A match's sole purpose is to
Burn out.
Anything else, and they're simply
a Waste of Space.
It starts in the head,
And in one quick motion,
Flames.
It moves fast,
Consuming the entire match.

Shriveled.
Black.
Charcoal is all that remains.

There’s a superhero protecting the city,
And when the sun goes down he fights
To keep his friends and family safe
On treacherous, deadly nights.
He uses his marvelous super strength
For lots of things, it‘s quite practical.
And he uses invisibility
To be supremely sneaky and tactical.

Each and every night he goes to stop
Bad people from doing bad things
The city loves their superhero,
And treat him as their king.
They know him well and they can tell
That he’ll always treat them with care
They know they can call at any time,
And that the hero will always be there.

But many long and sleepless nights
Begin to take their toll.
The hero’s getting tired
Night after night on patrol.
And the battles fought aren’t easily won,
The hero’s decorated with scars
From poison darts, and fisticuffs,
Falling from buildings onto cars.

But no one else can protect the people
Whom the hero love so dear,
So the hero cannot take a break,
Not one day off because he fears
That as soon as he’s gone the baddies will come
And wreak havoc on his friends
And the hero cannot allow that to happen;
He could never make amends.

Though he’s growing quite weary, the hero keeps fighting
Because that’s the way heroes are wired.
But his strength doesn’t work like it used to,
And his invisibility tends to backfire.
His strength only works around other people,
He grows weak as soon as they’re gone.
He’s invisible almost all of the time,
So people can’t see something’s wrong.

It’s now to the point where the hero dreads
The sun sinking into the west
Because he knows that once the sun goes down,
He’ll be put to the test.
He’s so tired and weak and he’s ready to quit
But he knows he must go out again.
Isn’t protecting the city week after week
Worth any amount of pain?

He’s reluctant to go out, and almost dares to do evil,
To show that he’s in control.
But he knows he never will, his reputation’s at stake,
And he prepares to go out on patrol.
The city is asking to be saved once again.
And he cries as the sky turns red,
Maybe the city won’t expect to be saved
If the hero himself is dead.

For the hero feels so very alone.
He knows he can’t go on forever.
How many more super villains and monsters,
He asks, can this poor hero weather?
The hero knows that he can’t go much longer,
That he only has a little while
Before the people figure out he’s hurt
But for now he saves with a smile.

Though his bones are weak, and his skin is bruised,
Off to save the city once more, he goes.
He’s pushing himself far past his limit
As he brawls ‘gainst countless foes.
He wants to keep his people safe,
Though he may be going to his grave.
For no one ever taught this hero
To save others, first himself he has to save.

Today I felt the need to bleed,
Strongest it's been for a while.
I clenched my jaw and pinched my fingers,
Turned grimace into smile.

I wanted to scratch myself to pieces,
Rake nails across my skin.
Or make myself throw up my dinner
Any pain would be a win.

I don't quite know what set it off,
Why I had such strong desire
To bite my fingers, pull my hair,
Or recklessly play with fire.

But something happened just today,
I wish that I knew why.
Because something happened just today,
That made me want to die.

And since it's been so long since Then
Since when these feelings were there
It shocked me to the core alright,
And suddenly I was scared.

I've lied to myself for far too long,
Saying I'm alright,
But in reality that isn't true,
In reality I'm done with this fight.

I don't want to keep living a fearful life,
But I fear all my strength is gone.
I've fought against myself so long,
That I just want to be done.

Today is the youngest I'll ever be.
I'm looking back a year or three.
I don't want to spend my days, lying in wait
Wondering what I need to know;
So, here I go.

The road I've walked is a quarter done,
But thorns along the trail they've stung.
I don't want this feeling to last, stuck in days of the past
Overthinking every blow;
So, here I go.

And I'm still new to the path,
It's twists and it's turns, I feel I've only begun.
But I look just behind me at rivers and canyons,
I've come so far, and I'm done.

Today's the youngest I'll ever be,
I've worked so ******* becoming me.
I'm not in places I've been, I'm just stuck in between
Impossibly fast and slow.
But here I go.

Where did I go that day, when I was shaking and crying.
Where did I go when I was sure I was dying?
Because so many times before when I was broken down,
I'd been aware of the sharp, heavy crown

Where did I go when I supposedly snapped,
Where did I go when I was nowhere but trapped?
I guess I thought that I was in control and
It still feels like my mind was hijacked, stolen.

Where did I go for that space of an hour?
Where did I go when I did nothing but cower?
It doesn't seem real that my brain showed up late,
And now I feel without control, which I hate.

So where did I go, please I need to hear,
'Cause ever since I left, I've been living in fear.

I am not allowed to do things that
You wouldn't.
I am not allowed to say things that
You wouldn't.
I am not allowed to believe things that
You wouldn't.
You wouldn't
let me grow into a person,
Grow into Me.
If I asked you to help make a change,
You wouldn't.
If I asked you to make an effort to be understanding,
You wouldn't.
If I asked you to care,
You wouldn't.

However,

I will.
Care for things and people that need it.
I will.
Try to understand people who are different.
I will.
Make a change.
Growth in the soul
Will turn me into myself, and
I will.
I will
Determine my own beliefs.
I will
Shout what I must.
I will
Choose to be what
You weren't.

On long car rides late at night,
You finally exit the freeway'
And the car slows to a gentle stop.
The lost momentum stirs you and your eyes open
Just enough to see the car's insides bathed in red light.
Your eyes are more comfortable when they're closed,
And the warm air whispering from the vents invites you
To slip under completely.

The early morning, when you still have an hour or two of sleep.
You turn to get more comfortable,
Feeling the warm spot where you used to be.
You sigh deeply and,
For a moment,
You think you catch the scent of your own home.
You pull your sheets higher and feel your body relax.

The teacher is lecturing.
You feel your legs grow heavy.
Your blinks become longer until
It's more work to open them than you're willing to put forth.
The fluorescents buzz a lullaby just for you.
You hear, but you can't listen.
A sharp jolt.
Your head bobs.
You are awake.

You're seconds away from falling asleep.
A dull flash lights your eyelids, and
Though your breathing stays the same,
Your heart rumbles with the distant thunder.
You are made aware,
Once more,
Of the steady patter of rain on your window.

I've woken up in the middle of the night.
I never got around to closing the blinds.
The only sounds are that of my still, sleepy breath,
the near silent roll of tires on the snowy street.

We were hot on our hike,
So we stopped by a spring.
After soaking our feet for a moment, you lay down to rest.
You're asleep now.
The hot sun warming my back,
The water nipping and chilling my feet,
The occasional splash of a from in the shallow pools,
And the steady, pulsing wing breathing fresh life into my lungs.

Ducking underwater when I'm the only one in the pool.
A quiet, turquoise haven.
There's no splashing,
Yelling,
Clinking toys;
Nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

Depression
hit like a train.

a jolt.

derailed.

blackness.

No Survivors

I wake up in the morning,
Swiping spiderwebs from the corner of my eyes.
All the flies attract the predators.
I brush one off my shoulder,
Not out of fear, but out of convenience.

It’s happened before,
where a thought sits and stews.
The sun bakes my brain
And the garbage inside attracts buzzing flies
Swirling around my head.
People’s mouths are moving but all I hear
Is the constant drone and thrum of decomposers.

And before long, slugs and snails and worms creep through my ears
Thriving on the decay,
The rot of my brain.

As with everything, rot comes and goes with the season,
And I simply wait out the stench of spoiling thoughts.
There’s the option to rake out the old,
Clear the paths of my mind,
But I’ve found that as soon as it’s cleared, it’s back again.
Like leaves in the fall.

But it comes and goes,
And comes again, and goes again,
And before I know it, the rotten thoughts are replaced by ones of hope.
A breath of peace and hope.
Life.
My brain blooms,
And the rain waters my face.

Instead of waking with spiders,
I feel a gentle breeze.

Heartache is:

Smelling
        your cologne on a stranger

People
        saying your name and I smile, but then I remember

Listening
        to our favorite song from that concert we went to

Listening
        to One Republic- they're your favorite band

Realizing
        that I still check your horoscope when I laugh at mine

Swiping
        your texts away

Staring
        at the dark ceiling, and remembering the last thing you told me

Worrying
        I'll see you when I'm out, when I used to hope that that was the case

Noticing
        how cold my hand is

Noticing
        how happy everyone else is

Driving
        past our favorite McDonald's on State Street

Sitting
        in the airport terminal where we once texted until 3:00 in the morning

Thinking
        I'm over you, then seeing you and realizing how wrong I was.

Always listen to your body,
But don’t always trust the mind.
your flesh and bones want happiness,
Your brain won’t be so kind.

I decided to hold on
For one more day.
But even still, weeks later,
My thoughts won’t go away.

I just want to stop
Being sad.

I’m the happiest I’ve been for years
But it still is not happiness.

“Happy” is not
The right word

Because I’m only ever sad,
And not.

So when I say
“I just want to stop,”

I really mean
I want to

Start
Being happy.

People communicate too much.
Their arms, their feet, their eyes, their hands.
Each one tells a story.
Each one differs, interfering and weighing the air down.
Then the mouth opens and words fly out,
A whirlwind of ideas, opinions, tumbling, spinning, whipping out.
So much noise.
A message here, a message there.
The noise is blinding.

Outside the garden is buzzing.
Not the droning buzz of conversation,
But the peaceful hum and sigh of nature.
The leaves wave as you walk.
Flower petals whisper to you, succinct words that don't rattle.
Ladybirds, bumblebees, humming birds hurtle and whisk around,
And best of all, the garden listens.

When people say, "let me know how I can help,"
I always smile and nod.
It's sweet of them, and kind, but on the inside my heart

d
  r
   o
     p
       s

Later than night, when I'm curled under my desk,
hands over my ears
and the smothering weight of panic squeezes me, crushes me,
that sentence echoes.
"How can I help?"
I don't know.
I don't know.
Can you help?
Can I be helped?
I sit and ride it out, and my phone stays on the table.

The next day they ask, "are you doing better?"
I reach for my pen and scratch a smile onto my face.
Much better. Thank you for asking.
My insides are empty.

Sometimes the words you say out of love hurt.
Stabbing, cutting words that, underneath their sounds,
Tell me that you don't think I can.
And that is precisely the reason why you only know my facade.

But now that facade is breaking.
Cracks spiderwebbing throughout my arms,
Tears ripping away from my legs,
Chunks missing from my chest, and
If you look closely, you can see the dark empty inside
Through the shattered windows of my eyes.

Soon the facade will crumble away
And you won't know the person in front of you.

Have you ever noticed that when you do something brave–
Something rattling,
Something that makes your heart bounce,
Something that steals the breath right out of your lungs–
That the world keeps spinning?
Time doesn't stand still,
It ticks on,
Passing by,
Moment after moment.
The earth keeps the feeling of invincibility just out of reach
After you've tasted one drop.
People don't acknowledge it the way you think they will.
That moment is gone in a few whispering breaths,
And it is forgotten by all but you.

I know I'm not a morning person
Not am I one at night
I'm not quite sure just what I am,
'Cause nothing feels quite right.

The night-time makes my eyelids droop
The mornings seem to crawl.
Not a morning or a night person–
I don't think I'm a person at all.


/\   /\
(  •w•  )
\        /
   __/
    
I'm secretly a bat

A young girl plants a garden,
Teaching herself through books.
She’s pulling out **** by ****,
Passing by the games and brooks.

She yawns as she rises each morn
To tend her plants so dear.
Pansies, daisies, daffodils,
Her love for them is clear.

She picks a bunch this morning,
A sweet-smelling bouquet,
And enters naught but joy into
The Fair’s gardening display.

The girl is young and inexperienced,
She knows this but she smiles.
For even if she doesn’t win,
Her flowers are seen for miles.

The day does end, as all days must,
The girl waits with giddy thoughts.
Surprisingly she’s awarded
A ribbon of forget-me-nots.

In a completely awed excitement,
The girl rushes down the way.
In fact she’s so exuberant
She near forgets her own bouquet!

She runs down her street into her home,
Pride gleaming in her eyes.
“Ma, Pa, I’ve worked so hard,
Guess what! I’ve earned first prize!

“All those early mornings and work
Helped me win my ribbon of blue.
I came home as quick as I could,
I just had to tell you!”

Her mother puts down her magazine,
Her father looks up from the news.
They stand up, looking at the flowers,
And, with a few words, extinguish her fuse.

“You silly girl, you should know better.”
“Oh honey, what did you do?”
“We raised you smarter than this, my dear,
You can’t put flowers in stew.”

A girl is standing on a ledge.
A stale breath of air on the back of her neck
Urges her to step forward.
She turns, but no one is there
But the sky.

A girl is sitting in the bathroom,
All but ripping and shredding her flesh to bits.
A chuckle from the drain
As water and red gurgles,
Gurgles away.

A girl is laying in bed,
The creaks and moaning whines from the house
Echo loudly in her ears.
“What would happen,” it asks, “if you broke through the glass
And leapt out the window?”

A girl is followed,
Footsteps in time with her own,
Chased and haunted by every feeling, sound, and thought.
It seems the spirits have her too,
Because she still continues to smile.

A bridge broken from one side to another.
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.

Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.

A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.

Danger
Danger
Danger
Do not approach

This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.

Overheating
Overworking
Overdoing
Over

Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.

"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No.
No. Because it's broken.

Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting

Crackling
Clicking
Clattering
Clanking
Clunking

The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.

It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode

Tonight,
Just go and stare at the moon
Until her unfamiliarity becomes familiar.
Stare until the pink sky fades to gray,
Stare until you have to look away to marvel and
Suddenly, the sky is alive with stars.

Tonight,
Just go to the moon with open ears
Until you hear her faint laughter, a passing breeze.
Listen until you understand her,
Listen until she begins to share the
Countless secrets whispered to her.

Tonight,
Just go to the moon with open arms,
Until you feel a swelling in your chest.
Feel the way her gentle fingers stroke your face,
Feel the way she holds you, this
Guardian angel guiding you through the night.

Tonight,
Just go to the moon and talk
Until you've nothing more to discuss.
Talk about your day (she doesn't see it all).
Talk about how you cannot wait to have someone with whom
To see the moon.

In-N-Out Burger, quarter to 11.
Tonight I dressed up, hoping I’m at least a 7.
My friend pulls Bea and me aside,
Smiling cheeks, glinting eyes.

A conversation behind her had occurred:
“That girl is really cute, should I tell her?”
She subtly turned around to see
That two boys were looking towards Bea and me.

As she told her story, I bit my tongue.
I let myself think “finally, someone
Who thinks that I’m pretty, and deserves a chance.
I seem to be dodging any flirting glance.”

You’re lovely, my friends tell me (I hope that it’s true).
But I crave to hear it from someone new.
Someone who could possible grow
To love me and cherish me. I don’t say that, though.

I turn to Bea, and give her a smile
She’s in a red dress, prettiest for a mile.
My friends are all 10s, that I can see,
And I know that comment was for her, not me.

So here I am at In-N-Out eating fries
Pretending not to worry about numbers and guys.

Dysmorphic

Whenever I see the word “noon”
I sit and I stare at it.
Logically, I know that it’s spelt right,
But the perfect palindromous parallel
Just looks wrong.

Sometimes in band, I hear a sound
And it’s just not right.
Logically, I know that it’s fine,
But the slight tremor torturing the technique
Just sounds wrong.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror
And I don’t recognize me.
Logically, I know the body I see is me,
But the soul inside is suffocatingly stifled,
And I feel wrong.

The comedian is depressed—
Irony at its peak.
People cannot see the lies
Whenever she starts to speak.

The comedian is depressed.
Her smiles are not her own.
Day and night pass by and by,
Her house is not a home.

The comedian is depressed,
But the audience cannot tell.
In the end that's all that matters,
That, and if you perform well.

The comedian is depressed,
Head filled with gray and blue.
You cannot know the full extent
Until you acknowledge that it's true.

The comedian is depressed,
Each laugh is fleeting, at most.
Original thoughts inside her head
Tied her to a whipping post.

The comedians are depressed,
And more are going away.
How much longer till people think
To ask if we're okay?

I'm clammy, I'm cold,
I'm weak at the knees
My eyelids are drooping,
Spine tingles and freezes.
My head is pounding,
My heart is, too,
But I know that I am
Not down with the flu.

The curse of the woman,
Monthly revamps
Dehydration, emotions,
Bloating, and cramps.
I want to go home,
I'm not feeling too well.
I watch the clock,
Waiting for the bell.

Living with this
Is like living in hell.

If you start to yell and scream,
Count on me to freeze.
I can't take anger directed at me,
I was born with a disease to please.

Average grades are shameful here.
No more B's and C's.
"Good" is just not good enough
When you have a disease to please.

I know people who pass through life,
Jumping hurdles with ease.
I tell myself "not high enough,"
Thanks to my disease to please.

Emotions take more than fair
In situations like these.
I'm completely drained, robbed, ****** dry
From my disease to please.

All this pressure takes its toll,
Constantly, I feel my heart squeeze.
Breaths are rapid, running short,
And I'm dying from my disease.

Time.
Wispy, sugary, gentle time.
Floating through the air.
Long afternoons in the sun,
Gentle warmth on my legs as I lie.
Time floats by like dandelion seeds
On a windless day.

Time.
Sticky, rotten, putrid time.
Dripping through my fingers.
A day in the car,
Breathing the same air you have for hours.
Time slides down my limbs like a slug
In the early hours.

Time.
Bubbly, hot, electric time.
Reaching to touch– for a second.
Final bows,
A pure high that flows through every vein.
You blink, and then it's over,
Existing solely in memory.

Time.
Sharp, tight, abrasive time.
Sitting heavy on my chest.
Yelling, quick movement.
It closes in, overwhelming, stifling.
When I finally breathe, it's much later,
Like my sanity, it's gone.

Time.
Moving, fluid, dancing time.
Existing without a thought.
It moves on, when we don't.
Day, by week, by month, by lifetime.
I observe it passing, a train out the window,
And I wave.

Seven cooks in the kitchen, making spaghetti,
Each one hurrying and rushing to ready.
My *** of bolognese, succulent, simmering,
Sits on the front right burner, heat shimmering.

One chef diligently tossing a salad,
Another one turns on a calm Italian ballad.
"Help!" Cries a cook as she comes running in.
"My Alfredo sauce won't work! It's much too thin!"

"Not to worry, my friend," I console the bereft.
"My burner is hot, take my place." I move left.
Things are a bit more crowded with her,
But I happily give my sauce a good stir.

Things are running more smoothly now,
'Til another chef bursts in (also having a cow).
"The spaghetti is cooking, but keeps boiling out!"
I think long and hard as the chef starts to pout.

"I'll push my *** back, so you can still see,
"My sauce will be fine for a minute or three."
My time in the kitchen has made me a quick learner,
So I smile as I move bolognese to the back burner.

"Stand and watch through the oven door," I said,
To keep a chef from burning his garlic bread. Another chef needs melted butter in her dessert.
Letting her use the microwave can't hurt.

All these chefs doing their work in a blur
Prevent me from giving my sauce a needed stir.
As minutes pass— five, eight, twelve, sixteen—
I begun to understand what the phrase means.

Although the situation is very fitting,
There's just too many cooks in the kitchen.
I don't want to let the wind out of their sails,
So I take a step back, waiting and biting my nails.

Time to dish up, and all chefs leave the area
And I approach my sauce on the verge of hysteria.
It's now much too thick, the bottom is black.
I've neglected my job while picking up slack.

There's no one to blame, I should've learned
If you move to back burner your dish will be burned.
Other chefs are being praised by our boss,
And I'm in the kitchen with a *** of bad sauce.