The funniest part is
you have no idea. 

why do I still do this
why do I still
let myself fall
let myself crash
when I know damn well 
how it’s going to end. 
it’s a cycle. 
maybe it’s always changing 
or maybe it’s staying the fucking same. 

either I’ll cry 
over the smell of your fabric softener
every twinkling smirk
all the times I’ve fallen asleep in your lap
or in your bed
every arm around my shoulder and
every stupid sex joke
every hug that lasted far too long 
all your shirts I’ve worn 
your arguing to hold my hand in the hallway even though 
my hands are sweaty and you know I hate that. 

or I’ll keep deluding myself
so that I don’t have to feel that awful heavy tightness 
tangling up in knots behind my ribs. 

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 
wasn’t I supposed to burn
a fever
a happy ending?
I wasn’t supposed 
to bleed. 

or I move on. 
I let go
I find someone else
someone short and curved and dark haired, 
and I laugh at the days when
I pined so helplessly over you
my best 

but I’m stuck. 
you wield the knife and 
I’m bleeding out for you. 

I’m at your fucking mercy


—By Mimi, 15, Portland