It’s been an off day.
Not an “I’m ready to die” day,
more of a “who am I
why am I here
where am I going
what am I”
type day.
I don’t know what I want to do with myself.
People tell me to get up.
Go do something.
That my bedroom walls are ******* the life out of me.
I believe it, too, but today’s a day
where I don’t want to be in my walls, but
don’t know how to get out.

Isn’t this life hard?
Sometimes I wish we had a pause button, to just
stop everything for a moment,
take a breath for a while.
Not forever, but for a while.
Sometimes I wish we were closer, that we talked
like we used to. Sometimes I wish
you and I could go back to a few months ago,
back to last summer, when things were better,
before they went back to worse.
Sometimes I wish you hadn’t called quits,
before calling me first.
Sometimes I wish you would come find me,
hold me like you did before.
I wish you didn’t leave.
-why don’t you come back-
I wish you would come and keep me.

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.