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 Aug 2018 Marco
Mos
I am a hollowed out tree during mid winter’s rage; scrawny and unappealing. My branches quiver and shake from the anxiety of life's passing. They speak amongst themselves “It’s so much prettier when alive.”
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry my bones are cracked and worn. One gentle touch and they snap because past winters have left me fragile. I’m sorry my silence is harsh and eerie. I’ve grown under the rule “speak only when spoken to” and no one really cares to stop and really talk. It doesn’t matter though. One gust of wind from another's mouth causes me to topple down, for I’m fearful of screaming rage.
I’m sorry I cannot provide beauty for your longing eyes to gaze upon anymore. I never asked for darkness’ cold embrace, but it’s the only comfort I know.
I’m sorry.
for my father and mother
 Aug 2018 Marco
Mos
Reflections
 Aug 2018 Marco
Mos
Today I made dinner for my family and there was a huge scurry to rush to the hospital because someone got an alarming call and I wasn’t told what it was about.
But there were lots of dishes left over.
Usually my grandfather is the one who does them because he thought ketchup was a viable replacement for tomato paste and my family is known for our excellent cooking. He left to the hospital before anyone else so I decided to do the dishes because they were there. My grandma noticed before she left and said I was a lot like my grandfather.
I never really thought of it before but I suppose we are a lot alike. He used to be energetic and full of life before being drafted to be a medic for the military. He’s now a lot quieter but very witty. Tired all the time.
Once in awhile he talks a lot and tells stories and cracks jokes. He’s the most humble person I know, too. He worked on a Spacex for NASA but you’d never know if you didn’t ask.
He’s been through a lot of bad things in his life but it doesn’t /show/. If you see him he just look like an average old man but he has a very gentle soul. Even though he doesn’t seem phased he cares deeply. His natural instinct is to take care of everyone.
The difference between us is he’s held on dearly to his faith. I don’t know how to do that with my god. I’m very angry and tired and want to be as gentle as him.
But it touched my heart to hear that I resemble even a small light of him.
Stream of consciousness
 Aug 2018 Marco
Akira
OCD
 Aug 2018 Marco
Akira
OCD
When I was thirteen,
I was anxious about my obsessive rituals,
Didn't expect that it was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
And once you have it, it will never leave you.
Even at night, when I go to bed.
My mind drowns in waves of questions.
Have I washed my hands?
Are these plates clean enough?
Did I close the door?
Have I drank enough water?
It was hard for me,
The repetitions,
The struggle of everything turning into endless cycles          

When I was fourteen, I said,
"Mom? I'm having these kind of rituals."
I said, "Mom? Am I getting better?"
Well, mom thinks it's normal. But it's not.      
Well, I feel something bad and I feel that the world was against me, that the rituals were indeed sempiternal.

When I was fifteen,
My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder had completely risen up to another level.
I feel anxious, I feel bad, I feel that I am slowly sinking into an ocean filled with unspoken mysteries.
And every time, I try not to listen to those voices, those voices seem unable for me to conquer, those voices become higher than my power.

So when I turned sixteen,
I wished the life of a genuinely normal teen.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is like a spell, a lifetime spell.
A spell that covers me, that controls me,
a spell with ***** hands that touch my soul.
And yet people think I'm crazy, I'm insane, that I'm hopeless, but the truth is I need help. I need people to stop the judgements and please understand my condition.
 Aug 2018 Marco
Amy
So What?
 Aug 2018 Marco
Amy
So what if I'm different
Maybe I like girls and boys
Yeah, I'm Bi, is that a crime?

So what if I'm strange
"Kid shows" bring me joy
In the end, it's just pixels on a screen

So what if I'm annoying
I'm just being myself
It's better than being someone you're not

So what if I'm awkward
People just don't understand me
I don't understand them either, so your point is?

So what if I'm ugly
It doesn't matter
My looks don't define me, neither should yours

So what if I'm still a child
I have feelings too you know
I can understand some things adults will never know

These are the questions I will always ask
Because the diversity of the human race is great!
It doesn't matter who you are under the mask
Human is whatever, black or straight
If anyone has a problem with it,
Are you gonna run crying, back to your cot?
Or will you give them a smile and say;
"So what?"
This is sort of like a rant poem...? I don't know, this just came out of me XD
 Aug 2018 Marco
matthew
coming out
 Aug 2018 Marco
matthew
unspoken words,
years of silence

it is time
to spread my wings

to embrace;

i am transgender
 Aug 2018 Marco
Amy
I feel trapped.
My hands shake as I wash them over and over
The freezing water drips from my fingers
I have to be clean

I flinch away.
My friend backs off, her eyes wide
I don't like the contact, it scares me
I must not get touched by germs

I'm tired and awake.
The stars outside my window are bright
I can't sleep because of them
I need darkness

I'm terrified.
I've been told I hoard things
Apparently, I need to get rid of my things
I can't lose anything

I want everything to end.
But I can't do anything
I want to end myself but I can't
I don't know what to do

Obsessive. Compulsive. Disorder.
I need help.
I had to do a drama performance at school about OCD and I had to research about it. I guess I wrote a poem as well *shrugs*
 Aug 2018 Marco
Amanda Sharpley
I am
the porcelain doll
I had as a little girl: fair,
fragile and lifeless.

I exist
only in limbo;
between grey and black,
between fighting and releasing.

All of the mirrors
have turned into shattered frames.
Every picture
houses a strange woman
whose gaze I dare not meet.

At what point
do the haunted,
become the ghouls?        

This house
no longer feels a home,
just an orderly sanctuary
for a disorderly soul.
I am a prisoner
in a pretty palace,
in which I am self-imposed.          

Is there
a sadness so great,
it cannot be tamed?

And if
I should disintegrate
from this very spot, into ash?
I am not a phoenix I fear,
but a sparrow.
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