It’s sad, I think,
to realize this -
again -
as an adult,
that you can never be sure
who to trust.
Because you can never be sure who will betray you
or play you
or just not care.
People
who are supposed to be a good friends.
For all they know,
you could be alone in your room
with a knife to your wrist again.
You’re not.
But they don’t care regardless.
Your need for advice doesn’t concern them,
nor your loss of sanity.

I guess you’re never too old
to find out
who your real friends are.

You make my insides tumble within me.
You make that lump lodge into my throat
so I can barely speak or breathe.
You make my brain turn to
a puddle of melted ice,
waiting to be vaporized into thin air.
You make my eyes go cloudy
so that I am nearly blind.
You make this cool interior implode.
You make my sanity run a marathon
so fast I'll never catch up.
You make me crazy.
And I can't decide if this is good or bad.

There's a reason I've built my walls so high.
Are you trying to break them down,
Or are you trying to break me down?

when I sleep, I
hear sounds of crashing
and war
to the steady, beating

drum beneath my breast.
oh, the fear

you instill and the
outrage I feel
undo me.

whispers in
ash-covered bullets of sweat scream
nonsense.
thinking is death.

free me.
reach out.
our moments are painfully slow.
make up your

mind,
entangling me.

I hear a slight buzzing through the walls
as the tips of my fingers click against the keyboard.
Now and then a door crashes open
to the sound of end-of-the-year chatter
just before footsteps fade into another shatter.
But all I do is silently lie here,
reminiscing about the four years I’ve spent
in the building that lies below.
This is where I grew up.

No,
I did not spend my childhood roaming these halls,
nor did I begin the tricks of my trade,
but this is where a naïve 17-year-old girl
was carved into a woman of strength.
This is where I made myself who I am,
and this is where I struggled the whole way,
having nothing to do with a single class period
spent here.

And now as the rain begins to pour above,
slowing leaking into the cracks of these concrete walls
similar to the scars I carry inside my chest,
I am proud that they are symbols of my past,
For a scar is a wound that has healed
but simply left a mark behind.

The marks from these puddles never seem to fade,
so we avoid them.
We do not write our deepest thoughts there,
because they just get washed away.
I think I avoid the scars
for fear of them reopening
and myself washing with it.

This is the place where I was given life.
This is where it was taken away.
And this is where I fought to retrieve it.

As much as I hate this place,
as many good memories are harbored here
that I don’t let myself think of,
as many painful memories I've had to forgive,
as many selfish memories I’ve had to overcome…
I still think I’ll miss it when I’m gone.

Cool, wet ringlets form in my hair,
Sweet aroma of precipitation.
Eyes wide open to a world widely shut,
All I can hear is its splashing
against the warm, solid grass
and the blacktop beneath my running feet.
Such a vast and beautiful place this is.
So, I halt to throw out my arms,
close my eyes,
and lay my head back
to just feel...
To feel the crash against my skin,
to feel the sun and rain collide
to feel the breath of the clouds surround me,
to feel fully alive.

If I said that I didn’t think about you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t miss you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t wish for a break in the silence,
I’d be lying.
So, I won’t say anything at all,
just as promised.

In all my years here,
I will not remember what's on page five of my notes
for that one class I took last semester
or the one before,
but rather the lessons I've learned along the way.
This,
I would say,
is what I have learned in college.
This,
I would say,
matters:

Live your life.
Don't let others live it for you.
Act your age.
Mind your own business.
Be there for the people who care.
Be there for the people who don't.
Be independent.
Get over yourself.
Love.
Let yourself be loved.
Be honest.
Hold on.
Let go.
Change things.
Accept things.
Break things.
Fix things.
Win.
Lose.
Cry.
Laugh.
Mess up.
Step up.
Be better.
And whatever you do, don't let someone else take the best of you away,
And if you do,
forgive them,
but mostly,
forgive yourself.

