do you have moments, where you can’t imagine a future?
you’re lying there, staring at the
same walls
same ceilings
same words
with nothing but the same feelings-
empty and pale,
like there’s no reason to go on,
when you can’t even do enough to fail.
the future is coming, but you don’t want to be in it,
can’t imagine yourself in it.
where you just want to stop.
everything.
and just sit there for a while.
maybe not death, as that’s too permanent,
but something close to it.
when you can feel the rope around your neck,
the razor on your wrist,
the way the pills taste.
you can imagine it, and you aren’t sure if it’s what you want,
or just the feelings you imagine it will give you

She had no idea where she was,
nor where she was going.
The buildings surrounded her like giants,
their threats hiding the sky.
They scared her.
But she still walked on.
She didn’t have a map-
there wasn’t one.
but the street performer on the corner three blocks back,
told her to head down Aimm’s Street.
She didn’t have anywhere else to go,
so she did.
Night came sooner than it should’ve.
She was certain her bones had turned on her,
jolting her apart from the inside out.
But she kept walking.
The two men, sitting together on the red bench,
told her to turn left,
in two blocks.
She did.
She still had no destination,
but she walked on.

Invisibility isn’t a super power.
It’s a state of being.
It’s being asked if you’re new,
halfway through the school year.
Its sitting by yourself
on the ground, in the hall
during lunch.
Watching group, after group, walk by,
not even noticing you there.
It’s seeing everything,
being everywhere,
but not being seen.
Not truly being there.
No, invisibility isn’t a super power.

The third stair from the bottom always creaked.
I always forgot,
So I’d always get caught.
The bi-annual outburst of my rebel-ness always resulted in tears.
And blue hair.

I bought darker lipstick from Walmart, back when
we lived in a small town.
I’ve worn it, but
never outside of my bedroom.
Never worn any lipstick, outside of my room.
Mom would freak if she knew I had it,
just like when my shorts didn’t cover my knees.
There’s a reason I wear leggings so often.

I can’t wait to get out of this place-
Hot, crowded, cacti.
I’ve said it before,
and I’m making plans, but everyone says
“you’ll be back in two years.”
I don’t want to. But I’m scared I will.

My sister claims I’m going to get married right out of high school.
Considering the .5 dates I’ve gone on, I’m doubtful.
And to who? who knows. She’s expecting a guy.
I’m not so sure- of any of her predictions.

It’s been months since I’ve written.
Now, with a shaking hand and bruised ribs,
an unforgiving mind and a whirlwind of words unwritten,
I’ll put my thoughts back on paper. Where they come from.
I want to write, I told a coworker. When I’m older.
But it’s been months since I’ve been able-
to afraid to think and too thoughtless to write,
pushing through life like a Halloween corn maze, constantly lost, yet never knowing
How or Why or Where or When.
But I feel I can- hope I can,
know I will.
So, though it’s been months since
a single word came out,
I’m taking my brain and spilling it out-
out for the world to see?

Sometimes I’d rather be invisible
than be ****** in the spotlight.
No one expects the world,
when you’re living in your own.
So sometimes I’d rather be invisible,
then be noticed. Known.