Two years.

Two years;

It’s going on almost two years now since I finally got sober.

Yet it still hangs over my head like a thundercloud and I wonder will it ever be over?

Would you still have asked me where that needle went if I’d never let the needle own me?

Is it really still so easy to warp my picture once again into one of a junkie?

No one puts a needle in their arm because they love themselves,

No one puts a needle in their arm just cause they love getting high,

I proved myself wrong when I put the needle down,

I did some serious growing from then until now..

But when the question leaves your mouth

“What happened to the needle that was in this box?”


You must really think I’m dumb as rocks.

I can buy a pack of ten for a dollar at the Walmart neighborhood market pharmacy.

They wouldn’t ask me any questions it’s been two years but they may even still recognize me.

Why would I steal your mom’s autoinjector from your fridge.

I’m so disappointed I’m pouring gasoline and preparing to burn this bridge.

In my life I haven’t accomplished anything that I set out too,

But when I put down the needle I did something I didn’t think I could ever truly do.

And no one can take that away from me;

Especially not you.

Written and owned by d3licate


They say the people we dislike the most, are usually the ones we most resemble.

It’s easier to act like you’re better and call them annoying; then it is to look in the mirror.


Something everyone sees that you do.

Well that is everyone but yourself when the one projecting is you..

You think you made me, but you didn’t help me not one bit.

Well, not to be a hypocrite, you might’ve helped a little bit..

But I’ve managed this light all on my own,

I kept taking life’s punches hit after hit.

beaten and bloody from the hand I was shown.

Life’s still beating me.

Most days I just want it all to stop,

I beg myself not to get back up, knowing one blow and I’m just going to drop.

I tell myself I can’t do it, I can’t do this anymore.

Searching for a way out and I can’t find a door so I just stay on the floor.

I guess when you’re fighting life; you know you won’t be leaving with it.

“well life’s not fair” blah blah blah; it’s all bullshit.

Life’s hard, and it hurts and guess what none of us will survive.

It’s not really a fight you win, it’s not a fight you’ll leave alive.

But how many rounds can you go?

How many times will you climb back up on your feet?

and what made your fight worth it?

Did you show bravery as you faced your defeat?

We’re fucking stuck here. We didn’t choose to be alive,

and there’s no instruction manual nothing to teach us how to survive.

We’re not good students we’d rather fight the truth than to learn,

and though happiness should be a given its something a lot of us have to fight to earn.

you don’t listen.

it goes into one ear straight through than back out,

You don’t like not having the answers it fills you up with insecurities and doubt.

You’re growing bitter; the angers turning you cold, and no one likes a quitter but the fight is getting old.

“it’s hard to be a light in the dark” because you can’t ever let down your guard,

but when it seems the darks got you sputtering out is when you’ll realize staying lits not that hard.

Theyre the ones fighting to put you out, meanwhile light is just who you really are.

But you can keep fighting, if that’s what you want, and while you’re losing to life; death will be on the sidelines to taunt.

Broken bones they heal, and cuts will fade out to a scar.

and someday down the road you will not find them when you tell the story of why you are who you are.

You aren’t special because you think you’ve had it all so much worse.

Inside every humans a narcissist who swears “no you don’t get it my life’s actually the worst”.

You aren’t cursed. God didn’t special pick you out of the pack and say your life’s going to be pure torture while I cut all the rest a little slack.

We’ve all been through shit and we all have our pride,

We all carry secrets that we’ve buried inside.

But it doesn’t make us stronger cause we’ve been through harder things,

What’s important is how many times did you keep getting up? how many times did you dodge his swings?

But if you’re a fighter and you’re refusing to sit down and learn.

Then suck the bad shit the fuck up, cause you agreed to eating shit and rug burn.

Written and owned by d3licate

Wouldn’t do a single thing any other way

I can’t remember if I’ve ever been quite this broke,

In more ways than one.

Watching my life as it goes up in smoke,

so ready to be done.

Cause they say not to fly too high, but when you’re soaring through the sky, it’s so very easy too get too close to the sun..

And I wonder if I could go back now knowing the cost,

Looking back at my mistakes and at all that I’ve lost,

Would I make different choices would I use what I’d learned?

Would I choose to soar lower now that I have been burned?

Would I choose to be different cause my skin it still burns..

Would it be any different if I took different turns?

In my dreams I see the faces of all I have scorned,

And all that I’ve lost, all the friends I have mourned..

In the past I’d be overcome, I’d fall to my knee,

Screaming at God, asking “damnit, why me?”

Back when I questioned him, “blessed or am I cursed?”

When life felt surreal like it’d all been rehearsed.

Deja vu, felt like I’d done this all before,

Vuja de so familiar but I’m just not quite sure..

Maybe I’m special or maybe I just personify,

Could it be supernatural, is there more to this than meets the eye?

Sometimes I think that all I know is a lie,

It makes it hard to get up, makes it so hard to try..

And though I don’t want to be like this, there’s so much I’ve overcome,

And though I see my reflection and do not like who I’ve become,

I’m not sure given the chance I’d change the choices I’d made,

All those times I could’ve left I think I still would’ve stayed.

Because if changing my choices meant changing who I am,

Then I’d do it all over again,


Because if changing my choices changed being with you today,

Then I wouldn’t do a single thing any other way.

Written and owned by d3licate

Living your life’s so much better than pretending..

Feels like I’m in slow motion, While the world’s on fast forward.

Like I’m stuck out in the deep end nose barely up above the water.

Lately I’ve been waking, drenched in sweat like I just showered.

Been ignoring my mom’s texts cause I don’t feel like a good daughter..

What’s the point in asking, we already know the answer.

Lately I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Can’t seem to change my ways, need to be rewired.

And I can’t accept that I’ve been standing still so long,

That moving now is not normal it’s what feels wrong.

I know I’m almost ready,

My gears begin to shift,

But my direction isn’t steady,

Parts of my mind still ripped..

How do I keep going,

How do I move on from here?

It kills me the ” not knowing”,

Paralyzes me with fear.

Here’s a wake up call;

We’re all unprepared,

It doesn’t make you less brave to admit you were scared.

Wake up call,

You will always find the strength,

And the importance of your journey isn’t defined by your stories length.

Keep writing your story,

Don’t fret so much over its ending,

Because living your life’s so much better in the end then just pretending..

Written and owned by d3licate

What’s wrong?

“What’s wrong?’

I don’t know; Two years ago I was sitting on the wall on the intercoastal of south florida 2 months sober with no clue how I was going to figure out this real life stuff.

But I was with my two best friends who Id only known since my first day of rehab but they were in it with me and had been since day one; and then my halfway house manager and it was the closest I’d gotten to happiness in quite possibly my entire life.

I felt so fucking free watching the fireworks across the bay with the wind blowing my hair around.

So fucking free to do or be everything and anything I’d ever wanted.

And it was fucking terrifying, not having anyone telling me what to do next. Not being forced to fit a mold, or to go against one.

But it was fucking incredible.

I can’t even remember what I did new years last year.

I have no clue.

And this year I’m back in the fucking box of my mind and of my making and it just makes me sad on this level I didn’t know existed.

It’s a physical ache in my stomach and chest and it’s choking me up because I had everything I could ever want. I could have been and done anything.

And I just threw it away because it was easier to believe someone else’s bullshit lies telling me it was okay to need help, okay to accept help; to be right back where I am now.

And I don’t know how to escape this fucking box I’m in.

I can get rid of the abusive boyfriend, but the abuse started with me.

I feel I deserve it.

I like the pain.

I’m comfortable suffering because I feel at home in the mistreatment and I don’t know how to fix that.

I’m held back by my past and the things that have happened to me and that I’ve done to myself and I can’t let go and I can’t move forward.

I’m still running away from what’s behind me I can’t worry about where I’m running towards. And it just hurts so bad.

To breathe, to eat, to sit, to lay down. To do anything.

Its this gnawing chasm of emptiness inside me where there’s supposed to be another piece to me and it’s not there.

It was taken from me, and/or I gave it away in my naivety.

And I don’t know how to keep living without that piece of myself.

I don’t know how to love myself with that piece missing.

It just hurts..

Written and owned by D3licat3


It’s just one more skipped Thanksgiving, probably my great grandmothers last,

Once again missed Christmas, you could say I was stuck in the past, but I couldn’t get my head out of my own ass.

Next year I’ll do better, but next year’s getting old,

My past it holds me hostage it seems I cannot break it’s hold.

And everyone says let go, it’s all over, now it’s done.

And if you don’t move forward than you’ve lost and the bad guys won..

But I just can’t shake the trauma nightmares keep me up at night.

Adrenaline my go too, I can’t get out of fight or flight..

Post traumatic stress disorder,

Can’t make my brain see that it’s already over.

Memories stored out of order,

I’ve tried all the drugs haven’t found the cure,

Can’t understand this concept forward,

Still running away, nothing to run toward.

Still stuck in this corner..

In a week I’m turning twenty four,

Feel like I’ve lived my whole life but I desperately crave more.

Feel like there’s nowhere to go,

Overcome so much but have nothing to show..

One step forward two steps back but I’m still mending,

But I’m overcoming..not pretending..

Written and owned by D3licat3

You’re a mean one mr. Grinch

Anyone who takes the time to wish me merry Christmas beware,

It’s the anniversary of my first suicide attempt which I love to share.

Merry Christmas,

Merry Christmas indeed.

A whole day for me to sit and wallow in my own greed.

I don’t deserve shit, but what I gets never enough.

I didn’t make a list, I’m lucky I didn’t get none.

But the real present will be if your fist doesn’t leave any black smears on my face.

I’m not sure what you want but I’ve been trying to give you space.

I just want the chance to go home tomorrow,

Pretend I’m all happy, it’s Christmas for an hour I can shed my shroud of sorrow.

