Sometimes I would walk through the halls,
feeling nothing but anxiety.
My mind would become flooded:
What should I be doing…
what should I be saying...
what is everyone thinking?
See-
I used to float to the back of the room
to the back of my mind where
I escaped the world by reading.
Nerdy.
A loser. A freak.
I was too intelligent for my age.
It wasn’t COOL to get straight A’s.
Then I advanced to the seventh grade,
with no idea my life was about to change.
I made a friend.
Then Two. Then Three.
A former unknown concept: “popularity”.
Skater shoes, with laces you didn’t tie,
pink backpacks, hair straight as a pin-
Abercrombie-
led me to a moment I still hate today:
“Try some of this”.
It wasn’t COOL if you said no.
It was my first taste of intoxication,
my first taste of escape-
escape of my mind, the thoughts,
The anxiety.
The more I sipped, the more I let go.
The drinks would become stronger,
we raged every other night.
Tolerances were creeping up high,
control started waving goodbye to my mind.
It wasn’t COOL to be sober.
We laughed, we kid-
called ourselves “alcoholics”.
If only then I knew more, and the future I would soon endure
because of the potion we poured and poured.
It wasn’t COOL to be a lightweight.
Some years later I bragged and I boasted,
over the amount of liquor I could intake.
“The only girl who could outdrink the boys”-
the girl, I’d someday unrelated.
She’d fallen for everything society had wanted to create.
“Popularity”.
Then came the day I knew would eventually arrive-
the day of realization and what it meant to be alive.
I no longer wanted to be COOL.
Because with each drink, the value of life was swallowed-
I never have felt
quite that hollow. As if
all the knowledge that once filled my mind
vanished.
I yearned for nothing but to go back to the days,
when I was uncool
and got
straight A’s.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
One day in September,
my mind felt trapped.
Like I was running down a darkened hall…
further,
and further,
and further.
But it was all just:
Black.
I wanted to tell someone,
my mind needed help.
But as I opened my mouth to speak, the words ran…
to the back of my throat,
down to the trachea,
where they could sit and hide.
Because it was all just:
Black.
These so called “thoughts”,
started replicating in my mind.
I could feel them crawling around the parietal…
eating away at any sense of control,
eating until my mind lost,
eating away all sense of soul.
Until my mind’s thoughts were simply:
Black.
One day a few years later,
I picked up a pen.
The black ink dripped upon the page…
with each drip of the pen,
came pouring each manifested thought.
No longer able to hide in the darkness of my mind,
but rather took form in the darkness of the ink,
each letter strung together as though a crown of black roses
was placed upon my head.
Rather than hiding in my mind,
the thoughts were exposed for him to understand.
The more I saw him, the more each petal withered.
Until one day in September, I stood upon nothing
but fallen petals that were all just
Black.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
The February winds blew through the field,
Morning silence dominated the Marsh.
Never did I think that their love would yield-
Parent separations can be too harsh.
It became my turn to give it a try,
Holding hands wondering if its true love…
I only saw lightning flash in the sky,
Feelings of fear I couldn’t get rid of-
Started running then & I have not stopped,
Created distractions to get away.
My plans for love would soon have to be swapped,
For cobblestone roads and red chardonnay.
Accordions play and sing through my ears,
The magic of love without all the tears.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
My friends are witches
They have black hats, to match their cats
They say I don’t quite fit in
Because of pink lace
They have black hats, to match their cats
I, however, am in love
Because of pink lace
The rest wear black to conceal their faith
I, however, am in love
Jumped the bridge and fell into your cold frame
The rest wear black to conceal their faith
You wear nothing as long as you remain
The pink lace dipped in dementia
They say I don’t quite fit in
I’ll forevermore pursue for you
My friends are witches
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC