You call yourself an island boy
Though you've barely left the shore.
Still, I can see the resemblance
Because your eyes shine like stars on the water
And you're as steadfast as the cliffs
Buffeted by heaving tides.
Your arms are as warm as the summer sand
And I forget to breath when I watch you sleep
So I feel the peace of drowning
As I'm pulled into the depths of utter devotion
To you.

I'd like to be haunted so I'm never alone
I talk to my demons because no one is home.
I look in the mirror and I want to break it
Because I see my body, and ****, I hate it.
When I was a child, I'd dream of my future
But the heat death is coming, so what does it matter?
The pictures on the walls show a pretty little lie,
Because little me was smiling but she still wanted to die.
I'm friends with my depression because it's not gonna leave me
Anxiety is my companion because it's only here when I'm breathing.
I'm tired okay? I need a **** break
Because I can't cry anymore
And ****, I feel fake.
Little Susy had it worse and she's a thriving mom now.
But I can't seem to cope, if you know, tell me how.
Why does my chest seize up when I'm alone
When the silence fills the room
Why does my brain feel the need to talk amidst the hush,
And I pray my husband is home soon.
Because being alone with myself is terrifying
With all the **** in my head.
Because when I'm alone, it's easier to hear
My brain say I'd be better dead.

I have so many thoughts in my head
but none of them actually make sense.
Well, that's not true either.
But I can't figure out the order they go in.
I'm trying to be better.
To love myself harder.
I sing in the shower
and dance in the mirror
but only when its still fogged up.
I smile more in my pictures
and I don't delete the ones in my husband's phone.
I'm making little steps
to falling in love with myself
which is a lot of effort
when I can barely walk as it is.
I try not to hate myself when I break
and binge eat again
but its really hard not to
when I know that I won't eat again for a few days.
And I know its a problem,
and I don't know how to fix it.
I'm just trying to love myself through it.

The book that I was raised on
said we killed You today.
That it took three days
and You rose again.
I believed it.
I still do.
But it says You're always with us.
And honestly.
I'm starting to wonder
Where?

Dear Mom

I love you.
It wasn't your fault.
Maybe it was a little bit.
But I'm an adult.
And I made my decisions.

Dear Dad

I'm sorry for all the years I spent angry.
All the seasons I missed spending with you.
Maybe its your turn to hate me.

Dear Brother

Please be better than I ever was.
Learn how to love
And not how to settle

Dear Husband

I'm glad you didn't see the signs
It makes this so much easier.
I love you.
But, you won't think I will.
That's fine.
I'm begging you to hate me.
It'll make the leaving easier.

Dear God

Where were you?

I want to die, oh God, not again.
"What can I do to help, babe?"
I don't know, I don't know.
Laying on the floor trying so hard
Not to grab the knives you collect in your drawer
To find the sharpest one
Test each blade on my skin.
Not to die because I know people need me
But just to release some of this ******* pressure in
my chest, so no I don't know how you can help.
Have a maple tap?
Just put it in my artery and let me drain
Because I'm so full of anger and longing
and I don't know how to process this ****
and no you can't help me
my therapist is helpless
and I don't know how to fix this.
So please just *******, okay?
Wait no, I didn't mean it.
You know what, whatever.
******* too, **** everything.

Logic says to me,
"You've really gotten better!
You don't breakdown so often
You smile more."
Yeah, its the medication!

It says, "You handle things with grace
and don't fly off the handle.
You aren't so easily angered."
Yeah, its the medication!

                       It says, "Yeah, your emotions are foggy
                               but at least you aren't crazy.
                             I bet it's hard to feel things, but
                                you aren't crying all the time.
                           And you haven't collapsed in bed
                                           and begged to die.
                                  Or at least, its been a while."
                                   Yeah, its the medication.

                       "Why do you have tears in your eyes
                               and why aren't they falling?
               Does it feel like your chest is made of concrete?
              Like a sneeze that hurts but it just won't happen?
                    Can you feel the attack waiting in the corner
                    leaving you with dread and adrenaline?"
                                   Yeah, its the medication.

                                                    ­                          "Seroquel for seratonin
                                                       ­                            Buspirone to breath,
                                                         ­               and ****** to calm down.
                                                           ­               So what could go wrong?
                                                          ­          Is it bad to not be able to feel
                                      even though you know you have the right to?
                                                       And your chest feels heavy and full
                                                      like an awning with too much water
                                                         and you kind of want it to collapse
                           because you so badly want to remember how to cry
                                                And the blackness you were so afraid of
                                                              ­                            seems like home
                                                            ­                   and you're homesick?"
                                                      ­                      Yeah, its the medication.

