I’ve become so good at
Pretending to be okay,
I don’t even remember what
It feels like to let it all go.  
I don’t remember letting my friends see my anxiety,
Breaking down in front of somebody,
Smiling a genuine smile.  
I don’t remember showing any emotion besides okay,
Fine, normal.  
I remain the definition of average,
Blending in so well I don’t even think about it.  
Sometimes I want to just stop.  
Just stop all of the pretending and let myself feel.  
But I can do it.  
I can do whatever I need to do
In order to keep things normal.  
And that’s the scariest thing of all.

Everyone has a story, a reasoning behind
Their actions, their words, their thoughts.  
They have a prologue, which sets the scene,
That reveals important things if you bother to read it.  
Their first chapters are important,
Telling you the basic things about
Their personality and sense of self.  
Most people read these chapters,
But the further you get in someone else’s story,
More people lose interest, willing to keep the story,
To put the book on the shelf, but then
They forget about it. Or they just don’t care.  
The last chapters, which bring us to
The point that the person is in their life right now,
Are the ones that are the least read,
Except by those who are closest to them.  
If you truly care about someone, you will
Read their story from beginning to end,
Word for word, line for line.  
Yet there is danger in knowing a person’s story.  
Whilst reading someone’s story, you could
Fall in love, like a soft breeze on a warm day that
You hardly notice, but when you stop and
Think about it, was there all along,
And you should never have taken it for granted.  
When that happens, embark on a new adventure,
Creating a new story with them,
Starting with the prologue and not ending until you
Type the final letter.  
Because no one likes an unfinished story.

I change so often,
I hardly know what I truly am.  
One minute I’m a grand mansion on a hill,
Overlooking everyone and everything with
An air of pompous superiority, taking
Everything for granted and appreciating nothing.
The next minute I’m a humble cottage in the woods,
Allowing animals and wanderers to frolic in my midst,
Even welcoming them into my home.
I can also take a form of a modern lakehouse,
Feeling rushed and unused and fake,
Trying to stay with the times,
But never being fully enjoyed.  
From time to time, I’m a
Makeshift shelter that the homeless traveler
Builds in a hurry, that feels unwanted,
Unloved, and temporary, liable to fall at any second.  
Even though I change forms frequently,
No one questions it.  
No one bothers to try and get to know
The true me.  Maybe the real me is a
Cozy family home, comforting and familiar,
Or maybe it’s the slightly cramped apartment space,
Frantically trying to piece itself together.  
No one will ever know.  
Yet all they would have to do is
Just knock.

Do I love you too much?
Am I supposed to feel this much?
Because every time I think your happiness might be
In the slightest way impeded or stopped,
My heart lies smitten, its beats off and tormented,
The muscle itself not knowing whether
It has enough strength to continue with
The next beat.  What is there to live for
If you are not happy?  
If tears fall down your face, who am I to smile?
If your mind is tormented by nightmares,
Who am I to lose myself in daydreams?
If you’re anxious about the world,
Who am I to enter it with confidence?
Because I truly love you, I have no choice
But to put your happiness over my own.
It feels as natural as that favorite shirt,
The perfect opening to a novel,
Sunlight streaming through the window on an unmade bed.  It feels so perfect, so right, that I can’t help
But shed tears when you do,
Experience terror during your nightmares,
To wallow in your uncertainty.  
Do I love you too much?  
Am I supposed to feel this much?  
Because I do.

In the light, I see the faces of people,
And most are happy.
The smiling mouths, the twinkling eyes,
The joyful expressions.
People in the light can breathe freely,
Carelessly, and easily say that
Everything’s fine.
In the light, I see the normal, everyday
Procedures that comprise the world around us,
The world that we always see in the light.
I see the 9-5 workdays, smell the coffee brewing,
Hear the sweet goodnights and feel the fulfilling sleep.
In the light, no one thinks.  
No one is concerned in the light,
Everything is expected, natural, normal, the usual.
Everything’s fine.
But in the dark, I see the faces of people,
And they are tragically beautiful in their chaos,
Because in the dark they can let it go.
In the dark, no one is watching, and no one is pretending.
People in the dark think, people in the dark
Can easily say that everything is tainted,
Stained by human corruption.
In the dark, breathing is difficult,
And trying to calm your trembling takes
Superhuman strength.
The ache seeps through your bones, muscles, and nerves,
But you know the light is coming, where you
Don’t have to think and you can breathe.
But are you real in the light?

The darkness around me is impermeable,
Gloomy, funereal.
It weighs down on me, and I imagine
Atlas holding up the sky,
The unbearable burden on his shoulders,
And I feel the same pain.
I struggle to breathe,
Each breath tears at my throat,
Rips its seams and sinews
Until I can barely speak.
My tattered wings flutter uselessly,
My muscles losing strength every moment,
My vigor being drained by the darkness surrounding me,
Until I can hardly stand.
Suddenly, a brilliant ray of light shines from
Somewhere in the darkness,
A beacon, directing me somewhere.
Warmth, hope, joy, peace, and relief flow out from
The light source in a everlasting stream.
A river of light, a torrent of happiness, that
Drags me out of my stupor, injecting new
Life into my veins, causing my wings to flitter with
Renewed aspirations.
I fly haltingly towards the light, drawn to it by
An almost supernatural force.
However, the closer I get, the harder it is to see myself;
My wings fade, becoming almost transparent, and
A piece of the dull ache returns, a remnant of the darkness.
The pain gets closer as I get closer to the light,
Closer to you.
You are my light, and I am your moth.
Everything good, everything true, you represent,
But I can’t touch you, can’t truly know you.
I can’t lose myself.
I can’t be your moth anymore.
Find yourself a butterfly.

“But what about all the things you told me?”
He asked her, quietly, his voice a faint, timid whisper,
More afraid of the answer than the question.
She stares motionless, not trusting her voice,
Knowing it will betray her... like before.
“You said you’d stay with me forever.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek,
As silent as the stars above, yet as loud as a rushing waterfall.
“You said we’d have a family together, a home.”
She was forced to sit down on the plush loveseat,
An ironic backdrop to the turmoil that was slowly unfolding.
“You said I was your one and only.”
She notices the trembling in his voice,
The soft, quivering whimper, much like a puppy,
That betrays he is close to tears.
“Your forever and always.”
She can hardly hear him, so she leans in closer,
Gazing into his watery eyes, swimming with honest tears.
“You said you had written my name on your heart.”
Mustering her strength, courage, and will, she responds:
“Only in pencil.”

Always there, never wavering,
Always there, always stabling,
Always through tears,
Always through fears,
Always as the end draws near;
Always e'en though there's nothing to fear,
When he's right by my side, being my
Always.

Five years old we were,
When we promised that we would never
Leave each other,
That we'd be best friends forever.
Seven years old we were,
When you broke your leg at gymnastics, and I
Lay by your bed for hours, reading you
Every Golden Book ever printed.
Nine years old we were,
When I developed my first crush,
And together we giggled for hours, and I thought
My cheeks would be permanently blushing.
Eleven years old we were,
When you transferred to a different
School district and although it wasn't far,
Our farewell was plagued by sobbing.
Thirteen years old we were,
When we fought for the first time,
Something stupid about a guy, and I
Don't think you ever fully forgave me.
Fifteen years old we were,
When I went to your house, and your
Mom told me you were out at a party.
You hated parties.
Seventeen years old we were,
When I went to your national gymnastics meet,
Uninvited, of course, and afterwards you
Yelled at me in front of the cameras.
Nineteen years old we are,
I am off at college, and I haven't heard from you
In two years, and all I can think is
Where are you?
Twenty-one years old I am,
And I realize there is no "we" or "us'
Anymore, and I no longer care
Where you are.

