when we sit in the shade
from the burning sun on the
autumn afternoon, listening
to the children hunt for eggs,
all i can think is that you all
belong here.

i am the imposter, i can feel that they know. your jokes are all funny and i can't find the energy to laugh.

i don't want to be here, i hate 'family lunch'es, i hate pretending to be alright when i just want to sit in my room, alone.

family is always priority for me,
but i cannot place them in my life.
so we sit, laughing with all your loved ones,
and i pretend not to feel alone.

i am a wooden cross
with a young girl strapped to
my chest. she is crying, i can
feel the fear, her desperation , running
through her body, thrashing as
she tries to break free of the bonds.

'are you a witch?' they ask her,
the crowd standing in front is
staring at her, waiting on her
next words. she weakly denies but
they are angered and feel defied.

at the bottom of my body, beneath
her feet, lies kindle and they touch
a burning torch to the loose straw and
immediately it flares up into flames,
beginning to burn my base.

the girl screams out, she doesn't deserve this,
she never wanted any of this. 'witch, witch' the
crowd chants as the fire crawls up my structure.

i can feel her fear as she tries to break free, the fear
grips my soul and there is nothing that i can do
but to hold her in place as she burns for crimes
that she did not commit.

old habits approach me like dealers
in the darkness. their faces hidden by shadow,
their intentions vivid as they whisper
wonderful promises of release,
of escape and of freedom.

i tell them no, push them away,
i attempt to stray towards the light.
they grab my wrist and spin me around,
holding tight as they look me in they eyes
and whisper "you're not going anywhere".

i try to hold out, but the fear is building
up inside, and i'm not sure if i am strong enough
to fight back, to win this constant battle.
i want to scream for help, i want to cry out
in desperation, but i am drowning.

false ideas and hopes
thrown into one simple decision
that was supposed to make
things better; it was
supposed to make things
better.

instead of feeling like
i'm constantly drowning
in my home town, i've moved
across the country and
now i'm suffocating under
day to day life and the
fact that things
have so far only
been getting
worse.

can you hear it? the scratching,
itching that's constantly wanting
to escape the confines of my brain.

can you hear it? the eternal screams
that i'm holding back, swallowing
and trying to suffocate.

can you hear it? the ticking of time
passing with nothing changing as
each day swings.

can you hear it? my last threads
of sanity slowly escaping my grasp,
knowing that there's so space left for it.

thinking, hoping, wondering.
for so long it was a question of
when life would begin to progress
forward - until now, when it is
happening.

am i ready? can i handle this?
for so long i'd only dreamed of
the mere possibility to the point
that, perhaps, i never believed
it would happen.

and now, here i sit. wondering.
everything i've been waiting for,
everything i've been working towards.
every day when i thought i couldn't go
on, every night when i didn't want to;
the dream was all that held me.

and now it is here. and i sit.
wondering.
am i ready?

i was lying with my head on your chest,
listening to your heartbeat,
when i was overwhelmed by sadness.

a sadness so deep i could feel it cutting
through me. a sadness so strong that i
felt like i was suffocating.

i balled a fist with your shirt, holding
tightly in case you slipped away; you,
the last thing that i have to keep me sane.

you would think that a friendship like
ours was indestructible.
you would think that friends as close
as we were would always
drift right back to each other.

i know that you weren't intending to
repair the rift between us,
but i'd been hoping - and you knew it.
you know me.

i was stupid, i was hoping.
but you've disappeared again,
and i feel like a fool.

slowly, i've noticed things
getting more and more difficult.
slowly, i've noticed the little
things become mountains.

slowly, i've begun to understand
that things are getting worse.
slowly, i've began to notice
that i'm getting worse.

i share my body,
i share my mind,
i don't have privacy
from the person inside.

she's a demon,
a ***** to the core,
she forces bad thoughts
and a whole lot more.

it's a a constant struggle,
it's always a fight,
sometimes i wish she'd go
but mostly at night.

i don't want her inside,
i just want to be free,
i'm tired of her ruining everything,
i just want to be me.

it's a constant thought that i can't get out.
i want it to stop screaming out, filling my mind
at every waking moment, suffocating me
and stealing the good moments.

it won't stop. i want to think about life,
about my life, and my life with him. i don't
want the constant thought of what
everyone's lives would be like if i killed myself.

i know that it's because of the recent death,
but i'm afraid that deep down it's jealousy.
who am i to be jealous of a dead man who just
wanted life but was served death?

'the world is sad' we say
but is it? we are sad.
we are broken people,
broken by others who
couldn't think of another
way to hurt themselves.

we pretend that dreaming is
bad, because people who've
accepted the failure are afraid
of others repeating their mistakes.

we act like feelings are bad,
because when you show
your emotions, you're weak and
nobody wants to be seen as weak.

what if we stop pretending?
what if we start dreaming,
working hard to achieve our goals.
what if we stop hiding who we are?

for once, let's stop pretending and
be true to ourselves. dream. fight for
what you need. be the sunshine you
want in your life, and others will
reflect it.

it's time we stopped complaining and started trying.

nostalgia sticks as i try to stop thinking
listening to the intros to my favourite
animes that were more than just a
comfort for so many years.

i want to stop thinking, but i can't.
make it stop. i want to be okay.
make it stop. i'm tired of feeling
exhausted, tired of being depressed,
tired of being nothing more than a
robot to my anxiety and society.

now's my favourite intro. i'm listening,
trying to force myself to remember the
times i watched bleach with my sister,
trying to remember what the happiness
felt like.

make it stop.
please.

the memories won't go away
and i can't stop feeling like
you couldn't care less if i was here
or not.

it hurts that you couldn't care less,
that how i'm doing genuinely doesn't
matter. you're all up in your own head,
and when soemthing doesn't suit you,
you throw it away.

did i not suit you? did my depression get
the way of your night out?
you're throwing away 16 years of 'best friendship',
but part of me feels that i haven't mattered
to you in a long while.

i suppose it's your choice,
i'm tired of kissing your **** so that
i can call you my best friend.
it's your move.

this is the story of a girl
who is conditioned to believe
that her achievements aren't worth
celebrating, because there are
others doing better than her.

this is the story of a girl,
who's afraid to talk in a group
because she's been conditioned
to believe that what she has to say
isn't worth adding to the conversation;
tired of having people talk over her.'

this is the story of a girl,
who's afraid to in the dark,
afraid that one of the horrors in her
mind have managed to crawl out
and haunt her.

this is the story of a girl,
who never feels like she's good enough.
a girl who tries her best with every
chance, but she's been conditioned
to believe that she can't do it.

this is the story of a girl,
who second guesses every opinion
that she shares, because she's been
conditioned to think that her opinion
is one of those that doesn't matter.

this is the story of a girl,
who feels like she doesn't matter,
because when she was reaching out,
desperate for someone to tell her that she
will be okay, nobody paid her attention.

this is the story of a girl,
who often loses hope, and always
find it difficult to regain it.

i hide behind my fear
pretending to have control
i lie to myself, fighting to
believe that it is my will

who am i kidding?
i'm transparent glass
i don't want to admit it
i don't want anyone to see it

i watch people throw those three words
around like they're nothing but decoration.
'i love you' spilling out in the middle of the night,
instead of 'thank you for listening'.

'i love you' instead of 'i like us',
because nobody wants to feel unloved,
and nobody wants to admit they're afraid
of being alone, of being forgotten.

so he says those words to her, trusting
that when she says them back, she'll mean them.
it seems that he hopes that when he says those words,
that she'll stay; that she'll continue to love him.

but what if, in the end, we're all lying?
what if we're all pinning those words in hopes,
hopes that they will stay, and we plaster on a smile,
hoping that they can love us, as we need.

broken and left behind, we pin our hopes
onto those three little words and we listen intently
for them to be said back. we seem to trust, all too much,
in the shared words.

but, when we find out that things won't work,
and the relationship crumbles, we struggle to be okay.
we lose the hope that someone can love us as we need,
we lose the hope that we can love as someone else needs.

my demons whisper to me
as i lie awake at night.
they tell me to put them
into words, immortalize
them between the pages
of a book.

but i am afraid that someone
will find them, that someone
will end up with them
in their own head, and i can't
imagine putting someone else
through that.

i can't go to a bathroom by myself,
the overcrowdedness sets me off
like a firework on new years.

the fear that bubbles inside,
panics me to the point
of not being able to breathe.

is this what my life is?
being afraid of being alone
in a crowded room?

is this what i have become?
a walking ball of anxiety,
afraid of merely existing.

it's a living hell.
why can't i just be okay?
i wish i was okay.

i can barely breathe
the weight inside my chest
is weighing me down
dragging me further
into the darkness below
and i don't know
how much longer i can
hold on

i can see them standing together,
holding each other's hand in the summer
and i want to tell them to leave, that
this is wrong.

i want to tell her of his fury,
of the force he will inflict on her children.
i want to tell him that she's isn't right,
that they will have fights and things,
that they will forever regret, will happen.

i want to tell them that if this happens,
they will put the kids into unhappiness
and their fights will affect the whole house.
i want to tell them that if this didn't happen,
they could meet people better for themselves

but i don't. i am selfish and i let them go,
i let them meet and hold hands and fall
madly in love. i let them fall out of love,
and i let the bad things happen

because i want to live, and i know
that love is just another person
suffering

each moment passes by,
and i can barely pretend to care.
i watch them pass with less
emotion than i watch the street below,
wondering when will my time
to live arrive?

each moment stretches out,
around me, and closes in,
but it's no different than yesterday
and the day before.
as the moments suffocate me,
they make me wonder:
when will my time
to live arrive?

when you're stuck
and reaching up,
knowing that everyone
who walks past
is pretending not
to see the
desperation
in your eyes

you pretend to miss me
but i know you better than you think
i know the giveaways when you're lying
the words you use to avoid the truth

the pretending needs to end
i can't be your last call anymore
i don't want to be your second thought
when you're planning things

i learnt that happiness
is waking up giggling
with you before we
go to work in the morning

in the end
what does the
world matter
when I don't?

it consumes you, like endless
darkness, pulling you in against
your will. it's holding you there,
listening to your terrified breathing
waiting for you to snap.

you can't escape without a fight
your entire life is based upon
this fight and how hard you try
to survive, but even when you're
winning, it'll only take a moment
to lose.

it doesn't wait for a certain age, either
it will take you regardless of whether
you're older or young or in your twenties
because what does it matter? a person
is just a person in the end.

nobody else can see you struggle
and part of it is to be afraid of asking
for help because people will look at
you strangely, and they will make
you feel worse

how will you survive in the face
of death?

the sound of water running
and your coughs as you shower
at four am
trying to clear your lungs
in hopes of being able to
breathe freely

i lie in bed, waiting
hoping,
afraid that you won't
be able to get back
to sleep after this

and all i want
for you is
a peaceful night's
sleep

i know that i am safe in the day
when i have your company
to help fight the bad thoughts off
and make me feel okay

but at 4 am
when the roads are empty
and the only sound is you,
your soft breathing in the night
the occasional turn in your sleep

my thoughts get heavy
too heavy for me to hold,
too strong for me to fight
and i desperately try to find a way
to escape them

but i am weak
and they always catch me,
and hold me captive
forcing me to acknowledge them
as they whisper ugly truths
into my ears

when will you stop blaming yourself for who i am?
when will you finally see that it's not you, it's me?
the blindness of self hatred which you shield
yourself behind will break one day
and you will see that all the problems that we've
had to deal with are all because of me.

