My first thought when I wake up:

Is that I hate you.
You make me so mad
And you cause me so much pain.
You -- are my reflection.

And I'll say a prayer by my bed just for you.
Dear God, teach me how to love myself.
Amen.

Is my last thought when I go to bed.

Forgive me for being so honest.

But I hate you!

And if you think I'm lying, I'm not. I really do hate you!

I don't like the way your face looks. Actually here! I will give you a full list of reasons why I hate you:

I hate that you keep secrets.
I hate that you procrastinate.
I hate the way you talk.
I hate the way you treat your parents.
I hate the way you treat your friends.
I hate that I have to be the one to tell you this.
I hate that you can never get your act together.

And you know --

You Know

That I hate you.

But you don't care! You'll just keep going won't you?!

Ugh.... uhmmm.

I can't get rid of you...

Because you're my reflection...

You're *me.

Your average human body has hair, a head, arms, legs, a torso, hands and feet, eyes, ears, a brain and heart...

But if my body is made of music, are my arms mallets? Are my legs the legs of a piano?

Is my heart the drum that my feet will always follow? The metronome that my body will always follow?

Is my DNA coded in sheet music?

Are my hands the baton? Are my fingers the keys? Is my spine a xylophone, each vertebrae a singular key?

Fact: The average human body will eventually narrow down to only 207 bones. Are my 207 bones each a separate instrument? All part of the orchestral body,

--This STAGE!

If they say music never dies, do I die?

Does my soul live on generations after I am gone? Will people still remember me?

If my body is made of music...

Will you still listen?
Even if the song is over?

Truth be told, I probably need therapy, or counselling I'm not sure.
But I'm not going to get involved in that.

So instead I go to a karate class twice a week. And it's a good outlet for anger.

Just imagine the person or thing you're currently mad at and go crazy. Punch, kick, fight!

Make it known that you are blazing mad! Don't back down until you have won!

When the class is over, you're probably tired, you've used a lot of your energy, so you can maybe sleep your anger off.

But somedays, you rage does not give up, it sticks with you and you're still not satisfied with the service, you want a refund? Well too bad, you don't get one! Remember, this is not a real therapy session...

Maybe I should go into therapy -- or counselling.

Because even if you fight with all your rage and anger and hate, you won't win a fight if the person you're mad at --

If the person you are fighting...

Is yourself.

Now I said that I wouldn't judge or treat you any different. Because you're still the same person you were before right?

Right?

No, you're not.

2 days, that's all it took. Just 2 simple days.

You come back and suddenly I wonder if I should ask what your name is...

You look -- different. But let me believe that the person I once knew is still there in the projection of a body I don't recognize. You are still here... right?

But then you start talking, and acting, and thinking differently. What?!?!

I start calling your name wondering if you'll respond, tell me you remember me, tell me you're still here, tell me--

Tell me that you can still be my friend. Because I will still be here for you.

*No matter what.

Hallways:*

They're empty first of all.
And anything or anyone that appears to be there, isn't actually there, you-- are dreaming. Don't believe me?

Let's play a game, it's called, "Where's Waldo?" With you as "Waldo".
Yes, that's right, you-- have to find yourself in this sea of walls, floors and people you do not know.

These people, with stoic faces, walk the same halls, looking for the same thing. They do not care that you are here, and you don't care that they are here.

Just get to the end of the hallway, but don't go into the light, you are not here to die -- you can't. You have to find yourself before you do. But there are some people who die before finding themselves in the "Where's Waldo?" page.

They're dead!

Out of this maze of halls you find yourself in.

But you...

You are determined. You will not leave without finding yourself, do not allow yourself to give up!

Look!

At the end of the hall! It's you!

You found yourself! You win the search! Now go!

Run! Get to them, yourself is waiting for you at the end of this hall.

RUN! Run as fast as your legs can carry you! Because you do not have time to think, so RUN!

They need you to save them! They're calling out to you, screaming for help, for You.

Get to them, grab their hand, save them!

...And just as you barely make contact with their hand and lock eyes with a body with the same eyes and face as you...

They begin to fade, to disappear!! WAIT!  NO!

Come Back!!

You were so close to saving them!

You wake up.

It was all just a dream.

You were dreaming right? You know you were dreaming!

You get up. Open the door... exit the room...

And you walk down a hallway...

Hi!

My name is ___ and I'm _ years old. My favourite subject is ___ and I like to ____ in my spare time. I believe in __ and from time to time I also go ___.

My family is pretty cool, I've got siblings and I really enjoy my time with my family. My father however is currently ___ and my mom is trying to cope with that.

My school is very ___, but I enjoy being there anyway. My friends are very ___ and I enjoy my time at school, it's a nice time to enjoy my own existence in a building.

But you don't want to live my life. It's too ____. Underneath this skin lies the ___ I try to hide. I'm constantly ___ and ___.

Why am I just so ___ with this?!

You don't know how much I go through. You barely know me. There is always information lost in translation. You shouldn't feel bad that you don't know me. How could you? You're missing something. I can tell you what it is.

You-- are missing ____.

Definition of Selfless:* Putting others before yourself to the point where "you" don't matter anymore.

Definition of Pain: One of the two things that I believe all people have in common. The other thing? Love.

Definition of Love:  --ERROR-- Lost in translation.

Definition of Nothing: Nothing...

Definition of Feeling You've got tons of it don't you?

...

Don't you?

Definition of Me: A personal title I call myself. Also known as *"you" in a sense.

High and mighty and greater than "you".

Because "me", a self proclaimed name that doesn't deserve its definition. Because "I" am hurt, and in "pain", and out of "love", and too "selfless" to take care of "me". So that makes "me"...

*"Nothing."

I could write a meaningful story with a meaningful message for you to carry with you into the future and beyond.

No, I don't think I have enough time to create a picture in your mind of what I have to say.

There is nothing to gain or give to the words I write in the time I have left.

How about 5?

< 5. Would you be able to pull this off by then?

I can't and I have < 10.

Maybe it's easy for you, but accept the fact that it is not easy to write good poetry with purpose and meaning and feeling and anything that is important to you in < 10 minutes...

It's 10:00 at night and it's been at least a half hour since you've eaten something. You make your way to the kitchen, empty bowl in hand. You place the bowl with the ***** dishes and the world slows down as you turn to see the small container with your name on it...

I hate it.

You grab a glass of juice and stare at the container down. As if the black that so neatly stamps your name could stare back. You open the kid proof cap and pour out half its contents into your dominant hand.

Just to feel the weight of death in you dominant hand. "Take 2 twice daily." They said.

The half orange, half yellow capsules still in my palm. Feeling the plastic-like coating I feel like I could crush in 2 seconds flat.

Freeze.

Time stops.

This, is when the protagonist eats as many pills as her body will allow, when she gives in, when she dies. This movie is almost over...

Nobody else is awake, it's just you and your handful of pills.

No.

This movie goes on, the protagonist will live.

You-- are not built on a mountain of clichés and stereotypical archetypes.

You.
Are.
Here.

And still alive!

You pour the pills back into the container, with 4 still left in you hand. You take 2 but you still feel like it's stuck in your throat, so you eat something small to force it down. Even though these pills are supposed to be take on an empty stomach...

You get a glass of water, and set that aside with the 2 remaining pills for tomorrow morning.

Now go to sleep, make sure this protagonist lives to take the Hollywood medication tomorrow.

Not a poet.
Not a poet.
Not a poet.
And I know it.

At 10 years old, I argued for my time back. I don't to play piano anymore, I want my 10 000 hours back.

This is the brokenness I am

At 13 I had a double, nothing in common but the title of their being. And yet that is all it took to become nothing.

This is the brokenness I am

At 14 I spent time with a locker, the only friend I had in the jail of a building.  A homeless student living amongst the rich.

This is the brokenness I am

At 15 I was trying to put life together, but it didn't work. Making myself angry about it. Maybe you don't have to accept that life doesn't like you, that people don't like you. That you don't like you.

*This is the brokenness I am

Me

From where we are
Or where we're going
We could be anything
Anything at all

Her*

Not shaking*

It's just my brilliance
Trying to get out

Most of my life is a forgotten cliffside. There's nothing you can really do about it, it's just the consequence you pay for being alive.

I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I can remember my schools, my friends, my parents, my teachers. But I don't remember my sisters. Only my brother, the little boy carrying the family name on his shoulder blades... But he is not ready for that.

As for my sisters... I do not officially "know them" until they begin to leave. I was 11 when they started leaving my house, and 13 when they started re-entering my life.

There is no excuse for arriving late to my life crisis. But what crisis is there anyway?

I grew up alone.

Sisters too old, brother too young, parents too protective.
And me...

Too eager to run through the halls of my early life, and high school is not what I expected the years to be. But I am still here... alive.

And there will always be that to hold on to when the sky falls from the stars that pin up the rest of the universe.

Or the the clouds fall from the blue sky just before that cliffside collapses into the abyss.

This is the artistry that is my life on a power surge. Feeling the shock of the first kiss, and the break of the last word.

The many voices, and single sayings. The before and after. The push and then the fall.

The feeling of all my memories being shot.

But not killed.

This is the joy of living off of the electric tower... or the Eiffel tower.

This is life made wild, love made public, friends made family, me made whole again.

Me surviving the cliffside fall for the 378th time this week.

Safety nets were never written in the fine print of this circus act.

But this feeling can **** as much as it can save. It is, and always will be a cosmic shot across the front of my skull...

Opening my mind into eternity. Until I decide to go back to that cliffside...

Again.

Hey God...

I have a confession.

I am not a good person.

I know it isn't original, and I know you've heard this too many times from too many broken people.

But it's the only shred of honesty I can give so please accept it...
Because I do not know how to forgive myself for this tower of lies I built over the last month and a half.

I am not a good friend.

I try...

And you know I try. But I haven't been trying as hard as I used to.
But I want to try and make things right.

I have convinced myself that heaven seems too high up for me to get to.
And I'm here asking you to tell me there is still a chance for me to be saved from my life.

I went to church today for the first time in months.
I saw old friends, and read new verses... I learned more.
Although I still feel like an outcast in this place we call "safe".

I can't feel your presence near me even when I pray.
It's like I've cut the communication lines and there is no repairing them.

I am willing to work for my life.
I will build houses of faith and sing praises until I drop, but it won't be enough.

I work well under pressure. So if you told me that getting to heaven was as simple as building a ladder as high as I could in 24 hours, I would work through war and hellfire to get there.

I would climb every rung until the ladder ended above the clouds and started feeling like the solid foundation of a life restarted.

I can only hope you will accept me with open arms, forgiveness...

And a "hello."

I used to walk down the block to the bus stop everyday.
Whether it was a bright sunny day, or a dark icy winter before the sun woke up, I was there...

Walking.

Backpack slung over my shoulder, alto saxophone in its case in my right hand. Leaning to the left to balance out the weight so I didn't fall over walking over the uneven rectangles of grey rock.

Artificial building blocks that make the world flat.

When I was little, I rode my bike to a nearby school park. They had a water park right by the school and surrounding the drain was a wide circle of bricks set in the ground.

But they had to take some of the bricks out of the ground, I don't know why. But they filled the gap with cement...

And lucky for me, I had gotten to that water park just before the liquid rock turned to solid ground. I pressed my right foot into that patch of grey. Just barely leaving the treads of my shoe in the cement.

I sometimes stop by to visit that old water park. Some 10 years later and that mark in the cement is still there. And no one will know it was me who left a temporary mark on that patch of grey all those years ago.

My footsteps are bigger now. I can run faster now.

Or maybe I can just walk.

I am older now. I don't take the bus much anymore. I drive my car to get where I'm going. I run everywhere, I don't take the time to walk through my life. I live too fast.

I've made mistakes.
I have regrets.

And even if I don't want to...

I have to walk with them.

I have to accept my actions and live with the consequences. I must walk slowly with my choices. My rights and wrongs... my own self inflicted pain.

I step in rhythm with the music playing through my headphones. I don't step on the lines that divide the building blocks of my pathway. I follow the grey brick road, not traveling with anyone this time.

So now I am leaving.
I will take everything.

My guilt.
My shame.
My regret.
My heart.
My mind.

I will go...

Song lyrics slung across my backbone...
Guitar in my right hand.
Ipod in my left hand.

I look ahead at the sidewalk before me.
I feel the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.
I breathe...

And I walk.

Fact:** My sister is a wonderful human being.


After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.

She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.

She gives one to me.

The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.

I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.

But it didn't last.

After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.

I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.

Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.

My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.

Walking away from everything.

But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.

A shining star.

I met you 3 years ago.

5' 2" and terrifying.

You never got any taller, but your rockstar personality shot right to the moon and back. And you never let anybody bring you down or tell you what to do. I admired that about you.

I remember the dumbest things about our friendship. I remember working with you on a group project we both didn't care about. I remember becoming friends with you like it was an easy thing, like we both knew we would be friends eventually.

I remember the first song I ever sent to you, and not expecting you to like it but you did anyway. You told me the song would even get stuck in your head. I promised to send you every song I would ever write.

We were close. I would always make time to talk to you. It didn't matter whether or not you were interrupting anything, I would set anything aside to talk to you.

We shared our jokes, and our pain. Our laughter and longing, we were good friends and we never let each other down.

Until now.

And I will admit that this is my fault.
Please don't place all of the blame on her.
She may be guilty, but so am I.
2 out of the 3 problems were caused by my impulses.
I can handle 66.7% of the blame and consequences.
I can do that.

You can hate me if you want.
You tell me you don't want to talk to her anymore.

I tell you I respect your decision and that I will be here if you need me.

I am sorry.

I know I ******* up our friendship, and I wish I could take it all back.
I wish you could remember me as the innocent songwriter who held out arms of comfort instead of words of contradiction.

I am terrible.

And you don't need me.

But if your heart finds enough forgiveness to see past this.
I will give you a way out.
And if you choose not to take it.
Then maybe you believe that I am worth taking back.

That our friendship is worth fixing.

So tell me:

If I am worth that much...

Are you okay with the idea of starting over?

Because I want to make this better.
You don't have to be around me if you don't want to.

But if I can start over.

I will live through my life thankful that I got a second chance at all.

To the girl I wrote the song for:

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have said what I did over the February break. Sometimes too much truth is just as deadly as one lie. And maybe that's what shot your silence across the ocean.

Even though you told me I shouldn't be sorry for the way I did things, I will continue to to apologize for everything I did. And if I have one request for your next decision, I can only hope that you don't hate me.

Because I can't forgive myself for what happened.

To the girl who watches TV with me:

I'm sorry.

My impulsive behaviour on that March night was my fault.
I knew what I was doing, I knew people would get hurt, and I did it anyway.

I will admit, the rush was not the worst thing in the world. But it came with too many consequences.

So please, with every episode of a TV show that we both enjoy, just remember that we will never be what we were.

...And I will never let you be sorry.

To my brother:

I'm sorry.

You were the first person to find out what happened and I asked you to keep me safe by keeping my secrets in your chest. I prayed you wouldn't let the words fall from your heart, I begged you not to tell our parents.
I shouldn't have put that kind of weight on your conscience.

To my parents:

I'm sorry.

Telling you what happened was the hardest thing for me to do. But I can only hope that I haven't lost all of your trust because of what happened.

To the bodyguard:

I'm sorry.

Actually.... you are the person I really don't want to apologize to. But I am still sorry.

Mostly for my actions and because what I did hurts the person you love most, and that I can accept that as my fault. I know somewhere in your soul, you hate me. And that's something you and I have in common.

But I can live with you never forgiving me. Because you are just here to protect the people you love. And I am sorry I threatened your comfortable life. I didn't plan on hurting anyone... but I did.

Just promise me this:

Be good to her.

Because if you don't do that...
Then what the hell are you doing?

To myself:

I cannot be sorry for you.

I can promise you that these next few days will be some of the most painful. And to a point, I am too much of a ******* to care. You will want to punch brick walls and bleed for your mistakes. You will want a perfect stranger to beat you close to death and walk away like it's no big deal.

You will want to apologize every single day until you blow out your vocal chords. *You will want to suffer.

But you will not cry.
You will believe that crying is not worth it.
You will choose to be silent, you will choose to become numb to all of your pain. And I will not be sorry for you.

I will never be sorry for you.

But I will tell you that you are not going to feel this forever.
So do me a favour and walk.
Walk with your regrets and live on.
Work for your trust back, and maybe then you'll have a chance to start over.

I hope you find what you're looking for.

There has always been my family...

And My Family.

Day 1

I was born.
This girl was born to her parents not knowing anything. Living her life through school and music with her sisters and little brother, this is her life.
This is her family.
This is my family.

9th Grade

I meet a girl, and she is the definition of deafening headphone music and larger than life punk rock music. These types of instantaneous connections are too strong to ignore.
I knew right away, we would be friends.
She introduces me to her friends and I find myself in a group hug of my new friends, people who decided to accept me.
This is her family.
This is my family.

10th Grade

The same girl is my closest friend. But I am not her closest friend. I feel her pull away to be somebody else, and that is okay. I will often run to her crying and sad and she will do her best to pick me up. And she does.
The friend group we have is more like home than the house I sleep in. I forget about my parents and find comfort in the arms of my friends.
I feel conflicted about which family means more to me.
I tell her, "I know blood is thicker than water."
She tells me, "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

...I have never heard that before.

Is this her way of saying that we are more family than anything?
Maybe we are.
Or maybe we were.

We walk together knowing that we are never giving up on each other.
This is her family.
This is my family.

11th Grade

I meet another girl. A friend of a friend. Jealousy builds. Attention is a fight nobody wants to lose, I have become the 3rd party nobody asked for.
Families are supposed to fight. But now my family is not one that will fight for our happiness back.

But I want to.

I always have.

But I cannot fix this because I am not the only person involved.
Why are we fighting?!

Day X

I wish I could take back my mistakes.
One friend describes her life connected to 4 people... one of which is no longer talking to her.

And that one friend is also part of my family. And if losing 1 of 4 people you love is a tragedy, than for me...

It is losing 1 out of the 2 people I have left.
The two people I care for most will not talk to each other. And I am the biggest mediator the world never needed. But I cannot let go of either of the two people I love and care about.

I initiated the disaster. I started the dominoes. And I will pay for it.

I have to.

Nobody expected this catastrophe to affect me, or her, or the boyfriend, or the girlfriend, or the best friend, or the lost friend...

The victim
The aggressor
The manipulator
The cryer
The coward

Me

I cannot fix this with my own two hands.

I look at the two people I care for most.
They will not talk to each other.
And to a point, it is my fault.

I look at them.
We all had to suffer and bleed for this covenant of friendship and family.

This is their family.
This is my family.

This was my family.

I'm Sorry...

*For everything

I see writing and suddenly my brothers’ poetry comes to mind, and I realize his writing is not poetry, it is tragedy. Something we both share but we will never talk about it, it is not something we want to talk about.

I see pictures I the polaroid I never took becomes to clear to me. This photo is the still shot I wish I could hold onto.

Every time I see my friends change their style, they become a new person while still retaining their old personality. I will take the time to remind them of how beautiful they are.

I wish there was more I could say...

When I see your face early Monday morning I can’t stop myself from smiling because you’re here. You’re here and I’m here with you.
And I could listen to you talk all day, about the things you like, the things you hate, about the things you just can’t get off your mind. And I listen, because that’s what good friends are supposed to do.

When you are my company I am on the edge of paradise. And you are just on edge. If I was having a bad day you were having a bad week and I didn’t want to have to trouble you with my problems, when you are already suffering. So I back off and I listen.

It’s not that I’m not strong enough to hold on.
It’s that I’m not strong enough to let go.
Because letting go of the greatest thing that ever happened to me will surely result in me losing everything I am.

But this isn’t about me…

I wake up the next Monday morning and I look to see if you’re still here. You look better than you did the week before and I am more than grateful. Because if I was able to help you in ANY way at all, then I am one step closer to getting better myself.

You ask me if I have anything on my mind… I pause for a minute and wonder at what I should say.

Because maybe today is the day I stop hiding that list of worries. And you’ll listen… Because that’s what good friends are supposed to do.

Right?

I have never felt stronger than when I allow myself to make choices that nobody else would dare make for me. Because I am the divide between the words “yes” and “no”, I am a choice.

This choice comes to us in many forms but for those of us who wonder about how many choices we have left, we ask ourselves, “Where can we go from here?”

I have never attempted suicide, but I have thought about it many times. I have seen death in many forms. Usually, they come in the most harmless appearances.
I too, have held pills in my hand and felt the weight of death. And it didn’t weigh anything.

Death is a lightweight… and a heavy subject.

I rely on my faith to pull me together but if you turn things the opposite way they can become something terrible. My faith’s cross turned upside down is a representation of the devil and a simple necktie turned upside down is just a fancy way of hanging yourself.

Simple things can become deadly if you let them. The window you used to gaze out of, marveling the world, is now a doorway spiraling downward and few people stand up when they get to the bottom, but everyone stood tall at the top.

A plastic bag can hold your food, a necessary thing for you to live, but plastic can take you oxygen away, another thing you need to live. You need water to live, but you also need water to drown, at least in most cases.

There is a red rope hanging on a hook on my bedroom ceiling, representing a story from the bible, a woman wanted to be saved because she knew that her city was going to crumble into pieces. So she hung a red rope from her window for God’s people to find her and take her away from death.

But the red rope seems to close to a noose now…

So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I even try to attempt a choice only I have the ability to make, why can’t I do this to myself?!

I know there are people who will actually consider a choice, and go through with it, or they will fail and suffer afterwards. But for me… I have wondered who will miss me when I go. Who will be the first to know, the first to cry, the first one to consider the same choice I made after I made that choice, this choice… Is mine to make…

But I decided to stop. This is not a choice I make for me, it is a reminder that I still have another day, that I have another chance. I am the divide between “yes” and “no”. So for the people who still care about me, I looked death in its eyes… and I said “no”.

Just between you and me, clowns…are extremely creepy. And whoever decided that clowns were funny and appropriate for children….. Just noooo.

But even though I hate clowns, I’ve seemed to become one. My red smile on a white coat of paint that is my face.

No…

I didn’t always look like this. I used to look like you. But now I have this, A red painted frown plastered on my face and guess what?!

It’s stuck there.

This is not the kind of make up you can just wash off, scrubbing the skin until it start to bleed and I can’t take the pain anymore.

And I don’t just mean the physical pain. I tried to paint another colour onto my skin, I tried to cover it up but I can’t. People still see it, they ask about it as if it bothers them more than it bothers me.

Yes! Of course! Eyes up here remember? Stop staring at it. Don’t ask me about it, it’s been there for too long…

My clown face can scare people. Do I look like a scary person to you? Is there a reason why children are afraid of me? There is still a person underneath this face paint, underneath this skin.

And people say clowns are supposed to be funny, no wonder people find my face so easy to laugh at.

Come on! Tell me it’s funny, TO MY FACE. I dare you, tell me exactly what it is, and why it’s so funny. I can laugh at it too you know, because I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to just laugh it off.

At the end of the day, I decided to visit the house of mirrors. I walk down the hallway mirrors on both sides and I stop in front of each one and stare at myself in the mirror.

I’m not happy with what I see in it. I’m not content with it, I am not okay with this image being forever, I don’t want this to be me forever.

So, one day, I will find a mirror that doesn’t show me like this, and it exist in people’s eyes, these mirrors exist in the people who see me the way I should see myself. So when I look into the eyes of my friends and family, I can see myself, and I don’t look like this.

