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496 · Jun 2017
Open Your Eyes.
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
Society is currently a haze.

Trying to cover the polluted air and water.
It has made it seem alright to exclude yourself from the chemical slaughter.

  Can you not hear the suffering. Because  do. I hear it in the buzzing of cars from my bedroom window.
I hear it in the emptiness of my neighborhood park with swings swaying low.

   I would not wish it upon anyone to live in the blissful seclusion.
I am sorry to burst your bubble, to break your illusion.

The world is dying as society is hiding that you could make an impact.
Do not be blinded by its technological act.

   Is it just me who wants to feel?
It cannot be just me who wants this world to heal.

I crave to truly experience my surroundings.
While others just want to move on and I find it confounding.

   Is your eyesight impaired.
How is your anger not flared?

The world is dying right before you.
Reaching for your help, yes it’s true.

Is it that your heart’s not open to beauty that cannot be painted?
For our dear world is in the midst of being tainted.

And yet you sit with phone in hand enshrouded in the smoke of cigarettes’ long draws.
Try to look beyond those four walls.

You can take action against the polluting of our earth.
Because it is not mine or yours. It's the birds in the trees earth, it is the grass moved by the breezes earth.

It is not our job to poison.
So I understand your avoidance, I do.

But if I can change so can you!

I want to be fueled by feelings.
By my fear of what is to come.
For I fear a static presence an unchanged future.
Society tells me to forget it.
That it is not my problem to deal with.

Oh how it is wrong, this is my problem and it's your problem and it's his and it's hers and it's all of the above.

It is all of our problems-
´but it is not just that.

It is also our privileges.
Our privilege to walk among-st nature.

To have the power to impact such a glorious creation.
To be it's very salvation.

Society can tell you many things, but it is your choice to open your eyes to the pain, and to the wonder.
I wrote this a very long time ago and I´d like to rewrite it better one day. Today´s not that day
392 · Aug 2017
This Earth
Leila Whitney Aug 2017
Society is currently a haze.

Trying to cover the polluted air and water.
It has made it seem alright to exclude yourself from the chemical slaughter.
  Can you not hear the suffering. Because  do. I hear it in the buzzing of cars from my bedroom window.
I hear it in the emptiness of my neighborhood park with swings swaying low.

   I would not wish it upon anyone to live in the blissful seclusion.
I am sorry to burst your bubble, to break your illusion.
The world is dying as society is hiding that you could make an impact.
Do not be blinded by its technological act.

   Is it just me who wants to feel?
It cannot be just me who wants this world to heal.
I crave to truly experience my surroundings,
while others just want to move on and I find it confounding.

   Is your eyesight impaired?
How is your anger not flared.
The world is dying right before you.
Reaching for your help, yes it’s true.
Is it that your heart’s not open to beauty that cannot be painted.
For our dear world is in the midst of being tainted.
And yet you sit with phone in hand enshrouded in the smoke of cigarettes’ long draws.
Try to look beyond those four walls.

You can take action against the polluting of our earth.
Because it is not mine or yours.
It's the birds in the trees earth, it is the grass moved by the breezes earth. It is not our job to poison.
So I understand your avoidance,
I do.
But if I can change so can you.

I want to be fueled by feelings.
By my fear of what is to come.

For I fear a static presence an unchanged future. Society tells me to forget it. That it is not my problem to deal with.
Oh how it is wrong,
this is my problem and it's your problem and it's his and it's hers.
And it's all of the above.
It is all of our problems But it is not just that.
It is also our privileges.
Our privilege to walk amongst nature- to have the power to impact such a glorious creation.
To be it's very salvation.

Society can tell you many things, but it is your choice to open your eyes this.
To all of this.
I wrote this a few years back at a bioneers conference and it was te first poem I wrote that wasnt about being sad.
293 · Jul 2017
Dark Alley Dreams
Leila Whitney Jul 2017
Cracks form aside eyes of-
tweakers.
Heads down-
shuffling.
Stop. Smile. Beg.
Might as well fetch too.
Dark alleyway stops.
Shoot up.
Shooting down the block.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Heart racing.
Stand-
shuffle more.
Place to place,
Block to block,
Light after light,
Searing your pride.
Downcast eyes.
Prestine scowls.
Plastic smiles.
Stop. Smile. Beg.
Furrowed brows.
Echoed no's.
Fold in half,
"God bless."
Yelled, **** no's.
Who do you think you are?
Get a job.
Don't beg.
Shuffle back.
Empty parking lot.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop.
Smile.
Break.

