my heart is an iron safe, rusted and sealed shut to keep the demons out, to keep you out.
they say if you love something, let it go;
is that why every move you make pushes me fifteen, sixteen, seventeen steps away from you?
i don’t think so. i think that you don’t care yet, you don’t realize:

i’m getting out of here. and once i’m gone, i’m never coming back.

so you can sit there and cackle and think “i’ve got her”
and keep pretending that you don’t need me.

because when i get to eighteen steps, i’ll disappear from your senses.
you won’t see me, you won’t hear from me, you won’t touch me.

so enjoy the power while you still have it. revel in it, roll in it.
because when i’m gone, we’ll see who really needs who.



drenched in sweat
in tears
in dreams.


drowning in expectations
in worries
in doubt.


losing myself to empty spaces
to blank stares
to black & white.

too much time, not enough time;
a recipe for insanity.

when will it be enough?
will it ever be enough?


It all begins with the cold.

A breeze a gust of wind a chill that covers her bones with frost
and turns her eyelashes to snowflakes
shivers trickling down her spine, sparking a fire in each neuron
as her vision turns white.

She searches among the twisted thorns of her heart, barren of leaves
and life and so cold, cold as ice
wandering barefoot at night trudging through piles of snow, mountains of it
trying to find shelter in a body that’s frozen in fear as she
flashes back to a warm embrace and counting breaths and feeling like home.

But the cold keeps coming and soon enough she can’t find her own thoughts
her mind disappearing faster than the snowflakes fall, dusting her hair with
glistening specks of pale white nothingness because nothing matters except
her need to feel strong again.

She is chilled to the marrow, covered in armor she forged for herself
out of heartache and darkness and seasons of abuse
and soon she’s numb to everything that ever hurt her
hardening what’s left of her heart to the drudge of living.

She’s not bitter, no. She builds herself up this time,
starting slowly and then fast fast faster until she
no longer relies on the mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, lovers and leavers
who have shaped her and defined her and broken her before.

No. In the winter she molds herself out of avalanches and pines,
out of burning embers and frozen earth and wilderness
wreathing a crown of holly for her hair and adorning herself in velvet
because she deserves it.

She cloaks herself in dignity and reigns over the pain inflicted upon her
annihilating every shred of wrongness until she is whole again,
made new of her own accord.

She is her own alpha and omega. Winter is coming.
And she runs.


We grow up watching
watching Disney movies and

and they don’t tell us

We grow up listening
listening to Taylor Swift and
new beginnings and forever and always

and they don’t tell us

We grow up reading
reading words like stay with me and
true love never dies and soul mates

and they don’t tell us

We grow up with ideas
ideas about warm embraces and
someone to sleep next to when the thunder is loud and the lightning flashes through the cracks in our shutters

and they don’t tell us

We grow up with dreams
dreams of I do and
a happy family and one and only

and still they don’t tell us

We grow up not knowing
not knowing that it’s an illusion
it’s not real it’s fake

We grow up
and they don’t tell us
until it’s too late

They tell us a lie
until we’re so disillusioned with love and
happy endings
that we destroy our chances
of ever finding them.