What if I was immune to all negative emotion?
What if I couldn't feel pain,
Sorrow,
Fear,
Anger,
Jealousy,
Anxiety?
At first thought, this would be a good thing,
Something to celebrate, to revel in.
I couldn't be hurt,
Sad,
Scared,
Angry,
Envious,
Anxious.
But what about my positive experiences?
Would they mean nothing?
Without my bad experiences, would my
Good ones be forgotten, lost in the void?
How can I feel relief when I've never known pain?
How can I appreciate happiness when I've never known sorrow?
Without fear and anger, how can contentment and pleasure
Be measured?
How can jealousy and anxiety stack up when we have
Everything we need and have no cause for worry?
How can life be lived?
What new ideas, experiences can be gained without negativity?
How does the world thrive without a contrast of emotions?
Would feeling nothing or feeling everything be better,
Better for your mind, your body, your world?
Your soul?

Slithering through the darkness,
Always there,
Always waiting,
Never leaving.
I feel it like an ever-present headache,
A sensation that won't go away
No matter how hard I try.
The uncomfortable sensation follows me
Everywhere.
Hanging out with friends, working by myself,
Eating, reading, even sleeping it is there.
My dreams are troubled, my imaginations
Disturbing and unsettling.
I can't control the constant gnawing,
Clawing, grasping at my flesh,
Trying to find a purchase,
Trying to become a permanent part of me.
What it doesn't know is that it already
Possesses me, completely dominating
My soul, my mind, and my heart.
Everyone has a demon.
What is yours?

I am Rapunzel,
Up in her tower,
Alienated from the rest
Of the world,
Separated by an invisible line
That I can't cross.
Between the window and the ground,
There lies a barrier,
That even the most charming
Prince can't bridge.
The effort to join the rest
Of the world is too much,
My hair is too short to
Reach the ground, to reach reality.
But aren't I in a
Fantasy world to
Begin with?

It's all cliche,
I know it is.
The cloudy sky,
The cool breeze,
The slow drizzle
As the water falls from the gray clouds,
Like my hope from my soul.
I slowly meander down the bridge,
The road empty of any life.
No cars, no people,
No dogs barking.
Just silence.
I splash through puddles
Without regret,
Barely acknowledging their existence.
Like no one acknowledges mine.
My hand finds the wet railing,
Slippery and damp,
And immediately the cold
Seeps through my skin,
Taking over my body,
Filling every part with darkness
And gloominess and hopelessness and death.
Except for a corner of my heart.
The smallest fiber of my being is
Awakened, a spot of warmth within
A dark cave.
A minuscule fire in an ice cavern.
And I turn away from the railing,
Leaving the cold, leaving the wet.
I refuse to be a cliche.
I walk down the road,
And this time, I hear a car approaching,
A bird calling, a dog barking, people talking.
The sun pokes through the clouds,
Timidly, wondering if anyone noticed
It was gone, if anyone is happy it has returned.
I am.  I'm glad it's back.
I'm glad I'm back.
And I'm not leaving.

When you eyes are open,
And your heart is broken,
Think of me.
Think of my devotion, my affections,
How I live my days
completely smitten by you.
Imagine my body curled up
Next to yours, my strong arms
Around your waist, pulling you
Closer to me, whispering in
Your ear that everything will be
Alright, okay, fine.
No, it won't be easy,
It won't be fun,
Enjoyable, or pleasant.
but you will make it through
This night, and the next night,
And the night after that,
And all the nights after that.
Take it one night at a time;
Don't stress about future nights.
When your eyes are open
And your heart is broken,
Think of me.
And hopefully, the thought of me
Will calm you, soothe you,
Help you to sleep better.
Because I want that for you,
More that I want it for myself.
Please sleep well.

Conversations overlapping.
Suitcase wheels rolling.
Babies sobbing.
Mothers calling.
Headphones blaring.
People scurrying.
PA system whispering.
Starbucks bustling.
Airplanes taking off and landing.
And in the middle of everything,
The lady in black.
Sitting motionless, hands grasping her
Black umbrella, her sleek black dress
Accentuating her young body,
And whilst a black veil covers her face,
Her tears shine through, reflecting
From the bright lights of the airport.
When you look closer,
Her slim body trembles with concealed sobs,
And her calm facade is broken
With closer inspection,
Broken inside from something undetectable from the outside.
The lady in black.
We have all been her.

