i remember the fall
the wheezing hair-raising scream that pierced the air that followed
it was as if my lungs wanted to let the universe know i was about to embark on a trip down to the underworld but settled on a post to social media instead
“the person you are trying to reach is not available right now. they do not know when they’ll be back. but for now, leave a message with your name and contact info at the beep.”
i changed my profile pictures to an ambiguous shadow, shut down my feeds, and disappeared

i didn’t wake up in time
pulled the covers over my head and pretended i was dead
asleep

most nights while i was under, i dreamed vivid dreams that the diabolical freaks that ruthlessly engulfed me had disappeared like i
sometimes still do

most mirrors i looked into were as broken as i was
shards splintered off like the decaying pieces of my emaciated body
my heart was indignant and my brain would have argued back if it had had enough fuel to do so
i remember the charts and the scales the morning weigh ins the
pokingthepokingthepokingthepokingthepokingthepokingthepokingt­hepokingthepokingthepoking
the food diaries the room searches the itchy gowns the smells the eyes the eyes the eyes the envy the eyes
everywhere

i remember fall used to be my favorite season
.

i am not bitter
i’m tired
of seeing headlines flood my timelines
worded similarly with a name substituted in as allegations break

i am not privileged
to be tired of seeing headlines flood my timelines
worded by way of another celebrity letting us down

i do not ignore
the bile headlines that sneak their way into my timelines
how can i?
but i am tired
of feeling let down

i am not blind
to the immense pain caused by a scream, silenced
but i am tired
of seeing the duct tape over her mouth

i wonder
if one day soon
i will no longer be bitter
or tired
of seeing headlines flood my timelines
worded by way of claiming
it was her fault

-rgp

there are too many times when i feel alone.
i could be in a room surrounded by people
and not know a single one or rather
pretend i don’t know a single one
i worry about being a bother
am i annoying you yet sorry i’ll
stop
i’m lonely i’m alone i’m so sorry i’m alone i’mlonelyi’malonei’msosorryi’m–
okay. hi. who are you?
you are lonely too?
goodbye. see you soon.

my internal therapist is telling me to not write this poem
to not dwell on damaged thoughts, there's no fixing them, dear.
so maybe not.
maybe i'm not writing this poem to try to fix my broken thoughts
maybe i just want peace maybe i am hurting and writing this poem is the only way i know how to wade through the swamp of pain you've thrown me in
two years ago this week, i was getting ready to see my sister marry her best friend
i was bright eyed, had a mane of hair i couldn't tame, excited about life
i was joking with some new friends i'd made about one of them crashing the wedding
i was about to meet Anxiety for the first time
now here i am, shorter hair, sitting with my laptop perched upon sweatpant clad, starved, legs, my fingers not moving fast enough over the keys, i'm tired.
Anxiety and I have taken our relationship to the next level and he visits me often, particularly at night when I'm thinking about you
Anxiety gets jealous, punishes me, forces me to think about your words while suffocating me
i'm tired
i'm afraid that lies about me still flood your mind and i can't change that
i want to talk to you, have a conversation, ask you why
i've apologised and still i will say i am sorry because i am
why do you loathe me so much
i've had people tell me to get over myself, over you, over the situation and i'm trying
but i've never had someone do what you did to me and i'm hurting still this pain i wonder, did you intentionally do it to bring me down?
you've must've known what with my history of attention seeking self harming downward spiral
i never did it for attention
i've taken to numbing myself, last night i dug around my art supplies box for the set of extra blades my sister in law gave me for my pencil sharpener for christmas
i'm not sharpening anything, there isn't anything to sharpen
my friend tells me not to do it, that it doesn't do me any good long term
because that's what i'm dealing with right? long term pain?
sleepless nights and anxiety attacks
sadness i can't escape from
saying no when my niece asks me to play sorry willow i'm tired i'm so tired
so maybe my blades won't bring me long term salvation
maybe two years in therapy won't help but that's okay i was in there anyway for the big mess of my life that you told me to get over
maybe i don't care and am going to treat my thighs as cutting boards because temporary sanity is sanity and i've lost my head as it is
my therapist on wednesday will tell me to forget you
and i will try
and i will fail
i don't know why i'm writing this poem
i'm a crazy believer in better things
how this poem will make things better is beyond me but hey
sue me for trying to see hope in the little things
how artless of me
the artist in me, pain(ting)
-
-z.z

beautiful girls do not know they are beautiful
they are told they are beautiful in phrases of objectification
a little girl will grow up thinking she has to give her beauty away to society
to the boys who want her to be a certain way
to her parents who want her to be opposite of what the boys want
to the other girls who want what she has, thinking her beauty is something of a secret
no one will tell her that her beauty is her own to keep for herself, to share with others when she wants
no one will tell her that she doesn't owe anybody anything
so she'll give it away

a little girl will grow up thinking she has to be worth something
that her value won't ever be enough
that she has to weigh this amount, wear these clothes, glop on that much makeup so her real face becomes paper thin underneath the mask of plaster she'll try to pass off as her real face, her real smile
she'll starve herself, she'll gorge herself, she'll look in the mirror with such disgust,
hating every flaw that was once unnoticeable to her untrained eyes
her eyes will become hawks hunting for prey of impurities
her body will become a battlefield
and there's a chance she might lose

girls grow up
thinking they are in debt
some girls grow up
knowing they don't owe anyone
anything
but most girls grow up
without knowing how beautiful they truly are

I told myself
I would not write another depression poem
I told myself
I was done with blades and shaky breaths
But Depression
Is sneaky like that it
Always chooses the most unsuspecting as victims
I told myself
I'm not the kind of girl
Who chooses slicing and dicing
I told myself
You're the kind of girl who old ladies look at with a glint in their eye and say
She's going places
I told myself
Straight to hell
Everyone always told me
Go to college
Get good grades
Marry a nice man who will support you
No one ever told me
Not to write depression poems

my super power
is getting into my own head
i can bring on the rain
faster than flashfloods

my super power
is disappearing
not invisibility
disappearing
like in bad situations
i close my eyes and f          a         d      e       a          w         a         y

my super power
is smiling
because even on the worst days
i can pretend i am okay

my super power
is

-z.z

i didn't mourn your death
i didn't cry, didn't scream
didn't **** the world or any god for taking you away

and then i remember
english class, we all had to memorize Atticus's speech
you know, the one in the courtroom where he defended Tom Robinson

and then i remember
that you sang about leaving us before any of us knew you were gone
ziggy stardust, i miss you

and then i remember
i'm 7, maybe 8 years old
you taught me what imagination meant, what i could do, what alternate universes i could create

and then i remember
you loved so much you died with a secret
as i grew, i learned how to understand you

and then i remember
the day purple rain meant a nation mourning in unity

and then i remember
your song was in shrek and i'm sorry but that association from my childhood never left me

and then i remember
the amount of pain you endured

and then i remember
i was 11, my brother was singing along to hotel california, introduced me to your band and pointed you out to me
"that's glenn frey he's the guitarist"

and then i remember
why this year has been such a dark one
so much of the light has vanished with you

and then i remember

i never gave myself a chance to mourn your death

-z.z

my heart is full yet empty
teeming with love for places i’ve never seen and
people i’ve never met
wanderlust, they call it
an intense desire to see the world
one day
i'm going to get out of this small town
get in my car
and drive and drive
and drive until i reach
the end of every sentence I left unspoken
I'm going to see the places that would be
if I had said what I felt in the first place
I'm going to see the parts of you that you kept hidden for so long
I'm going to see what will be
when I finally listen to my instinct
maybe my heart will stop hurting and my brain will finally shut up
and let me enjoy the ride
because i have a feeling it will be a fast one
and something i won't ever forget

