There is a rabbit in my room
Though, not really.
There is a friend in my room,
Though, not really.
It is stuffed,
It cannot speak,
It lies still,
But it is my friend.
Though, not really.

Oh, poor thing
What have you done to yourself
I can see your arms
And I can see your ribs
And I can see
the dark circles
under your swollen eyes

Porcelain vase
Sitting atop
Your wobbly table
Good luck

Please come home
You spry little thing

Nevermind
My arms
It was my cat
Nevermind
My sleeves
I was using red paint
Nevermind
my tears
I have dust in my eye
Nevermind
my screams
I was just scared
Oh, these bandages?
Yeah, I fell..

I cannot sleep
In a bed anymore
Because it reminds me
of his
His bed he forced me onto
His bed he was holding me down on
His bed that I was exposed in
I cannot sleep
and it
is
your
fault

Holding on
For dear life
Please
do not let go

Projecting the blame
as long as it's not me
it's you, it's him, it's her, it's them.
It's just not me.
Because I cannot handle
messing up
one
more
time

Do not touch my skin
No matter how much it calls for you
Because it is not me
that is saying your name
It is my skin
And my skin doesn't know what it wants.

it is the least threatening name
for a fear so threatening
A fear so horrifying
A fear so..
so...
Automatic.
Just like that.

A snap,
and you're alone.

Ouch, that stings,
but that's just the pain that your love brings.

I have been so very confused
And my search history has turned into
some monument for you
"Heart stinging?" It's a sickness
"Too much loving?" Call a therapist
"How to not love you anymore"
nothing useful
just a bunch of wikihows
"How to stop loving someone who doesn't love you?"
Ouch, that's rude
seems a little too direct
but that's okay
it's your fault, too

Texting
Singing
Ignore your phone ringing
Ruining me
Using me
Pretend you aren't abusing me
Overwhelming
Overtelling
Aimed at me you're always yelling
Sting me
Bring me
"Can I meet your family?"
You say no
go change your clothes
You're too ugly, adios.
Goodbye love
I am free of
Your mental sort of
Boxing glove.

Little young lady,
I have missed your face,
and I know you're lying
when you say that you're okay
I notice your face,
your clear fall from grace,
No matter how obvious,
your family looks away
When all you need is someone to ask you
if you are really doing okay
everyone looks away
so are you really okay?

Dinnertime
I ignore my mother calling me
Just as my stomach rumbles
Just as my stomach stings
And I am starving,
But I will not get up
Because I'm not hungry enough
I feel like I'm about to *****
My saliva has turned sweet
And I gag every once in a while,
But I will not get up
Because I am not hungry enough
I feel empty,
Like there should be more inside me
And I mistake it for an emptiness
That stems from depression
An emptiness that says something is missing
From only my mind
And not from how little I have been eating recently
It's not a disorder,
I am just not hungry
While other kids eat their lunch
I gather some celery sticks and some broccoli
maybe drink a little juice
And then I'm finished.
I'm not finished as in I am no longer hungry,
I'm finished as in I will not get up.
Because, although I am hungry,
I am not hungry enough.

My brother knows,
Though really, he will never understand.
I ask him if I pass,
If this binder does it.
He says, "not really,"
I just look down,
but then suddenly,
My thoughts start to stray.
I realize I'm not flat,
I realize I'm feminine
I realize too small
I realize I don't fit in them
Them being the category that is a male
Them being the jeans that I try despereately try to fit my waist in,
Them being society,
Them being normal.
I stand in front of a mirror 20 minutes a day looking at the small details that remind me I am "She"
I will always be "she"
I will never be "he"
Never.
And my mom knows that, so why should she bother trying to change it?
She says I have chosen a stupid name,
But it is not like I had any adult figure to help me pick it out,
So why is it my fault?
I wish I didn't feel like this,
But I do not have a choice.
Well...
this is not entirely true.
I could choose to not think too hard when people call me "She"
I could choose to not look in the mirror and call myself "She"
I could choose to understand that everyone knows me as "She"
And I could choose to move on
But I don't.
I told my mom, she said I'd grow up to regret it.
I gave her the statistics, but that wasn't enough.
She said "she"
She called me by my name,
No, not the name that I have chosen, the name she had chosen for me.
And I ignored it.
And I didn't say anything.
But it still makes me feel empty when I realize I have too many parts that make me a 'whole,'
3 parts I can't look at without feeling my eyes sting,
3 parts I can't wait to get off of me,
But that will never happen.
Because,
I will always be
"She."

I love everything about you
But I can never have you
Her sister told her I was bad news
Touch me once and you'll know it's true
I can't leave, there's nowhere to go
Now I'm at an all time low
Where'd you go?? Who the hell knows...
You left me with no road home.
An illusion you have shown to me
A delusion you have given me
An intrusion on my fantasies,
But I'll admit, it was a nice dream.
Maybe I was clingy,
Maybe I was boring,
I'd try to tell you stories,
You would just be snoring
I know it's late, but at this rate we'll never talk again
ANd that would be to much for me, this can't be how it ends.
Say you're sorry 'bout what you said,
Say you don't really wish I was dead,
Say you're sorry 'bout making the new guy's face burn red.
I don't care.

They say make your dreams come true
In my eyes I can fly,
is that what I should try and do??
I hope that I can fly
It's a sad way to go,
To jump, flap your arms, and die.
I'm reachin' down the side of my bed.
If my phone dies I'll have left you on read,
Unfortunately, it's about to be dead,
I'm sorry.
Everyone hates me, can't pick up the phone,
I always say it's just cause I haven't been home,
The truth is I just don't care 'til you're already gone
And now you're nowhere to be seen
I'm checking your social gallery
Just to see ya
I've tried everything
I've tried to sing to make you stay
But my words just make you go away,
Don't leave me.
I need help but I don't want it
Somehow, though
You always seem to try and fix me
Are you out of your ****** mind?
You have stepped way out of line,
Fixing me isn't your job, it's mine.

What would you have to say about the world if you were the last man standing?
No, not the last man standing on the entire planet.
Imagine you had just finished a war and you were the last man standing.
Would you lose your faith in humanity??
Would you recognize that you have just slayed real people??
Who had families??
Would you feel pride that you have defeated the enemy??
Or maybe regret?
Guilt?
Numbness?
Your face is covered in someone else’s blood,
You’re trembling,
You’re processing,
And you’re thinking.
Perhaps thinking so much that you forget how you feel??
What would you have to say about the world if you were the last man standing?

Why is it so impossible for me to get out of bed?
I am tired.
A tireness no amount of sleep could discard.
I know, I've tried.
There have been days where I went to sleep at 6 pm,
Woke up at 9 pm,
and then went back to sleep.
And I slept until 8 am.
But this is a bone-deep tiredness.
So, I stay in bed.
Sitting up in bed alone takes up all my energy,
So why should I get up?
My eyes burn and are swollen shut from the tears I shed last night,
This battle to stay alive
This battle against depression
Anxiety
My own mind
It is all to difficult,
And I don't have the energy to fight it.
I can't get out of bed.
I feel quite safe in this bed that my blankets have encased me in,
And I am not hungry...
At least not enough to get up and go get some food.
I just hate the 'outside world,'
Being in the car makes my stomach turn,
And the screaming of my stomach is so annoying.
If the car I was feeling ill in suddenly crashed,
I wouldn't mind.
I feel tired,
And alone,
And empty...
Always empty.
There's always something missing.
Answer me this:
If my poor old mother was sobbing on the phone, begging me to stay...
Begging me to suffer, in other words...
Would I really be around to care?
What's the point??
There.
That's it.
What's the point?
That's why I can't get out of bed.
I could be so **** motivated.
"Come on," I'd encourage myself, "We got this!! Get up!!"
And I'd sit up,
Sigh,
And immediately sit back down.
Because what IS the point?
So,
I'll lay in this bed of mine,
Held down by these blankets,
And I won't mind a single bit.
Because I'm rather fascinated by these nightmares,
And I'm not hungry...
At least, not enough to get up.

It's been a while, old friend.
Old razor, the one I put away.
I have been good, I have been okay,
But then I was not, and I needed to see you once again.
It hasn't been great, old friend.
I have cried too many tears,
and now I need a friend to console me.
Oh, how I've missed you.
How I have missed you dancing across my skin...
How I have missed the scarlet beads you summon whenever you prance by,
How I have missed the bumps on my arms and the burn in the shower.
How I have missed this feeling: The feeling that is not numbness, but cannot be described.
No, maybe it can... Relief.
Relief that I can still bleed,
and I am not a robot.
I am not a monster.
I am not evil.
Hey, old friend, am I evil??
Am I selfish?
Am I a good person?

The stale smell
of beer
and wasted lives

My dad is sleepy.
He cannot move.
His medicine makes him tired.
His medicine makes him mad.
It's the medicine.
He's yelling because of the medicine.
"It's making me frustrated,"
Oh, okay, father.
I believe you.
I understand.
My medicine makes me tired,
Though, you call me lazy.
My medicine makes me moody,
Though, you call me dramatic.
But that's okay.
I understand.

My brother says that he is better,
My mother says it's true.
Though, when I tell her all I'm good at
She says, "Oh, that's cool."
My brother punches walls,
I try to get straight A's,
My mom says she is proud of him,
But for me she turns the other way.
My brother says he's the good kid,
I don't think that's right,
But if I tell my mom I love her,
She just tells me goodnight.

She said we could spend time together.
A me and her day.
When I asked about it,
she got angry with me.
"I never said that,"
she says.
When I remind her that she did, in fact, say that,
she rubs her head.
"I don't feel good,"
She explains.
The kids at school are wondering why I'm so loud.
Being loud gets me attention,
And I don't have much of that elsewhere.

I do not love you, and you do not love me, either. I have stolen your first kiss, your spare time, and everything in between, but God forbid I ever take your heart.
I'm not good with hearts.

Depression does not care.
I thought changing my style, changing my diet, changing my sleeping routine, but no.
Depression doesn’t care.
It doesn’t care how I look; it doesn’t care how little I eat, it doesn’t care how much I sleep, hell, it doesn’t even care how spoiled I am. It just doesn’t care.
It doesn’t matter how skinny I make myself, not eating for 4 days in a row. It doesn’t care how much I hurt myself to make it happy, I feel the same.
The same being… I am up at 2:40 am on a Wednesday. The same being… I ate a Pop-**** for dinner and that’s all I ate for the day. The same being… I cannot get out of bed no matter how many hours of sleep I get. The same being that I feel so uncontrollably empty.
Depression doesn’t care how long ago the trauma was. It doesn’t care that I’ve forgotten it almost entirely, every once in a while flashbacks just pop up.
I make jokes about my trauma that make people uncomfortable all to try and pretend that it wasn’t a serious thing. It wasn’t serious, it’s something to laugh about.
Because it wasn’t.
It wasn’t a big deal, people have had it worse, but depression doesn’t care about that.
God, how much simpler fighting depression would be if depression cared.
But it doesn’t.
And I need pills just to help me battle it, and I feel shame in needing help. But I need help.
Depression doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter how good your life is.
It just doesn’t care.

I want to cope,
But I cannot.
I try music,
You know, listening to it??
Singing it?
Writing it?
But my mom says shut up.
I try to sleep,
You know, until the next day?
When I sleep on it and it's better in the morning??
But my mother says I am too lazy.
I try,
But it’s not hard enough.

When we were little, long before nana found me on the side of the road, Kody’s mom made us lunch. Kody brought it to me and smiled. He was kind of like a guardian angel for me. I lost everything, but I still had Kody.
I always had Kody.
He would make me clean up my mess when I visited his house. Kind of like my mom. He even covered my ears when his dad got home.
When his dad came in the room, Kody made sure I was hidden. Either in the closet or under his bed. Either way, he made sure I wasn’t the one beaten. His father took one look around the room and then stumbled over to Kody for a drunken slap. For “being messy,” though really, he wasn’t.
Kody was bruised, trembling, shaken up and ******, but he smiled at me when he opened that closet door or looked under the bed. He smiled.
He yelled at me when I deserved it but always stopped quickly. Long before my father had broken my voice, I wanted to tell him something that made him trust me.
Kody used to get sad when he was mad at me. He cried after shouting. He said he didn’t want me to leave. He said he didn’t want me to be scared of him.
I just placed my hand to his cheek and smiled at him.
“Just breathe.” I said, “It’ll be okay.”

Today I went out on the balcony. I needed a breath. It’s been so long since I needed a breath. A breath without smoke coming from my mouth when I exhaled.
Just a breath.
I just needed a breath.
A breath.
Breathe.
Breathe.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts. My heart hurts, my head hurts, my everything hurts.
It hurts.
Just breathe.
It’ll be okay.
I miss him so much and it hurts.

They showed me his body today. In fairytales, I would shut his eyes gently and say how peaceful he looked. But we all know this is not a fairytale.
He looked awful. Bruises were everywhere, his eyes had dark circles under them, he looked blueish and gray… he looked like his last moments were spent in pain.
I just hope Heaven can wipe his memories of all that pain. I wish Heaven could wipe my memories of him, while they’re at it.
Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

“We’re so sorry.”
So that’s it, then. They’re ‘sorry.’
It’s not their fault, I know that. But still, I can’t help but feel angry.
Everything was about to change, but at least they’re ‘sorry.’

A man is making his move on me,
This I can clearly understand,
Though, I never learned how to say no.
I said I want to write, and that was the end of it.
I will wait until he goes to sleep.
He touched my stuffed rabbit,
And I couldn’t breathe.
I don’t like it,
But I never learned how to say no.
His tongue is jammed in my mouth,
He smells and tastes awful,
And something so wet should not be so warm.
I am uncomfortable,
But I never learned how to say no.
He says gross things.
“You’re pretty,”
“You’re cute,”
“I love you,”
It makes me wanna puke,
So I say ‘Ew’ and try to move on.
I ignore his ****** comments.
It’s awkward,
It’s uncomfortable,
And it’s stressful,
But I never learned how to say no.

She is a child of the stars.
Flawless and beautiful, though she doesn’t know it.
With her eyes like the moon,
And hair like the deepest ocean.
Flowing.
Adrift.
She felt as the moon would;
Alone.
Among an endless sea of stars that do not encompass her.
Is she a planet or a star?
What is the moon?
She is the moon.
What else do you want from her?
Do you really need her to be one of the stars?
Is it not enough for her to roam among them peacefully?
No.
No, the moon is not enough.
She must be just like the stars or she is flawed.
Not too noticeable or you’re an attention-seeker, not too quiet or you’re angsty.  
She is a child of the stars.
She is trapped amongst the stars.
She lights up the entire night sky almost entirely by herself, but no.
That’s not enough.
Forget your trophies, forget your beauty, forget your perfections.
Oh, poor moon…
Swimming in the sky, floating amongst traitors. Floating amongst regular.
Trying to escape the current

Dec. 25
Today is the day I follow Shiloh. I quit my job at the bakery, and I gave the cash to a charity. I’m done here. I’m finished. There’s no ‘unfinished business.’
I’m ready.
I stand atop this bridge now. Hoping maybe you’ll listen. Understand why I did this. Not that you’ll care. We haven’t talked in years. But I have to tell someone, and you’re the only one I thought of.
I don’t want to be known as ‘selfish’ for this. I want people to understand. I can’t do this without him, you know?
So I won’t. I won’t do anything without him.
I think I need to die now because I know it’ll be better than this purgatory we call home.
Honestly, I don’t want to die.
I think I just don’t want to be alone.
And I sure as hell don’t want Shiloh to be alone, either.
The air is emptier without his laugh, and it is painful to sit here in this new silence and long for the music to start again, and for the disc to spin again, even if it means going round and round for many more years…
…for at least we would be moving, and Shiloh would be laughing here on Earth… And not only in Heaven.
But I am grateful that we loved him well. And that we miss him well.
But now, we grieve in silence. Yet, not without his presence.
I miss him so much. So, so much. It hurts. And I can’t hurt this much any longer. I’m sorry, I just can’t. I can’t take it. I wanted a romance, not a tragedy.
I just… Shiloh was so good at telling me what he wanted. He threw fits when he didn’t get the remote for the video game console when I died, he would jump on my shoulders and whine. I’d sigh and give it up.
He wasn’t great at showing me what he loved, though. He’d always hide or try to evade things when we got on the conversation of likes and dislikes.
I wonder… Who was I to him?
Kodes.
I’m Kodes.
He’d laugh with nana when she called me Buggy, though. I’m Kodes, but sometimes I’m Buggy.
As cheesy as it sounds, I really… I really thought I’d be alone for the rest of my life. But then he came along. I was on the ground at a playground when I was seven.
I had been pushed to the floor by a few kids from my school.
But I looked up, and I saw an angel. And he reached his hand out to me, and I took it. And this angel seemed to be the solution to everything. I never expected him to stay as long as he did. He even kept coming back after the first time he saw my dad.
So I kept hiding him in my closet.
And he kept coming back. He always came back.
Once, he tried to run away. I was the first person he ran to when he decided to come back. He ran to me and cried into my shoulder. And I didn’t mind the snot one bit. He always came back.
But he’s not coming back this time.
Umm… Also, just something I’ve been thinking about… Uh, call me crazy, but… I think he did it on purpose. I think he went in there knowing he was probably going to die, and he wanted that… Um... I think he was thinking, “Oh, look, a perfect chance!!” Like, a rescue mission with a side of suicide?? I don’t know, I’m probably overthinking it, it’s just…
I loved him. It was more than love. Beyond love. I went beyond and I lost it all.
I think that angel of mine has decided it’s time for him to go home. And it’s devastating, but I just hope things will be better for him up there. The love of my life. I just hope he finds peace.
I am so happy for him. I am. But I don’t think I’m ready to do this without him. And so, I won’t.
Anyways… you heard about my story. You heard about what I knew about Shiloh’s story. I’m done here.
Goodbye, Jennifer. I just want you to know it wasn’t your fault, okay?? Mom and dad were bad, alright? It’s not your fault. My dying wish is for you to stop blaming yourself to what happened to us. You’re young. You’re my little sister. You weren’t responsible for what they did.
You shouldn’t have felt obligated to care for me. No matter what, I’ll always be with you.
I love you, Jenny. Don’t miss me too much. You’re all grown up now!! You can do it without me, okay?
So… “Goodbye, cruel world,” and everything.
Sayonara, and I hope you might understand.
And I hope I’m not called selfish.
…even though I deserve it.
Oh!! I am donating everything you find that belonged to me, but you can’t take the rabbit. And you better not touch my copy of To **** a Mockingbird.  

Sincerely,
Your Best Big Brother
P.s. Do me a favor.
Don’t hold anything back. Don’t make the same mistake I did.
Moral of the story, and all.

Denial… No… Confrontation, forgiveness, and moving on.
Moving on.
I’m skipping town. I’ve got nothing left here. I left nana a note. She’ll be okay without us.
I packed a bag. I put Squid and our copy of To **** a Mockingbird in it. I’ve got plenty of money, not that I’ll need it.
I’m probably just gonna follow Shiloh, wherever he is. I won’t need this cash. I’ll leave it next to a note if I write one.
Shiloh is…
Whatever. It doesn’t matter now. I’m leaving.
That should fix everything.
…I hope.

I beat that ******* doctor to the ground today. I should have killed him. I wouldn’t even mind the blood on my hands. No, not one bit.
But Shiloh would be upset with me. I hated it when Shiloh was upset. When dad came home, Shiloh looked like he was about to cry. He was trembling. I hid him in the closet so he wouldn’t be beaten with me.
And then I’d smile at him to try and make the fear go away. But then one day, he smiled to me instead. He held my face in his palm and tilted his head. He took a deep breath…
…and he smiled.
“Just breathe.” He told me. “It’ll be okay.”
I remembered that when I was beating the doctor. I remembered Shiloh’s smile.
And I remember his tears, and shaking hands, and dark circles under his eyes.
Why. Why do I have to use ‘-ed’ in every sentence I say that has the word Shiloh in it?
Why do I have to use past tense now? I want to go back to using present tense. I want Shiloh back. He can’t be gone. There is no way he’s gone. Even this cruel God I keep hearing about wouldn’t do that!!
…right?
…An eye for an eye, and the world goes blind. I’m no better. I’m not a hero.
I’m just me.

I was ****** at the doctors. I’m angry at everything right now, but more than anything, I’m mad at him.
How dare he.
He broke so many promises yesterday. He promised he would stay here. He LIED to me!!! He said he wouldn’t do that ****** surgery!!
…
…We, uh… we had the um… funeral. For Shiloh. I just… No one… I was the only one there. Nana didn’t even come. What the hell?
Nobody shows up to your birthday, fine… but really? It’s a funeral!!
But… Somehow, I’m not surprised… because…
…The Peacock Effect: Who cares if you exist?

“Oh, ****—”
“Somebody get—"
Oh, god… this is… loud. And bright. And overwhelming. What is this beeping noise? It hurts. Oh, my head…
“We’re losing—”

I’ve been throwing up a lot recently. I threw up in Kody’s lap the other day. He gulped and cringed, then gagged, but he just patted my back and told me to ‘let it all out.’ I threw up a whole bunch more. It felt like an ***** or two was gonna come out.
When I was done, Kody went to go get a change of clothes. I felt real bad.
I ***** about 3 times a day now, but now we keep the weird green baggies next to me at all times. It makes a nasty noise and Kody gags every time he hears it. It’s disgusting, but I can’t stop. I feel constantly dizzy.
My stomach aches and turns, I lose my appetite, I get real dizzy, and then I *****. This horrible and painfully repetitive cycle began just last week, but I’ve already grown used to it.
I feel sick.

The chatter in the hospital always died down around this hour. In the quiet, Kody sat in a chair beside me and read to me. He foot was kicked up on my leg and he was slumping down in his chair. He always scolded me for doing that.
“Shoot all the blue jays you want if you can hit ‘em,” He read, “But remember…” I looked at my feet, which poked out from under the blanket in front of me. “It’s a sin to **** a mockingbird.”

The nurse walked in. He smiled at us and then checked his clipboard. He turned to Kody, who was looking at him with an expression I couldn’t read on his face. The nurse gestured for him to follow and Kody got up off the floor. I watched them leave. Kody and the nurse both turned around to smile at me reassuringly.
What were they hiding??

He shook his head. “Is he going to be okay then?”
“Yes. We can add some meds to his regular ones to treat this, too.”
“Okay… how much?”
I looked out the window at the skyline, fogged up and cold. Matched my mood. It was rainy and the gray clouds covered up the sun. Kody sighed and rubbed his head. I ignored what they were saying and looked at the IV in my arm and rolled my eyes.

My mother loved stories.
She quoted some of her own fictional realities to herself in her hospital bed to avoid the fact she would never see anything outside of the dull walls of the place she’d been stuck in for the past year and a half.
She always smiled when she saw me. “Oh, my beautiful baby boy.” She’d say. “How I’ve missed your company.” And I would always smile and say, “Me too, ma.”
She didn’t say anything more. All she did was watch cartoons on the television, waiting for the nurse to come in with her medication.
When the nurse came in, mother would always call her ‘Lilith.’ She thought she was my little sister. She wasn’t. The nurse just smiled and handed her the pills. She never knew how to break the old woman’s heart. Lilith has been dead for 10 years. Mom had a brain tumor along with Alzheimer’s.
Mother traced the outlines of the city with her finger when it was too quiet for her to handle. She always said the silence was too noisy.
After 10 minutes of noisy silence, she asked for my father. Every time, I had to be the one to tell her he left us. She sighed and said, “No, he wouldn’t do that.” And every time I just looked at my feet, unable to repeat myself.
I used to want to know more about my dad. She would always say the same sentence. Nothing more, nothing less. “He loved music.” She said. And every time I pretended to be amazed. Though, that was always something I’d already heard. And it didn’t tell me much, except we were alike in a single aspect. I sighed when she slept.
Until her last day.
She turned to me and smiled.
“He came from the stars.” She said.
And died.