I see you now
And it’s like
Seeing a figment of my past
Or
A part of my heart
That I don’t have anymore.
I look at you now
And there’s no heart
Jumping
No butterflies
In my stomach.
There’s no
Head rush
Or
Weak knees.
My stomach hurts
From how much
I used to love you
And how much
I would give
To be back there
In the bliss
Before the chaos.
But I realize
It’s not you I miss,
It’s the love,
And the heart
Jumping,
The butterflies
In my stomach.
It’s the
Head rush
And
Weak knees
That I miss.
I don’t regret
Or wish I had missed out on
Anything that happened
Because
it made me
Who I am
Today,
And even though
I don’t love you anymore,
I like me.


I want to be better because of you.
My heart breaks because I want you to see how giving and loving you are, how soulful and how special you are, and how much you have to offer to yourself and everyone around you. It saddens me deeply that you think I’ll just get tired of being in your little orbit, with the amount of good that you exude, I couldn’t imagine myself ever getting tired of basking in the way that you exist. I’m sure that at some point I’ll see parts of you that I don’t favor as much…


I have been through so much
With my body.
My body has been strong,
And touched,
And hurt,
And weak.
She has been battered,
And bruised,
And touched when
She didn’t want
To be.
She has been drunk
And hurt and
Used as an
Instrument and as a
Pass to get things
That I didn’t want.
She is broken and
Imperfect, nut
She has healed.
Seven years from now,
She will be different,
All anew.
The cells will have been
Replaced,
And no one will have
Touched them
With broken
Hands.
She will be,
At a cellular
Level,
Replaced.
However,
I can’t wait seven years
To love her,
To stroke and pet her
With healed hands.
My body has been
Neglected
And
disconnected
And
Pushed aside
For too long.
She has…


You are much too wonderful for this world. You’re kindhearted and sweet, a real-life angel. You’re smart and intuitive, you’re beautiful and sensitive, you’re lovely in all ways. You remind me of the strawberries we ate on the beach and honey on bread and the time that we cried in my car at the lookout because we were so happy and so broken and so ready to change and love with everything we had even if we didn’t think we had anything. You remind me of a field of daisies and a place of rest and the home I built…


you say you want this figure
my body
my lean stomach
long legs
my strong shoulders,
but do you really want this body
that’s been fucked
and scarred
and ruined
do you want my lungs that are filled with cigarettes
that could do nothing for my empty heart?
do you want my shaky hands
from all the pills I’ve taken for a purpose that didn’t work?
do you want my head
that’s filled with thoughts of suicide
and addiction
and shit i’m not supposed to think about
until i’m at least old enough to drive?
do you want my stomach that’s been starved
and stuffed with prescription pills for illnesses
that i didn’t have?
do you want my heart that’s been broken
and charred and drowned in alcohol?
do you want my legs that are covered in burns
and bruises?
because I don’t think that you do.


2 years ago, i didn’t think this is where i would be
i was younger and dumber and
i didn’t know that drugs could
fuck you up as much
as they do and
you shouldn’t tell your mom she’s the reason
you want to die.
2 years ago, i had no idea i would be drinking
every night
or that being sober one night out of the week
was almost rare.
2 years ago, i didn’t think i could
get so drunk that i didn’t feel
the burn of a cigarette being put out
on my skin.
2 years ago, i wasn’t suicidal
i wasn’t an alcoholic
or a smoker
or dealing with a best friend
who worries about me.
but this is where i am and this is who i am
and i can’t change.

Marisa Walker

Spiritual sober being in the process of processing her feelings on paper.

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