I am a completely different person than I was seven years ago.
Physically, yes, because my cells have been dying
and renewing so much that
everything is gone and I am new.
Mitosis took care of that in the way that
everyone is a new collection of cells
every seven years.
But we're still the same collection of memories.
I am also different mentally.
I am not a simple eight year old anymore,
but what is a simple eight year old?
I want to be a stem cell,
blank and waiting for instructions.
Either I want to make my own decisions
and take control of my own life
or I can recognize that I don't know what I'm doing
and any control given to me will be lost.
I want to stay blank, ready to be programmed
and have a job
and a purpose.
But maybe I don't want to be a cell
and I want to be the collection.
Maybe I'll find my purpose.
Maybe I'll find my job.
I want these seven years to pass so I can be this
new human.
Maybe they will know what to do.
Am I the stem cell, hidden in the nasal cavity, or am I the human?
Am I really that different from my simple eight year old self?
Am I really different at all?
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
it never occurred to me exactly how jealous i can be,
not even of people that i know,
but of concepts:
being confident when i get up to speak,
knowing where to sit,
being able to write the right thing.
but now i know that jealousy is what helps me succeed
even when i can't
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
it isn't that i feel sad
or numb, like some days,
but i don't feel like existing.
there's so much for me to do,
so many books to read,
so many shows to watch,
so many albums to listen to,
and there's so much that i cannot.
and i would give the world
to anyone
who could erase me for a few days.
i would be the shavings
off of a pencil that decorate a classroom floor.
and i wouldn't even mind.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
hotel deaths are so overdramatic
they're just random people who checked in for a day's rest that just happened to last forever
and hotel suicides
home's not a five star
but all of the murders
because they were still found
after they shaved half their heads
and dyed what's left red
and changed their names
and wore green contacts
and hurried the **** up to hide
hotels are petri dishes for killing bacteria.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
being told that you're too big
for a playground destroys
the little kid inside you and
wow oh wow
that hurts because that little
kid always gets what she wants
and **** that's not okay and
she's having a tantrum but
you just look down at that rude
little kid who told you that
playgrounds are for little kids
makes you
so so so mad and
who told that kid that
they could be rude to you
but you know that
they don't think they're being rude
and all you want to do is
go down the slide but
you admit defeat and
stare down that kid and
whirl around and
walk down the steps but
inside you're stomping and that little
kid of yours is unhappy.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
my head is a canyon,
deep, intricate, and tall.
a river runs through the bottom,
tumbling, whirling, destroying.
i hear those voices
laughing, cackling, bellowing.
echoing
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
i laid down across the desks
like always
and started writing
like always.
i felt her hands on the back of
my upper thigh
she wasn't trying to arouse me
but i could feel her little fingers
bumping up my thigh in
a rhythm, thumping while she texted on her phone
and i felt a light touch on my ****
a packet of papers
and another pair of hands doing work
on their work
on my ****
and i felt the light massages of her fingers on my thigh
and i wondered if other girls felt this way
when they were touched
and i wondered what made me different
and if i was different.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
she liked to fast.
and sometimes she fasted for
days.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
don't **** the butterfly
before the ink dies, in its sleep
and before you wash it off.
it's gotta die naturally before
you go snip snip.
don't **** the butterfly
before you feel the thrill again
and before you feel happy.
it's gotta die naturally before
you go snip snip.
don't **** the butterfly
before you go out again
and before love finds you.
it's gotta die naturally before
you go snip snip.
you killed the butterfly
after nothing good happened
and after you hit rock bottom.
it was murdered after
you went snip snip.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
there is a pit in my stomach
just like everyone else's
but mine has no bottom
and it just keeps going.
every so often a rock slips
and falls down the precipice
forever echoing off the walls.
sometimes i hear a splash when it hits
the water and then i feel it sinking,
dragging me down to infinite anti-heights
and i can't swim.
and you could say that there are
butterflies within my stomach,
and i would tell you that you were wrong,
the butterflies fell and drowned years ago.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC