I’m not scared of the dark
or spiders, bats, or monsters as much as
I am afraid
of not being accepted for who I am,
Why do you think I play
every character but me?

Let me tell you the story of my life
I like this boy,
common knowledge
but he doesn’t glance in my direction
which pushes my self esteem
further below zero.

I like a girl,
which in itself is scary enough,
Somehow my cousin can tell that I do
and she accepts me,
My best friend knows this
and she loves me more for it,
But I’m too much
of a coward to ever show the world,
because I’m voiceless
and could never protect myself.

I’m not beautiful,
I can try to tell myself I am,
but no amount of convincing is enough
to change facts,
Because reality can’t be altered
and is as set in stone
as my undesirable body and my displeasing face.

My parents don’t understand me,
they don’t care,
I sound so teenagery,
But they have no time for me,
and I doubt notice my very
existence.

The conclusion to my story is this statement in all its simplicity:
I’m afraid to face the world
because of how afraid I am to face myself.

I hope that one day the clouds will part
and the sun will be seen again
to the lost people down here on earth,
I hope that one day someone will have a heart
with the capacity
to blanket everyone who needs the love,
I hope that one day every God
we worship
Will bestow some relief over the pained.

I know that there must be some light
in the darkness so many see,
I don’t give up hope,
There’s too many of us that need a little extra,
that I like to keep it for us all.

I know that there will be an end
to all the feelings that rot
Our hearts,
to all the illnesses of the world,
I know that sadness
could never be infinite.

I hope that one day the clouds dissipate
so that the Sun can shine totally
for we all need some light,
I hope that one day someone is strong enough
to love all equally and richly
so that no one is left in the cold,
I hope that one day all beliefs unite
so Something
can allow us the power to change.



~Inspired by the stirringly beautiful poem “I Believe,” written during the Holocaust by an anonymous Jewish prisoner in a concentration camp

we love and present on a platter
our hearts to
the same boys who send **** pics
and convince us to get tattoos,
the ones who leave one month later leaving
scars so deep we only wish they were tattoos

we change our minds for and offer
ourselves
to the boys that play us like
the boardgames you pull off the shelves
the ones that cheat
and roll the dice on what to do with us

we fall down and down
drown deeper and deeper in love
with the boys that wonder if we’re relevant
if we’ll boost their coolness level to way high above
the ones that give us smiles, shining eyes
and words that mean the world to us but nothing to them

we would give our worlds away
to the boys who make
their universe out of stolen hearts
and never give but always always always take,
the ones that never learned
how to love anything except the feeling of being loved.

I fell in love with her all at once
i had been slipping
down cliff by cliff by cliff,
I fell for her heart,
the way it beamed generously
for others,
i fell in love with her eyes,
how they read us all as if
we were books,
i fell in love with her smile,
how those dimples stood out when she couldn’t
contain the laughter any longer,
i fell in love with her quirks,
how she was feisty
and feminine,
mysterious enough to frustrate me
yet so sincere
that my heart would break whenever i felt anger
about her walls.
I fell for all of you,
every single piece,
your beauty and your flaws and
every little detail in between,
I fell in love with her brain,
how she was intelligent
and calculating,
perceptive of everything in the room
yet always the most focused and gentle,
I fell in love with her art,
oh how she drew,
it was as if her drawings were a puzzle piece
to me and the world we share,
I fell in love with her music,
how her notes
were so sweet and airy
concave and smooth,
the most meaningful i ever heard,
I fell in love with her words,
how she strung them together into poetry,
into music,
into nature,
how every syllable she concocted with that timid voice
rang out as if it were a calling to truth.

i crave so desperately your heart
in my hands,
beating as one with the pulse in my wrist,
you say no you cannot
that’s too much gore,
gory you say
you will not partake in,
so instead you offer
your days
to someone else who although
they ask for your heart as well,
you know you can resist
them
and me you cannot.

The mirror always mocks me,
pointing at my stomach and jawline and thighs
and chest
Jeering at all the excess
toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuch
I keep repeating in my head
I’m too much.

The numbers on the scale feel huge
The jump from 116 to 113 to eventually 108
just felt like getting heavier
and i became weighed down to situps
not fast enough for food,
Until situps replaced food
but I was still way too much.

I never realized until now
how ironic
Being too much was making me not enough
i needed to be less and worth more
So I let situps take away sleep too
and eventually I didn’t allow myself rest
until my stomach was more exhausted
than the clock chiming midnight.

Instagram was my mantra
strapped in at my side
Wow she looks amazing
The next hour was spent researching dangerous diets
I let myself burn in the shower
To sweat away more
so i could be less
and I’d freeze in the winter
to allow the burning of calories.

For two weeks before every event
barely a morsel passed my lips
And my days consisted of Netflix and situps in my room
My snack was oxygen
And my stomach was a container full to the brim
Of nothing
As nonexistent as my happiness,
I was still too much but never enough