don't leave me alone at night
i cannot keep going into battle
i know you need to sleep
and i know you're tired of riding this rollercoaster with me
i know you don't want any of this
i get it
yet i still scream in the middle of the night
there's no one to console me
to tell me that it was just a nightmare
when you leave
i'll try and learn how to console myself
i hope that you will return because nothing makes me feel safer than being in your arms
i feel like a little girl who needs saving
and maybe i am
too hopeful that you'll always be my knight in shining armour
i refuse to believe it will ever dull
though i know in my heart it will
for now
let me be the little girl who needs saving
whose fears subside at the sound of a song
don't leave me alone at night
or at least when you leave
make sure you switch on the light

warning: i am mentally unstable, proceed with caution
warning: i am 18 years old, proceed with caution
warning: i am prone to falling, proceed with caution around me
warning: i talk to myself, proceed with caution
warning: my triggers are older men, proceed with caution
warning: i'm queer, proceed with caution
warning: i'm ballsy as ****, proceed with caution
warning: i'm passionate, proceed with caution
warning: i'm a fuckng unicorn and my horn is made of poison, proceed with caution
warning: sometimes i say things, proceed with caution
warning: words come out of my mouth uncensored, proceed with caution
warning: i really don't like condescending authoritative figures, proceed with caution
warning: i like arguing, proceed with caution
warning: i have a tendency to be redundant, proceed with caution
warning: i don't know what i'm ******* doing, proceed with caution
-z.z

i'm afraid of rejection
re-jec-shun
loving someone with every ounce of my being
only to be tossed aside like
I don't know, a fly?
that homework that I forgot to do?
a battered book or picture that means nothing anymore?
i'm afraid of what it means
that something I liked had an ending
and that I saw the ending
you're not supposed to see
the ends of things
I don't know why i'm afraid
of something I know
so well
I shouldn't be afraid
of an acquaintance
but I am
deathly afraid
of rejection

I wonder if the Greats
Ever knew each other in their time
I know the Painters knew one another
I imagine the conversations they had
What gossip crept through the grapevine?
"Did you know that Van Gogh fellow cut off his ear for his mistress?"
"What a treacherous man"
"Poor soul"
"And that Monet's pictures always look so fuzzy"
"What an odd concept, indeed."
Would Dickinson and Poe be acquaintances or great friends?
Or Mr. Robert Frost and the great John Keats
Would e.e cummings be the laughing stock of the crowd or the hipster everyone else secretly admires?
Painters and Poets, creators alike
Would the two groups clash or join in joyful merrymaking?
Creators not destroyers
Artists and Masters of their work
Both disturbed
And slightly insane
I think
They would have gotten along great.

every last word
was for you
those that i
didn’t know how
couldn’t ever say
i was always
afraid how do
i do this
me and you
so i never
showed you my
other other side
i’m not ready
for the trainwreck
i’ll inevitably cause
my thoughts derail
hold me prisoner
going full speed
she’s so real
she’s always there
she doesn’t exist
she’s my friend
she is me
this is me
i love us
i really meant
every last word
-
-z.z

she told me to stop crying
i kind of said no
because the dams i had built were breaking
and i had to release the h2o

voices echo
laughter booms
on the screen
pictures flicker
everyone's smiling
we're all anxious
and excited
it still doesn't
seem real

She's tired of living day after day in a skin that isn't hers
She feigns a smile for a little while but her eyes, they start to burn
Maybe she’ll stop trying, maybe she’ll stop crying
When will she stop lying?

She turns to the only thing that she knows will save her night
She checks into the Music Hotel, breathing in the neon lights
The bellman greets her and grabs her bags, says what’s the deal tonight?
Her eyebrows furrow as she whispers
-The days haven’t been so bright-

She goes into a room and injects notes into her arm
Music starts dancing through her veins
She closes her eyes and surrenders
-Mr. DJ I’m lost
Please play my favourite song-

He rocks her boat and sends her tumbling
Down down down down down
-Mr. DJ please don’t hurt me
I’m trying not to drown-

She’s falling asleep to Mr. DJ’s secrets
She finally feels free
Nothing hurts her anymore
-Music did this to me-

The sunrise scorches the tired earth
She wipes the sleep from her eyes
It’s time to check out of the Music Hotel
Mr. DJ, say your goodbyes

She’s weary but she’s stronger
She now knows where to go
The Music Hotel will welcome her
Any time she needs a home

her eyes are bloodshot and dried out
she hasn't blinked in hours
a screen flickers on and off
just as her mind floats in and out of consciousness

there's shadows on the ceilings
like ones she left behind in the city

she remembers a smile
and jolts upright in bed
there's a smile that haunts her

the sun rises in a couple hours
and she is still awake.