I look in the mirror,
and I see

                      pox

         scars

                          marks.

I long to be
the round faced girl
that I see in my memories
with eyes that dance with innocence
despite everything she had been through.

                           That saw fairies and dragons
                in the corners of her room

Who talked to mermaids
                                 and danced with bards

Some would call it an overactive imagination.
But I'm faced with the dullness
in my eyes
and I miss the worlds I created.

Because this one

hurts.

F

Press F to pay respects.
The player caught feelings.
And now he's in a different game.
One with no real prizes,
Not this round anyway.
Racecar or top hat?
He picked his pieces
Landed in jail,
Just to please a woman
Who never had feelings to begin with.
He lost the game
Lost his freedom
Lost his mind
Press F to pay respects.

Its nights like these that are my favorite.
When I’m sitting next to you
and your leg is rubbing mine,
while you play your new game
and I play on my computer.
But we aren’t ignoring each other.
On the contrary.
Each muscle is aware of your skin on mine
and your breathing has matched my own.
While we each pick songs that we grew up with
talking about the part of our life that they impacted.
Even ten years later,
there’s so much about you that I want to know.

Is there a goal plan for how many miles to run
Before I don't hate seeing myself naked?
Do the months I pay for a gym membership
Get cashed in for a few more nights of feeling worthy
than I normally have?
Is there a sports bra to hold in the cravings?
Or even just to do what its designed to.
I never really understood sports bras.
What diet do I need to go on
so that I can love myself again?

They say the silence is awkward
when it consumes an entire room.
But the thoughts are almost palpable.
I'm surprised no one has noticed sooner.
Thoughts of inequity.
Fear of rejection.
A concious sedation of self loathing and envy.
Faces running on auto pilot
in the few moments before everyone reaches for their phone
to drown out the quiet.
You can hear the girls comparing thighs
and hair
and dresses
because although we know the media is a generous artist
of flaws for the human form
we still worry that they are right about us.
Guys watching every twitch of lips
and fingertips
half of the room wants to scream
while the other half wants to run
but everyone is confused as to why.
Awkward silence is preferable, though,
to deadened conversation.
The ones where we mention the economy
or the war
or the friend that died last week
and no one knows if it was really an accidental suicide.
Where we paint a picture of bleak servitude
and lament our meager lots
So we stay quiet
except for the dinging of phones
until its time to go home
so that we can study for school
and get a degree that we think we have to have.
If only someone would question
just how much pieces of paper
dictate our lives
Money
Degrees
Concert tickets.
But no.
We all just linger
in the Awkward Silence.

The drugs have given me a piece of mind
An artificial calmness.
I firmly believe that they are not making me better
They haven't changed my brain chemicals to cope
They haven't cured my depression
They've sugar coated it
With artificially flavored banana
Which is the worst kind of flavor
So now I look at the world
And everything is pastel yellow
There's color now, so that's cool I guess.
But I think the various shades of black and grey
Were preferable to this manufactured apathy
And sure, its better than burning rage
that made me afraid of looking in the mirror
But is mediocrity really the life I'm to live?
How much of a choice do I have?
My emotions are like a sneeze that just won't happen
Where everything is on pause until I scream and clear the air
I am tolerable when I've taken my pills
And I guess its the better option
Than being too tired to want to die.

I'm that age that suicide comes up in casual conversation.
One half of the room thinks its selfish.
The other half are dead.
I'm that age that your doctors don't give a ****.
Because all the 20 somethings are healthy.
Except the ones that aren't.
I'm that age when my parents want grandkids.
Me too Mom, but life is funny like that, I guess.
I'm that age that all my friends are drunk or depressed.
But most of the time its both.
And we are toeing the line of fun and alcoholism.
I'm that age when I should get a better job.
But the job wants experience.
Which is why I need the job.
I'm that age that is responsible for killing the radio store.
And chain restaraunts
And literally everything else that I can't afford
So who cares if its dead?
I'm that age stuck in the honeymoon phase.
But the honeymoon phase wasn't great to begin with.
And God forbid that it ever ends.
I'm that age that shows up in all the statistics.
Ya know, the ones about failing marriages
Single parents with no idea who the father is.
Or another name written in black, carved into a headstone.
I'm that age that I never expected to survive to.
So now I'm confused.
What was I supposed to do
when 18 came and I was still alive?
I barely saw sixteen, and I have to do this for 50 more years.
I'm that age that knows how to set up my elderly neighbor's Facebook
but I can't figure out how to save enough money
That I won't end up homeless if I come down with cancer.
I'm that age that has a plethora of information at my fingertips,
the musings of Socrates and the masterpieces of Mozart.
But I watch 6 second videos because my attention span was stolen
by the drugs I was put on
to sit still in class so I could learn about paralellograms.
I'm that age that I'm supposed to have my **** together.
But honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Just trying to make it to Friday,
so I can drink away the mistakes I've made.
I guess I'm just at that age.

