I think sometimes I can hold the weight of the world.
I convince myself that my cracked bloody hands can hold onto the edges just a little bit longer.
I say to myself that my world is not slipping through my fingers as of right now.
I tell myself just one more second, then another, but the world gets heavier and heavier.
And I get weaker.
Maybe it’s the depression that tells me I can’t do it, or the anxiety shaking me with doubt.
It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m slowly losing my grip, and soon,
my world will fall.
There’s a memory of you I’m forgetting.
You’re throwing your head back laughing,
your eyes crinkle, and there’s a wild grin set upon your face.
The sun is kissing your naked brown skin through the open window.
Tousled hair, shirt unkept, and belt unbuckled— this was how I liked you.
I want to remember you like this.
For the sake of keeping myself sane.
So I reach out for you.
But there’s no point.
The further I stretch my arm out the farther away you seem.
Still, I claw for that familiar grinning face.
I move my hand to my chest, and I reach.
My breath gets stuck in my lungs.
I break the surface of my skin.
But I don’t stop.
I mangle through the layers of my flesh
and muscle until I find my rib cage.
Reaching past it, I take hold of my beating heart.
And I rip it from my chest.
Before me, cupped in my shaking palms...
That first inhale hurts worse than a burn.
Your lungs expand and ache. Your throat burns. Your head feels lighter and your body somehow feels disconnected from your brain.
It sounds awful, but I loved it.
However, it slowly kills me.
It blackens my lungs.
It yellows my teeth.
It creates a cancer in my body and yet somehow I can’t stop.
Maybe it’s because I don’t care if it ruins me as long as I have that one moment.
The moment when things slow down. My body feels lighter, and the air feels cleaner. And for one second I’m okay.
For one second, I feel free.
Every time I look in the mirror I see who I am.
What I’m capable of.
What I will never do.
And sometimes, I cover my mirrors.
Because looking at who I am hurts too much.
But also because the ghost of the actions I did not do terrorize me.
You were beautifully destructive.
Gorgeous eyes and soft touches.
So colorful and vibrant.
Your voice, so charming and smooth.
A rare flower.
I let you crowd my life with your seemingly harmless smiles.
Unfortunately, you were anything but harmless.
You were an invasive weed that killed off all my other beautiful flowers; friends, family, even my own self.
You dug yourself into every aspect of my life.
My thoughts, my memories, my choices—were all overruled by you— as always.
You created places for your lies to hide, for your ugliness to cower away.
I was so enchanted by your beauty.
I didn’t stop to think about how looks can be deceiving.
Slowly but surely you killed my garden, until nothing but you was left.
‘Go back to Mexico!’
The breath I take is sharp.
My throat burns and my lungs ache.
Yet, I still scream.
I scream with anger,
And I think back to where it all began.
I had never saw the line that separated me from my friends until I felt it; a push.
The line started with a pair hands shoving me.
‘Go, go back to Mexico! No, go! We don’t want you here! Go.”
I was 13.
I didn’t know what to do. People were staring.
I wanted to cry.
‘I wasn’t born in Mexico,
I’m from here,
I’m a legal citizen!’
It didn’t matter.
I wore a...
When I was younger, I made a friend.
She was so bright.
To me, she was perfect.
I wanted to impress her, to feel worthy of her attention.
But she did something that didn’t make sense at first.
She accepted me.
She supported me and liked me the way I was.
She made me feel things without trying.
The way she smiled at me slowed down time.
The freckles across her face would crinkle.
My heart would skip a beat.
Her hair would fall slightly to the right.
I would stare longer than I meant to.
She kept me captive without ever knowing it.
As we got older we’d whisper secrets into each other’s ears.
There were moments where there was only us.
Those moments would play on a loop for what felt like years.
They were possibly the most treasured thing I could never own.
When I was younger I didn’t understand. All I knew was...