-rgp

maybe i'm crazy
or maybe i'm a poet
you know they tell me you can't tell the first sign of going mental when its yourself
but i have oceans inside of me
and every time i cry i wish i could be a tsunami
or a hurricane
its not that i fancy destruction but rather
i like a nice clean slate
i like
second and third and fourth chances
i like you
that should be music to your ears because I
chuckle
i don't like many people
yet if it is music then it must sound god-awful
because every time i tell you
you cover your ears and scream
they did tell me i was mental
but i bet you didn't hear that either

Thank you
To the little girl who kept saying "you can do it" when They didn't think she could do it
To the little girl who believed that thunderstorms meant God was crying but danced in His tears anyways
Thank you to the little girl who woke up one morning and decided she wasn't going to let the world pass her by
To the little girl who followed her older sisters around
You are not a pest.
Thank you for your spirited ways and quiet nature
You know so much more than you let yourself believe.
To the 10 year old girl who looked in the mirror and didn't think anything of her straight black hair, almond shaped eyes, and red puffy lips,
You are beautiful
To the 12 year old girl who thought being smart was bad
Being shallow hurt you so much more
To the 14 year old girl who was afraid of losing her friends
Never apologize for being you.
They left you, it's their loss
Don't find comfort in loneliness it won't work
You need people, stop saying you don't.
Go out and find someone who will bring out the best in you or better yet, find someone who will let you be
You.
Today I say to the girl I was a year ago
I read your journal entries
You're still alive
Thank you.

The thing about being disabled is that people seem to think you can't do anything. That the wheelchair I'm sitting in or hearing aids in my ears mean that I am not mentally capable enough to form sentences
I'm a quiet person
but that doesn't mean I can't speak
I just choose not to waste words

The thing about being disabled is that people always stare at you
Trying to figure out what my disability is when I get out of my car parked in the handicapped spot
She looks okay, so why? shouldn't she give that spot to someone who is actually handicapped?
Appearances, my dear, can be deceiving

The thing about being disabled is that it's a label designed by people who needed an explanation for why other people are different
Disabled is not synonymous with strong, at least, not in their books
though it always is in mine.

The thing about being disabled is that you gotta train your voice to screech
be loud when you feel like being quiet
because this label, these hearing aids, this chair, this lack of able-bodied-ness, does not define me
and I need to let you know that

Sometimes you gotta fall before you fly
When I'd heard that lyric
I was in the 7th grade, going through my scene phase in an attempt to salvage a friendship
I lost the tug of war match between myself and the girl who needed so much
I forfeited because I'd come to the realisation that friendships
Are really just balloons you eventually have to let go of before it starts to sag
Months went by and I found myself listening to that playlist
Searching for something that wasn't there
Maybe looking for some peacefulness, I don't know
One summer, the heavy monsoon storms would not let up
Afternoon after afternoon I spent staring out my window wondering if I could drown in it if I stood outside for long enough
That was the summer my sewing machine wouldn't stop humming as I ran out of fabric to make the unfinished quilt that hides in my closet
That was the summer I really listened
To the song and to my heart
Sometimes you gotta fall before you fly
Sometimes to really live you've got to try
I let myself fall, convinced I was going to fly
I tried, expecting I was going to live
I fell
I tried
I failed
I lied
That was the summer I died.

do you
have the strength?
they asked me
i looked at my frail arms then at my legs
skinny would be an understatement
i’m
deadly thin
do you
have the strength?
they asked me
i looked at my mind then at my heart
battered, but not destroyed
i
haven’t given up
yet
do you
have the strength?
they asked me
yes
i replied

some people hide it better than others
but that doesn't mean they're not secretly wishing you'll care enough to dig deeper
the ones with smiles on their faces
are the ones begging someone might hear their cries
the ones who seem to have it all
have nothing
nothing

There’s so much pain and suffering in the world.

Who am I to ignore their cries?
The cries of desperation and yearning that go unheard
Into the foreign hours of the twilight zone
Become silenced

Hopelessness walks the streets
When most are sleeping
Restlessness is lurking and breathing life into the cold, dark air
The drunkards of the desolate bars
Passed out on park benches, broke and intoxicated

The clock strikes Twelve and time freezes
for a moment
Shadows of amorphous figures dance amidst the moonlight
Prancing through the city in their time
Racing down avenues and gliding between buildings

The lonely man taking a late night stroll becomes a wax-like statue in mid-stride,
His head hung low, hands in his pockets, and his shoulders hunched up around his neck
The trees, bare of leaves save for a few that haven’t fallen off yet in Winter’s attempt to come early
Stand tall in the pitch black, their silhouette merely outlined against the glow of Midnight

The clock strikes, motioning One o’Clock

All is silent

The suffering

The crying

The….

my fears outrun me
while i stumble over air
i keep tripping over
what isn’t even there.
-rgp

I think about death
I do
Not in the gory suicidal way but in the
"one day I will die....hmmm" way
I've thought about my funeral
I don't want anyone to cry
I wasn't THAT great of a person
But as snarky (and sometimes full of it) as I tend to be
I know
The day that I die will be a sad day
I want flower seeds scattered at the base of my headstone and
my ashes scattered deep in the mountains because I loved my mountains more than anything else Nature had to offer
My mother always said if He can raise people from the dead then he should be able to put people back together from their ashes
So let me be cremated
I never liked the idea of my body being left to rot six feet under anyways
I think about who will be around when I die
I could go at any time so
whether or not my parents will be around to mourn the loss of their child is irrelevant
How much would I have accomplished?
Would I have made an impact on the world like I'd always dreamed I would?
I've thought about my last words
What sound will people hear as I take my last breath?
I hope it will be
"see you soon"
I wonder where I'll be when the time comes
What sound will people actually hear as I take my last breath?
Will it be filled with regret? remorse? happiness?
I think about death.
I do
And as I close this poem, I'll ask you this question
Do you?

I have made myself into this person to justify for why I am not that person

it's okay. i never liked people anyways
"did you ever think maybe the bullies had something to do with it?"
maybe but i've never been a big people person. who can tell anymore?

black is a nice colour
"why?"
it is all the colours and none of the colours
"do you think this might be because all the other colours were taken and you wanted to be different?"
no, it's because i find it beautiful how a colour that dark can be the background for a bright life

"why don't you like music?"
i prefer the silence
"but music speaks louder than silence"
i beg to differ. silence speaks louder than words.
"how so?"
you don't notice how loud silence is until the music fades out

i am okay with who i am
"is it because you have had to be okay with that or are you hiding?
you're not really okay, are you? how could you be okay you practically made up a life out of justifications"
*i am okay with who i am.

hearing sound for the first time after not knowing it for years
because i'm selfish
fooled myself into thinking
i didn't need to hear
to know what you are saying
i can get by with reading your lips
i can even hear
what you aren't saying

there are 365 days in a year
1,095 days in three
60 seconds in a minute
525,600 minutes in a year
26,280 hours in three

i heard you
maybe
once or
twice

i thought
"middle school is just a bunch of drama it's okay if i tune out for a while"
i thought
"high school is just a waste of time"
i don't need to hear the melodramatics and fights

when i went in for my yearly hearing check-ups with the audiologist
she asked me if i'd been wearing my hearing aides
i said no
rolled my eyes
and tuned out her lecture on losing the ability to speak

it has been three years
four if i'm being truthful
i'm relearning language in a way i've never known language
silence is so ******* loud
i can hear the plips and plinks of water droplets bouncing off of porcelain
in the bathroom, two rooms away

sound is vibrating in front of me like
i'm watching a movie of sound again
maybe i'll be able to turn off the closed captions
or maybe i'll keep them
people are hard to understand sometimes
even with dialogue running along the bottom of the screen

i like what i'm hearing but just in case there's ever a time
when words are a bit too sharp and on the verge of hurting me
i'll know to turn the volume down instead of taking
my ears
out.
-
-z.z

I'm happy for you, okay?
But don't expect me to keep acting like my old self when you haven't been acting like your old self
You keep talking to me because you know I won't ever stop supporting you
Friends are friends and I'll be there til the end
But my patience is wearing thin and one day I won't be here anymore
You keep talking to me as if you didn't freeze me out for the last 8 months
When someone hurts me, I don't talk to them
That girl you "dated"?
She hurt me
Betrayed me and stabbed me in the back with that fake smile of hers and know-it-all aura.
You let her manipulate your mind and honestly, I thought you were better than that
I must've been pretty foolish to think a thought that was so far from the truth
You're still just a boy and I could tell
You had some figuring out to do
Our conversations became short and curt
I used to be able to tell you anything
Now you're back but you're definitely not the same Max I knew
I know, I know it's so cliche to say
I notice things
I don't let people mess with my mind and get away with it
So for you to waltz back in with your dyed hair and nose turned up in the air
Is not fair
I see past your "oh so f-ing tough" exterior
You tell me how bad it is like I don't already know
You "live life on the edge" and I'll give you that
But you do NOT tell me I don't know how hard it is
You're the little brother I never had and I hate watching what's become of you
I'm watching a train wreck
And the Train is our friendship
I wonder if you remember how close we used to be
The pictures you sent me of your little sister
The poems I sent you that you pretended to read
I wonder if you remember Skyping with me just so you could show me the snow in New York when it was 80 degrees in AZ
I wonder if you remember...
We all grow up at some point in our lives
Some, sooner than others
You can't hold a conversation for longer than five minutes
So why should I?
Because friends are friends until the end of time
And I used to think that was true
But the clock stopped ticking and
Our time is up
And even though I'd love so much just to be able to scrape the imprint you left on my heart right off
I know
You were more than a few sentences in my book that I won't ever be able to erase
Even though I was just a word in yours

i know that some day
i will cease to exist
all these poems will be hidden in places i can’t remember
maybe someone will think to look but won’t come up with enough pieces to see the whole girl
my facebook profile will remain like the messed up diary of some girl who tried to write but couldn’t
my twitter account will be airless thoughts in 160 characters or less
and my tumblr will be subtle signs that say in fact no, i wasn’t okay, but thank you for liking my poetry posts
no one is going to think to look inside my head where the things that matter will be forgotten
maybe
they wouldn’t want to look or shouldn’t look because there isn’t anything beneath the face that never smiled
there isn’t truth hiding in the veins that shown through iridescent skin
they’re not going to think to look at me
inside of me
my collection of books will be boxed up and maybe taken to bookmans or goodwill
they’re not going to think to look inside those books to see my scribbles in the margins
i’m a fighter
i don’t know how long i’ll be around for but i know that despite my best efforts to change something into something bigger, someone else into someone,
i will be forgotten
so let this be another poem that you will read and forget about
maybe it got published or maybe its still sitting in a cardboard home
this is proof that i lived
don’t tell me it’s not enough because i’m sick of never being enough
i wouldn’t like to think that my life was for nothing
so take my words
to heart because darling,
you will be forgotten too
-
-z.z

this poem is for you
remember all those nights
no
remember all those days
that you spent with your head towards the sky?
when you met the mailman at the door
knowing it would just be junkmail
with an eager grin on your face anyways?
every day
is a reason to make the best of the small things because
remember when the small things kept you alive and
out of the hospital?
you can’t say no
to a lover who keeps persisting
so i’m calling you out of your darkness
the light is always on
this one is for you

for the longest time i've been trying to figure out
what it is exactly that you see in me
i've been beating myself up over things you say are beautiful
don't fret, darling it will be okay
pain cannot be healed by four airless words
i wear labels because for some odd reason i like the way they look
you keep trying to peel them off
why do you keep believing in what society says is beautiful?
quit trying to change me i don't remember who that girl was stop it i'm not her anymore
you were never her but she is you and i love her. i love you
i am not beautiful
i am not whole
*no, you're you.

Fifty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.
Fifty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.

Rain is falling softly but the only pitter patter I hear tonight comes from the sound of my fingers flying frantically over keys as I try to make out one last message before the screen goes dark

Guys, I don’t know what to do
I--

11:11. Freezing. All. Activity.
Moment of Silence. For All Who Didn’t. Make It.
11:11. Freezing. All Activity.

Hate 11:11
We know.
Why does the internet insist on The Moment Of Silence for Lost Souls? Do I really need the constant reminder that I ****** everything up??

Forty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.
Forty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.

You’ll be okay. Here. Read this.
http://dryyoureyes-startbelieving.tumblr.com/post/112628324066
I won’t sleep tonight
You don’t have to

Twenty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.
Twenty. Five. Minutes. Until Shut Down.

Time is fading faster than the sun set this evening. My hands are trembling. What do I have to do to slip into the Interface of the Internet?

They told me it has been done before. Except that they never make it back. When the doors shut and the screens go black, the late night insomniacs grow restless.

Do you hear that pounding?
That is us, trying to get back into the Doors.
That is us, trying to revive
**ourselves.

I don't remember the day I picked up a pencil and wrote my first poem
I don't remember why I even wanted to write in the first place
But I remember the day I stopped
It was in the third grade
I'd talked about wanting to become a poet the way some kids talked about becoming firefighters or dancers
"You won't make a lot of money"
"Poetry is for old ladies to read when they're sad"
"Poetry is boring"
9 year old me was so naive
I believed them
I was different enough already why attract more negative attention to myself?
So I stopped writing
I didn't pick up a pencil with the intention of writing a poem until about two and a half years later, when we had a unit in language arts on Poetry
We were learning sentence structure
"Welcome to the poetry unit
You're going to write some of your own whilst we discover some of the greats"
At first, they were short haikus and rhyming poems about bunnies
6th grade was when I realised reading poetry was almost as good as writing it
7th grade was when I realised how much I loved it
I realised I could be anyone I wanted in my poems
My poems could be as dark or as light as I wanted them to be
I could pour out my soul onto the pages and the paper wouldn't judge me
8th grade I was scribbling stanzas in the margins of my notebooks
9th grade I found out my poem was being published in a book of student poetry
I've spent summers writing, making up for lost time, writing poetry as I breathe oxygen
I know who I am through poetry
Looking back, I know why she stopped
She thought she was saving herself the humiliation
Looking back, she was pretty wise for a girl her age
I remember the day when my 8th grade teacher told me I was talented
I remember the day she told me to enter that poetry contest
I didn't win
But
I haven't stopped writing
That's a win for me.

Let's take a walk down memory lane
It won't be scary but perhaps a little sad
So I'll hold your hand til the end
Keep your eyes wide open
See, look there
Their faces are bright with laughter from night they vowed to see the sunrise
Their happiness is contagious
Can you catch it?
Their laughter lights me up
Can you hear the good times?
They're living the life
Now walk a little this way
Please
Let me cover your eyes
I'm hoping you don't remember
the night we cried as one
No don't look there
stop tracing my scars
You remember when I told you
Now I'm begging you to forget
Let's go a little farther, over here where the smiles beam
Remember just three nights ago when we promised it would always be just you and me?
You held me close and showed me Love
I love Love
I held it in my hands and it felt like a butterfly preparing for flight
I let it flutter away knowing it might not come back
Come here, now
We've reached our destination
Open your hand
I have something to give you
Be careful,
It's delicate
Watch it closely
For you never know when it might fly away

