It's always between the two.
Myself or everyone else?
Myself or my family?
Honest to myself or acceptable to everyone else?
Truth or tradition?

I don't want to lose them, their respect, everyone's respect.
Nobody is going to accept me or take me seriously, and I can't just give up everything I'm known as.
Can't give up the little I have left.

But I can't live like this.
Every day like this just feels so wrong.
I hate myself,
I hate living.

I can't live my life like this, live someone else's life.
I try to convince myself that I'm wrong, that I'm just doing it for the 'trend', for attention
but I can't.
I can't stand looking like this, being seen as something I'm just not.

But a big part of society hates the existence of people like me,
my friends hate the existence of people like me,
my family hates the existence of people like me.

What am I meant to do?
I hate this so much.
The constant reminders, the self-hatred, peer-judgment, fear, frustration, people on social media and the news and the government and ****,
I hate this so so so much.

My life is an act.
I'm pretending all the time.
And the crazy thing is that it's still not right.
It's still not enough.
Again and again, i ask the world "why cant i be normal?"
The world never responds.
I play every part I'm asked, but an actor can't play two in the same scene.
What do you want me to do?
I don't understand

I'm so tired

It always comes back to this.
I don't know why I always fall into the belief that they'll be okay
again.
Again.
Again.
It keeps getting bad.
Then it gets "better".
And I think it's really better,
But then it's not.
And
I don't know.
I hate this.

Why don't I feel good about this?
I've been practically killing myself for 3 years and... I got what I wanted.

"Wanted".

Did I really want this?
Was all that for just this?
I should be grateful, I know I should,
but I still find myself asking why.

Why?

They didn't do ****, I did.
They told me and all I said was "oh, wow".
I can't say I didn't expect it, but, I don't know.

I don't know.

I'm not mad that I got it, of course, but not really happy either.
I don't really feel anything about it. I tell people, and I don't feel any pride, just nothing.

Nothing...

nothing
nothing
nothing
nothing.

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

This world we live in is chaotic and messy,
and yet we expect ourselves to be composed and perfect?

How could we, when we ourselves are individual complex worlds that follow the same principles of the wider world.

How, if we are the monomers of this complex structure and therefore share its qualities -
No,
Give it its qualities.

For we are chaotic and messy
And apart of something much greater than ourselves.

So don't be so rigid,
Its not in our nature.

Just be.

Society sees us as black and white,
Good or bad,
Wrong or right,
Even their shades of gray are seen as improper and strange and not right.

But I am not black or white and
I am not those shades of gray,
I am bent light.

I strive when it's rainy and shine high and bright
I am the small ray of rainbow light,
A ROYGBIV full of life.

Even if they say I'm too blinding,
I'll keep on shining and I won't conform.
I’ll blind them with my radiating pride.
I won't let the world see me in black and white.

I think I'm nothing
But you think I'm everything
How can I be both?

I want to be a candle
I want to cover myself in wax
Feel it broil my skin
To see my waxy peel crack and break at the pressure
Watch me fall as warmth is radiated on me
And let the scorching heat take me over

I want to be a candle
So they can finally see that I can only last so long
From the tall shining figure
To a Bath and Body Works cavity
So they can watch the ******* fire turn to ashes
I’m not flame-retardant
I am a candle
And my wick has burned out

Let me be a candle
So that I, myself, can put out the lights
And finally, be at peace

I am scarred.
Can you see?

I am weeping.
Can you hear?

I am hurting
Can you feel it?

I am sorry
Can you forgive me?

I am not
okay
Can you tell?

I am
                   dying
Can you help me?

I am asking nicely
Please?

I would cry over spilled milk
But not spilled blood.

Because, the spilled milk is actively disrupting my linear and strictly constructed plan to make cereal and therefore also everything that comes after it, and I would have wasted milk and so prevented a future me from the cereal breakfast pleasure.

But, if the blood is my own, I can usually disconnect myself from the injury and just not notice, ignore, or press a paper against it to prevent bloodying everything and go on with my day with but a slight sensation in my finger. If its more dire, I'd disconnect just the same, but be slightly more irritated as it would now disrupt routine but still probably be fine. If not my own, then I'd really struggle to care, as I do not have much of the ability to transfer another's pain to myself via the superpower everyone seems to have called "empathy".

Me crying for spilled milk and not blood
does not make me alien.
It just makes me some sort of sick ******.

Huh.
I think I rather just be an alien.

Twain
Rose
LOOK "RIGHT"

FLOWER
Said
not

My disgust and horror

the
Greatest Rose
doesn't
ACTUALLY HAPPEN SOMETIMES

when I die
I will decompose
and be made
into something alive

I am living
made out of
decomposed bits
of dead things.

is anything ever really dead?
is anything ever really alive?

I don't know.

but my heart beats
and the earth breathes
just the same.

You can't eradicate me,
Mr. President,
Just because you say I don't exist.

You can't speak me into nothingness
With words full of bigotry and lies.

I'm still here,
Mr. President,
We're all still here.

Even if it isn't safe for some of us to be ourselves openly,
Even if some of us haven't found ourselves yet,
Even if some of us are 6 feet under because of the people who believe in your definition of an American -
One that excludes anyone you don't understand,
Anyone that challenges your beliefs,
Anyone remotely different from you -

We're still here.
We're still here.

Don’t cry
Don’t cry it's alright
Don't cry they’re right there
Don't cry they might stare

Don’t cry
Don’t cry you’re just fine
Don’t cry as they glare
Don’t cry they don’t care

Don’t cry
Don’t cry you’ll survive
Don’t cry it’s not fair
I won’t cry, I swear

Don’t cry
Don’t cry wave goodbye
I cry, my heart tears
I cried…

Once I tried to convince myself that it was seasonal,
And that it would pass like the chilly weather.

Then flowers started to blossom,
But I was still stuck in the bud of my mind
And birds came back from migration,
But my happiness didn't.
Though there were no more flurries of snow in the air,
There were still blizzards in me.

Now, I wasn't only freezing,
But I was alone.
While my teeth were chattering,
I watched everyone else have fun in the sun.
With no one here, no one to snuggle up with, it's impossible to keep warm.
I tried to reach out at least a hand to their summer world,
But it could never reach me.
It's almost like I have a repellent on me,
And no matter how hard i scrub,
It always remains.
But of course, I'm not going to drag others into this winter with me.
Because I know the nature of it.
And I wouldn’t want to inflict it on anyone;
Once it begins, it'll never end.

This eternal winter
has no escape.
This eternal winter
Will be the death of me.

Am I physically unable to succeed, like, ever?

I mean, come on world, cut me some slack!
I'll try as hard as I want,
give you whatever you want,
Just let me have this,
please.

I say this, and I mean it.
I give up every part, piece, fragment of myself  
Just to keep failing over and over and over again.

I'm telling you guys, its seriously not fair.
But fine...

I'll just slowly disintegrate into the Earth
Like all dead things do.
Maybe, then I'll grow into something thats actually good
and beautiful
and worthwhile,

Like - like a flower growing from *******!
And not like a total failure and complete waste of space.

I know that I'm alive,
I can feel the rise and fall
and beating beneath my chest.
I see the cloud of air with every expel of breath into the frigid air.

But this freezing cold is finding its way inside and flows through my veins causing me to shiver.
My warmth is stolen along with my liveliness and I am left as a shell of what I once was.
Left as this alive emptiness, like a ghost without a soul.

I know that I am alive
and, just the same,
know that I am not living.

I simply drift about your world aimlessly,
with this useless heart, body, lungs
mind
That keep me alive against the world's better judgement.

Find me a purpose
Find me a soul
Find me a life
So that I could live.

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.

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 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.

How can you love me
When the name you know me by
Isn't truly me?

My family has a miscellany of hair, yet we complement each other perfectly.

Papi has short hair like a dark chocolate shrub. His beard is kept short and is rough like sandpaper, contrasting with his lively outgoing self and he has a bit hanging below his lip that he occasionally twirls around his finger.

Mama has long soft hair that is kept formally straight and tidy as a ruler for outings and work but can revert to its wild self at home.

My older sister has the hair of a firebrand that never seems to stay in order. It’s kept a jungle of curls, curlicues decorating the edges.

My little sister, the youngest, has “long long” hair. “Long long” hair, as soft as the down of a chick. “Long long” hair, dark like her nightly chocolate milk. “Long Long” hair, perfumed with aromas of pizza and hair oil. “Long long” hair, untamed and wild as a lion cub. “Long Long” hair, in braids, pigtails, pony, and puff. “Long long” hair, like a princess— the regime of our apartment, like the mermaid who had long since found her voice. Just barely reaches below the shoulder, and has yet to get her first haircut. “Long long” hair, she says. “Long long” hair, like the “big kid” she is.

My limbs
My mouth
My fingers
My mind

It all feels so
                      
                        heavy.

I am heavy
with hurt.
Both mines, and yours

And the hurt of
My mother,
a woman who deserves commited love.
And my father,
a boy who shouldn't have starved.
And my grandmothers,
girls that grew up too fast and too far away from home.

And the for all the children of the world,
all of us whose ability to love others and ourselves in a silly, gentle, erratic, genuine, inperfect, beautiful way was lost with boxed up toys and discarded sugary cereal boxes.

And for the world,
a once beautiful place that has been forced to endure careless brutality and abuse that is now scarred and broken and yet is still fighting for itself.

Like all the children of the world
Like my grandmothers
Like my father
Like my mother
Like you
Like me.

It's a heavy load to carry,
But I'm not planning to give in any time soon.

I wish I knew how to be a person.

To you, it seems to be second nature
And yet to me, it seems like a sacred craft
To which I don't have ancestral access to
A foreign language
That'd take me a masterclass to learn
A calculated dance
Whose music I am deaf to,
While you have this mesmerizing choreography that you didn't even have to practice.

I can try to imitate,
Copy-paste your manerisms, sayings, even tone
But it's clearly ingenuine on me
and so very exhausting.

How can you do this and enjoy it?
Free flowing laughs and excited speech.
You shine, so bright and proud,
Not noticing how your light is making a shadow of me.

It's sad,
frustrating,
lonely.
Lonely to be a human
But not know how to be a person.

I was dying
Last night,
Under the covers of my sheets.
The waves of hurt were crashing into me.
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe.

I called out to you, helpless,
“Please, save me, please!”
I cried for you, I cried for you.

“Heyy” - 10:17 PM

I cried for you, I cried for you.
I needed someone to lift me out of the sea,
To save me from my hurt,
To relieve me from the pain;
The pain of the crashes of the waves of everything
And nothing.

I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe.
Where were you? Where the **** were you?
I needed you so badly,
I needed somebody, anybody.
All I needed was a “heyyy” “hii”, or even a funny cat GIF
Anything, anything to tell me that you were there,
That there was someone who would respond to my message at 10 PM
Someone who would hear my cries and serve as my anchor from this ocean of pain.
But no, nobody.
I was drowning,
I was dying.

I cried myself to sleep
Last night.

“Sorry” Too long after AM

Every
Single
Night
I am dying.
But I just can’t seem to ******* die.

There are many opposites in this world:
light and dark,
And love and hate,
bliss and pain,
And Life and Death.
What is Life and Death?