The harsh light of my phone blinds me,
Yet I need to do something.
The darkness of my bedroom surrounds me,
And the light is my only connection to the world.
I hesitantly open my messages,
And I feel my heart wrenching wide open.
A chasm forms, a deep ravine, a wild earthquake
That irreparably defaces the land.
Tapping your name releases aftershocks,
And I steel my heart for the worst as I
Scroll to the very top and read
Every single message.
All I want to know is, when?
When did I suddenly mean nothing to you?
When is the moment you threw me out of your life?
And why didn’t you tell me?
I keep scrolling, trying to assuage my pain,
Yet each word, each letter you typed, holds so much,
I’m overwhelmed, and my canyon widens.
My breathing is labored, I can feel myself trembling,
And the tears have only just begun.
I turn off my phone.
Darkness.

Why do I feel so alone?
Why do I feel like no one understands me?
Why do I feel like no one knows I’m here?
Like I could just disappear and no one would know?
I feel changed, yet
No one notices.
I feel different, yet
No one cares.
I feel numb, yet
No one perceives it.
I open up, but you don’t hear.
I show you my feelings, but you don’t see.
Why do I feel so alone?
Why do I feel like no one understands me?
Why do I feel like no one knows I’m here?
Like I could just disappear and no one would know?
Maybe it’s because I’ve already disappeared.
Maybe I’m
Invisible.

My eyes are flooded with tears unshed,
My mouth overflowing with words unsaid.
Words of happiness and tears of sorrow,
Are threatening my vision of the morrow.

My heart is empty, numb, and dull,
My brain a desolate prison cell.
No temptation, incentive, motivation,
Could ever get my heart to feel emotion.

The ceaseless creaking of my bed,
The endless wonderings of my head,
As I toss and turn at night,
Debating whether I should want the light.

Stars shining bright above you.
Snowflakes flying all around you.
The beautiful stillness,
The heavenly harmony of silence.
Your mittened hand dangles shielded from the cold,
Having once been exposed,
Never wanting to face the torture again.
Once the snow hits the dirt,
It will never be the same again,
Forever tainted by the unclean ground.
Once you step on the ****** snow,
It will never be pure again,
Forever changed by the footsteps
Of those who have harmed the innocence.
But when the snow melts, and was there
Ever any snow there to begin with?
Was there innocence, joy, laughter?
Or was it all swept in on a winter wind,
As temporary as the season itself,
And borne away just as quickly?
Is there anything to hurt, to harm?
To taint?

The rain smashes against the glass,
Shaking and torturing the transparency,
Craving what lies behind the barrier.
The wind batters continuously,
Threatening to shatter the crystal.
Though its appearance is negligible,
It’s holding back such terrible things,
Staying strong against the great forces of nature.
The glass often goes unnoticed,
Its purpose overlooked and
Taken for granted.
Who knew glass is only noticed
When it’s broken?

I am a spider, a black widow,
Trapped in her own web.
I weaved it all around me,
With the purpose of trapping another.
My fly was so gullible, so naive,
It was easy, so easy to craft,
The fly falling for the slightest of movements,
The smallest strand of silk.
The fly lies trapped, but unaware,
Never struggling, just hanging there.
Ignorance remains its best friend,
Believing that it is free, opportunities abundant.
It doesn’t know that I have it in my grasp,
Slowly bending it to my will,
Unwittingly creeping closer and closer to its demise.
Yet as it dangles blindly,
I’m thrashing wildly, realizing what surrounds me.
A lucid dream it is, alert to my environment,
But dream control has not arisen.
Praying a dream is all it is,
Struggling against the web I wove,
Drowning in my man-made lake,
Denying all the lies I told.
Accepting my fate as into the web I fold.