“5 years

Since I last saw you,

4 days

Since my last drink

For you.

3 hours

Since I last smoked a cigarette

For you,

2 minutes

Since I last thought of you

And 1 second

That I’ll be okay for you.”

4 ½ years earlier

Today hurts.

I miss you.

Those chocolate brown waves,

The warm feeling your eyes hold.

It’s a feeling of something safe,

Something I can’t explain

But there’s a word for it.

Home.

When you left,

I lost a structure,

Your embrace.

How you would hold me,

So close,

And keep me from breaking.

I lost familiarity,

I knew every crevice of your body,

The cute little dimple in your

Right shoulder blade.

The mole on the

Left side of your neck.

The way your hands

Were rough but so soft,

When you rolled over

And pulled me closer in a dead slumber.

That was what home felt like.

I woke up this morning,

Forgetting what you felt like.

When I woke up

Next to you.

I would wake up to your breath

Slightly tickling the space behind my ear.

I haven’t felt that tickle in a while

But today I finally felt the empty space

Behind my right ear.

Tears build up,

And threaten to break free.

Any progress I start to build.

I think of my therapists words.

“It’s okay to not be strong enough.”,

But I need to be.

It’s been 6 months

And 3 days,

Since the last morning

I felt your breath tickle

The space behind my right ear.

6 months,

3 days

And 20 hours

Since the last morning

I saw the cute little dimple in your

Right shoulder blade,

And the mole on the

Left side of your neck.

Felt the way your hands

Were rough but so soft,

Pulling me closer to you

To kiss me good morning.

Even though our breaths

Smelled like death,

You laughed

And looked at me.

Showed me that smile

I love so much.

I need to be okay.

Because they expect that from me.

Because it’s been

6 months

And 2 ½ days

Since I saw that smile,

Kissed those lips

And felt my home

For the last time.

And now I’m slowly breaking.

I just don’t want to move,

Don’t want to speak

Don’t want to live.

It’s only 6 in the morning

And I just to be next to you.

Like I was,

At 6:00am

6 months

And 3 days ago.

I liked the feeling of being used.

It made me feel like I was finally needed.

It made me feel like I was worthy of love.

I was okay with the way my heart ached,

And my soul was becoming numb.

Being used became a drug,

It was hard not to spread my legs for someone who didn't love me.

It became hard to not let anyone who used me,

To tell them my story,

Hope that they would see my broken sides

And see the flowers blooming though them.

I wanted someone to see my lonely,

And want to fill the crevices.

I just want someone to love me,

And never want to fall out of it.

But you can't fall in love someone without loving yourself first.

Second best feels like loneliness,

Knowing that the only time you’re loved, is when he needs .

Second best feels like desperation,

Knowing that the only time he wants to see you naked is when he’s trying to stop thinking of someone else.

Second best is knowing all of the curves and valleys of you’re body,

And having him only gloss over every secret you have to offer.

Second best is knowing that he could’ve chosen anyone,

But because your body is made up of something beautiful and tasty, he only wanted to taste test it.

Second best is knowing the infinite miles your mind has,

And having him only see the beginning, and thinking that the journey is far too long.

Second best is meeting him,

It’s learning about his life,

Absorbing the good in it,

Knowing that he still misses her,

And thinking that you will never be the girl he deserves,

But knowing that you deserve much better.

I was 14

The first time I had tried to cut my wrists.

Pressure to not be like your mother can do that to you.

I was 14

The first time I smoked a cigarette.

It made me feel like my anxiety could rest.

I was 15

The first time I had learned how to cut my thighs

And hide my scars.

I was 15

When I had started smoking laced grass.

I overdosed.

I was 16

When I tried to kill myself by taking too many pills.

I ended up in the kids mental ward.

I was 16

When I had gotten pregnant for the first time.

I had an abortion.

I was 17

When I decided to smoke the laced grass again.

I had a commitment later that night.

I was 17

When I decided to get clean and sober for the first time.

I was a good person.

I was 17

When I really fell in love.

He broke my heart.

I was 17

When I relapsed.

I threw away 4 months because I was sad.

I am 18

And I found out I was pregnant again.