One day, I’ll find a way to get this red frown off of my face one day I tell myself.

One day, I’ll stop being a clown…. And I’ll start being me again.

It’s 11:30 at night, and I’m staring at a screen that no longer notifies me that anyone I know is awake. For I am once again avoiding sleep, but I am waiting for a reason to stay awake. I do not want to sleep for fear of never waking up, but if you send me a message, I will have a reason to get up in the morning.

Fact: Our communication is more body language than it is words but not that this applies to the text message you will send from your phone. For the only thing that doesn’t involve words in a texting conversation is silence.

You’d be surprised at how often I’ve had to be silent for the sake of others. You see, I have been told by many that I am too selfless, and that I need to look out for myself a little more. But I can’t. I do not have the ability to stop caring about people who need me, even if I am suffering more than they are. It hurts…to know that people I care about are in pain, so I pretend my pain isn’t there.

But slowly, I begin to realize that listening to others and caring for them is not a bad thing, but it does give me a reason to ignore my own problems. I don’t want to ignore my own issues, but I don’t have the courage to tell them to my own friends, why is that?

One time, my brother was so sick he could barely swallow without feeling pain, so I only asked him yes or no questions so he could nod or shake his head to answer. His pain, kept him silent, and my pain keeps me silent. The only difference between his situation and mine is that my communication with him was working and this silence within me prevents me from even saying hi to people.

I want to tell people everything, I want to have 5-hour conversations about everything that makes me silent and I want to be able to send you a text message without worrying about whether or not I just interrupted your life for 2 seconds. I want to tell you that I’m having a bad day, but I can’t because seeing you makes my day so much better that I have to smile. I want to tell you why I hate the weekends because I love school because my friends are at school, and that I had a fight with my parents, and that I hate looking at my own reflection, and that every time I say to someone that I’m sorry, I’m also trying to say that I love them. I am sorry…sorry… I want to tell you that I sometimes feel so much pain that when you say hello or goodbye, I will only have enough energy to give you a small smile and a wave, I am lonely…


I want to get better, I want to say everything and be honest and just WHY GOD WON’T YOU HELP ME?!? I want to play music, and have fun, and live my life, please somebody hear me…

Ding

1 New notification:

“Hey, are you still awake? You seemed a little out of it today. I’m always here for you if you need me.”

It’s 12:00am and I’ve missed the moment where today became tomorrow. So maybe today is the day I tell you everything. Maybe our communication isn’t broken. I write back saying: “Thanks for checking in on me, it means a lot. Now that you mention it, there is something that’s been bothering me, I have something I need to tell you…”

You said if I ever write a poem about you, that I should read it to you. Well here you go:

You should know I’m never the best at making first impressions. And although this isn’t the first time we’ve met, I still think I have something to prove. We never have as much time as we thought we did, and maybe that’s because we only have so much time to begin with.

Because you’re a story of sorts. And I’m not much of a reader anymore, but I can’t seem to get enough of how you view the world. Let me assure you, I’m listening.

I don’t really know how to say that I sometimes seem to want to know somebody even though we’ve never met. I remember handing you math notes, only to find that you’d disappear from math class like math notes disappear in school binders. How strange is it that you’d reappear from math notes to music notes?

A scripture of musical notation written on your skin and suddenly I needed to know who you were. But here I am asking about your tattoos thinking, “We’ve never met”. Only to be reminded of math notes I didn’t remember for tests I didn’t study for. So my first impression happened twice it seems.

And you seem so nice, offering your writing for mine. Offering up stories like it was over a nice dinner… or some type of wine was it? Offering up my listening ears only to find out how different we truly are. And how odd is it that we’ve met before?

Now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine chalkboard hearts without wondering for whom the heart beats. Scrawling signatures like the chalk was meant to be permanent. I’m not much of a cursive writer, just a songwriter of sorts.

Like I said, we don’t have much time. You’ll leave soon, and I’ll wait another year to wonder if somebody else will offer up their hands as a gesture of kindness. And they will, but they won’t be your hands.

Forgive me if I ever forget your name, or the reason why I wrote this. But if we meet again and I ask about your tattoos, you can tell me all about them all over again. And between music notes and math notes, I’ll look at you and ask with the smallest bit of doubt, “Have we met?”.

And this time, I’ll let you make the first impression.

I decided recently to try to put my mind back together and isn't working the pieces of my mind are a maze that I don't know the answer to so keep on turning left turning left and turning left hoping that I don't end up in the same spot that I did when I started.

We all have things we don’t talk about anymore things that we left in the past far behind us things that we don’t like to think about.

I’ve forgotten all my memories not exactly where they used to be and I just don’t want to talk about them anymore we all have things we don’t talk about anymore.

You want to ask me if I’m lost well of course and lost… everybody’s lost sometimes. It’s never our fault but we choose to see it that way and so I’ve been looking through other people’s eyes to see if they can see what I’m supposed to be. If they know who I used to be.

Not the kind of identity crisis that you like to have that is the kind you keep around because it’s the only thing you can call home. I’ve been searching for pieces of my life through other people because maybe they remember something about me that I don’t I am lost… of course and lost. Repeating words, and phrase so I don’t forget them like the rest of my memory.

I’m not trying to steal anything that belongs to you I’m just trying to look for myself and if you have the key to that then I might as well chase you down as long as I can live.

Or maybe I just want your life because I can’t find mine because I’ve been looking through different people and not finding the me I used to want to be I am lost. So please don’t make me out to be the bad guy I am not trying to steal what used to be yours, I’m only trying to take back what’s mine.

I’ve stayed up countless nights and I still can’t find myself and maybe music is the only key out of that but I haven’t heard much lately. I haven’t slept in a few days and nobody’s been able to stop me there are things we do not talk about anymore. There are people that we do not talk to anymore. Our songs we don’t sing anymore because we don’t remember what they used to mean to us there are songs I have left so many years ago.

I don’t recognize myself in the mirror so maybe I can recognize myself in the reflection of a window of somebody else. I’ve heard a voice singing in my own ears and I wonder if it’s my own voice telling me to wake up. Staying up late at night thinking about all this is a habit that I thought I forgot years ago and yet it still comes back and I’m lost again in this maze of my own memory turning left turning left open to get to the end.
So yes I am lost but if you’re willing to catch me maybe this maze isn’t as dangerous as it used to be.

I haven’t slept in 2 years. I haven’t eaten in 5, I’m not lying.

People lie everyday. “Little white lies” we call them. They mean nothing at all. It won’t hurt anybody. What could possibly happen if I told a lie?

Some people are bad liars, and some lies are just bad.

I’m not a bad liar. But people just don’t believe me when I say anything. Everything I say becomes a lie in another person’s ears, they won’t listen.

So if I tell bad lies on purpose will anybody notice? I’ll mix up the truth with bad lies and see if people can tell the difference.

I’ve never broken a bone, I’ve never been drunk, I’ve never forgotten a birthday. Do you know which statement is true? And which one was the lie?

I’ve been sick for 10 years, my IV is made of tears, my cereal tastes like regret, I’m not lying.

I’ve forgotten my own name, I forgot where I came from, I left my consciousness on the bus. I’m not lying.

It’s very easy to ignore an obvious lie, when you know the truth. But I’m not lying…

My heart is broken, my dignity stolen, and my future is no more. I’m not lying.

My friends are gone, along with my dad and mom, my sibling disappeared. I’m not lying.

My chest hurts, my ribs are shattered, and as for me. Well, there’s not a lot of me left. I’m not lying.

I can’t stop myself from constantly running away from the truth, lies are just so much easier to tell.

They say the truth sets you free…
Ok… Let’s try again.

The poem is filled with lies, some of them easier to say than others. But I want to start telling the truth now.

I want to start this poem over. I want to be better than this. I know I’m better than this… And maybe you can hear it in my voice. But I promise. I’m not lying…

1.    The condition I have scrawled across my face looks like a frown, it’s so red that I might as well be bleeding anyway.

2. School is where most of my family is.

3. My teachers are NOT like my parents.

4. When I say yes, I actually mean no.

5. When I say no, I actually mean yes.

6. When I say “I don’t know”, it actually does mean “I don’t know”

7. You can tell that I like confusing people.

8. A turtle’s spine and ribs are fused together with its shell so they are stuck together. I believe this is an accurate representation of the relationship I have with my bed.

9. Remind me to thank my English B class for introducing me to slam poetry

10. Remind me to thank the Button Poetry YouTube channel for countless hours of awesomeness

11. Ever since I got into slam poetry, I seem to really like the sound of snapping.

12. We interrupt this program to bring you an awkward silence…

13. That awkward silence was where you were supposed to snap.

14. The people who need to hear this poem will never hear this poem

15. I wrote more than 10 poems finished an unfinished. And yet I choose to tell this story.

16. I try to convince myself that I’m not a poet, only a musician. But us musicians just take poetry and add whatever music we have lying around our messy rooms.

17. Random acts of kindness don’t seem to be looking for me, and yet I still have hope for the future.

18. I put capitals in words that shouldn’t be capitalized, but this mostly happens when I type my lab reports for my science classes.

19. If my assignment is due on Monday morning, I will purposely wait until Sunday night just to see if I really can beat the clock.

20. When I don’t finish the assignment I purposefully procrastinated on, yes, I feel bad about it. Yes, I know I could’ve done better.

21. I shake in my sleep for no reason, is it really this hard to stay still?

22. I am the most impatient person I know. So after learning that true love doesn’t happen like it does in the movies, I decided to give up waiting and I just moved on.

23. I’d like to believe that time travel would benefit people, but for people like me, we realized that fixing the past doesn’t make up for the problems of the future.

24. My friends at school are the coolest people I know!

25. I’m trying to figure out the meaning of life as if it were a math problem.

26. The words “Thank you” Don’t seem like a long enough phrase to mean something, when you really want it to mean something.

27. My window is shining with the glow of the amber streetlight on this street corner, and I wonder if anyone will walk by my house.

28. The first time I read this poem, I will wonder why I wrote it.

29. The last time I read this poem, I won’t know it will be the last time

30. It’s not what I said, it’s how I said it. And if you applaud at the end, I’ll know I did something right.

I stand in front of thousands of people, and I don’t know them, but I do know you...

When I was ten years old I wanted to be in the Olympics, an athletes dream in front of millions of people I don’t know. But I know you.

I stood on the podium, a stage of glory and pride for my country, medal around my neck, as the national anthem plays through my ears I begin to remember that I was gonna be a soldier.

At 14 years old I told you I wanted a badge or a medal, a uniform to wear, and something to fight for. And here I am standing on this stage about to receive recognition for my job.

And 15 year old me standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, with a guitar strapped around my body. And I’m singing a song I wrote, and only you know why I wrote it. The secrets I don’t tell the public are told to the people I really do trust in this world.

And yet here I am on a stage in front of people I don’t know.

Do you remember? I told you that you didn’t need to be remembered by the whole world by putting your name on a star in the sky. The sky doesn’t need another star, but Earth has it’s own star with your name on it, and it’s you.

And you don’t need to be remembered by thousands of people to be happy, you just needed me to remember you when I stand here.

You asked me to never forget you if I ever became famous. And I’m not famous. But you should be, you’re the star remember. You believed in me, told me I was worth something, enough to be here on this stage. So why aren’t you here? You are worth remembering, so why don’t you want to be famous? Why don’t you want to be on stage? I have a constant fear of never being remembered and you don’t want to be that person. Why do you not want to be on this stage? I want you here. I need you here.

I stand on a stage in front of people. Most of them, I do not know. I don’t remember why I’m on the stage anymore… But I know that you’re proud of me for whatever reason that might be.

I remember saying some sort of speech to these people, and suddenly you’re here. I can see you in the crowd, and you’re smiling. You seem so happy to see me here, almost as if you were on the stage beside me. And I wish you were. But I know you don’t need to be remembered by these people, but I remember you.

