The Sun
Is keeping me
Alive.
(Killing me
on the inside)
A flaming candle
In the lonely void
of space
Screaming “SHOULD”
I s h o u l d be
Normal.
Outside.
Having.
Fun.

Instead I am
Crying
(i n d o o r s)
Memories
Racing past
Panic and anxiety
Taking.
Complete.
Control.
Why can I not work
Or speak
To anyone
Why can I not think
Or go outside without
Teary eyes?
My cold skin cannot be shown
To anyone or
Touched by sunlight

So I sit in the silent darkness
Of my room wearing an
Old hoodie and thinking
About
How the summers seems
To last forever and
Why I freaking exist and
....
How can everybody be so happy
All the time
Always smiling
While I'm just
Slowly dying
On the inside.
I guess
The only good thing
That comes out of summer
Are the blooming sunflowers
Surrounded by the smallest sparrows
Growing in the backyard.

We are
Entire worlds
Away from each other
Two different people.
One in love with the other
One in love with
( s o m e o n e  e l s e)
Sailing on oceans
A universe apart.
My sea is stormy
With crashing waves
And endless thunder
Lightning striking
My ship ceaselessly
The waters he sails
Are calm,
Smooth with sweet wind
And the chirping of sparrows.
Because...
White
And
Brown
Are two different colors.
But share the same heart.
For now,
( i t   n e v e r   l a s t s )
We have the same heart.

In the darkest outlet
of the Universe
A silent corner filled with
deep tenebrosity and
flowing energy
Streaming particles
Omnipresent
A single star flickers

Enter it,
and you shall find
the secrets of the
Cosmos themselves
The stories of every
lost treasure
forgotten memory
uncertain question

You will first see
a claret door
with a golden handle
The Door of Lost Souls
And as you reach out
your (almost)
invisible hand
covered in stardust
and gently wrap your
ghostly fingers
around it
it opens
Soundlessly

Impossibly tall
blue glass windows
leaving nebulous
light in
almost every color
Shelves piled
with brittle parchment
and shelves
stacked with books
ancient as time itself
The bones of the
creatures who once
ran through the stars
and lived in overcast Nebulas
hang from the ceiling
with red string
The walls were once
created from moon dust
and cosmic light

You may stay
(become a
prisoner)
In the library,
learn all the missing
fragments you’ve wondered
About during your
past.
But there is one question
The library cannot ever answer
Will you ever leave?

For there is another door
at the opposite end
of the Library
past the mysterious books
and scrolls covered in dust
The ominous black shapes
drifting in the corners
and dusting the shelves
It is the color
of the darkest ink
with a silver ****
that makes a sound of ringing
bells when you turn it
This is the path
To the afterlife

Some stay in the library
slowly morphing into
the melanoid caretakers
Library ghosts.
And some
move on
To the next life.
When you enter
The Door of Lost Souls
and wander into
this nowhere place
you will have a choice.
Choose wisely.

Lately
I’ve been feeling
Sideways
A black hole
Puncturing
My chest
Devoid of
Emotion
And
Thought
Only the pain
Leaking out of me

I am wearing
A smiling
Japanese mask
With floral
Red markings
Painted on
The Surface
An everlasting
j o y

A war is fought
Within myself
Every night
I try to sleep.
I don’t know
How long this
Will last.
Years and
Centuries and
Forever

I stay awake
Til sunrise
Water
My dying plants
And start
Another day
Exactly the same
As before
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
I can’t wait
To escape
This place.
I can't wait
For the future.

Together we stand
Our dark faces
Chin up
Solemn eyes
Staring.
Fearlessly.
At the shadows
Of our captors

We are the
Wandering ones
Lingering in
The place
We once called
Home.
Oppressed by
Hate and fear
Forgotten
By time
Our story destroyed
By those who fear it
It is up to the
Living
To tell our tragic tale.
To make sure
Our story
Does not repeat.

We were surrounded by
A sea of white
Specks of brown
And black
Gasping for air
Drowning
We spoke with our
Words and they
Attacked with
Their fists.
Black bodies
Piled up
Drifting on the
Blood filled river
Ice.
      cold .
           water.
The everlasting
Scent of
D e a t h.

Silver tongues
Stripped away
Freedom
And pride
They shattered
Our future,
But also their own.
Hearts still beat
But broken
All the same.
Regrets
Are not
A part of us.
The ghosts of 1898
Will stay an eternity
Forever.
Until.
Peace.
R E M E M B E R   U S .

I was just in
6th grade
2nd period
English class
And bored
o u t  o f  m y  
m i n d
When I heard
The dreaded words:
Group Project
Nightmare fuel
For any Introvert
Awkward
Anxious
Silent
Were the 3 exact
Words
Describing me.
And poetry!?
We had to
Write it?
With other people!
I’d always though
That poetry
Was rather dumb
Just meaningless words
Being thrown around.
A simple chore.
Our teacher saw
Our dismal faces
And laughed.
She quietly said
We could choose
Our groups.
I practically
Ran to the desks
Of my two friends
A girl named
Beverly
With an everlasting
Smile and a boy
Named Dylan
Not afraid
Of anything
Or anyone.
They are both
Still my best allies.
We were facing
Our biggest challenge
Yet-
To write a poem
About the feelings
Of an inanimate object.
And we chose
A shadow.
We spent half the class
Arguing about the font
We used and ended up
With Comic Sans
We used the other half
To gave it the title
“The Outcast Shadow”
Our 4 stanza poem was
About a lonely shadow
Hoping to someday
Escape it’s human captor.
The poem
Wasn’t exactly
Mind Blowing
Average, at best.
But by the end of the week
I had fallen in love
With the stanzas
Lines
And fragments of words
I had fallen in love
With Poetry.
I had finally
Discovered myself.

Nobody ever told me
I was ever that different.
I do not look
Like a blonde haired
Blue eyed
All-American girl.

But I did not know
I would be treated
Differently until
Seven years ago
I noticed
That the questions
Thrown at me
Were not
Considered
Normal
Where are you from?
Is English hard for you?
Are you a Satan worshipper?

These
Questions
Shattered my identity
In two
These
Questions
Quickly turned
Into ignorant slanders
Threats
Curses
Go back to your country.
I bet you’re gonna shoot us all up.
You don’t believe in God!?
I try
And fight back.
I take pride
In where I come from.
But it doesn’t change the fact
That I am more
American
Than anything else.

It was my parents
Who came from
A country far away
I was not raised
Like everyone else
Your mother would not
Approve of the way
My mother raised me
But
I was born
And raised
Here.
My country.
My home.
My dark skin should not
Be seen as  a threat.
My brown eyes should not
Be seen as a warning.
I don’t know who I am yet.
I don’t know what I am.
But I think
I know
What’s worth
Fighting for.