I tried to find
the perfect words,
most poetic line,
or graceful prose
to encompass
the passion that builds me,
but in this moment
every lyric
makes the world
a solitary
cliché.

This bed feels hard beneath my back,
while my head aches with swarms of beasts
trying to break through the door,
faceless demons who want to reunite with my bones.

They won’t.

This exterior has strengthened,
shielding the dark magic the devil tries to drill.
And my sword wards off the stragglers,
drowning the witches in water and smoke.

But sometimes I just want distraction –
from my head,
from my heart,
from its steady beat,
reminding me of who I am. –
Because, sometimes, I just want to drown out with the rest,
to fade into the crowd,
and feel ever-so-swiftly faceless.

See, sometimes I want a warm body to hold me,
for once in my life to live out pure lust –
animalistic and loveless. –
In a world where it’s use or be used,
For once I want to be the predator.

Rough arms to wrap around my bare back,
my legs to wrap around a smooth waist,
my body pressed against a cold wall
as a steady hand grazes my thigh,
a tongue that ventures around my earlobe,
and lips that travel down my breasts,
but no eyes to look into, for this means nothing,
so eventually we can…

But I stop because it won’t ever be.
As much as I want to feel nothing at all,
even for just a few moments,
there’s nothing that will make me forget.

I’m too strong for this now,
too happy for this now,
that when I’d like to cry, I can’t –
lucky if a single tear cools my cheek,
but never enough to feel better.

Every time the wish arrives
my own voice makes the thought subside
with a single, chilling whisper:
I’m better than this.

So all I can do
is hope that someday I’ll eventually be rewarded
for the falters that led to my freedom,
a freedom that has chained me down…

for simply
being
me.

It takes a certain kind of person
to convince you that your life
has incredible worth.

It takes a completely different kind of person
to do everything in their power
to take that away from you,
until you can force yourself to see it on your own.

And when those two are one in the same…
How the hell did I get here?

With stabbing pangs emanating from my core,
blood ever-so-slowly finding its way to the floor,
sweat on my brow,
and flooding eyes,
I step forward without falter.

And I step again,
And I step again,
And I step again,
And I step again…

And I shall never stop…

“Would you…”
She asked,
“If you could…”
She asked,
“Go back and take it away…”
She asked,
“So that everything would erase itself?
So that you wouldn’t be put through this?”

The fact that the answer came rushing
With a quick and steady lack of hesitation
Is what frightens me the most.

All I really wanted
          All I was trying to do
                    All I was seeking
                              Was for someone to see through it
                    For someone to know me
          For someone to fight
It always comes back to that

It doesn’t come on a horse-drawn carriage.
It doesn’t come as tall, dark, and handsome.
It doesn’t come with a prince’s crown.
It doesn’t come with magic fairy dust.

Forget the chick flicks.
Forget the old school fairy tales.
Forget the Nicholas Sparks novels.
Forget playing M.A.S.H. when you were six years old.

I’m not sure how it works
(Because, trust me, I wish I did).
But this culture has brainwashed our intelligent minds
To writhing pulps obsessed with “love.”
You do not love.
You love to love. And there is a great difference, my dears.
For when you truly love, you don’t feel it.
You do it.

And whoever told you that:
“Immature love says, ‘I love you because I need you.”
Mature love says 'I need you because I love you.’”
…
Well, they have foolishly blundered.
For you don’t “need” to be in love.
Mature love should say, “I love you because I love you,
And I have no explanation for why that is,
But I will always choose to do right by you.”

I don’t have the answer,
So I don’t ask the question.
But I’m not silly enough to believe what the world screams at me.

I have nothing to say.
At least nothing I want to say to the world.
Sometimes, I just write, hoping I find a phrase worth speaking.
This would be one of those times.
Take me away from this moment
To a place I understand or gives comfort.
I’m sick of this living purgatory
Where everything here –
Every feeling,
Every heartbeat,
Every word,
Every desire –
Contradicts itself with something else.
Just take me far away from this city,
Away from the confusion,
Away from the past,
Away from the pain I used to feel,
Away from my heart,
And let me start at a new beginning
Where the finish line isn’t flooded with blackness or blur.
Bring me beyond the horizon,
And I’ll set on this place
To rise in a new world light years away.

