The fire drill goes off
Students pour into the hallway
You don't see a fire
A single gunshot rings out
Another
Another
People are falling all around you
Students
Teachers
Friends
Screams echo
Tears run
Radio static
Shotgun
What kind of monster would do this?
You see your best friend crash to the floor
You run towards her but you are ushered away
GET OUT
GET AWAY
GET HELP
GET THE OFFICER
Running out the door as police file in
Watching through the window
Surrounding the shooter
Weapons drawn
Guns up
Click back
Pull trigger
Shooter falls dead to the floor
Silence
Medics rush in and run to the fallen
You can't find your brother
Please call your mother
Tears streaming down your face
Trying to go another place
Momma pulls up
She pulls you in a hug
A stretcher comes through the door where you escaped
Your brother's on the bed
There's a bullet in his head
Please please don't be dead
Sprinting over you scream
Bawling til there are no tears left
Rushing to the hospital
Following the ambulance
10 minutes later he's pronounced dead
Your stomach fills up with a sense of dread
Burying your brother isn't something you should have to do in high school
You see your best friend in the next room
Stuck in a coma and a bullet in her womb
Hours later
News on
14 injured
17 dead
All because of a kid that killed them when they were trying to save their lives.

I'm sick of crying
Tired of trying
Yes, I'm smiling
But inside I'm dying

My depression is a shapeshifter.
One day it is as small as a firefly
In the palm of a bear.
The next day,
It is the bear.

On those days,
I play dead until the bear leaves me alone

Weak.
Broken.
Over-sensitive.
Crybaby.
Nobody.
Unimportant.

Beau­tiful.
Intelligent.
Caring.
Talented.
Amazing.
Balanced.

Words.
­They can hurt.
They can heal.
Make the right choice when using them.

I find a way to relate anything and everything to home.
Oh look, it's a bag of chips.
               I used to eat chips at home.
Oh look, it's a pencil.
               I used to use pencils at home.

And each time it makes me cry.

Someone passes by me wearing perfume that smells like Mom's,
I start crying.
I see the words mom, dad, parents, home, family,
I start crying.

Am I just a crybaby?
Or am I allowed to feel sorry for myself once in a while?
Because if you were in my place, you would too.
Anyone would.
Don't deny it.

Please just let me feel sorry for myself now.
Don't call me weak.
Don't call me over-sensitive.
Don't call me a baby.
Don't tell me to cheer up.
Don't tell me to focus on the good.
Don't tell me to shut up.
Don't say I'll be okay.
Don't say it'll all be over soon.
Don't say I'll get over it.

Just let me cry.

it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
and
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?

I know now why it's so hard to fall asleep.
It's because falling asleep is an escape.
An escape from reality.

And to escape is hard.


I know now why it's so hard to fall asleep.
It's because falling asleep is like a free trial.
A free trial of death.

And there's always a catch to free trials.