A Poem I Wrote When I Was a Whiny Girl

The bearer of this all is who I am

I take people’s sorrow, their pain, their pride

And I swallow it up and keep it inside.


“You’re so loving, Lauren”

“You’re so special, Lauren”

“You’re so loved, Lauren”


Yet I am always apart,

Just as certainly by my own making

as the empty fumes of words from sincerely naive mouths


I know I get aloof,

Anxiety ridden, it’s true

And yet I try to overcome this,


But yet it is as if I can only be

That girl who people want in their lives

For no particular reason other than she cares


I am selfish

I understand that

I want to be loved



Words Are Weapons

Words are like pin pricks on the skin,

pulling over and over again on sensitive flesh.

Instead of blood beading from the verbal thorns

tears roll down the emotionally wounded chest.

Your words carry a weight, they can define you,

confine you, or create someone fresh and new.

I wield words like a sword, careful not to slice too thick lest I maim your

heart and lacerate your soul.

I want to crush you because of your lack of words.

I give and I give just to pacify the cacophony of silence and things unsaid.

It’s madness, you make me sick,

sick in the heart and the head.

I want to tear you apart and build you again based on the things you’ve never said.

I’ve decided to destroy you.

My words act like a sweet poisonous kiss,

ready to wreck your heart and maim your chest.

But yet I stay silent. You aren’t dead to me yet but you will be soon


Better yet, kill me instead.

Use your words voice,

it can only be a whisper

but it will still echo through my head like a damn roar.

Kill me, please. Say something.

Why Don’t You Just Leave? An Ode to those who shame survivors

Her face is crumbling,

Porcelain surely broken

Worn down by years of broken anthems

Her mismatched eyes gleaming in the witch light

Witch light

Whitch light

Which light

I haven’t got a clue

I am but a whisper as I hear thump thump,

It comes closer

Her heart pumping

As it comes from the blue

Her mismatched eyes seem to have become unglued

As the facts of her life seem to fly right before her

Like a child who has been fed too much food to swallow

She gags on this knowledge

This terrible forbidden fruit

The truth snuck up

It has eaten her to pieces.

She can’t not see it now

They say naivety is for those

Who do not have the grit

To see what their life has become.


As her porcelain face crumbles to pieces,

Her mismatched eyes have become unglued.

This Is A Poem About Time

Pernicious is the everlasting dream

That turns and twists and fails to become free

The white rabbit taunts me, running and sings:

“This is all just imaginary, see,

Infinity is just infinity

It’s human emotion and human greed.”

But sweetly the flowers with clarity,

Enlighten us passionately, no, pleads:

“As the sun sets, and the moon rises high,

So too we all must live, craving the light,

But ultimately we live to all die.”

Do not be afraid, this is not to fright

      This is not to despair, it is not coy.

      A life long to live is a life of joy.

Make Up Bag

I hide them in my makeup bag,

Which is a very appropriate place to me.

I feel like I am a train running off of its tracks,

Slowly, with time.

When I have good days, it’s harder for me to imagine the bad ones.

I am just weak, I am over-reacting, being dramatic.

But when I have the bad days,

It seems like it destroys every good day I have had before.

It feels like the bottom of a pit,

This black creature slowly devouring me,

But it isn’t black,

It’s definitely white

So white it’s sterile,

It hurts my eyes.

I feel what others feel,

I laugh when they laugh,

I cry when they cry

Why am I the one who feels like I am going to die.

Even this statement I wish to immediately retract,

But I force myself to reason that this is a feeling

That I have.

I feel defective

Like something is missing.

I cry for no reason without my permission

Is this what crazy is

I ask myself this while stroking the cuts on my arms and hips,

And one stupid one on my palm that stings as I write this

Cutting is for preteens and suicidal narcissists

Why do I do it after nearly 2 months without doing it

The feeling of it on my skin

Still brings this punishment that I inflict on myself,

Not for any reason but because I am angry

I am angry that I am weak

That I feel like a child

That I cry more than I smile

That I feel fat and ugly and stupid and worthless when I am none of this

So why do I keep doing this after those 2 months of abstaining from abusing


Guilt is like a tree it seems to me

It grows and gets taller and has symmetry

It grows proportionally with my anxiety and anxiousness

That I experience every time I walk out of my bedroom door

It’s hard to knock down a tree

It takes fire or an axe

None of which I seem to possess

So it grows.

Why am I so lonely and defective

Unable to connect with

Other people

Why do I feel pain and not love

Feel far away from those who matter most

I smile vacantly so they do not know

That my feelings lay so shallow

Despite their importance.

I crave touch but I find myself

Flinching from it

I want a hug but my hugs only touch so much

I want to be grabbed and squeezed and told it’s going to be okay

Because despite this sea of sadness I know I am going to be fine

I feel embarrassed by my weakness but I can get over this

I just want something to change

No one to notice

But some love would be nice

Something I can get into

I need to feel someone else’s skin so I don’t just keep memorizing the lines of my sins on my arms and my hips

Because cuts and contusions

Are symptoms of self-delusion

I need to feel skin unbroken from self-anger and hate

So I can remember what it feels like to be okay.

A Poem About an Old Love

I smell fresh like lavender and daisies.
That’s irrelevant. But I taste like fire.
Do you know what I always find crazy?
Maybe it’s the time of the year. Are you my liar?

Don’t scare me. You scare the shit out of me.
Your very breathing keeps me panicking.
Feel me. Taste me. Adore me. Love me. Scream.
It is so diabolical, wreaking-

Havoc like a dry warm wind on very cracked skin,
chafing until I feel the burn of love.
Or is it hate? This mistake is my sin,
Will I see the metaphorical dove?

Peace is all I ask. I don’t need your heart?
I love you so much, please do not hurt me.
Careful where you tread, because love does bite.
I hate you, I love you, don’t prove me right.


You hurt me once,

and say all the right things.

All is forgiven,

shame on you.

I feel anxiety twice,

I’m hurt once more.

All is forgiven,

shame on me.

Third times the charm,

we talk,

I cave,

When will I learn?

Enabling is a scary thing,

for someone who likes to give

herself so totally.

When will you learn that I won’t tolerate this?

that I have meaning and worth

and value?

Consider this your warning.

I will walk away the next time.

Because I am aware of my heart,

I have it tattooed on my skin.