She has Paperclip eyes

Elliptical moons cantering off balance traverse the watermarks off high-school in her eyes, somehow 8th grade graduation and learning to let go still lie unfaded on her cheekbones, even though she's grown a year and a half in the year since.


 Corroded stars flutter Caterpillar wings in her elbow cricks just like orientations and first days of high school and last days of clinging to childhood shoot up nostalgia and coming to terms with the concepts that fairy-tales when broken down by Kepler's laws and geometrical formulas, are just myths into her wrists.


Hydraulic days full of November rain and racing second timers on astro turf nights simmer gently into the layer of camouflage outside her skin. Even though months past, her ankles still feel the freeze burn of being too tired to dream, and too exhausted to cry, the numbing relief.

Platonic galaxies burning with the wrong unbalance of mercury and lithium shimmer in all the wrong shades of what its like to fall in love with someone whose broken pattern retinas match your own, but somehow even though she felt everything too sensitively and real back then.Its a after image and halfway memory today.


Dripping scalding water in an effort to demand my goosebumps succumb to suicide are perishing memories lurking behind her shoulder blades, the battle between living and insanity was pushing away the acknowledgment that humans can't fly and have superpowers, and that even she couldn't singlehandedly defeat depression. Even the past five months were brutally tapping oxygen from her spine, smiling with broken curls and lapsed dreams means forcing that reality to be faded ,


That girl declared putting up endless barriers and abandonment to be won in the last weeks of april , believing summer was enough to revitalize her veins, but that girl was too early in wanting to believe herself a survivor.

Because after all reality is always too big for her to swallow so creating poetry in streamlined conciousness was her way out forever, up until it caught up with her when it became impossible to determine which pains were real and which exaggerated, under the umbrella of Winter down-spiraling.


That girl writes inflections filled with razor shaped words and an intensity of picture frames in poetry from the third person, just so its possible to sometimes not believe she's writing about herself.


That girl started telling everyone she was okay again, when in all honesty,
I'm not, and I maybe won't be for a long time.


That girl is still learning that she doesn't not know who she is, she just still needs to understand how to balance all the people she's ever been.



But balance is difficult for anorexic moon freckles who have never had an eating disorder per se, but has always struggled with living at extremes- because two years ago she was the connotation of alone but looking back not quite up to par to be the definition too, to call it herself.




And now, its easiest to sidle away from instincts of still wanting to be alone because the fairytale that by pushing everyone away no one can hurt you, is potent and mostly fatal.




Somehow- eighth grade feels more real sometimes than the past year, but maybe that's because finding the midway line to define myself is going to be my real challenge, not the individual experiences and living through them and congratulating myself on surviving.



I'd like to believe that girl, she and I are capable of learning how to breathe again and not letting memories define me, and that both of us can balance the choices we make between each other- so maybe this won't fade to a fairytale like everything else.



That girl, well she wishes that maybe it will be possible to be okay again, and not feel guilty for lying about her state because her bones will have mended and her rainbow veins will find a way to reunite and meet halfway.


Me, well I'm hoping I can accept that she and I really aren't that different- because after all we share the same lungs, but at the same time that we'll figure out
how to differentiate halfway in our own terms.