I would not have been a good mother.

I am 18

And I have not cut in over a year.

No matter how hard I want to.

I am 18

And I am learning how to love myself.

I am a good person who never knew how to rely on my own love.

I am Jada

And I am a recovering addict.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself while doing the dishes

Thinking how easy it would be to grab the wrong side of the knife.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself while walking around the house

Forcing myself not to grab my moms clips and smoke them all.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself when I feel urges of anger

Because the day is good and my feelings are fucked up.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself while taking a shower

And seeing my scars.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself when I hear another girl got pregnant

Because I wouldn’t have been a good mother

Twice.

“I’m getting better”

I tell myself when I see another beautiful girl

And I know will never be like her.

“I’ll be okay.”

I tell myself when I almost react to all the negative

And I don’t.

“I’m okay.”

I love you.

I love the way you hold me

The way you kiss me

At red lights.

Hold my thigh while we drive around,

No exact destination.

I want you.

I want you to hold me every night.

I want your lips all the time.

The way I hold your hand on my thigh

No worries for the next day.

I don't know how to keep you though.

I love you and I need you

But I can't break your heart.

He kissed my neck

And felt my body.

He made me feel, at least for a minute, I was alive.

The rush of it all,

I can't let that go.

But I can't let you go.

Because the truth of the matter is,

I love you.

I can't sleep again.

Her smile wakes me up,

and her laugh keeps me up all night.

"What did she do to you?"

Is a question I hear everyday.

Coffee is my new best friend,

Along with cigarettes and sex.

Coffee keeps me awake,

Cigarettes keep my anxiety low

And sex reminds me what you left behind.

It's not that I can't sleep

But everytime I try to,

There you are.

Whether it's the color of your hair

Or the way you sound when you sing,

The way you danced knowing that you can't.

I can't stop thinking of how we loved each other

Completely unadulteraded bliss

But gone in an instant.

I'm not sure if I was in love

Or falling apart.

She was beautiful.

Her face was the last one you wanted to see,

Before falling asleep

And the first in the morning.

Her laugh was contagious

But her smile,

That was a dangerous weapon.

But that was before her heart broke.

That was before she wanted to kill her old self.

That was then she was dangerous.

Her face was only something you wanted to challenge.

A late Saturday night,

Never a Sunday morning.

Her laugh wasn’t something you noticed.

And her smile,

It was a killer.

But that was before she was loved.

That was before she found herself.

But then he destroyed her,

Again.

But that was okay.

Because he loved her.

He loved her smile.

Her kisses and her body.

Especially when it was a late night,

He loved the way she made him feel.

But he didn’t see the better parts of her.

The way she stutters when she’s nervous,

Or when she’s a grumpy mess in the morning.

How she'd look like an angry teddy bear

When you pissed her off

And you just want to kiss her until she smiles.

Or how she laughs so loud,

Everyone looks at her

And she just keeps cracking up.

Or the worst parts of her.

When she isolates herself

Because she had the worst day ever.

Or when she gets sick

And slow songs make her feel better.

Or when her heart broke

And she wouldn’t talk to anyone for a month.

You weren’t there were you?

You don’t see past her outer beauty

But she’s more than a perfect smile

And a sexy body.

She’s more than the curves and kisses.

She’s a mess in the morning

And sometimes during the day.

But she was art.

She made you want to feel something more.

But he didn’t see that.

So she goes for the heartbreakers.

Because he taught her how to love.

He taught her that she had to be perfect

And to hide her best qualities.

If I were him,

I never would’ve broke your heart,

But you didn’t see me like that.

But it’s okay

I forgive you.

I love you anyways.

Such a dirty word

For a dirty girl.

She’s the one with “no morals”

And

No clothes.

She’s the one

Who gives you a good time

In such a short time.

She doesn’t tell you she loves you,

Because she doesn’t.

She doesn’t stay longer than she wants to

Because she’s got things to do.

She won’t be there for you

When shit gets hard

Because she’s not yours.

She’s not his,

Or your best friend’s.

She’s her own person

With her own life,

Her own morals

And her own love.

So when did being your own woman

Become you being a

Slut?