The Goodest Girl

No matter how bad
my days can be,
she’s always happy
to see me,
to kiss my face,
and to help me believe
everything will be alright.



It’s been nearly a decade,
but I still think
about that one day…

I was only home two days,
attempting to begin healing
physically, mentally, and emotionally,
when you decided
I needed to know.

You called me a selfish monster,
a hateful beast,
and blamed me for destroying something
that hadn’t existed in years.
You decided
I wasn’t broken enough,
so you unleashed
your bitterness, your anger,
and aimed it at the fresh wound
in my chest.

You told me I needed to learn
how to make sacrifices
for the benefit of others,
but I guess carving out
my own heart
and giving it to someone
who needed it more
wasn’t enough.

So you broke me further,
the one I had always been told
I could count on,
no matter what;
you twisted my vulnerability,
clawed at my mind,
and ripped apart
what was left
of my sanity.

But I’m still here.
I put back the pieces as best I could;
I’ll never be the same,
not with all the gaps
where some pieces
were obliterated,
but I’m alive.
I’m living.

And you’re still
just a

My Own Worst Enemy [TW]

I’ve never touched you in a menacing way physically;
no intentional bruises or cuts to be found on the surface,
but I beat you with my words
and carve deep wounds with my thoughts almost daily.
We meet face-to-face each morning
and I pick you apart until your shoulders slump
and your head hangs low.
I gift you with grotesque descriptors and
bequeath to you heinous attributes.

And even still, I know I am wrong.

You do so many wonderful things,
things I see every day and
things that go unseen by all.
You convert oxygen into carbon dioxide
and can occasionally puzzle out complicated problems;
you practice abilities and talents again and again
until they become second nature
and you execute them almost expertly.

More importantly, you keep me alive.

And I am grateful,
but the Depression and Anxiety,
they love to lie.
They tell me you’re ugly
and that you’re unworthy
of love and friendship.
They stand on each shoulder,
whispering into my ears
about how you’re a fake and a phony,
and you’ll never be good enough. . .

. . . and I believe them in spite of myself.

Light the Way

Readers’ note: I wrote this last night before bed and had intended to share it on Wednesday, but in light of today’s tragic news of Chester Bennington’s passing, I felt it was important to share it now.

You matter. You are not a waste of space. You are loved. Depression lies to you. Please keep fighting.

Suicide Prevention Hotline:
Crisis Text Line:
text START to 741-741


On the days when sunlight
cannot penetrate the
ominous clouds of our suffering,
the best help you can
give to those of us lost in darkness
is to simply hold up a torch
so that we might find a way
out of our personal damnations,
if even for a moment.

Haunted House

The past won’t stay where it belongs;

Each night it comes and sings a song

Of failures and shortcomings I’ve acquired over time.

I’m nothing but a haunted house;

The ghosts of Then all stir and rouse,

And slowly steal away my soul and desecrate my mind.

The memories, they creep and linger,

Point accusatory fingers

‘Til I’m rendered weak and broken, sobbing in my bed.

My family thinks I’ve gone insane,

My friends have all now gone away,

And so I sit abandoned with these demons in my head.

Yet still I rise again each morning

To fight against the endless scorning,

Battling the ugly thoughts that bounce about my brain.

Though all forsake me, I am determined wholly to remain.