I went to a
WWI museum today
And as I looked at the
poorly built trenches
and the weapons used
and the gas rising from the ground
and the ships sunk and planes shot down
and the foot shortages and blockades
and the unimaginably high numbers
of the deaths of soldiers and civilians
my stomach twisted and turned
and I realized how terrified I was
of another war
and how every step our country takes
leads us ever closer to one
and how I don’t want another flower
to become a symbol of war
like the poppies that surround
cross-shaped graves

why am i so
weak
why am i so
broken
i'm fever-stricken
sick
e v e r y t h i n g  h u r t s
what have i done to
deserve this

The morning spring sun
shines through the wide school windows
hitting pale walls and shining desks
discolored red
red that was exploded free
along with bullets and hate
and now
the excitement for the waiting summer
has turned to waiting fear
waiting
to be known
as the dead

I’ve always had a hard time letting go
I grab and grasp
shoving things into my oversized heart
Stuffed animals and old friends
Children’s books and unrequited crushes
Dead dogs and old drawings
Ignoring the pain I know this attachment will bring
Some part of me knows:
I’ll never see my camp friends again
I’ll never date the person I like
I’ll never love these books as much as I did
I’ll never get my dogs back by holding on
But the rest of me, desperately
grasps and holds, crying out that
“If you hold on, they can’t leave!
It will be normal again.”
but that’s wrong
as my best friend pointed out last night
(even though she just meant it for one thing, she was still right)
nothing can be normal again,
after decisions I’ve made,
things that have happened
even if I try
So instead, I’ll try to take her advice
I’ll let go
It’s hard to abandon the people and things
you once loved so dearly
but holding on this long has only brought pain
so, finally
I’m letting go

we have all had
bad days
worse days
where the straw breaks the camel’s back
and we snap
and then we become an *******

i had my moment
a few months back
full of anxiety and repressed anger
i snapped
i was an *******
and i regret it

maybe they deserved it
but that doesn’t matter
maybe I apologized
but that doesn’t matter
i was a ****
plain and simple

but then i got better
a couple bad mistakes
don’t make me a bad person
now i keep that moment close
but not enough to where it hurts

i’m a better person now
and less of an *******

all my friends are broken
cracked
scars upon their wrists
and stitches on their hearts
our smiles and laughs
cover pain and trauma
but
we all know
we love each other

all my friends are broken
but we're repairing
duct tape and bandaids
gentle touches and tender smiles
we all have different trauma
but we all understand
it will be
okay

feel your body sink down
your hands and feet are numb
half awake, half asleep
melting into the blanket underneath you
all there is
is your breath
in
and
out
and the kindest voice
explaining and guiding
you
d
     o
           w
                n
  
                                                                ­    to even deeper relaxation

pieces of me
stick to past pains
like they're a part of me

but no

i must let go
move on
a million other words
that will do me
only good

i can't keep dwelling
on things
that bring up
anxiety and fear

so i fight
myself
to finally become
okay

isn’t regret
such a funny thing?
the intense desire
to change what you’ve done
that turns into
self-hate

There is a story I was told
about a sickly girl who thought
in her feverish, superstitious mind
that when the last leaf on the tree outside her hospital window
fell and died
she would too

Her friend was horrified
and tried to convince her otherwise
as the doctor said
this pessimistic attitude
would **** her
and when her efforts didn’t work
the friend stood by her side
through the night and the storm
that shook the tree outside
to comfort her

However
that last leaf outside
never fell
surviving even through the worst storm
and the sickly girl
became sickly no longer

And as the friend found out
while helping the doctor
gather one of his dead patient’s things
this sickly, drunkard man who had died
she learned
he had heard the sick girl’s story
and
this stranger went out that stormy night
(even though it would guarantee his death
sooner than it would’ve been)
and painted that last leaf on
so that sick girl
would have hope

So I ask you
Are you the sickly girl?
superstitious and waiting
for your last leaf to fall
Are you the friend?
Desperately trying to give your friend hope
but being there when all is lost
Or are you the stranger
Realizing that you need to do something with your limited time
and expecting nothing in return

I don’t know what’s scarier
the fact that all choices are already made
the universe has a set path
and free will is nothing
Or
all choices are mine to make
and the impacts
are all my fault

i say i strive to do my best
but that is not true
i strive for perfection
because my best isn’t good enough
anymore

if i’m in the 99th percentile
there’s still 1% who beat me
i must be better

A’s are not sufficient anymore
i have to have 100s in my classes
i must be better

i am a hideous Medusa of a monster
i must dress better, cover my face
i must be better

if i am not perfect, i am worthless
if i am not perfect, i am worthless
if i am not perfect, i am worthless
if i am not perfect, i am worthless
i am worthless
i am worthless

Every morning
every night
everyday i feel like throwing up
my stomach hurts and begs
to be emptied again
but nothing
ever works
not fingers down the throat
not dry heaving for ages
not even drinking salt water
all these things just make it worse
i just want the pain to stop
end
i’m so done
with hating eating
hating myself
and my ******* anxiety
for making me so sick

sweep me away
start the
slow filling
of my lungs
with the salty
water of life
that will happen
to all of us

drown me
take me away

i took a picture of myself
and saved it

i never thought
i could begin to love myself again

i feel called
to go

the wind whispers
fantastical tales
about a life
with no attachments
just going

i want to run out in the streets
and call
into the void

take me away

oh, how nice that would be
to be free