We're a world and generation set on depersonalization
Where everything is on social media but everyone is scared to socialize.
We all promise we "just need to vent" but is it venting or is it depression?
"He loves me, he's just tired. Its not abuse, she's just tired. I'm not okay, I'm really tired."
We all need to stop and chill without the help of benadryl.
But we need the drugs to feel normal.
A normal that they tell us to be
on the covers of our magazine
When we are all medicated to achieve the status quo
We can't learn from our mistakes if we can't remember them.
Instead of dealing with the guilt,
we soak in a bath as if the lavender suds will rinse away our ****** personality
We do it nightly and call it self care.
And the self care we really need is lunch that isn't Oreos and to join therapy.
We fill the empty hole inside of us with cigarettes and ***** and food
And we don't even know we're empty because our parents are empty too
And the only ones who can recognize the absense
Are the same ones telling us to work harder to buy our first house and car before the age of 25
When really, we haven't even settled on what we want to be when we grow up
Our grandparents and parents beg us to have babies because "I'm not getting any younger."
But I'm quickly getting older Dad, so shut up and let me drink until I pass out without worrying about how much my child will have to heal from, just like I'm healing now with Bacardi 151.
Its a cycle and there's no handle bars
Celebrities writing songs and movies, a fill-in-the-blank series that mimics a horoscope
To drag in the masses with feelings of unity when really we have no idea what our brother went through when we were laying on our uncle's bed at midnight at 5 years old.
They want us to be the same except for when its not convenient, and suddenly the children of rich people are to be scorned but they hate the black people who hate the black rich people
And its another cycle, the chain popped off and the brakes are our feet
Just like when we were kids except now we have no shoes on and we are rolling down a hill that stops at a lake
And our empty parents forgot to teach us how to swim.
Its 2019 now, when will  America be great in the first place?

I ate away the ****.
I ate away the abuse.
I ate away the depression.
I tried eating away the pain.
But now I can't keep eating.
Because of the words that you threw around like it was nothing.
Fat. Disgusting. Ugly.
I'm not sad and beautiful.
Like the girls you write the stories about.
Because my self harm was my comfort food.
The way your self harm was the lack of food.
I punished my body everytime I climbed stairs.
And I knew I deserved it.
Except now at my lowest,
I can't afford a salad.
Or a donut to find the seratonin that I crave.
And the only thing I want to eat now
Is a bullet.

I don't drive down the middle
Of a back road with no name
On a dark night in the pouring rain.
I don't skip meals for days on end
Well, maybe I do,
But not as often as I used to.
I don't lay in bed staring at pills
That I know could end it
If I took one too many
And I don't question
How much "too many" is
That's mostly because
I already know the answer
But it's still progress.
The scars are fading
And my skin doesn't burn so much
Anymore, in fact
Its grown numb over the years.
And that's a nice change
Compared to the pain
Of wanting to end it
But knowing there is something to live for.
It was never because I felt
That I had no purpose
Or that you would be better of without me.
You were right when you said
That I was purely selfish
For wanting to go.
My reasons were simple,
I was so ******* tired
And as I glance towards the gun
Quick enough that you will never notice the longing that lingers in my eyes
I realize
I still ******* am.

It's the 21st century
But I'm still suffering from bad humours
Where you lay in bed because your chest is caving in
I guess that's why they call it depression.

It's okay, just put on a bird mask
Fill it with sage and breath in the fumes
While the memes tell you you're the bad energy in the room

It's easier to go to internet strangers
And admit that maybe you might be in danger
Than to tell your mom that you're ready to leave her
"I'm fine because I always am."
That's not really an answer.

Everyone gets sad sometimes
We don't take it seriously anymore
Because death doesn't scare us
What scares us is 60 more years
Of wondering what the point is
Working at a job we hate
To buy another mocha latte with
Six shots of espresso
Just to stay awake through the ballet performance
Put on by our children
That we felt obligated to have
Through pressure of society
But yeah, it's just depression
Everyone has it
Its fine
There's always someone who has it worse
Just grow a pair
Cowboy up
It can only go up from here
Right?