I’m very hungry. And very lonely. And I would give anything to hug my mother right now.

I get dumped because I can’t stand up for myself and dumped when I do.

I have no home and no place to go and nothing else left to say.

There are 32,000 people at this University. Why the hell did you pick him?

Your anger toward me is unprecedented.

If you would shut your arrogant mouth and listen to the woman who has done nothing but hold your hands, I wanted to reaffirm that I loved you.

That you assume too much.

That sometimes there is a thing as thinking too much.

Even for you.

But since I love you, I was going to finish off by saying I would be here. That I am yours. That I don’t agree with you running away. But you are you and I love you.

Come back to me, puppy. All mine.

I don’t have any understanding of how anyone could love me. What good am I? I’m picky, demanding, angry, scared, psychotic… I literally have very large mental problems. I am a mental problem. People love me. I know that. I just don’t understand why.

It is hate, and pain, and fear that bring so many lovely words from my finger tips. Fear of loss of my beautiful baby girl, not carrying her in my tummy once more. The beautiful, living, breathing manifestation of our love and happiness. Pain from the loss of you, and your sweet kisses on my lips, and your warm hands on my hips. Hate that the everything my so-sure future once held is hanging in the balance of your constant indecision and your fear of our imminent failure.

It wrings from me the lovely words inside of my bustling, breathy, broken brain. They run consistently, coursing through my bluish veins, pressing against my skin in a light blush like the blood they move with. Bringing a covered page of careful creations only I know of, they breathe life like a God and become as real as anything else. They prove to me that I am sure of my feelings because I only write when I feel and you, oh you, you make me feel. Brevity in such sadness is my biggest fear for I will lose the things that make me so beautiful, too. My words, it’s my words, that make me beautiful. They bring forward what is best in me and show it off to a bumbling audience without my consent.

But in all of my sadness, and fearfulness, and hatefulness, I know not why they bring such beauty. I just. I just wish they all would stop.

“loss of my security, safety, and reassurance. Loss of my sanity, sacredness, and purity. My smile, my secrets, my Home.”

In retrospect, my mistakes weren’t worth it. I lifted my shirt and placed my hand on my belly, while my knees gave way to whatever was pushing me down. Sobs left my bony body in strange convulsions. A couple of teeny, tiny thumps spat at my fingers and I jumped to my feet again.

“No!” I yelled with such a finality that it could have ended the world if I willed it to.

I have other things, so?
I just don’t care about it.
I don’t care about any of it.
Not when my baby is at stake.
I swore to her I would hold her.
Rock her, kiss her, love her, soon.
I said, “10 years at most, baby girl.”
Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.
Of course it’s after this that I get the flu.
I deserve it, I do, and I deserve more, too.

And not wake up.
I want my baby.
The only thing I remember is how it felt when she kicked.
Magic. Magical. Beautiful. Perfect.
I need her.
Let
me
go.
Please.

I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.
I can’t do this.

I feel like I’m in the seventh grade and I’ve fallen in love with my best friend. I can’t tell him or he won’t talk to me. I can’t lose him, I love him.

I’m starting to hate you for doing this to me.

I just want to be held.

Someone hold me.

What am I supposed to do with all of this love?
I’m not aloud to give it away.
It’ll over-run me.
Crush me.
Seeing you. Not giving kisses or giggling while you shower.
Not batting my eyelashes at you.
Not having you.
Nowhere to put my love.

I know this is what you want.
But I’m in such a low, low place lately.
I need at least one person who will warm my shoulders, kiss my forehead, and say they love me.

So many promises. You’re just trashing them all.

Throwing them all away.

Me.

Throwing me away.

But it’s okay.

I’m nothing. I’ve always been nothing.

I will continue to be nothing.

As usual.