my albums

Threads you used to stitch me back together evaporated when I realized it wasn’t you who gave me permission to move on from him

I rebuilt myself in the loneliness before you came but after he left

Somehow I was convinced some of this foundation of my new self was created by your hands

You just made everything more beautiful

The rolling in of thunder, the dripping of rain while you slept soundly next to me

I wanted it to be you

But we both knew it wouldn’t be, yet I still could dream

I still run over the day you left like a scar too stubborn to fade

Is this your permission to let me start forgetting?


Most assaults are done by someone you are acquainted with

The first was my then boyfriend’s best friend

He kept touching my ass while I kept asking to stop

He was holding my best friend’s hand

I kept asking him to stop, just like everyone else

My hand collided with his face hard enough to make him cry

He was holding my best friend’s hand


The second time I was drunk off blue vodka

It was one of my best college friends and it was nearly 3am

I trusted him enough

He walked me home which he has done dozens of times in the early hours so I wouldn’t be afraid of being violated by someone else

He kissed my cheek twice and forced me to kiss his

I had to push him out of my dorm mere seconds before I could have been splayed out

That was the closest to a murder scene I have ever been

There is a grime on my skin from his hands nearly wandering where they shouldn’t have

It’s been 4 days and I feel like my throat is closing in

I trusted him enough


Forever was moments with you that made my heart flutter out of my chest into the palms of your hands

The blackberries I kissed off your lips

Your hands twisting wildflowers into my hair

Closing your eyes to flutter your eyelashes on my cheeks

No one told me it would hurt walking away

Each gentle moment teaching me that not everyone was here to hurt me

They’re all kept in a locket waiting for you to reclaim what is still yours

You always said your brown eyes weren’t beautiful but mine of grey blue stung when you needed it he most and melted into honey when you needed to feel welcome

But you never made a home out of those eyes of yours and I am still trying to find my way back to them

It wasn’t a permanent goodbye, just a see you later

via Daily Prompt: Later


A passport of every person  who visited my heart:


Everyone could see my world shatter when you kissed her two days after we broke up

You know, the same girl who I couldn’t tell where her fist ended and my dwindling frame began


Thank you for making your arms home so I wouldn’t feel so alone

You left without a trace and I still haven’t forgiven you


I dug my own grave while you watched

You strung your love for me into sweet intoxicating words and they still haunt me now that you’re 3 years clean


I nearly slipped from this place and you would have been the one to make sure my grave had fresh flowers

I wish I wasn’t a cyclone disguised as someone you loved

You still haven’t forgiven me


They told me you were a phase I would grow out of

I couldn’t bear names thrown like stones for the person I decided to give my heart to


I would choose you over and over



I wish love came with a gift receipt so you could return all the time I spent loving you

Looks and talent aren’t everything when you abuse someone until they no longer recognize the face staring back at them in the mirror

You were lying when you said it would only happen once


Sometimes I still feel the warmth of your body asleep next to mine

With the rain drizzling in the early hours of morning, your arms pulling me in, lulling me back to sleep

We didn’t have enough time


Our giggles and goofiness compliment each other

Please make a home of me as long as you need


“Thank you for loving me when I still tasted of heartache and war.” – Nikita Gill

via Daily Prompt: Passport