Body no more.
Soul gone long before.
Be kind to those less fortunate than you. There lives are also important.
252 · Jun 2017
To You,
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
To the kind hearted who invalidate their humanity-
This is to you,
To the mom’s and dad’s of your friend groups,
To the shoulders to cry on,
To the empaths who put smiles on everyone around them,
To those who feel the need to apologize for having bad days.
You, are human.
Do not deny yourself that.
You are kind, reliable, strong, beautiful, caring, and human.
I love this about you. I love that when I am hurting, when I can not stand on my own, that you are there for me.
Yet, this is not the only reason I love you.
You, do not always have to be strong.
You, do not always have to smile.
You, do not always have to hide how you are really feeling for the sake of those around you-
and certainly not for me.
Please.
Feel.
Feel everything you have the privilege to.
Every single person on this planet has bad days; Everybody has moments in their life where they don’t feel their best, where they feel weak, or tired, or frustrated, or upset, or depressed.
These moments, are not flaws. These seconds, minutes, hours, or days are not burdens. They are not something you must apologize for.
Life is not easy.
Being happy all the time is not a requirement.
Being true to yourself, is.
If you are angry, scream. If you are sad, cry. If you are frustrated, tug at your hair and look to the sky. Know that I am here for you. Know that I want to be there for you, just as you are always there for me.
You are human and you will have these moments where nothing seems light or easy. But, you are not alone in these.
These feelings are not black holes ripping you from all of us.
These feelings are not pulling you to the bottom of the ocean while we float.
These feelings- do not make us question our affections towards you.
Your feelings, every last one of them, are valid.
Do not doubt in your ability to feel, and do not think that doing so will leave you lonesome.
Feeling, now that, is strength.
238 · Jun 2017
A Girl Like Her.
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
My smile slips upward when caressed by the delicate tendrils of art-
When music reaches for my heart, or a painting twirls my eyes to it's own accord, or words decide to dance endlessly in my mind.
When a conversation stimulates my thoughts.
Or glances at passer by´s lead to personal story books.
I lose myself.

I am not empty.

I feel light, like these things could carry me to the cosmos and bury my soul among the stars.
Like the galaxies are my own personal windows.
Like love is everywhere.
Like life was meant for someone like me, when in reality it's for someone like her.

Even I love this girl.

She you see, blooms with confidence.
Head held high she lives in rhythm.
Laughter her background music and captivation her applause.
What a beauty this girl is.
Existing is her personal ballet.
She knows how to express herself and does it so well.
She does not look at an opportunity to showcase who she is, and find herself greeted with fear.


This girl is not me, she is just the dream that resides in this body.
Strangers opinions and my own mirrors have sobered me to see this.
And still dreams unleash a certain power.
Hope cracks this shell.
Willpower yearns to meet her.
My passions tempts her every day.
The art I appreciate and even create teases her to show herself.
A sunset at the right angle whispers for her to come out.
A boy laughing soon becomes a siren, beckoning her to escape.

Even I yearn to meet her.
I guess losing myself isn't the right term.
Finding myself seems more adequate, yet that seems to admit something I can not accept yet.

The steps to unleashing her feel like so much more than steps.
They are chasms that I do not feel strong enough to cross.
206 · Jul 2017
Those days.
Leila Whitney Jul 2017
I don’t know if this is relatable. I don’t know if it’s just me or a million others.
Do you ever have those days.

Those days, you know?

Those days where you’re so gone. 
You’re so not you, and sad, and alone, and empty that you want to try to **** yourself.
Not actually succeed though.

Those days seem to happen more often for me now.
Those days where you want to try to **** yourself because no one believes your sad until that point. 
Where the cliche thought of it’s for attention becomes true. 
Not for good attention though, just for anything. 
Just for your sadness to be validated because you don’t wear black anymore and your hair isn’t chopped off so you mustn’t be sad. 
Like the fact that you stopped cutting yourself means you must love yourself. Not like it was because you were tired of hurting your friends.

Maybe you haven’t stopped and you just still blame yourself. 
Maybe I’m still ******* sad even though I wear the color pink.
 Maybe I wear pink because I’m so ******* sad that I want someone to notice it. 
To see me. 
To listen and to really hear. 
Just for someone to understand that you’re there. 
That you’re real.
 That your plummeting into this hole of ******* self destruction and you just want someone to see it.

To know.

To understand.


Those days, come more often now. 
Those days scare me.
What scares me more though, is having a day where I don’t get stopped. 
A day that I don’t want to just try, a day where I want to succeed.

Realistically I know those days won’t come. 
I don’t want to try.
 I’m not going to try. 
I’m not going to do that to the people who care about me.
I won’t give up my chances of being happy like that.

One day I’m going to smile and realize that I forgot about those days.

That those days were just days, and not my life.


And that day, that’ll be the only one that matters.
I hope this doesn't upset anyone, it's just a weird realization I had.
178 · Jun 2017
Untitled #1
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
I-
Did not want to be known as the girl from the troubled childhood.
The girl who distrusts all men for simply being men.
The girl who convinced herself that friends-
Are pulled pins on the nuclear grenade that is my new life.

Yet my whole life has been built around this,
I moved cause i was hurt,
I hurt because I was moved,
I am an artist because my body no longer has the capabilities to perform in - literally- any sport that contains,
running, speaking, competing, or drawing attention to myself.

I can't change the way I feel about this-

Yet I have accepted that this is not a cage, this-
is the universe that I live in.
The stuttering is my hand held pistol keeping those around me away from my horrors.
My head down, shoulders taunt and fists clenched is my titanium shield,
Do not come close to me
Please, do not touch me or to dust I will turn.

I don't appreciate half cocked pity
Do not pull me close to whisper words of sorrow,
My heartbeat will bang war drums louder than anything you have to say.

Yet do not tell me to get over it, that it's no big deal-

Like the past is just the past
Like these burns don't still contain the very same ash.

Touch me in condolence and you´ll feel the magma under my skin boiling.
Small girl no more,
Far more than hand holding

Gentle smiles form themselves into the overpowering monster that is my mortification.
Don't tell me to sit pretty.
stand tall, smile bigger, walk taller, speak louder,
don't let your past define you!
Did you know healing isn't natural, its a break through!

Don't tell me to live my life like nothing has happened when I can not even look at a face in half cast shadow without running to the door ready for flight,
I-
was never taught fight.

I am trying.
I continuously trying to relearn,
Like planting new flowers in a burnt field.
Digging through memories that feel more like acid, melting my willpower,
Singeing my confidence
And drowning all that I am in pain.

I try to move on but-

This anxiety bubbles in my throats like bulls ready to stampede any chance I have of “moving on”

Let me tell you, I do not feel stronger.
When I doubt my new stepdads intentions, I do not feel stronger.
When I think of the first one, I do not feel any older.
I am still six, and I'm still hiding in a back room, and I´m still frightened-
And I am still so hopeful, that I'm wrong about him
This is very messy ´but I cant seem to find the patience to organize it.
162 · Jun 2017
Breath
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
Now.
This seat is more than a chair.
This pen more than just ink.
This journal more than just paper.
This moment more than just added minutes.

Now, this is escape.
This is lifeline.
This is unmasked creature.
This is shattered wall.

When thoughts are more like rafts, and words more like parachutes.

These habits more like the muscles that pump by heart.

I am me.
I am myself.

I am not job.
I am not obligation.
I am not never ending stream of unfulfilled thoughts.

I am this very moment.

This moment and I are one in the same.

This is my most authentic self.
150 · Jun 2017
Dear facade,
Leila Whitney Jun 2017
You are admired for happiness and life and appearance of youthful adventure.

You are -
beautiful.


This is so obvious.

Yet,
They do not see how troubled you are.

How hard you are trying to please their expectations.

You sit, cold desk containing-
colder feelings.
Moving is something you must do, not out of wanting but out of-
routine.
Cracks forming not from age itself but what age has done to you.
More time to-
experience.
More time to-
learn.
more time to-
feel.

Water spills over the tub that is your willpower.
Those will not see the way it is-
drowning your home,
smudging your smile in old photos,
I tainting your memories with the iron taste of regret.
Most will not see it till it spills from the front door, because walking in without permission is-
frowned upon.

Mirrors show that of a broken person.
Others can not see it because it is a -
mirror.
You must be the one there, you are the only one who sees it.
Your reflection and your projection seem recognized the same by those around you.

While the cement takes your-
insides.
Freezes your-
passion.
Pigeon holds your-
Pride.
And tells you to be content with it 'because hey the neighbors believe it.

'But I am not your neighbor.
I have no obligation to you.
I want to see your soul dancing in the light in your-
eyes.

You are trapped behind this-
glass.
Yet I have seen you anyway.

Speak to me in tongues of-
truth.

Let me be your companion because I-
would be so happy to.

A statue although beautiful is not you.
You are the -
art.
Not because of looks or reputation.
I will not sit and applaud you.
I will not wrap you in a red bow and leave you in a burning museum-
even if you would still be standing afterwards.

I want to be with you.
Hold your hand to show that you are-
not alone.

You are art, because you are yourself.
You struggle and you fight and you are still so-
Perfect.

I am your friend, because I will tear down your walls if it'll keep all that you are-
From disappearing.
I wrote this to a boy I was infatuated with. I sent it to him and now he is my best friend.

— The End —