The concept of Life and Death is millenniums of years old,
And the answer is different for every individual you ask
They may say that life is a short experience that every individual goes through
They may say that its a blessing that we must take advantage of
They may say that its a curse that we all must suffer
They may say that we’re here for a specific predetermined reason
And they may say that its nothing until we make something from it
There are many theories and beliefs of what happens after
Some say that you go to another world where you can live in peace and happiness
Another of distress and suffering
Or you just go through another life in a new body under a new name
Or your soul inhabits another animal or object
Or it remains just wandering, bodilessly
And many speculations more…
Then there are others who may say that there is simply nothing.

Life
Life is when your soul has a body to control,
A mind to inhabit,
Dreams to fulfill
It allows that spirit to interact with other spirits to build and create
Life is full and stimulating and always moving
Life is a course of events,
One action impacts the next impacts the next impacts the next…
Life grows and flourishes
Life develops and changes every day and every second and every moment
You have the ability to make your world a utopia
The choices you and others make can impact the next
But those choices won’t always lead to success
Sometimes they’ll lead you to failure
Misery
Disappointment
And sometimes you won’t always get to choose what happens
Life is unexpected
But we have retellings of other’s lives
Rules and guides on how to live our own
Regulations and laws (that aren’t always followed)
Rewards and punishments
Life is a blessing
Life is a curse
Life is everywhere
Life is now.

Death
Death is when your conscious leaves your physical state for eternal time.
We haven’t yet met death, but it still feels familiar
Do we see death in between our stages of wake and sleep?
Or in moments of shock after impact?
Or maybe when our heart drops during a fall?
Its funny being agnostic because no theory of life after death fully satifies
I’d imagine that right before death, a melancholious chill would spead over,
Inabiling every part of you
Segment by segment
Limb by limb
Memory by memory
Then you and your soul would be let free
No longer having to carry the weight of your body, the weight of your thoughts,
An infinite dreamlike state, except with no pictures or visions.
A peaceful, dreamless, light, nothingness.
A freedom from life.
But maybe death is different
It’s interesting being agnostic because no theory of life after death feels sure
Thats the thing, we don’t fully know
Thats why its so scary, it’s unknown
And you can’t undo it, you can’t go back
Death is interminable
Death is inevitable
Death everywhere
Death is the end.

So what is Life and Death?
They are…
…

Why do I feel so lonely?

I have so many friends that love me--
no, like me--
no, tolerate me,
And I'm completely surrounded by people
all the time.

My mind is convinced that nobody actually wants to be my friend.
Don't get me wrong, they're all really nice.
But it believes that they're doing so out of sympathy,
pity.
I'm not really an interesting person,
I always overanalyze situations so that I can say the right thing, but then I get it wrong anyways.
I mostly just make things awkward because I have no idea what I'm doing.
I'm kind of just annoying, really.
I wouldn't want to be friends with me either.

So why do I feel so lonely?
It's not because I'm alone,
It's not because of them,
It's because of me.

There's something wrong with me.

“Lumen,” meaning light in Italian,
“Luna,” moon in Spanish.
Luminary; a person who inspires or influences others—
A natural body of light.

An illuminated individual saying,
“I’m bright. I’m seen.”

I always liked how the Moon shines and brightens the night.
They lead their storm of stars in the dark blue sky.
Everyone below could see as they would confidently stride.
Humans and fireflies might make their own light, but neither could compare to that of the moon.
Lumin is a bright leader, casting their light onto the world.

Lumin isn’t intimidated by those who can’t handle their radiance.
They keep shining on anyway.

So why am I?

Why do I still miss you?
I miss the way you talked to me so sweet
Told me that I was so pretty,
The way I o            p            e            n            e            ­d my legs for you.

I knew it was wrong.
It felt so wrong.
But I was so lonely, and something in my ****** up mind said it was right.

And so, I came back.
And when I couldn't, I turned to others, tried to replicate that feeling.
And now I can't even do that.

I feel disgusting for what I did.
They say, I was only 10, I didn't know any better.
But I did. I know I did.
And I feel guilty for painting myself as the victim.
I mean, he didn't force me,
He didn't split me open.
He never even touched me.
He just turned me into a puppet
and
had me do it myself
with
a camera in front.
...

I still miss you,
No, crave for you.
For those words that
dripped sweet like
the slick between
                               thighs
my
                                                              ey­es
your
                                                         ­                                    ****.

Why do I still miss you?

Tonight, I met again with the waxing crescent
hanging lowly and gently in the night sky.

Nearby, a confident small star twinkled
"See me,
See my beauty,
One that can compare to that of your great moon."

I look, and see
That this star had made its mark in the night
Marking it like the mole on your face.

Its not much next to your eyes or lips or smile
Or the wondrous mysterious moon.

But still, this small star made the great night
Just that much more beautiful.

Sometimes I’m [deadname]. She is Dominican mango. Perfectly sweet. She wears dresses and skirts, she is a princess. She is perfectionistic, soft-spoken, and proper, just as her mother is. She thinks that academics are the only thing that she can prove her worth with, but doesn’t let anyone know. She feeds off of the validation of others. She strives to be at the top of her class, anything less would make her a failure. She never stops until she succeeds, never giving up. She is smart. She is successful. She is perfect. She is my cursed present. She is [deadname].

Sometimes I’m [dead-nickname]. She is slightly unripe guava. She is bitter-sweet, delivering a punch of flavor. She is like the innocent child who has yet to learn the dreads of living. She is playful and loves doing her doll’s hair, braiding and brushing it, just as her mother does for her. She makes bracelets and handwritten cards as presents, writing all the little poems that flow through her mind like the wind flowing through the trees. She loves the swings at the park, flying high. She is like a bird that has yet to leave the nest. She is brave. She is playful. She is creative. She was my childhood. She is [dead-nickname].

Sometimes I’m Lumin. They are starfruit. Bold, sweet and sour, tangy and ****. They are bright, like the celestial wonder they were named after. They light up any room they walk into as their outspoken and unforgiving self. Their luster makes others stop and stare. They are like a warrior that would do anything to defend the people they love. A leader that leaves no soldier behind. They don’t let anyone tell them what to do. They are brave. They are confident. They are bright. They are my future. They are Lumin.

They all struggle to coexist in this world. They never get along, fighting like siblings. But they jumble up and create the mess of a person that I am. I wish that I could live by the name that is me, but walls of steel stop me from fulfilling it. So, for now, I’m [deadname], [dead-nickname], and Lumin.

My love,

I missed you,
The way you held me and caressed.
Distracted me from all else
and kept me safe from my fears.

You traced my body like I was a sculptor
That you just had to make perfect.
I wanted so badly to be perfect.

I didn't mind fitting in the cusp of your hand, edge of your blade.
But they say you chipped away at me, make me smaller.

Isn't that what sculptors do?

...

They took you away from me, my love, I'm sorry.

But as I let go,
I was able to rebuild what you broke.

It was never you who broke me though, was it?
It was me, really, allowing you to do so.
And just as I am enabled destruction, I am able to recover.

My scars heal,
But still they remind me of you.
I miss you, so much so that sometimes I go back,
But I now know that I am more than your rigid sculpture,

I am the ever-changing product of my own acts of creation.

I’m naked.
Exposed for the world to judge
And critique
And mold.

I’m naked.
Naturally, in my ******, I am ashamed,
Embarrassed,
Red-faced.
I try to conceal myself,
But my efforts are futile.
The parts of me that were most private
Are no longer.

I’m naked.
You drape me with invisible lavious robes,
You try to paint the illusion of modesty and security.
You gaslight me into thinking a dress of air is a magnificent feat.
But I am not the gullible “emperor” I once was.
The illusion has crumbled before it had the chance to stand.

I’m naked.
But that only means that they see all my surface;
Not the inside,
Never the inside.
For that, they’d have to cut me open
Pull apart my guts and bones
Look behind my eyes,
See what really lies within.
That they’ll never see,
They’ll never see me.
(Already, they’re seeing too much.)

I’m naked.

F
                               a
                                                        l
     ­                       l                            
            ­                                                                 ­       i
                                    n
           g

                                           d
                                                               ­                                  o
                                                               ­      w
              n

.
.
.
                                        ­                                                                 ­         𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵 !

I failed
                       I failed
                                              I failed.
I tried so hard and yet I failed.
I did everything I was supposed to, and yet I failed.

Now, it didn't matter much.
I honestly don't really care.
But it opens a gateway for all the thoughts
that I continuously fail to lock up.
                                                             ­                                      The thoughts.
                                                       ­                                            The thoughts.
                                                       ­                             Those awful thoughts.
Suddenly I'm crashed into by waves of feeling everything
and then when it subdues, nothing.

EVERYTHING
nothing
EVERYTHING
nothing
EVERYTHING
                                                     ­                                                               I am
nothing.

Those thoughts feed off my self-doubt and disappointment,
like a parasite.
I can't get them out.
I can't get them out.
                                                            ­                           God, they're so loud.
                                                           ­                                                      STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP
Shut up.
Just shut up.
                      Just stop thinking
                                       Just shut your mind up
                                                              ­                                                   STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP
                                                            ­                                                     STOP

Don't cry,
no don't cry.
If you cry, they'll know,
                                          and then,
                                                           ­                          "Why are you crying?
                                                         ­              You have no reason to be sad.
                                                            ­           or
                                                              ­            anxious
                                             ­                          or
                                                              ­            depressed
                                           ­                            or
                                                              ­            possibly even
                                                            ­                                     ******* insane.
No, no reason.
No reason whatsoever.

                                                    ­                                                    So shut up,
                                                                                                           don't cry.
                                                            ­                                  Your life is great.
                                                          ­                         You have great friends,
(Do I?)
                                                             ­                     You have great parents,
(Do I?)
                                                             ­                                     You're healthy,
(Am I?)
                                                             ­                                         You're alive,
(Am I?)
                                                             ­                                    Nobody died."
(Had I?)
(I'm dead.)
I'm
dying
dying
dying
Oh god, **** me please
Please I can't do
it on my
own
please
please
please.

It hurts so much,
these waves of everything
and nothing
over and over
and over and over
and over ---
and nothing works.
My brain doesn't work.
Make it stop.
                      Make it stop.
                                                                ­                                      Make it stop
                                                            ­                                          Stop
                  ­                                                                 ­                       Stop
                                     ­                                                                 ­       Stop
                                                            ­                                                    Stop
        ­                                                                 ­                                          Stop.

Please.

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 constanftly crave the feeling of loving
Because, when I do,

My heart sparks in my chest
Like Poprocks in my mouth.

The tiny explosions of love satisfy my sweet tooth just right
And has me feeling that untouchable, wild spirit of a sugar-loaded kid.

But, like all Poprocks, the pops slow and the candy dissolves
Leaving me with the remnants of its sweetness.

"Quel jour de la semaine aimes-tu le mieux?"
It says on the french homework.

Well, lets see...

Lundi is terrible, first day of the week.
Mardi is subpar, practically a repeat of the first.
Mereredi theres too much too do, between clubs and homework.
Jeudi is too long, and my guitar teacher's chance to remind me little practice I put into the guitar, and everything else that doesn't matter enough to me.
Vendredi is the end, but not quite the start of anything good, since
Samedi is filled with homework and more lessons and such that eat away at me until I'm nothing more but a husk of myself.
Dimanche is when I'm forced to meet my sins in the face while trying to not let them show on my face because I cant let anyone know of these "inner battles" I'm facing.

So, which day of the week do I like the most?
"Aunun.
Je déteste tous les jours,
mois,
année.
...
Je déteste ma vie."