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  May 2015 Maxwell
Day
"One good thing about music, when it hits you,
you feel no pain
," Said Bob Marley once.

We are a society of addicts, not in the literal sense,
but in the sense that music is controlling our lives.

We tell ourselves that we are okay, We're fine
But we can't go a day without our headphone.

It's like music has inter weaved it's fingers into our brains,
As if letting go of it, would **** us right along with it.

Music is great for making us believe in things that aren't real.
It reaches into our minds and whispers to us.

Music, to me, is manipulative, it changes us,
It shows us how our lives could be.

Now, I'm not saying that I hate music,
That's not my point at all.

I'm just saying that maybe, just maybe,
Music isn't the answer for everything.

And, I know I will probably get hate for this,
But that alright.

Because, I understand what it does,
I understand the influence it has.

And, I'm not asking anybody to give it up,
Because that's not fair.

I'm just asking that sometimes,
Take the headphones off.

And Listen,
Listen to everything around you.

Instead of focusing on the music in your ears,
Listen for the music all around you.

Because that, to me, is the true music,
The music so pure, and so true.

The music of nature, the music of people,
Everything around you that makes a sound.

Listen to that and the maybe, just maybe,
You'll understand.

But, until then, just keep going,
Keep listening to what makes you happy.

Because if that what you need to make it through the day,
Then it was worth it.

Because really,
Who am I to tell you not to.
I just want to note that this is not about me bashing on music. I love music as much as the next person. Well, maybe not, but I do like music. It's just something I thought of that I felt like writing. I'm not meaning anything by this poem. It's just my thought. So please, no hate. Thx
  May 2015 Maxwell
Charlie Rhinehart
You asked me "What's wrong?"
I asked you to count with me
One
One day you just stopped coming around
Two
Two days have passed since my last meal and I'm still staring down the toilet hoping to empty whatever is left of me
Three
Three words repeated over and over I love you I love you I love you I love you
Four
4:00 a.m. showers letting the bathtub flow over hoping to drown the girl I hate because that's the girl I have become
Five
Five bottles down moving onto number
Six
Six daisies making a chain around my neck like a noose holding the measurement hoping that I'll at least be pretty when I die
Seven
Seven days every week I didn't want to get out of bed because how could I try and stand on solid ground when I'm sinking and everyone else around me is flying like
Eight smoke rings escaping my lips as I wish that maybe my last breath will float up with it
Nine
Nine hours I should be sleeping but instead I stare at that pill bottle did you know that
Ten out of Ten doctors will prescribe you with pills if you're even the slightest bit imbalanced in the brain
Nine
Nine years of prescriptions piling up ignored in fear of becoming a monster like the one they're trying to create
Eight
Eight cancer sticks at the bottom of my bag because addiction is addiction because it hurts the same
Seven
Seven minutes I count over and over did you know that's how long it takes to die by hanging I know because of
Six words you said
Five years ago "Why don't you just go **** yourself"
Four attempts in one month why can't I just die
Three
Three hours spent sobbing on the bathroom floor with
Two bullets in
One gun shot bang!
Zero
Zero chances left
No Disclaimers
  May 2015 Maxwell
Jo
FtM
I've been painted pink the instant the doctors
Wiped me of red.
I looked like the boys I knew - our differences a
Color palette provided by Mommy and Daddy.
I was their little girl, their princess who wished
Her hair would stop growing,
Lest she be locked in a stone tower.
I didn't mind the dress so much then,
Not when it was the only difference between me
And them.

Magic mirror before me, is wrong all I'll ever be?
I shut my eyes, unable to stand my body bare.
My knight, your skin simply is not right.
I've read the mirror never lies.

Mommy and Daddy are yelling
About my butch haircut.
Our little girl the ****, they say.
I did it myself.
Mommy still buys me dresses,
Daddy tells her to spend the money on
Therapy instead.
Daddy asks about boyfriends,
Mommy tells him I don't have any because I
Hide my *******.
I tell them I'm all wrong.
They agree.
We're talking about two different things.

I don't change for gym anymore.
The girls are secretly relieved I won't be there
To cast a wandering eye in their soft bodies.
I'm relieved I won't be in the wrong locker room.

Mommy and Daddy don't like me
Telling them who I am.
I've finally found my way out of the tower and
The king and queen are upset because their
Princess never made it home, just the knight.
My little girl, Mommy cries.
I follow the point of Daddy's finger to the door
Until I'm on a bus bound for somewhere else.

I shift from Pangea into separate pieces.
Finally I have space to breathe.
Needles, knives, pills bend my body to my will -
It took Michelangelo three years to build David.

Mommy and Daddy believe me to be
A delivery man. They are expecting to sign off
On a television set, yet when they see me
Idle in the doorframe there is a hesitance, a hope.
But most of all there is silence.
Mommy cannot speak, her hand curls like a gasp
Around her mouth.
Daddy begins to cry, his eyes pale and blue.
I am hugged.
They don't say sorry, but I hear then whisper.
My little boy, they say. My little boy.
Empathy poem for class
  May 2015 Maxwell
XxX
This time last year, my hair was down to my waist.
This time last year, I was 16 and in grade 11.
This time last year, I had a lot of "friends" I guess I was popular.
This time last year, I had a game plan, I thought I was going to be a Graphic Designer.
But this time last year was the first time I tried to **** myself.
Yes, to a lot of people this seems over dramatic, because "what 16 has anything to 'die over'", that's what my dad said anyways.
But I'm glad there are people whom are so naive when it comes to Depression.
I'm glad most people don't understand why I want to die.
I'm glad my little brother doesn't think the answer to "should I live?" is "no"
I'm glad my grandparents are concerned when I'm home alone.
I'm glad my mom gets worried when I don't answer my phone.
I'm glad my dad is scared when I'm not home by 4:30.

Seven months ago, I was put on Anti-Depressants.
Eight months ago, I finally told my parents how bad I was getting.
Ten months ago, I realized this probably isn't normal.
This time last year, I almost lost my battle to a bottle of pills,
And at this point if you were to ask how many suicide notes I had written, I would ask you to define.
Would you like to know how many separate notes I have complied into a binder, or how many notes I've left out for my parents to find after I've left the house?
At this point I can say I've had more attempts to end my life than I've had hours happy, but at least I can say I'm Still Trying.
  May 2015 Maxwell
Joseph D
Art is playing God.
The pen and brush have the power to create life,
And the power to take it away.
We are art.
We see it everyday.
Each stroke individual,
Like the fingerprint left on the glass.
Singing in color as we yawn the new day welcome,
And staple our now into the past.
Maxwell May 2015
Is it the green in her eyes when she looks at me and smiles?
Perhaps it's the red of her cheeks when she blushes.
Black like her eyeliner and nails, is that it?
Red like the blood pulsing through my body coming to the surface at her every touch.
The perfect mix of brown, blonde and black in a messy ponytail slowly coming undone.
The darkest shade of blue when I'm missing her touch.
The colors of her paint a picture that only I can see the beauty in.
If only she could see.
She's a masterpiece and she is the artist.
Everytime I see her I'm mesmerized by every detail.
The crinkle of her eyes as she laughs.
The smile she gives me when she thinks I don't see.
Her eyes looking at something she loves.
She's my masterpiece, my favorite artist

She looked at me and told me "tell me your favorite color"
How can I tell her that it's her that is my favorite color?
All about my girlfriend
Maxwell May 2015
They asked me "how can you say a color without the name?"
This is the color of her eyes looking up at you, the mirror of the sky on the ocean, this is the color of cold hands missing gloves in a winter storm, depression claims this color and depression makes you feel this color on dark nights when you're all alone, when the sky opens up after a storm it's the color of the sky shining once again, and this is the color we never want to feel but yet we do, when you miss her this is the color you feel, and when your heart stops beating this is the color of your lips.
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