I remember, I've done this before,
I was... 10, it was 2020.
I remember, my best friend, Kaydence, wouldn't respond to my texts
for a month.
We had fought,
It was some stupid Minecraft game.
And then, she just
Stopped texting
Back.

I was lonely, it was quarantine after all, and I didn't have no one else to talk to.
I texted her every single day
Cried every single day.
I was being dramatic, obviously,
I'm always so **** dramatic.

When she came back, she acted like nothing had happened.
Her mom had just taken away her phone, or something.
I didn't have to worry.

...I think that month I spent, alone
Thats when it had started to get bad.

I'm sorry, really.
I hadn't meant to bother you by
Messaging you everyday for a week,
Each following one more frantic than the last,
Because you wouldn't respond.

I was scared.
Really, really scared.
Scared that you had done something to yourself...

Scared that, maybe, you
Stayed in bed too long
Cut to deep
Went too many days without eating
Too many days skipping your meds-
Or maybe, took all your skipped pills all at once---

It's irrational, I know.
I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, really.
I hadn't meant to bother you by
Messaging you everyday for a week,
Each following one more frantic than the last,
Because you wouldn't respond.

I was scared.
Really, really scared.
Scared that you had done something to yourself...

Scared that, maybe, you
Stayed in bed too long
Cut too deep
Went too many days without eating
Too many days skipping your meds-
Or maybe, took all your skipped pills all at once---

It's irrational, I know.
I'm sorry.

...

I remember, I've done this before,
I was... 10, it was 2020.
I remember, my best friend, Kaydence, wouldn't respond to my texts
for a month.
We had fought,
It was some stupid Minecraft game.
And then, she just
Stopped texting
Back.

I was lonely, it was quarantine after all, and I didn't have no one else to talk to.
I texted her every single day
Cried every single day.
I was being dramatic, obviously,
I'm always so **** dramatic.

When she came back, she acted like nothing had happened.
Her mom had just taken away her phone, or something.
I didn't have to worry.

...I think that month I spent, alone,
Thats when it had started to get bad.

...

When you did respond,
you told me that you were sorry.
That you were
alive.
I think you understood where my worry came from.

I asked you where you had been,
and you said that you were just doing school and sleeping.
It was another depressive episode.

Oh, well.

I feel bad to feel relieved,
But
It could've been worse.
You could've
Cut too deep
Or stayed in bed
Or skipped your meds
Or taken too many...

You could've
Left me.

I said sorry for being such a bother,
Said that "I hope you feel better."
And even though thats not quite right thing to say,
But I think that's the closest I could've gotten.

No, oh no
Don't let me get like this again...

You tell me I'm getting "bigger," "fatter"
And point out how the clothes from when I was a preteen barely fit anymore.
And ask me if I'm really going to eat "all that"

Well, I guess not,
I guess I'll just
Serve myself less
and less

And maybe I'll keep track of what I'll eat--
Yes, I'll count the exact amount of calories that I need
And measure out how much I eat.

And then-
At the gym,
I'll push myself so hard,
Until I can't think straight,
and it just hurts,
and I can't breathe,
and I can't think straight,
and I begin to see stars float around (oh, aren't they beautiful?).

And then-
Once I eat too much, or even if I ate just enough, or too little--
If I ate at all,
Then I'll kneel over the toilet
And purge out my mistakes.

Yes, that's exactly what I'll do.

...

You say that I'm getting worse again,
That I'm beautiful,
That I have no reason to be doing this
That I'm selfish for doing this.

...Oh?
But aren't you the one that served me less,
And put me on the scale and turned that number into the new calorie deficit,
And took me to the gym to slim down until I was nothing more than skin and bones,
And forced me to kneel in front of the toilet,
The same way I would at the church pew,
Held my hair back,
Forced my fingers down my throat to activate the reflex that barely works anymore,
And made me purge out all of myself and flush it down?

No?
Oh.
Well, whatever,
Never mind.

She came to my bed last night,
and told me to pray.

"Pray for God to help with your stress in school," she said.
"Oh, but I'm not stressed"
"So pray thanks to God for that."
"Okay..."
She doesn't leave.
"Am I praying to you or to Him?"
She sighs and sits next to me.

"Repeat after me..."
Padre nuestro que estás en el cielo,
santificado sea tu Nombre;
venga a nosotros tu Reino;
hágase tu voluntad
en la tierra como en el cielo.
Danos hoy
nuestro pan de cada día;
perdona nuestras ofensas,
como también nosotros perdonamos
a los que nos ofenden;
no nos dejes caer en la tentación,
y líbranos del mal. Amén.

I do as she says. She gives me a kiss and smiles.
"I love you. You'll always be my girl."
I smile back.
"Good night."

Once she leaves, I turn in my bed to face the wall
and I cry.
I cry, "She'll never love me."
I cry, "She'll never accept me."
I cry, "She'll only ever love her."
I cry, "What is wrong with me?"

The waves of pain crash into me
It starts in my chest,
And rolls all the way to my finger tips
And out through my eyes.
It hurts so much.

I look up, and I pray,
"Why, God, have you made me like this?
Why have you made me into something that is so wrong in your eyes, in her eyes?
All I wanted was to be loved and happy.
God, please,
Why am I like this?
Why do I have to live like this?
Why have you given me a choice between two sins:
Either live as myself, my gender diverse self, my oh so sinful self
Or **** myself because I can't bear to live any other way.
Why, God?
Why won't you just let me die?"

I sob into my pillow, quietly enough so that they won't hear me from their bedroom on the opposite side of the hall.
But God hears everything, doesn't He?
Why doesn't He hear me?

I have a lost for inspiration
so I’m offering to you
A poem about this lost
cause I just don’t know what to do

I have thought of many ideas
A poem about perfection
A poem about stars
A poem about a piano
A poem about feelings and emotions
Poems of all kinds
But all the end results were bland
So I’m doing what I can
By writing this poem
This horrid poem of mine

The chance of me submitting this poem is low
But if I don’t do this I wouldn’t know where to go
My mind a confusing mush
So this is a poem of nonsense
If you want you can just stop reading
And you wouldn’t have to hear this rambling

I honestly don’t know how poets do it
Cook up all these ideas from their mind
How can it can be so full of thoughts
Cause from how many most of them write
I’m sure their filled with lots
I would be blessed to have a mind of a poet
But I don’t… so that’s unfortunate

I guess I may end it here
You probably didn’t like this poem
Neither did I
But if you did like it
I guess that’s fine

I hope you haven’t lost too many braincells reading this
Honestly, with writing poems, I’m helpless