It’s when traces of you show in me
That I’m disgusted with the person within.
Conquering heredity is the most difficult task
I’ve ever assigned to myself.

Bleed out of my tears
And let a new fortune tingle my fingertips.

I am a delicate flower in the midst of fiery winter.
I am the gust of wind that brushes through the trees.
I am a cold burst of water that chills you to the bone.
I am the solid brick wall which beyond no one sees.

I am stuck up, I am humble.
I am weak, I am strong.
I am timid, I’m outgoing.
I’m veracious, I am wrong.

And though I can’t undo the shadows of a shallow heart,
And though I can’t reveal a window to the deepest sea,
And though I don’t know where we are or how the rain should fall,
The roses either bloom with life or wash away the tree.

If forgiveness isn’t in the cards,
The quiet stillness reigns.
I’ll always know the deep desires
Of this messed up game.

I forfeit,
For I am better than this.

1 in the morning,
And my eyes won’t slumber.
The caffeine in my veins keeps my conscious brain flowing.
And when all else fails, I end up here,
A blank word document waiting to be filled
With some sort of story,
or some sort of feeling,
or some sort of ground-breaking thought.
But tonight I have no great words to say.
Just that I feel safe in this place.
And I think, maybe, I enjoy being alone a bit much,
Where I don’t feel the pressure to live up to any expectation,
Where I don’t have to feel distraught
or sad
or helpless
or frail,
Where there’s no one to impress,
Where there’s no one to hurt,
Where there’s no one that I’ll allow to hurt me.
It’s me,
and me alone,
It’s all I need,
A place to be blank.

I find in my writing
I become naked and vulnerable.
Strip me of pretty words and clever phrases.
See beyond the rhymes, alliterations, and metaphors.
It is in my writing that I discover who I am,
who I once was,
and who I could be.
But tonight?
I just want to be blank,
to allow myself to forget all that I’ve done
and start from a place where no one knows me.
Tonight I want to meet the world for the first time.
Not to begin anew, but to simply begin.

This is where I say goodbye,
And this is where I say hello.

And through my own laughter,
I hear someone whisper,
"You're already an outsider to everyone else."

Congitive dissonance.

Here I stand, an outsider to my own body,
Seeing myself,
Hearing my words,
Watching as my lips form each disgraceful, hurtful sound,
Every fearful curse
As I pace the room.
I look on but don't understand.
I just stand here and watch her - myself.
I do nothing,
Because there is nothing I can do.
I don't know that girl.
I've never seen her before.
No one I’ve ever been would speak those words.
No one I’ve ever been would throw herself at him.
No one I’ve ever been would be that desperately pathetic.
Every desire in me screams,
“Shake her!
Snap her out of it!
Smack her!
ANYTHING!”
Who is she to be that selfish?
Who is she to stoop that low?
To only see herself?
To care more for herself than anyone else?
To speak to someone for whom she cares with such false hatred?
Never in any moment has she felt its authenticity.
Just muffled attempts at ignoring her confusion.

Note to self:
Who are you?
What have you become?

I watch but do nothing.
And I follow her home to watch her more,
Searching for a clue behind every nervous twitch.
A palm full of twenty painkillers trembles in one hand,
A bottle of water in the other,
Tears ceased,
Just calm.
There she sits for what seems like hours
But only proves minutes.
And something inside of her makes her stop.
Me?
Somehow, two days later, we meet again.
My vision has changed.
I feel her again,
A version of her I respect.
One moment watching,
And the next moment being.
So I find the pills.
Without hesitation,
I dump the remains,
Listening to the plop, plop as each drops.
I press the knob,
And they are flushed forever,
Along with the girl I never recognized.

Never will I see either again,
And a quiet grin turns the ends of my lips.