Cold air still refreshing, I walk to the car
That (is supposed to) take me “home.”
I’m immediately assaulted by smoke
And lies and empty promises.
I am not allowed to show anger, or rebellion, or
any differing opinion from what they think.
Because that is not right, judgmental, unholy.
I am supposed to like the very person that curses me.
I am accused to flittering about with that filth.
I am trapped in the very place I should be happy and safe in.
But I am neither happy nor safe.
“Pride,” and “dignity,”
These are things that that poison
(Supposedly) has.
I am not allowed to dislike he who
Traps me, curses me,
And chokes me down with his uncouth antics and horrible lies.
“I’ll do it later. Promise.”
“I will go soon, honest.”
And she lets him get away with it.
Because family overlooks everything.
Family takes you in and
protects you from recovery – sorry, hatred and lies.
Family will let you destroy yourself from the inside out.
No, family will help you do it.
“Pride and dignity?”
Please, he needs to lose some if he’s ever to actually gain anything.
Am I the only who isn’t held down and gagged by family ties?
His voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
His odor is a whole new kind of pollution.
He has not contributed a **** thing to this house
Let alone this “family,”
Let alone this world.
I can’t take this.
I can’t.
I cannot keep pretending like this is okay. Because it’s not.
I am sick and tired of being trapped and accused and
Looked down upon.
What a start to a “break.”
****
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
Never been the type for dances.
Don’t much care for sweaty bodies surrounding me.
But I go anyway, you know?
Just for one of the few I call ‘friend’ and
Sacrifice a night of peace and quiet.
But I don’t mind that.
Though I can’t help but stare
At the others around me.
Flashy colours and flashy dresses
And the like.
Or lack thereof.
(And I don’t wear dresses)
One thing I’ve learned:
Stick out your *****
Show some ***
And just an inch of skin.
Suddenly,
I’m a ******* princess.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
Number and letters fly about in front of her.
They say something in English,
She knows that much.
But they fly too fast,
Whispering to each other some
Inside joke she'll never be let in on.
They mock her, taunt her
Just like the voices in her head.
Maybe she is crazy,
More likely than not she is.
Voices, voices, voices!
Repeating to her her flaws,
External and in.
And the last remaining strip of sanity inside tells her the voices
Are exaggerating.
That she's good enough, she gets it,
She smart amazing beautiful.
Everything she tells others she knows she is.
But that's a lie too.
The gossiping numbers switch and alternate. Adjust and churn and burn her eyes. Burn her mind.
Or maybe those are just the tears threating to spill.
And if the teacher not two feet away notices she's crying,
He says nothing.
Idle, useless batter all used up.
Her fingers twitch,
Both the ones around the plastic pencil she has jabbed into the numbers.
And the ones on her bag.
She yearns to feel the cool weight of her special pen, to drown in words.
Her earphones, to drown in melodies.
Her blades, to just drown.
But she's in public, so she must be strong.
Be the fierce, happy, intelligent young "lady"
She was taught she must be.
Indecency is a sin.
And somewhere along the way she loses herself.
Manages to hold out until she's in the car, hot summer sun buring her skin.
Sweat forms on her upper lip, mixing with salty tears.
She can't tell which is which.
She lets go in front of her mother, spills as much of her strength as she has left.
But what else should she expect.
"You have a problem. You're going to fail and flunk school," comes the rickety voice.
'You're a failure. A problem. Fail. Fail. Fail. That's all you're good for. Say your final goodbyes and leave. Forever.
We won't miss you,' the voices say.
She thinks she should do just that. Just bleed and leave while tears stain the floor.
But the voices, contradictory, say,
'Attention ***** That's all. That's all,'
So she'll do what she has always done best. The only thing she's good at: act.
Not on a stage; not in front of an audience.
Just a little one woman show ran by her heart and her voices. Alone, she will say the final line.
Take her final bow.
And there is no curtain call.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
I swear,
Our friendship was founded on
Internet surfing.
Violent yelps and giggles
Erupt through the air,
Making all those who
know not of what we feel
Shush us.
But they will never know the
true feelings behind all of
the "spazzing", as you put it.
We laugh and scream
nonsense things about boats and bikes,
pretending we know Korean or Chinese.
But we both do know
that's just the way we bond with one another.
And I'd would choose you over a k-drama or a Barbie movie.
Any day.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
Bricks are red,
Some Nerf darts are blue.
All I wanted to say is:
Bro, you ****
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
"'Mom, I'm tired.."
I said, as I walked slowly towards her
My arms weighing me down
Hanging by my sides, T-shirt no sweater
"Go take a nap sweetheart"
She replied in a sweet, soothing tone
Wish I had said something more
Cause where I'm going, there isn't a phone..
I've withered and got down to my goal
It's a shame more people didn't realize,
No one took it serious enough
I never felt like I was the right size
I couldn't feel anymore neither happiness nor pain
If this is what it took then I'm glad the job is done
I loved you all so much so please forgive me
But I think this nap will be my last one
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
I'm pretty sure all poetry has left me.
As if it just packed up and hit the road.
Like my words no longer dance or sing.
Like they have forgotten all melodies.
Assimilated tone deafness.
Compound letdowns retract vulnerabilities.
Brick walls and leather skin replace possibilities.
Reckless love and whimsical fantasies,
Replaced by ***** diapers and piles of laundry.
Consonants and vowels blend to mush.
Aches and accomplishments are one in the same.
All of my agony has turned to apathy,
And I wonder.
How could I let poetry walk away from me?
How have I become so broken that I can no longer write?
Words have no ability to woe me.
Vocabulary is no longer my saving grace.
Void of creativity.
Like somehow life has gotten too messy for me to express.
Series of catastrophes and celebrations run together.
And I feel lost.
And I feel blessed.
But oh so empty.
Poetry come back to me.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
I'd like to lie and say that I have never
held affection for anyone.
That I watch people come and go as they always do,
and that I remain indifferent.
Let the story tumble from my chapped lips,
and tangle with the burning air of my stuffy room.
Because it is dangerous to care,
unspoken thoughts mesh unconsciously-
and I do not care for that.
To watch some one you thought
Trustful strangle your neck
with the very promises you made?
I do not care for that.
Alas, I have done this most dangerous thing-
Became attached.
It is a deadly tango with Hope and Fate.
One is always stealing you away from the other,
promising that your life will work itself out.
But, ever so naively- I have grown attached.
For the times I have loved are far and few between.
But when they arise, they burn in
what I think is my heart- engulfing me,
persuading me to stay.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
A boyfriend and a goal
The fuel to my eating disorder.
Just 5 pounds.
No dessert tonight
Just 4 pounds.
No dessert tonight
Half a sandwich for lunch
Just 3 pounds.
No dessert tonight
Half a sandwich for lunch
Only a salad for dinner
Just 2 pounds.
No dessert tonight
Half a sandwich for lunch
Only a salad for dinner
I'll go for a run
Just 1 pound.
No dessert tonight
Half a sandwich for lunch
Only a salad for dinner
I'll go for a run
No breakfast tomorrow
Just 5 more pounds...
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC