By. Lauren

I tried not to love poetry for you.
But I couldn't.
It's just now I try to love poetry for me.
And I can't seem to do that either.

By. Lauren

The word sick is poison to my lips.
The word sick makes me want to cry.
The word sick makes my stomach churn.
157 million people in our world suffer from some form of chronic illness.
These people go their whole lives learning to spell diseases many doctors are unable to pronounce.
Hospital visit after hospital visit yet we refuse to claim ourselves sick.
The word sick gives me the sense of failure.
The sense of caving into my chronic illness.
The word sick makes me want to cry.
Because the word sick means I have given up all hope that resides in my mind.

By. Lauren

128 beats per minute.
128 times I'm sure I will die.
184,320 beats per day.
A rhythmic palpitation refusing to slow.
And people wonder why I can't keep a beat.
Every second I seem to speed.
128 beats per minute.
128 pumps of blood.
At this rate I am more blood than water.
Because my day is made up of 184,320 beats per minute my body is forced to hold.

Por. Lauren

El lenguaje es sólo una barrera que debemos desafiar.

By. Lauren

I zone out like a rocket lost in space.
I am always ready to come back to earth but my engine never manages.
It's always my mind making me write.
I do not know if there is an inch left of me that has not been weaved into a poem.
I once was my own person now I am shared with the world.
I once fit together like a puzzle but now I don't fit together at all without reading all my poems.
I do not remember a single one of my last feeling because I vent more than I feel
I am a rocket lost in space ready to return home.

By. Lauren

You whispered sweet nothings into my ears.
You where a shadow that chased me around.
Did you ever really love me or was it all a hoax?
A chance to get back at me for all the mistakes I made.
So the next time you dare whisper sweet nothings in my ears you'll get a whisper and a punch back.

By. Lauren

They say I stare more than I blink.
How could you not when our world is so dark?
All I can do is stare and think.
I'm sorry that I am who I am.

By. Lauren

This color blue so dark and rich.
It covers my nails.
Then I realize this was your favorite color.
Once again since the day you left me
I am deeply saddened.

By. Lauren

When my planner is full I feel alive.
When my planner is full I have a purpose.
When my planner is full I never actually get to any of my goals.
It's just when my planner is not full the spaces are engulfed in the words "don't **** your self" when my planner is empty I feel worthless.
When my planner is empty I don't want to write another poem.
The plan of my life seems to have a grater impact than the years I have lived.

By. Lauren

Speaking has never been a talent of mine. I think more than I speak and often find myself thinking and forget to say what I was thinking.
I observe and think then I preserve the sight in the form of poetry.
I know it is not convenient to live this way. It's just this is who I am; the girl who thinks but does not seem to speak.

By. Lauren

I look out the window in hope of seeing your beautiful eyes looking back at me.
You always knew how to shine right into my thoughts almost as if you where the sun.
Your brown eyes sparked a light in me that could not seem to burn out.
Your eyes never dulled even in the darkest of times.
I always loved how even when you where sad your eyes still produced a happy vibe.
You made me want to smile even after my pet died.
Your eyes took care of my heart igniting a flame of love in me.
I fell for your rays like a flower searching for the sun.
Except soon a cloudy day came.
Your love for me depleted and you no longer shone.
Today I look out the window once more and see your eyes have dulled and now escaped my view.
And once more my heart has withered.

By. Lauren

I desperately want to date a girl
because I am lonelier than a squirrel.
I live in a small town
Tinier than any other around.
I am gayer than a curved line.
Lonelier than a tree.
But I live in a small town
tinier than any other around
where no other than a friend or two
knows I am gay.
So I stay lonelier than a squirrel.

By. Lauren

Despite what the world says looks really do matter.
How will I get a job with crooked teeth turning every which way?
How will I expect respect when I'm not dressed like I deserve it swallowed in sweat pants and a tattered hoodie?
I will not be enough despite my brains if I am dressed like a kindergarten.
My looks will never be good enough to land me that dream job but at least I will be able to say, "I acknowledged that."
Looks really do matter even if you have the brains.

By. Lauren

When we were younger our parents told us to follow our dreams.
Now that we have grown an inch or two our parents tell us choose a sustainable job in which you can fall back on in the hard times.
It's always difficult rebelling against your parents.
You know the advice is a *** of gold except you want to pursue a dream in which you are happy.
Not following your dream is a heart break.
Following your dream has more ups and downs mostly sorrow after you fail.
The gratification is so overwhelming that you would like to peruse more dreams until you crash, fall, and tumble down the stairway of success.
Then you are found nocking at the door of your parents *** of gold advice.

By. Lauren

When my poems are trending I am filled with glee. The red notification makes me leap for joy. Because when my poetry is trending I feel like I am making an impact on the world. When my poetry is trending I am ecstatic.

By. Lauren

"Look alive," the people scream at me as I step up to the microphone.
If only they knew that's not anything I ever learned to do.
The basic skill was never taught in kindergarten.
All I ever learned to do was be in fear. When I am faced with a crowd I am faced with fear.
I was taught to run away except that's not what I want do.
I want to face my fears head on but I'm stuck with my fear looming over my shoulders.
The people scream at me as I step up to the microphone and I am faced with fear.
I never learned to face fear.
All I learned to do was be engulfed in fear when faced with a crowd.
All I ever do is run away from my deepest fears and feelings.
I want to face my fears but I never was taught how to do so.
Our generation has fallen apart due to fear.
50 years ago no one would be afraid to step up and speak at a mike.
Our forefathers did not suffer from fear like we do today.
Our generation hides behind a mask on social media because that is the only way we know how to speak now days.

By. Lauren

I have braces, wait I'm sorry.
Did I say braces?
I meant the torture device in which wraps around my teeth like a hungry shark longing for a midnight snack until the point that my teeth feel as if they are about to fall out.
The feeling is like that last front tooth that you lost when you were seven wiggly yet you couldn't let it go.
The torture device feels as if a box of floss  was tied around my teeth getting tighter and tighter and tighter every month to the point that my teeth just want to give in.
It's only been three weeks now but my torture device is just now adapting to getting tighter.
Every single month a different color or as I like to call it a different shade of pain.
Because I have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
I miss the days in which I could read my poetry aloud without spitting all the way across the room, because every time I talk I put my hand over my face to wipe the  spit connecting my bottom and top row of teeth away due to embarrassment.
The man I once thought would to be my friend is now the torture of my teeth and gums.
He has made it to the point that have the worst lisp causing me to be at the point that I can't even read.
Because I have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
So if you asked me to count the number of brackets I have broken in the course of my three weeks I don't think I would have enough fingers or toes.
If you asked me how many people I have heard complaining about this constant issue I would be absolutely clueless.
Because everywhere I turn I hear
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
The constant words being spoken "no I can't eat that" "no I'm sorry I can't, I have an orthodontist appointment" "oh my god my bracket just broke" not to mention the most dreadful one of them all "my wire just popped out and the first second you feel like you're going to squirt blood on the the next person that tries to talk to you to the point all you can see is a ****** scene of blood on their body.
Because you have braces.
A torture device  that you have been told you will get off in 2 1/2 years.
But you know far too well that it'll be a long journey.
Because you have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces.
And you will have braces.
Braces,
Braces,
Braces,
For what feels like the rest of eternity.

By. Lauren

Does anyone else read their poetry aloud and think "wow I'm good."?

By. Lauren

The sting of a bee is enough to make it **** itself.
The ring of an ear is enough to make one scream.
The yelling of the people around me is enough to make me tremble in pain.
The people around us influence one's inner self.
The words exchanged from one's mouth to another have an impact on one's conscience.
Because the world is constantly turning and spinning and making me think.
The world is much like our brain in the form it is constantly moving and we are constantly thinking.
And in the blink of an eye everything seems to fall apart.

By. Lauren

My world is like a broken record constantly spinning on the turntable not being able to stop but not being able to play any tune worth hearing.
As the record I call life turns the obnoxious screeching commences.
The spinning never ceases to give up its power as it begins to make me nauseous.
My life gives no concern to the activities I can no longer appreciate.
You do not realize how wondrous a record is until it spins 24/7 leaving only the residue of past headaches and brain trauma in your mind.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.

By. Lauren

I can't put my feelings into words.
I can't dive deep into alliteration.
Yet I find myself trying my hardest.

I can't end a line with a rhyme.
Because I am not perfect nor are my rhymes.

My poems lack the ability to feel.
Yet my brain lacks the ability not to feel.

I fell in love with poetry but literary devices fell into a hatred of me.

By. Lauren

Bury me in the pink petunias I used to call home.
As my heart stops beating.
My mind stops over analyzing and contemplating.
My hands stop racing to write down all the words I create per second.
My mouth stops moving.
And my poems stop generating.
So bury me in the pink petunias I now call home once more.

By. Lauren

When will you stop my brain?
I am ready to sleep now.
I took you hours ago.
Yet you won't tuck me in.
When will you numb me
So I feel no more pain
When will you make me stop writing these poems.
Advil P.M when will you make me normal?
When will you let me live?

By. Lauren

I'm gonna start off by telling you just because you know me doesn't mean you truly know who I am.
You may know my real name but that doesn't tell you what my past consisted of.
My past tells you a story in which you can't understand.
My past consist of names that died before my reality did.
My body has always been this place in which I am afraid to go back to.
It's a place where I just want to cut off what does not belong to me.
Because my body doesn't belong to me.
My mind tells me one thing but how do I display that my body disagrees.
For I am trans my body tells me I'm a girl but my mind tells me I'm a boy and I'm stuck in this false reality in which I cannot escape.
In the course of seconds people hear my real name but they don't know who I truly am because my birth name is dead.
All I ask is to live in the body in which my mind belongs.
Except it's always my body saying that I don't belong.
The people on the streets don't understand because
yes, I am a girl but
no, I am not.
For I am trans.
"I am a boy," one day I hope to yell with no tremble in my voice due to fear.
Because I am a boy.
And a boy I will be.

By. Lauren

My ears have engulfed more poetry than they've heard music.
They hear the beat in the words not the rhythm in the beat.
The words you write play a melody in my head before they are even read.
My eyes see poetry as a world waiting to be explored.
My eyes see words and read the beat.
Without poetry my mind is set ablaze.
My thoughts engulf me to the point I no longer feel without poetry.
Poetry keeps me sane.
Because poetry is a beat needing to be played.

By. Lauren

I long for the feeling of touch on the palms of my hands.
The tingling sensation of her holding my hand not afraid of what will come.
Not afraid of what will be thrown wether it
Stick, stone, or word.
I long for the opportunity to love her even in church on Sunday afternoon, despite my lack of religion due to my fear.
I long for the warmth on the other side of the bed that she occupies with a smile on her face.
I long to know what it's truly like to not be afraid to walk down the street holding my girlfriends hand.
When normal people see a gay pride event they are disturbed covering their children's eyes.
When they see us they do not understand.
Throughout my life I have had to fight for my love and that's more than you will ever comprehend.
I simply just long to feel human.
Now is that so wrong?

By. Lauren

I love what I do so very much but I don't know if what I do loves me back.
My love for poetry wraps around my heart and squeezes it until it struggles to beat onward.
I love writing poetry.
But does poetry love me writing it?

By. Lauren

Ice cream.
Melting.
Dripping.
Falling.
Splatting.
Crying.
Creating.
Giving.
Licking.
Swallowing.
Smilin­g.

By. Lauren

Calling: Ex
Buzz!
Buzzz!
Buzzzz!
Buzzzzz!
"Please leave a message after the beep,"
The phone seemed to scream in my ears.
Beep!
I hope you know
You ruined my
*******
Life!
Goodbye.
*static cracks explode like bombs being fired directly at me

By. Lauren

When I first looked into your eyes I saw that something was wrong.
I knew that you had a secret that you where keeping from the world.
I could see a tear drop from your glistening brown eyes.
I could see the depth of the ocean that you where keeping hostage.
I could see that you were suffering. Because when I looked into your eyes I saw the girl that I used to be.
I saw a girl that was afraid to tell her parents how she truly felt.
When I looked into your eyes I knew that you were just waiting to tell the world something.
When I looked into your eyes I saw a secret waiting to be told.
Sadly, I also saw that you will grow old And will likely keep the secret from everybody in the world out of fear.
You know I can see your secret don't you?
"Your secret is safe with," me I want to whisper in your ear.
I want to tell you that I know how you feel.
I want to tell you that I will be there for you.
But how do you tell that to somebody who hasn't even told you they're secret?
I know what your secret is because I had  the same secret that you had.
Maybe you don't even have a secret at all.
Maybe your secret isn't even a secret at all.
But when I looked into those brown glistening eyes once more I knew that I was correct.
I knew that you were truly keeping a secret deeper than the one I was.
I knew together we had a big secret that we would have to help each other with.
So when I looked into your brown glistening eyes mine glistened too as if to convey the message "we're in this together, love."

By. Lauren

Growing up gay in the south is like smoking.
You know it's not good yet you still do it.
Growing up gay in the south is a destiny to be shunned.
Growing up gay in the south is like having food in your teeth.
We're not afraid to point it out!
Because growing up in the south means you're quick to judge and even quicker to act on it.
If you grew up gay in the south than you know what I'm talking about.
Just don't do it.
Because growing up gay in the south is the epitome of all gays.

By. Lauren

If a guy likes a guy
then he likes a
******* guy.
If a girl likes a girl
than she likes a
******* girl.
If you don't understand
then leave them the
**** alone.
Because
If a guy likes a guy
then he likes a
******* guy.
If a girl likes a girl
than she likes a
******* girl.
In the end
Love is ******* love.

By. Lauren

They exiled him one by one pushing him out the door.
Boom!
The door slammed.
If only they knew he was just like me.
Homosexuality is a sin the preachers sermon seems to yell at me in a blunt tone as if a bullet had just shot.
As I excused myself to go cry in the church bathroom my footsteps sounded louder than that of a gun shot.
A loud boom each time I took a forward movement.
They all turned and looked at me.
They knew,
I knew they knew,
And in that moment I was exiled too.

By. Lauren

A throbbing pain,
A moment in which I hear nothing.
A bullet to the head.
A scream to leave me alone.
Doctors say “if a headache lasts more than 24 hours than there is something wrong."
“What about 24/7?” I scream in my brain.
My headache is not a scream for your help;
It is a scream for the God I left years ago to hurry up and **** me.
For as long as I can remember my headache has been there for me.
My headache comes over at the worst of times banging on my door refusing to leave.
My headache is worse than the Jehovah’s Witness banging on my door every Sunday.
My headache is an intruder refusing to leave even after I call the cops.
My headache makes me scream,
So keep away from me.
My headache has taken a hold of me.
My headache makes the lights in my room look like the holy light waiting to blind me.
I know not of the life I had before headache because headache has always been holding my hand.
My headache is a lover who I can not seem to leave no matter how many times I say,
‘I am through”
My headache is the person on the other side of the aisle
Saying,
“I do”
Before I could run away.
So when the doctor gave me the bottle of pills that rattled in the passenger seat of my car all the way home I was shocked to see I was afraid to divorce my lover headache.
Because
My headache loved me.

By. Lauren

A ****** day for a ****** person like me.
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
I woke up late, once again.
Rush, swoosh, ugh!
I am late once again.
In a rush to leave I find myself throwing on the first thing my weak fingers can feel.
I'm late and my health is failing.
Today is a ****** day!
Slam!
The door closes and I left my keys once again.
"Today is ****," I scream.
As I look in the mirror of my car my eyes want to scream.
Every imperfection is visible on me.
Today is a ****** day for a ****** person like me.

By. Lauren

To all the self harmers I know,
You are loved even on your worst of days.
You will have scars.
Your friends will worry when you show up with red marks on your arms and legs.
Children will ask questions.
Just remember please, it is all because they are worried about you.
To all the ex self harmers I know,
I've been there too.
The days you face become more and more difficult like a heavy weight as you search for a way to cope and breathe freely once more,
But
You will make it out of this.
You are powerful.
Your scars will fade.
To all the the people who have self harmed,
Your stories will never go away.
But your stories will end.
To self harm,
It's time to move on and stop claiming wrists as friends.

By. Lauren

My body took care of me like a rotting corpse,
As it threw me into the gruesome cemetery of my own mind
Where the trees even screamed for help as their roots ****** up the poison from toxic bodies like mine.
Every last leaf that fell that fall was due to our toxins.
I was not alone in this cemetery of mental health abandonment;
there appeared to be more people than you can count on your fingers and toes or even at night like sheep.
All of their bodies had left them like a family too lazy to attend their own family members funeral.
This lonesome cemetery was full of lonesome people like me.
We all were just there for
Help.
So we popped a few happy pills or two, and in that moment our cemetery turned into a luscious forest where the flowers couldn't even stop laughing.
We had made our cemetery into a future for others like us.
Our cemetery was then named
"Mental Health Awareness".
It was our safe haven some may say it was even our therapy oasis.

By. Lauren

Muscles are the gift you where blessed with.
Muscles are the gift I was robbed of before I had the pain staking opportunity to even learn what they where for.
You take your body for granted,
But for me I watch daily as mine deteriorates.
For you there is no worry about your health.
Sadly, for me I look down and wonder when my legs will give out.
I wonder when I am going to collapse next.
I may be young, but I know the pain of imagining when I will die.
My body
Will be the end of me
And that
Terrifies me.

By. Lauren

The word youth,
Meaning the period between childhood and adult age.

Those very years sparked a flame in my heart causing the tenderness of my love for you.

Our youthful passion caused a yearning for the enchantment of later life.

My heart cherished every last relishing moment of those youthful years with you, my love.

By. Lauren

Stop and look into my eyes, give me a minute of time. Hang on in there don't let me stare. Two weeks ago you lost your voice. All that was left of you was the light in your eyes telling the world that you were not okay. They stared into your eyes like a midnight sky. You beard the truth no one could stand. Their world broke you in two. Their world made you into a catastrophe of missing sound. Your missing voice was the only scream for help that they could hear that night. His hands left scars in your mind deeper than a razor blade to skin. Your body spoke the truth. If only they had opened their eyes wide enough to see. He was there for you the world will say. If he was there for me then why do I bear these scars you will scream. Asking for a answer is like searching for clean water in Africa. It's nearly impossible! The world has their own truth, but it won't line up with your puzzle piece. After he rapped you, you where stuck searching for your voice. After he rapped her she was left searching for more details to the story to tell her friends. After he rapped the next girl. The police went hunting for a reason to shut her up. Your voice will never be the same. They say ignorance is bliss. If that's the case then why is the world searching for that river of sorrow you felt that night.

By. Lauren

Falling in love with a poet is like falling down an endless hole.
As the black and white stripes spin all around,
Your mind is soon engulfed in their literature for you and you alone, so they say.
Except, falling in love with a poet means
You aren't the only one to fall down their rabbit hole of happy day poetry.
"When I look into your eyes I see a sunrise of warmth, happiness, and the love I have for you. You are my world in which my heart keeps beating. Without you I may as well be dead."
Falling in love with a poet is just a game.
It's an opportunity to write a few poems or two.
But, falling in love with a poet has no true feelings except for the shallow expressions shown in their poetic devices.

By. Lauren

They ask you what you want to be,
But
How do you explain
That you want to specialize in the exact
Thing you suffer from?
Because, you want to pursue a job
In which
Requires your blood to defy
It's own laws of gravity.
Because, every time you stand,
Your blood pools in a formation that would
Drown even the most talented of swimmers.
Your heart has to fight
Simply to keep you upright,
Yet you want to pursue
A dream
Going against all that you know.
24/7 your world is spinning,
You are dizzy.
Yet, you want to treat others who feel the same as you.
Because,
In a world without risks you wouldn't last
More than 5 minutes.
You don't let PoTS define you
Nor
Should they,
So here you are.
Standing,
As your head tries it's hardest to piece the world together as it spins like a carousel.
Your heart is pumping,
126 times per minute
All in the desperate attempt to keep you standing.
You, are trying.

By. Lauren

Pain is something tall and thin starved to the brink of extinction.
Pain is something that hides behind a mask only the most attentive eyes can spot.
Pain is something hidden by all those who truly experience it.
Because, pain is a monster taking a hold of me.
Pain is a demon refusing to leave.
Pain gets stronger throughout the day.
So, pain will stay
And pain
it will be.

By. Lauren

L        
   o  
      v
         e

A none existent thing for me.