the hatred that humans hold will destroy
cities, homes, families and lives.
taking each person victim and tearing
apart the life that they have come to know
and come to love.

the world will crumble and the dust will
run with tears and blood and fear.
the hatred will birth more hatred.
people will fear for themselves and their
loved ones in a way we shouldn't need.

the children will be broken, their spirits
smashed in the war, and their innocence
thrown aside as they become soldiers.
the world will be destroyed by hatred.

she could feel each and every cell in her body
and as she thought about her existence,
about how difficult life had been,
about all the pleasant moments,
and the less pleasant,
she began to wonder about him.

he was someone who could have lead a
short time in her life, someone who
phased in and out of contact through
each month and maybe one day they
would hang out and catch up over
coffee, living life in an adultier way
because she would have had to move
out nonetheless.

he could have meant nothing more than
a best friend from one time and nothing
more than a friend in another time, but
instead he meant the world to her and
she fought for him with everything in
her being and she couldn't understand
how he meant to so much to her.

was it normal to put your dreams on
pause so that you can be with someone
who may or may not stick around?
it terrified her, but she loved him
with every cell in her body.

slowly everything seems to be adding up
and i'm finding where things went wrong
but i don't know what to do with it
how can i fix myself?

it hurts
breathing,
living,
existing.

it hurts knowing that
wherever i go
i'll be stuck in
this fear of -
i don't even know what.

but in the darkest parts
of my mind i can see
his face, his smile, his
eyes and the way they
drank me in like liquid love.

it didn't even happen
like that,
in a dark place,
but i'll never be able to see
him without the hatred
boiling inside
and bubbling away.

it hurts to be sitting,
having a good day
and one thing reminds
me of him,
of his moment of triumph,
and my stomach caves
and i feel the tears threaten.
i close my eyes
and wish everyone away.

i keep thinking that he loved me,
he said so,
he said it and i believed it
and for so long
i forced myself to believe
that what happened
was okay
because
he loved me.

she was always looking away
at the river, the sun, her phone
never did her eyes meet anyone
else's, and she never smiled

she was sick and fragile
and never smiled
but people loved her anyway
as they hugged her and held her close
she never smiled

she'd answer their questions
in the least personal way
and they wouldn't ask
too many questions or
anything that was personal
and she'd ask many questions
leading into personal parts
of their lives

she sat alone
with her hair hanging like
a curtain in front of her face
hiding her brokenness from the world

worst of all, she hid behind this falseness
that she showed off to the world
a blank mask that held everyone
at an arm's length
and she never smiled

i read a poem that made me question
the things i've been calling poetry
it made me feel that what i write
simply isn't enough

i could do better

the poem was about a woman
and i felt whole
and the words weren't for me,
about me,
but i felt whole
in ways i can't explain
and i'll never be able to

but i thought to myself
that this is poetry
and this is what words
are supposed to do
they're supposed to make
you feel things
regardless of what
and i kept wondering
if my words
have that effect

i want people to yern,
long,
hope,
survive off my words,
devour them
and i want my words
to leave them longing
and hoping for just a bit more

and i read this poem not once,
not twice,
but three times,
eating up the words like they
were the last meal on earth
and i felt whole

it hurts that you're so far away
and you don't need me
and you're so busy living
and i'm left behind,
forgotten,
something to be dealt with
on a rainy, quiet day

with a mouth of
venom
you pronouce
your love

all those promises of forever,
and the words whispered.
the shared secrets, the glances,
the looks when we knew what
the other was thinking.

the days spent pretending
that the rest of the world didn't
exist and the nights of talking.
the mornings of tired silence,
the random texts that were only
half a thought, and the brokenness
that we share but refuse to acknowledge

i often wonder what it'd be like
if you were to read the poems
i've written about you, if you
were to finally see all the pain
that you inflicted, and all the
thoughts i've spent our forever
hiding from you

nobody else is accountable
for my happiness
and that's why i'm happiest
when i think of death
because i give just as much
of a ****
as everybody else does
about me