And when my speech comes to a close I say this: “Thank you, to the star in life who never made it to the sky, I just want you to know in this moment. That we made it!

My Dear Friend,

It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve tried writing this letter at least 10 times because I can’t decide how to write it. Friend, life has not been treating me well.

You see life is like a video game. You can make choices, say certain things do certain things, you can choose to progress, or hit pause for a while. But I’ve never saved my game. I always try to restart and redo choices to stop making mistakes, I try.

But in the end we never do win a game that we were never taught how to play. We were not given a manual to tell us what to do.
Ages and birthdays are like levels friend. A checkpoint to come back to but sometimes… I find it difficult to try playing this game again, maybe I just got bored again.

I choose to write you a letter because talking to you in person is sometimes a challenge I don’t have the strength to face. And I’m not afraid to talk to you. I’m just afraid of talking.

If I say your name too many times it might lose its meaning, repeating words over and over again until they don’t mean anything anymore. So I will say your name only when I absolutely have to. Your name means too much to me, I will not let it lose meaning.

Listen, I’ve been praying for you every night that you’re still alive. That I’ll see you soon. I haven’t slept in what seems like forever, but I don’t really see why sleeping is something I still have to do.

I’m losing consciousness and I can’t speak in full sentences as well as I used to. But this is the price you pay for playing a risky game.

I should probably send this letter tomorrow, but I’m tired. And if I don’t keep myself awake I’ll never get up in the morning. But, I haven’t said anything in this letter that makes any sense. I’m trying to figure this out on my own. But you’re not exactly close by.

When you get this letter friend, please... Come home.

I’ll be waiting by the street corner, and we’ll watch the stars like we used to.

Be safe, be kind, and be brave. I’ll see you soon ok?

Hello, my name is selfless, I only care about other people so don’t ask me how I’m doing I am only concerned with your well being.

Hello, my name is forgetful and I keep forgetting you name and pretty much everything else about you.

Hello, my name is confusion, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Can you help me out??

Hello, I’m apologetic and I’m sorry for everything thing I’ve done, or have done, or things I never did I’m sorry.

Hello, most people call me silence, you can find me in many places but I find the most comfort in peoples discomfort of awkwardness.

Hi, I’m solitude, and I don’t want anything to do with you STAY AWAY FROM ME.

My name is anger and I hate everything and everyone for absolutely no reason, but if you want I can give you a million reasons to justify my actions.

My name is lonely, and I just want you to hold my hand so that maybe it can stop shaking so much.

People sometimes call me disappointing and I hold onto that like it’s the only part of this cliff I can hold onto to keep myself from falling.

Hello, I’m transparent and I’m thinner than the page of the book you used to read, so thin that you can see right through me, or maybe not even see me at all.

Hi, my name is dictionary, and I know how to describe your whole life in many words you may never understand.

Hello

My name is Swingline.

And I would make a name for myself to describe what I think I am or what I’m supposed to be. But the name I seek…

Isn’t in the dictionary yet.

The truth about being a superhero, is that only certain people know when to call us at exactly the right time. When the world is about to break into chaos and when the cities need us to be there.

But this isn’t exactly the job I thought it was going to be. I have devoted myself to being the best I can be for the people of my city, for freedom and justice, and for you. And for the first few months of my job, I was everywhere.

People knew my name, I was in every newspaper, children looked up to me, put me on their lunchboxes, they wanted to be me…

They say heroes aren’t born, they’re made. But I was born! Of  the kindness of my mother, and the bravery of my father to create this image of strength. I am a superhero! I can fly, can you fly? Can you wear this suit? Can you handle the responsibility?

Not all of my city wanted a superhero. Some of them became the villains. And it’s not like I can’t handle a few bad guys, but sometimes, the citizens are my kryptonite.

Sometimes they don’t want me, one day they praise me and the work that I’ve done, the next day, they say they don’t need another hero, I’m just another problem, they say “Leave us the way that you found us: broken. And not needing anybody around to fix it.”

But I’m not perfect either. I can fly, but gravity still brings me back to earth, I can run, but not from my problems, I can carry cars with my two hands. But the weight of the world still sits on my shoulders.

The day they told me to leave the city, I reminded myself that if I harmed any one person, broke my promise to be the sole keeper of freedom and justice for all. That I would hang up my cape and quit.

And I did. I became human again, I am not as strong as you made me out to be. You told me I wasn’t needed. And soon after the villains had returned and they were shouting for me to save them again.

I thought you didn’t want me, stop it, I’m no hero, I’m just a person. Please, my powers only do so much. Do you still need me to save you? I’m just an alien, a science experiment, a mutant, a drawing in a comic book.

I am not your superhero! I can’t do this anymore! It was you who pushed me away, you fear my powers, you fear me. But I didn’t do anything wrong.

Please… Just let me go.  You are the heroes now. Just let me go.

In John Green’s book “Paper Towns”, the main character believes that every person gets a miracle. A single miracle, a gift to you, possibly from God, that allows you to feel like you might actually be a lucky human being for once.

But this statement is not true. Because everybody in this world doesn’t get “one miracle”. I mean sure, you can get one miracle, but that doesn’t have to be it. You could get millions of miracles if you were just a little more patient. If you waited just a little longer.

Miracles can come in different shapes and sizes, different people, different amounts of money, different words, or sights, or stars. You, yourself can be your own miracle.

I believe that every friend I’ve ever had is a miracle to me, every song I write, every word I speak, I am shouting miracles at you, even if you’re at the back of the room my voice will make it to you if you just wait a little longer to hear it.

Some miracles happen more than once, like a boomerang coming back to you, you keep getting something and you pray as hard as you can that every miracle you ever got comes back to you.

And every boomerang will come back to its thrower if you just wait a while.

Now if your miracle is a person, you must be willing to be the most patient you’ve ever been in your life. Because people will change direction, this boomerang sometimes decides it wants to take control of its path before it comes back, and it will come back. Just wait a little longer – Just wait – because if you leave you won’t be there to catch a miracle you knew the joy of having.

God has sent me so many people. So many boomerang miracles, and I’ve been waiting for too long. But nothing can move me, I am rooted to where I stand, I will wait for as long as it takes for my person, for my miracle to make it back to me.

Sometimes I doubt. I consider walking away, and maybe somebody else can catch my miracle, and call it their own. But if I believe that God sent you to me. And I’m the one walking away, then maybe I’m the next boomerang, but I promise I’ll make it back to you – this is all I know how to do. I have been waiting, for so long...

Please God, I need these people to come back to me. They mean so much to me, more than they will ever know.

So I wait, and I will keep waiting, until God sends you, one of my many miracles, back to me.

Kind of a loaded question isn’t it?
Is there something you’ve lost?
Something you’ve spent?

Put yourself behind and look ahead
Don’t you gain something if you give something instead?
Do you have a family? Or friends? Who you’d do anything for?
Do you value yourself but see that they’re worth more?

I’m not a perfect person, that I can say
I’m only human but is selfish really the way?

Maybe you’d give up time for pain or for strife
But when it matters the most, do you give up your own life?

Maybe you’ve got it all, and you’ve got a life to live
But those who lose everything for others always have more to give

Maybe you don’t care, you’d give up nothing at all
You put yourself high up on that shelf, I hope you enjoy the fall

After reading some words that needlessly rhyme
I’ll ask the same question, but you answer this time

If everything matters, fate, destiny, and luck,
This question falls to you:

So what do you give up?

I can’t sleep because I’m too tired. I’m so tired that what I just said makes complete sense...

I can’t sleep because I’m not tired at all, I would run around the world and come back home and still be awake. If I could... If I wanted to.

I can’t sleep because counting sheep is stupid.

I can’t sleep because I want to pull an all-nighter. I can’t sleep because I don’t want to pull an all-nighter.

I can’t sleep because I plan to wake up at 6 am tomorrow morning. Or 8, or 12, or 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

I can’t sleep because YouTube.

I can’t sleep because I can’t wait for tomorrow, and I can’t sleep because I don’t want tomorrow to catch up with me.

I can’t sleep because I have a scheduled 3-hour long conversation with God and something tells me we are definitely going overtime. We just have so much to talk about.

I can’t sleep because I’m hungry, but let’s not risk waking my family of the sleep I don’t get to have.

I can’t sleep because I’m afraid of dying in my sleep. You can’t tell me it would be peaceful, or comfortable, when I’m subconsciously fighting for my life, and a rest I will forever never get to have.

Rest in peace right? More like rest in pieces, I am a broken body sprawled out across a bed that is too small for me because I hate sleeping on a diagonal, I keep tossing and turning, so no, I am not resting in peace.

I can’t sleep because I will never be comfortable, I will never be able to sleep in a straight line, or on my left or right side, so lets just stare at my ceiling and wonder why I even bother trying.

I can’t sleep because my dreams will always become nightmares in which I wake up the next morning to forget my dreams of yesterday, I did not ask for a tomorrow, I did not ask for my alarm clock, I did not ask to wake up. Tell the sun to go back down for five minutes.

I can’t sleep because I will wake up to find that my arms are wrapped around my pillow, where I thought your body was. I am not hugging you anymore, because I have woken up. I don’t care it it’s not real, let me dream for just a little longer because I just wish you were here. I cannot forget how lonely I have become.

I can’t sleep because I’m waiting for the phone to ring, for a message to be sent, for burglar to sneak into my house, because I am awake and ready to fight. I will defend what I can see. But I can’t see in the dark.

I lay awake, wishing that you were here to tell me it’s safe to sleep, but we both know monsters exist in the dark.

I can’t stop wishing that you were here, I’m sorry that I can’t stop thinking about you. I just can’t explain myself, and I will stay up all night thinking of something to say to you. But I can’t…

I can’t sleep, I can’t let myself fall asleep I might never be as alive as I am right now

STAY AWAKE!!

I have so much I need to do, so please don’t let me fall asleep again. Because being here alive and awake with you is already a dream come true.

Welcome everybody to the most exciting event of your lives.
Welcome one and all, and thank you so much for attending my funeral!

And I know you’re probably confused as to why this is an exciting event, but believe me, this is an event you do not want to miss!!

Make sure that when attending my funeral, that you do not wear formal clothing, and do not wear black.

I want you, to wear the most colorful thing you can find in your closets. I want my funeral to have so much colour!

There will be so much rainbow, that my funeral could be the set for a Skittles commercial!

Die with the rainbow, Taste the rainbow!

I, of course will not be dressed formal.

I’ll be working a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, an open jacket and a snapback turned at 180 degrees, because IT LOOKS AWESOME!

You all should also look as amazing as I do. But do not, under any circumstances look better than I do.

Remember, this is still MY day, I am the most important thing in this room, Why?!!??

Because I’m super dead!

Side note: I’m afraid of dying…

But it’s not like that matters anymore, because I’M DEAD. Literally living my eternal fear. (Or dying in my eternal fear.)

Anyway!! Another rule! Do not… get drunk on my funeral day. You MUST be sober, in order to fully experience this event for what it is. And what is it?? A celebration!!!

Why would anybody celebrate MY death, you ask?

This question has a simple answer: I don’t want you to cry at my funeral…

I want you to laugh, I want you to laugh so much, that you end up crying anyway. Laugh because even though a journey has ended, it ended on a good note.

I want you to party! Dance until your tire of moving! And when you dance.

Tell yourself that you feel good.

Because even though I’m dead, I’m thankful that you came to my funeral.

Enjoy the celebration.

And if, you write my eulogy, write about the times I made you laugh, or the times I won medals, or hugged you so tight because I really didn’t want to let go until I had to.

Don’t write that you’re sorry, or that I deserved more time, or that I’m in a better place now.

Thank you, for everything. And my last gift to you is giving you a reason to be happy in a time of sorrow.

Be happy knowing that you got to be a part of my life. Because I’m happy knowing that I was part of yours.