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.

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.

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.

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