im losing my mind
i have finally gone round the bend
ive hurt and cried and **** near died
it isnt important now, wasnt important then.

i have no inspiration
ive lost my creativity
im absolutely ruined
and it tears a word from me:

****.

They swear they can teach you everything
you're going to need to know about
life and how to take on the world.
The same ******* who
can't even tell you an
honest version of history.

If you sigh hard enough, you learn.

Some of us pull everything we know
from the margins and get called part
of an agenda for it.
Most people learn only by what
they perceive on the surface
and miss everything underneath.

Some nights you go hungry, and you learn.

The ******* go to college or university,
get some ******* degree,
and decide it makes them an unofficial expert
on situations they've never been concerned with.
Racists with law degrees.
Some of them go into the military
and come back with scars in their mind,
tell us we're just civilians,
because gun-toting is the education they received.

If you ever slept in a car because you had no choice,
you learn.

I've met a lot of people who read religious texts
and only believe what people "knew" 4000
years ago, at most.
I've met people who tell you they believe in the bible,
then when pressed for information,
obviously can't tell you **** about their own beliefs.

If you have a hard time not biting back out of habit,
you learn something.

The funny thing is, you don't need to learn how to
hate to learn how to love,
but
Once you learn what love is,
it makes it a hell of a lot clearer what hate is.

Getting ready to play a video game
in a nice, not-actually-dusty-but-
has-the-comfort-of-dustiness-like
Booksto­re.
Maybe.
"Townhall free wifi."
That's just great. I mostly
just cry and complain and wonder
why dolphins are so optimistic as
to not just off themselves,
since they can consciously do so.
Free wifi though.
I mean, that's just cool.

"What are you feeling?"
I don't know.
"Why are you angry?"
I don't know.
"Are you still sane?"
I don't know.
"Are you okay?"
I don't know.

Because this smile on my face is not
An accurate representation of what I feel.
And the mirth in my voice is possibly
Even more false than a mirage.
And the anger is all-consuming yet
There's nothing in me to catch flame.
The sadness settles in like a winter night
And fades away as though it was never mine.

I don't know.
I don't know why I can't cry.
I don't know why I can't care.
I don't know why I can't rage.
I don't know.

I don't know why I idealize death.
I don't know when life became tedious.
I don't know when I lost my dreams.
I don't know when I stopped needing friends.
I don't know when it all began to seem so pointless.

I don't know.
And, at this point, I'm too far gone to care to find out.

A phrase that people treat
like a joke, and that people
have failed to recognize the
significance of.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
Over breakfast foods I tried to
discuss how saying,
"I prefer white people/
I find white people attractive"
is subtle racism.
It was a difficult dialogue that
left me sick and empty.
The feeling of being more radical
than everyone around you.
Meeting a black girl who wants to be white,
hearing from all your friends,
"I just prefer white people",
I see, I see a dominant ideology that
places whiteness above everything else,
especially blackness. It is also a lie.
It is definitely racist.
It says that despite all other qualities a person may have,
their skin color holds them back in your eyes.
Instead I am told my ideas exist in a "box".
The reality of what I say is intensely real to me.
If you can't see the racism in yourself,
I'm not holding you to a quality where
you can point it out in others.
If you can openly pinpoint attractiveness to skin color
and just try to cop it out as "preference"
I am going to call you racist.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
You are not "naturally" attracted to white people.
In that phrase, you tell me it is unnatural for you
to be attracted to black people, or any person of color.
It is not natural. You have adopted the dominant ideology.
It is a subtle and now inherent racism.
I am tired of feeling sick because I'm the radical,
however it is a feeling I understand I will never escape.
It will follow me my entire life, I hope.
I'm sick of feeling marginalized because I recognize
sexism exists, and racism exists, and subtlety does not
******* hide it from me, I'm sick sick sick sick sick of it.
**** it though, I'd rather be sick my entire life,
and see the racism in me and others
than not see it, and just passively swallow that ideology.
I'll carry that weight in my guts,
not because I'm a martyr, because I ******* hate everyone;
because I love myself just that much.
I don't deserve to be that person anymore.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is *beautiful.

"Are you getting better?"
"Why are you sad?"
"Do you still cut."
"How do you feel?"

"Worse."
I'm getting worse.
I'm not sad, I'm distraught.
I don't cut, I hack.
I feel worse.

"I'm not actively suicidal."
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"I'm feel okay."
"I feel nothing."

Worse.
The thoughts have gotten worse.
I care less because I want more.
I feel like I'm drowning. Constantly.
Apathy is so much worse.
So much worse than emotion.

I don't want to be here.
I don't want to wake up.
I don't want to breathe.
I don't want to see.
I don't want to hear.
I don't want to smell.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to think.

Everything's so much better
So why am I so much worse?

My mother has regained her maiden name
And there's no father to beat me up
And tell me how worthless I am.
My sister has come to terms with her sexuality
And there's no serious vitriol between us
For me to brood and cry about;
She hasn't hit me in years.
My family has been cut off from me
And there's no disappointed looks
For me to escape from.
My best friend is trying to rekindle what we had
And there's no faux pas or jibes
For me to be hurt over.
My mother is in the process of buying a house
So there'll be no panic attacks living in close range
To strangers in an apartment.
My senior year begins soon
And there'll be no adult to command me soon
While I'm holed up somewhere for college.
I've weeded the fake friends out
So there's no person whispering hatred behind me
And I won't run myself thin trying to please them.

So why am I worse?
I have everything in the world one could ask for.
I may not be rich,or even well-off
But I have an IPad and a phone
And several gaming systems.
There's food in the house and clean water.
I have a bed to sleep on and a roof over my head.
I have an Internet connection that's reliable.
I have usage of all my limbs and
I have music to listen to constantly.

So why am I worse?
I have nothing to complain or whine about.
I have nothing to cry and scream over.
I am living a life some others would envy.
Yet, here I am writing self-centered, pitiful poetry
And considering suicide.

I disgust myself, in this aspect.
I woke up this morning with life I'm not sure I want
And someone, somewhere, would value it more.
I bemoan my appearance and obsess over my weight
But I am symmetrical and healthy.
I have nothing to justify my pity-parties.

I don't have the right to be worse than I was.
See, no, I may not prosecute someone for being happy
When there are others who are happier
But I will prosecute myself for being sad
When there are others who have it worse.
Because I should be grateful for all I have.
I should smile everyday for waking up.
I should hold my life in high regard.

But I do not.

There's no rhyme or reason to this long winded spiel.
I do not expect or care if it's read.
I believe, in a way, this is part one of several
Of a letter to my mother, sister, and friends
As an explanation. As compensation.
I used to say I wanted to die, but I'd never do it.
Because I know me, and 'me' is a coward,
Terrified of her own shadow.
But now I see myself slipping and this is...
This is the best justification I have:

I am doing worse. Though I have no right to be. I wake up in the morning listless. I wake up and nothing seems better. I wake up, sometimes, gasping and scared from nightmares. I wake up, sometimes, missing my father. I wake up without motivation. And I go about my day without ambition. Writing no longer brings me pleasure. Nor reading. Nor running. Nor speaking. Nor silence. Nor music. Nor singing. Nor gaming. Nor thinking. Nor pottery. Nor poetry. Nor people. Nor solitude. Nor anything, really. I wake up searching for something. I do not know what. And I go about my day understanding that I have not, did not, and will not find it. I wake up lonely. I wake up starved for comfort and a listening ear. And by the time I've swung my legs out of bed, I am numb and I feel nothing at all. It is sweet agony. I am engulfed by my own mind and I rip myself apart daily. I never remember which piece goes where. I go through my days like this; breathing, alive, but not living. I am tired. I am sorry, because I know what I promised, but I am tired.

-Nadia (aka. Chaus)