By. Lauren

That call,
The last straw,
The last day
Of my past.
The change of one day
Can be enough to change a life.
On that day,
My life changed.
On that day
my future was burnt into me.
As she stared into my eyes
My heart seemed to race.
My mind seemed to overflow with the sorrow of past years
The razor never dug deep enough to bleed out.
Finally in the span of one breath. The words I was dreading the most were spoken aloud .
On that day I knew why I was there.
And my life changed.

By. Lauren

That one slice can make a difference in your life.
That one second of release leads to two more of pain.
The once known freedom of the wind caught in your wings will soon become the feeling of blood dripping down you sleeves.
The once celebrated days of being clean will soon become the dreaded number of un satisfaction.
You will find yourself unable to count how many times on your fingers and toes as your body aches from those days.
You will find yourself in the days of regret viewing your scars.
Every last one tells it's own story.
As the scars fade the stories will linger.
Because on that day you started the tragedy that wrote your story.
Voices will begin to whisper when you hear that call over the intercom. Someone cared about your story. Sadly the whispers will outnumber the amount of care you receive that day as you enter the office with tears in your eyes.
Because that one second of release led to more than a lifetime of pain.
Every year on that day you will once again find yourself counting the days.
Even though those scars have faded.
Your mind still knows the tails of how you made it out alive. How you beat those demons. How you where your own knight in shining armor.

By. Lauren

A bad day,
Chaos,
A day in which everything ends.
A world in which everything seems to be on fire.
Chaos is a every day affair for me.
Because chaos is a relative refusing to leave.
Chaos is the foundation of the day that swallows all that is calm and produces a monster out of it.
Chaos is the occupant on the other side of the bed.
Because chaos is more dreaded than the day it intertwines itself in.
Chaos is the lover that breaks everyone's heart who ever thought they loved it.
Because everything seems so calm until you find chaos.
And then everything ends.

By. Lauren

You ask me how I am and I just have to say fine.
Because,
how do you explain an illness that nobody can see?
It's like you're drowning, but nobody can save you.
I suffer from a chronic illness,
but
how would you know?
Because, my pain is as invisible as my illness.
To you I'm fine.
To you I'm far away from being sick,
but
my body is slowly rejecting me.
I did not know that this would be my life.
I just woke up one day,
and this was my new beginning.
For you every day is relatively easy,
you say oh I'm having a bad day,
but if only you could see how every day for me is a constant battle.
For me my body is saying no.
If only you could see how my body refuses to get out of bed, as the blood rushes from my head down to my legs.
I just wish that the world could truly see how much I am hurting,
and know that this is not going anywhere.
I wish people would realize what chronic truly means.
Yes, one day I could wake up without this just like how I got it,
but that's not likely, at this moment.
I'm not just going to recover.
You tell me, oh I hope you get better soon.
I hope you recover before school starts. This is why I don't want to call this an illness.
Because, it's a syndrome I'm going to suffer from longer than you could ever imagine.
This was not something I chose.
This is not something I would make up.
I can't really even function.
I miss going out with my friends.
I'm not trying to reject them, just some days I wish they could realize how much my body is rejecting me not them.
For me my illness does not define me,
but for me, as well,
it is going to be everlasting.

By. Lauren

In the bleak early morning I watched as the adoral was passed from palm to palm in the swift attempt at teenage rebellion. Then I watched as the recipient gulped it down as if it was candy. From the early age of 12 children are exposed to a world full of drugs, ****** abuse, and other crimes too. As they watch their peers down a bottle of liquor like water. The only evidence left of these teenage crimes are the trails of ****** needles only the sharpest eye can spot in the lonesome parking lot of our very own school. At the age of 12 I watched as a girl was cat called in the middle of the hallway as all the boys yelled dam girl because at the age of 12 children are exposed to the early pubescent of later criminals. All of this  just because the school system was too flawed to see what needed to change and actually take action.

By. Lauren

As a cry for attention exits each mouth around me, I begin to dread the day awaiting me.
Each word spoken is another noise I'm forced to deal with.
Despite my dreams I take each step needed to begin my day.
Because, in a world without poetry I dread everything.
The slightest breath causes my mind to race.
A plan of action even forms for my next piece of poetic expression.
Each day poses a new opportunity.
An opportunity to pursue my dream.
An opportunity to be me.
So I take a breath that blocks out all the noise around me.
I pick up the pen
And I pressure my dream in a world
With poetry.