But Christmas eve came and went and I’m depressed.

And I feel that all too familiar question tinkering round in my head..

What’s the point?

It’d be better for everyone if you were just dead.



You’re just holding them all back.



You take without giving back,

One year clean doesn’t matter cause your lifes still not on track.

Now my bowls almost empty and I dropped it but it didn’t crack.

I’ll call it a Christmas miracle and laugh to my friends,

But I’m alone.

Merry Christmas.

Written and owned by D3licat3

Am I?

I know I’m not a fucking idiot but I feel like one.

Perhaps because I don’t know know why I would or wouldn’t be one.

All I know is my instincts are screaming to run.

Whatever this game is you win, I am done.

Cause I just cannot do it, cannot feel like this.

Thinking back to highschool railroad tracks go up the wrist.

I’m not made of stone.

But you just keep on chipping.

Tearing flesh from bone,

Don’t know how I’m still breathing.

Sorry I think I need to go.

I just can’t do this anymore,

You need to let me go,

What are you even holding on for

You hate me you’ve made it so very clear.

Made sure I could hear it, when I couldn’t even hear.

And so I think,

I think I need to go,

There’s something I am missing and I don’t want to know

You’ve left me beaten with bruises that show,

Yeah I really think I have to go

Written and owned by D3licat3

Play pretend.

It seems like it’s one of those days again,

The kind that makes you want to build a tent fort and play pretend.

Like the real problems will just go away when you’re within.

All these rips in my soul start to mend.

I like to think that the monsters can’t touch me here,

I close my eyes and dream of a life that’s not dictated by fear.

Where the words the mean kids spoke mean nothing to me.

And mom and dad didn’t ever tell me who I could or couldn’t be.

I dream of free..

I’ve chased the concept for as long as I can remember.

Thought I might’ve found it when I quit the needle last December..

I didn’t realize I’d simply found another warden.

I was so excited about escaping I didn’t question why the door was open.

Object constancy- the inability to feel two strongly opposing emotions at once.

It means when they’re angry love doesn’t make sense.

They’re entitled.

Entitled to how they respond.

And as I defeated one demon, on the horizon an even stronger one spawned.

If you have to ask if you’re a narcissist; you probably aren’t one.

Entitlement means they don’t have to question if there’s anything wrong with what they’ve done.

You were just a game, a game they won.

God..I remember the first time he hit me in the face.

I lost it, broke the door handle, tried to crawl out the window, I just knew I needed out of that space.

Out of that car, out of the moment.

Who knows where my calm facade went.

I’m not even sure what we fought about.

All I know is I needed fucking out.

He put his gun to my head that night, his excuse was I wouldn’t chill out and he was driving he couldn’t fight.

But I wasn’t fighting..HE was hitting ME.

How could I calm down? He kept HITTING ME. And for no valid reason that I could see.

Screaming ” are you happy now is this what you wanted?”

“NOW you can tell people I beat you” he taunted.

I’d never said he beat me I was adamant he did not.

He wouldn’t ever actually hit me I’d thought.

“…are you happy now? Do you see what you did?”..

Made me sick to my stomach at the person he’d hid.

“am I happy?”


Yeah it’s one of those days where I need somewhere to go..

Written and owned by D3licat3

I can turn up the brightness

My instagram photos don’t show the holes in my teeth or the scars on my skin,

If you don’t look too careful you won’t see the secrets hiding behind my grin,

And my eyes tell a story but the endings still unknown.

I can hide the pain and the loneliness behind the screen of my phone,

But at the end of the day when I need someone I’m still alone.

Cause I can turn up my brightness, I can decrease the contrast,

I can erase a blemish, but it won’t erase my past.

I can cover up the track marks with black colored ink,

Purple hair dye hides my hair loss, stains like bruises in the sink.

But under the filters I’m riddled with scars,

They connect like constellations some fading like stars.

And there’s a story about the battles and the blood that was shed,

And the pieces she remembers, the parts that couldn’t survive her head.

Have you ever felt the pain of losing part of your soul?

Stuck living the rest of your life not quite whole.

Searching for something you can never get back,

The only way to accept it was to add another track.

Ask the girl in the mirror ” are you a bad person?”,

“And all the things that you’ve done, what made them worth it?”

“Was it done to cause pain, or were you just hurtin?”

Ask the girl in the mirror, “why do you stay?”

“you’ve had plenty of chances could’ve gotten away”,

“you’ve done it before know that you’ll be okay”

“You refuse to accept it, you’re hung up on a wish”


Touch the girl in the mirrors bruised up face,

This isn’t your fight, get out of this place.

And teardrops like the glitter that sparkles on her eyes,

If you don’t pay attention you wouldn’t know that she cries,

Because instagram filters and makeup they’re lies,

All they are, are tools she uses to help her hide,

The fact that she’s empty, it’s all buried inside.

And the girl in those photos has long ago died.

Written and owned by D3licat3