brittle bones cracked but not broken
bruised battered bloke but not dead yet

i'm the girl with the weird eyes and the made up name that no one tries to pronounce right
i'm the girl who says what she feels or rather
thinks she says what she feels
not actually speaking out of fear
i've always thought the meaning of my name is ironic
they told me it means "i belong"
my name is just a nickname
and its meaning, just a phrase
i don't belong anywhere
i'm the girl who chooses poetry over people
they call me weird
and i accept it
i'm the girl
just not their girl

i was in denial, okay?
kept saying "oh no i'm fine"
"i'm on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend"
the number of times i've quoted augustus waters
makes me sick and embarassed
i'm not fine
the laws of physics state what goes up must come down
augustus waters was arrogant and scared
i lost, okay?
i used up all my adhesives
taping, gluing, buttoning, sealing,
then
painting a fresh coat of paint over my face every time picture-perfect image was blurred so you never knew
that i wasn't fine
so that when i looked in the mirror
i fooled myself, claiming the lines were just as unevenly drawn as always
i don't know if i'm ready to peel back all ninety-eight layers of paint
i don't know if i'd recognise the face beneath the plastic
but i know you will
so be careful
please
you win, okay?
you've won.

i want to talk with someone
but i don't know how to say it
i want to talk just talk
not about specific life events or what i ate for dinner last night
please don't ask me about my family or my academics
ask me why my replies get short when you ask me how i am
tell me more than
well i'm glad you're still breathing
when that's my response to your short question
i know
that i can twist my words into appearing positive even when they're not
i know that my sarcasm doesn't always transcend beyond the computer's algorithms
i know that you don't know how to mitigate my suffering
and that's fine
really
it is
so we'll talk about you and your great life adventures
even though right now
i want to talk about the poem i just read by andrea gibson
i want to talk about my writing professor and her brilliant mind and how i've never been more motivated to get to class just so i could sit there and take in the simple grandeur
i want to talk about the night sky and i know it's overrated woohoo the stars and moon huzzah for the earth's night light but have you ever noticed
how when you stand out in the middle of the road at 2 am in the morning,
the world down here is silent and flat but up there, the galaxies stretch and bend beyond the eye can see, the stars are all placed so perfectly
hapharzardly scattered about but in the right places
sometimes they're so dim, you know?
i will never stop aweing over the miracle of the sky nor will i ever not stand in the middle of the road at 2 am in the morning on a rough night just to be reminded of the beauty that's still there within each and every one of us even though sometimes we can't see it
i want to talk about the dream i had last night
and the night before that and how i am scared to fall asleep because my mind is a ******* complex and ***** thing that can thread unimaginable hypotheticals through something that was supposed to be peaceful
i don't want to sleep
i want to talk
i want to talk with someone
because i'm tired of talking to myself
-
-rgp

if i were the drinking kind
i'd fill my body with enough poison i might slip into a deep slumber and not wake until the pain disappeared
my poison of choice
is music
melodies strung and sung so sweetly my heart aches until it numbs
when tears slither their way out of my dry, cracking face i try to convince myself i'm just rehydrating the dead cells that mask my tired bones
pay no attention to the hysterical grin, the Gucci bags under my eyes, and the hair that's wearing Thin and Matted like designer names on B-list celebrities
every night i cut the ambien into pieces, working my way up from halfsies to wholesies so i don't have to listen to the conversations i have with the walls in my room
it all hurts so ******* much, you know?
you don't numb this kind of pain expecting it to go away
you listen to it and coddle it and sit back as it consumes you because **** it looked so innocent
at first
when 10 am finally comes
hashbrowns with too much salt, a mug of cold tea, and a couple Prozac can remedy even the worst of depression's hangovers

sleep tight

don't let the bedbugs bite.

-
-rgp

wind below, sky above
rain is a falling that i love
earthy flesh come anew
torrents destroy the battered and bruised
rejuvenate my soul, be free!
run rampant, shout, proclaim with glee
let thy happiness explore
what nature's beauty beholds once more
-
-z.z