dried up paint

Scraping dried up paint from under my fingernails
With a 2H
Writing shit with too many details
Its getting late

Lying down by my book
Kept company by my pencils
And my phone
But its only decoration right now

I love it when an addiction is just decor
I could be using it but I wouldn’t know what for
To pick you up
To start to scroll
But I don’t
To want to drink
A glass of wine
But I wont

To smoke a cigarette, to think about you...
But I do


I love it when I write
Because nothing really means anything
Apart from one word at a time
And everyone thinks it does
That theres a theme or a deeper meaning
That I thought about before I finished it
I didn’t
There isn’t
Its just me talking in my head
If my brain could talk
Its just the shit it woulda said
I find meaning in my writing
But I don’t write with meaning
I write with a pencil
And dried up paint

trigger

I sometimes loose control of my body

My hands smack into my head repeatedly

My eyes water with no end

My heart rushes and bangs through my chest

This can be caused when I have strong feelings that my brain can’t process.

I wanted to sleep for hours and I couldn’t

I wanted to feel cared for and I didn’t

I wanted to be respected and I wasn’t

So my body shut down, everything went to the beat of my heart

My hands came up, and my knuckles got bruised, and my scalp got cut, and my head wanted to lose.

I woke up the next day and saw the torn up sheet from all my shaking

I woke up and felt my hands aching

I woke up and my heart hadn’t yet stopped

The worst part is, is that normally I trigger this, with dark thoughts or loss of hope

But this time it was people, who I loved or thought I did

And so my world has crashed, and behind the pretty paintings I now see all the ash

So this is the time for me, and new beginnings, and people who I admire and look up to, not people who held knifes behind each others back.

Im not being used or abused or taken for granted

I’ll do some yoga and reflect, and not give any more chances.

You can’t ask a broken person

To believe your words with no actions

With contrary reactions

With promises unkept

You can’t ask me to believe that you love me

When what I want is just hug me

All I need is a friend

I can’t feel loved if you leave me

I can’t feel loved if you don’t care

I want to feel like you need me

But you only try to get me out your hair

Taylor Hopewell

Lifeless

I wasn’t ready for you

Like a bird that can’t yet fly

How could I teach you to

Lifeless

Drained of all my strength

Drained of life

Lifeless

Is how I was left

But I’m back

And I’m teaching myself how to fly

So one day you will too

And I’ll be soaring through the skies

Before I ever get to meet you

Because I need to go through the worst

To teach you to navigate a storm

And feel the best

So that you can always feel my warmth

But today was not the time

As I have yet to build a nest

But one day I hope I will feel your life against my chest

Taylor Hopewell

machine me

My scars don’t define me

They are merely scratches on the surface of this body

This body that I hold

I am my body and my past, but it is not me

That’s how I gain my confidence

By knowing I am so much more than my physical

I’m actually not what’s visible at all

I am a mind, and a soul, that can’t be seen only felt

Can not be explained only experienced

I love the body that contains me

Even tho it has been harmed

I love the bones that keep me upright

Structures and alarmed,

with triggers and buttons that only I know best

But I am missing one button that allows me to rest

I know the procedure, but don’t have the code

My body is a machine, that I must decipher

If I want to be released from this world

I must try to figure out combinations and patterns and passwords

To fully experience myself, I must understand the key

To unlocking to door, to set me free

My body is mine, but it is not me

The world is a place that I can’t quite see

Can’t see past the glass windows mistaken for eyes

or feel past the sensors thought to be skin

or the control centre…my mind

Taylor

I was young

I was young and dumb

it started by carving my hand

with the nail on my thumb

But then I started etching my doodles

into my skin

Before I knew what self-harm was

I had no way of stopping it

It started as art

then became a control

Controlling depression

Trying to lessen

Never learning the lesson

On how else do I deal with all this shit unless I can show it

You need battle scars to prove your battle

So I make them

And I use them as a diary

I can trace each one back to a day or an episode

I can remember how shit I felt

And I can see that I have no fresh ones

Theres a lot of bare skin

So there must be something coming

There must be something on its way

But it’s been so long now

And nothings changed

Have I left it all behind?

Or will I fall again

Fingertips

Fingertips on skin

Like faulty wires

Electric sparks

But beware for flammable items

For they can clearly catch alight

But sometimes they dont look flammable

And we mistake objectifying for dirty talk

Mistaking possessiveness for lust

And controlling for in love

Like a pool of gasoline

The wire is engulfed in flames

Not possible to escape with out burns

Burns on your heart

So the next connection you make

You may be the one to break

But I hope you atleast learnt to keep yourself safe

And keep the flammables away

Taylor

A poem about toxic relationships, how the magic that love, caring, and sex has is wonderful but with bad people (flammable people) it becomes overwhelming and toxic.