I’m not sure when
or if
I was
ever taught to love my
body.

I can certainly talk
about the day I learned
to hate it though.
I learned that I was fat
when I was six years old.
I was let in on this
secret
by girls that
will never understand
what it feels
like to take up
too much space.

I’ve been grabbing at
the extra parts of myself
for more than a
fifteen years,
trying to pull them
taut
trying to be small
trying to be soft.

I wish I could
talk to my younger
self and tell her
that we are all
on a planet
that doesn’t even take up
1/1000th of this
Universe.

We are almost
non-existent when
looking at the expanse
of everything that
exists.
I feel relieved for
a second
remembering this
but
I feel bee-stings
when the realistic
overpowers
the optimistic
“sure,
the universe is gigantic
but you
are still large
among the tiny”.

I’ve run into friends
I haven’t seen in
awhile
and
explained my body
to them,
disclaiming my existence.
“I’m trying to
work it off”

I’ve been
apologizing
for my everything
below my neck
for 15 years.

In the past year and
a half,
I gained 50 lbs.
No one told me,
and I held it
like a bubble
in my mouth,
as if it would pop
at any minute
and the world
could be as ashamed
of myself as
I was.

I’m down
20 pounds
and I wish I could
say that I started
doing this for myself.
To be a “better me”,
I didn’t.
Everyone knows
why I started it.

Despite my ever
evolving
state of mind,
I’ve learned self-love
15 years later.

I’m doing better,
I’m existing better,
I’m getting better.

There is no intersection
between
who she is
and who she
will be.
The two do
not connect.
They feel like parallel
lines while she stands
idly by
watching
her future
flat line
in to a chasm
of space she no
longer understands.

Right now feels
like a steady pilgrimage,
there are no hills
there has been no ******.
I don’t know
why everything
feels stale right now
and neither does she.


I have told her
that she will
have to work.
She will have
to try.
Talking
about her hate
won’t work
anymore.
She knows.

I have smiled at
her.
She won't make
eye contact.

She doesn’t
smile back,
she keeps her eyes
locked on the grain
of the wood beneath her.

I love her,
but she doesn’t
return the favor.
She hasn’t in
months.

But
I think things will
change.
I think they will
be better soon.
I looked
at her in the mirror
the other day, and she
no longer sees me
through
peripheral vision.

I hope
one day
she will remember
everything
she was
before all
of this.

This is a pattern
of my self loathing
and I only write this
because I think
it is changing.
I will have to
bear with
myself.

I told
myself
“I love you”
in the mirror.
I didn’t respond,
but I did
smile.

If there is
no other message
for you tonight,
take this with a grain
of salt.
You are not
the saddest parts
of yourself
they are apart of
you,
you don't need them
they need you
and it will change,
they will change.

I will change.

I tried
to run my hands
through my hair
realizing I’d never
get to be anyone else.

Every tangle I catch
is another
stretch of road
I won’t see,
every knot
is the buzz of
bees in my gut
when I think
of what I don’t
know.

My biggest
regret
is I will never see
my past selves.
The lives I
lived before this one.
The people
I met, and
the things I saw.
The words I spoke
and the experiences I had.

My life
hasn’t been lackluster,
I’ve seen enough,
but not a lot.
I dream about courage,
and what
it would feel like
to stand
in a different place.

I know Nebraska
well enough to know
that it doesn’t love me back.
My feet
are arched,
they deserve more
than this
flat
land.

I love this state,
it seems that
we are in the middle
of everything
but
it flat lines
into oblivion
and I want to be a tick,
I want to be a pulse,
I want to feel.

So forgive me when
I say that
I need more
than this place
sometimes,
I need more
than this life
sometimes
I need more
than myself
sometimes.

Right now
I’d fall down
a flight of stairs
if it means
I'll have a story
to tell later.

I do my best
to punch the sky
I envy it
for continuing
to see more than I can.

My hands
are getting caught
in my hair,
and maybe I just need
someone else’s for awhile.

I have a problem with
keeping my own secrets.
I don’t know how to
stop talking.

There are words
we should reserve
just for ourselves
and I can’t quiet
myself long
enough to remember that.

It scares me to think
that there is nothing
left for me.

I pull the words
out of myself
and then  wonder why
it makes me so sad.

It’s my own little
double standard.

My will power
runs low
and I can’t hold on.

It scares me to think
that there is nothing
I haven’t said.

It scares me to think
that everyone knows
what I’m about to say
before I say it.

I’ve always wanted to be
hard to read.
But I open my mouth
and I read myself.

My secrets
are rarely
serious.
They're never
even very
exciting,
but they are mine.

I hope one
day there is something
I take with me
when I’m gone.

I hope one day
there is something left
for me.

A sentence,
even a few words
that even God
doesn’t know.

Because you know
what Alexis,
it's nobody's
*******
business.

When I look down at
the ground
we are huge.
Our feet bear no resemblance
to their surroundings.
We disturb ants
on their way home
the hill,
we interrupt
the conversation
the locusts
were having
before we arrived.
When I look down
at the ground
I see lives
that could
go on without
me.
Their lives
would still
be intertwined
with one another’s
even if mine was not.
That’s comforting.

When I look up at
the sky
we are small.
To the birds we
are no bigger than a
leaf.
The galaxies
show us
lives once lived.
They’ve seen
years of life
I will know nothing about.
We are smaller
than one billionth
of our
universe.
My knowledge of
our sky extend
no farther
than what I can
see.
The sky meets the
horizon,
and the sun rises and sets
even if we aren't
there to see it.
It goes on forever
and we are a minuscule part of that.
That’s comforting.

When I look straight
ahead.
I see you.
That’s comforting.

Do you know what is common?
Anger.
Hate.
Sadness.
Disgust.
Judgment.

I am not strong
enough to tell
you that
its easy to
stick with
happy.
Sometimes happiness
can be the most
exhausting
emotion.
Happy
has no wiggle room
you either are
or you
aren’t.

I am not strong
enough
to tell
you that
its easy to
stick with
love.
Hearts
don’t heal
easy.
Some take
years
and even then
they’re still
tender.


I am strong
enough
to tell
you that
sad is
to difficult
a burden to
bear.
Sadness
wears on your
bones
like barbels.
It gets so
hard to
keep up.
Sadness
clouds your
mind
until all that’s left
are burnt
edges and a
few remnants
of happiness.

I am strong
enough
to tell
you that
love
will heal you.
Love will
straighten your
spine.
You will
see life
with a clear head
and a full heart.

I don’t
care to be
common

My words have
become muddled.
Nothing sounds like
poetry anymore
and that scares me.
I don’t hear like
I used to,
but
my sight
is
impeccable.

I’ve seen more
shades of green
than I even knew
could exist.
The sky doesn’t
set like it used to.
I used to see only yellow.
Now I see orange
And gold
And red
And love
And hope
And peace
And strength
And passion.

I should have written
about that
sunset
because it was beautiful.
And no memory I have
now
can even begin
to aptly describe it.

I haven’t written
in 83 days.
That time accounts
for two birthdays
twelve days of
camp counseling
one death
five pillows
one relationship
six bottles of Mike’s Hard
one sun tan
thirty-seven dates
and
one-thousand nine-hundred and ninety two hours
worth of
poems I
I was too lazy to write.
How dare I?


My words
aren’t so easily spoken
anymore.
My mind is reeling
for the correct
letter
to type.
I’m back to
poetry
and I
never should
have left

Dear friend,
My sister is a *******
trip.

My sister
encapsulates her own name.
By definition it means
“admirable, wonderful”.
She’s spoken in sunsets
since she was born.
I’ve seen people
surround her solely
to hear her
next words.

You will never meet
someone as
bright.
It makes no sense,
humans don’t illuminate
themselves.
That’s true,
she illuminates rooms.
Her aura has always
been eagerness followed
by hilarity.

I haven’t seen
anyone yawn in
her presence in
two years
for fear of missing
out on anything
she’d say.
Everything is exaggerated,
her smile
her laugh
her clothes
herself.



My life has been
defined by her very existence.
I know happiness
because she’s
lived 19 years of it.
She came into this world first,
and it suits her.
She said hello before
I took my first sip of air.

She ***** around
and still manages to make
something beautiful.
She ***** around
and still manages to be
something beautiful.
She is abstract art
along with the likes of
Picasso
she is hard to look at.
You have to squint your eyes
to understand her whole.
Step back and look at her
her voice is worth galaxies.
I’m proud to
be of relation.

My sister
is my sister
is my twin
is Miranda.

I will tell you this now,
you
are not silk.
There is nothing soft
about you.
I know
how
badly
we all want to be satin
but it isn’t in our
blood.
We come from stronger
crop.
Be grateful
for that.

I will tell you this now
satin is easy to cut
and silk is easy
to tear.
No one should be okay
with ruining themselves.

You are canvas,
and I will be frank
it isn’t always easy
to look at.
I want you to remember
that in the right hands
canvas is beautiful.
Even in the wrong
hands
it remains tough.

I want to
scream
nothing but
love at girls
who’ve hated
themselves for years.
I would wipe away
their anxiety
and replace it
with kind words
and their favorite
song.

I will ask them
to tell me
about the first person
they remember.
I hope it
was a kind face.
I hope one day
I will be that
kind face.

They will never be silk
or satin.
They are suited for much more
than softness.
They will fall into the right
hands
and I will tell them
they have always been beautiful.

I think the most important part of this life
is learning how to live
solely and completely for yourself.
I say this because no matter
how hard things get for you
all you will ever have
is you.

Smile in the mirror,
remind yourself
that the sun shines out of your ***,
and walk in the light
of every new day
you have ahead.

I remember feelings
and people
that have long since passed.
They weighed on me like wet clothes.
It's too heavy carrying
the burdens of angry words,
and leftover feelings.
You are too important to this world
you are too important to yourself
to allow all of this
to wash over you.

Drench yourself in kind smiles
and happy thoughts.
This life seems so hard sometimes,
but there is no wrong way to live it
so I commend you
on the effort
you've shown thus far.

I look forward
to every person
I will wholly
love.
But
as for right now
my *** looks great
in these jeans
my skin is clearing up
and my
hair has come
to terms with
itself.






Love hurts
in every form.
I have written letters
to God
that spewed
nothing
but cold hearted
empty words.
I was given nothing
but warmth
in return.

I will hug myself
every night
I have
an opportunity
to breathe.
I have lived with myself
thus far
and
when
someone comes
out of the wood work
I will love them more
because
I
taught
myself
how.

My friends are
chain links, a part
of an ever rusting fence
that never falls apart.
No one
has tried
to jump over us.
They always
wind up falling in.

She has lived her
life with more
vigor and sincerity
than this world
knows how to deal
with.
Her voice is loud
and her heart
is larger
than she can
understand.-L

His smile is straight
though the rest is crooked.
He is benevolent
and kind.
I don’t know
how he thinks.
We’ve spent nearly
4 years
trying to understand
the cogs in his mind.-P

She has planted
flowers in
the unhappiness of others.
Her voice is tranquil
and her eyes
communicate
more than
I’ve heard in my
lifetime.- K

He is easy
to excuse
the arrogance
I exude.
His presence
is serene.
He doesn’t rock
the boat
he is the boat.
Showing us
existences
we’d  somehow
managed to
live so long
without. –M

Her laugh
is nothing
short of
an eighth
wonder.
She smiles
in different languages
and manages to
communicate through one.
She is hard to hear
because she spouts
truths that
we forgot
we knew. –H

I can only commend
him
on his life.
He’s done so well
with a deck
that continues
getting shuffled.
He has so much
to say
because his mind
leaves
nothing to
his imagination.
He sees everything
without blinking
an eye. - P

I’d tell you
more
if I could bear
to hash it out.
Truth is
they are hard
humans
to know,
because they are
so much more than
the words
I’ve used to
describe them.

Please stop wasting your prayers on her
quit wishing he was a better version of himself.
His father never taught him it
was okay if every kiss
didn’t taste like cherries.
Don’t blame her because her
mother never told her
every one’s hands weren’t as soft as hers.

I want you to remember
the ending of every fairytale
you heard before going to bed.
Not everyone’s parents
prepared them for the worst.
Instead generations of humans
have been taught to expect everything
to find its place in the end.

Not every boy you meet
will incite fireworks behind your eyes.
Some boys take everything you
have because they weren’t
taught any better.

Not every girl you meet
smells like chrysanthemums.
Some smell like every
pain they’ve accumulated in their life.
A mixture of ash
and tar
washed down with a shot of whiskey.

I’m sorry your father forgot
to tell you that
sometimes kisses feel
like splinters.
He kissed your mother
and forgot
that not everything tasted
as sweet.


I’m sorry your mother didn’t
let you feel more
than the softness of her hands.
It isn’t her fault,
her mother didn’t either.

I want you to remember
the ending to every fairytale you
heard before going to bed.
This world is not a magnet
it doesn’t glue itself back together.
Remember every kiss that tasted like cherries
and how full your heart felt
when holding your mom’s hand.
Remember these things,
it makes everything easier
in the end.

God I don’t talk
about you anymore.
But God I think about
you when it’s necessary.
I think about you
every time I drive
by Lourdes.
I do that every day.
They taught you to me there.
I heard your name
more times a day than
I heard my own.
I think about those
poor little Catholic
kids, who didn’t have a
choice in the way they
believed in you.
Nothing was on our
terms.
There were no exceptions
to our thoughts.
Nothing was right
until we found a Psalm
about it.

God
I think about you
in between asleep
and awake.
When part of me
remembers the Sunday
I went to church
only to be force fed
the Pro-Life agenda.
God I respect
humans.
God they didn’t respect
us.
God I was too afraid
to ask questions.
God their eyes
looked like hate.
God I don’t want
to go to hell.

My Bible
has been sitting
on my closet floor
for a year and a half.
I’m too afraid
to open it
for fear I’ll find
fire and brimstone
in between the Beatitudes
and the Passion.

God I believe in you
I believe in love
I believe in kindness
I believe in life
I believe in good vibes
I believe in fate.
God I believe in everything.
I knelt by my bed
tonight
and prayed
for everything little
Catholic girl
who’s thinking everything
I did.
I understand none of it
and I pray that she will.

I want you to know
that I am not damaged
enough to tell you stories
about who I used to love.
I don’t have enough
scars to dredge
up my memories.
I am not
numb to
past
events.
When I feel
nothing
I’ll tell
you everything.

I can tell you
this.
Being sad
is not beautiful.
Stare in the
mirror
and smile
at yourself.
Please remember
there is no
one in this
world
that you love
more than you
love
you.
Don’t give
everything
to everyone.
You are human
not inanimate.
Do not expend
yourself.
Do not use
yourself
up.
It’s important
feel pain sometimes.
It gives
us reason
to love
how expansive
our hearts can be.
I’ve loved
so many people
too much to
give up on
loving them all together.

Give yourself
reason
to believe that
life is as good
as you want it to be.
I can’t tell you
about those I’ve loved
because I don’t
love them anymore.
It makes me
sad
but they will be
loved by someone
better than
me and
that is beautiful.

As humans
we are anecdotes
and poisons.
I was poison
but I will
meet someone
else
someday
and that is
reason enough
to love myself
and this life.

I won’t tell you about
who I used to love
but I remember
them
and they
were beautiful

I know this life
well enough to know
that people like to get hurt.
It gives them
a story to hold their place
until next time.

I was taught
at a young age
that pain doesn’t demand
anything from us.
I never asked for
heart aches
or wounded knees.
I knew better
I was taught better.

I have friends
who grew up
with the misfortune
of knowing pain
as well as they knew their knuckles.
It was physical
psychological
emotional.

I know this life
well enough
to know
that humans
don’t
break.

Our bodies
are concrete.
We have to fill
the cracks
sometimes
but its takes
years
for them
to crumble.
I’ve known girls
that tell me
they know pain.
They’ve  felt it
grab their legs
and straighten
their spines.
They swear
they’ve shattered
into a million pieces.
They pray
for this moment.
They don’t
want to pick themselves
up.

They’ve been taught
to crack.
They’ve romanticized
pain
but wonder why it hurts so much.


I’ve grappled
with that concept.
I’ve known only
what life
has afforded me
thus far.

I know only myself
and I know that
I’ve kept wet cement
under my bed
for 10 years.
When I start to chip
I’ll fix it myself.
Don’t take an ice pick
to your body.
It’s too beautiful
to break.

I lost my mind the other day.
I found it hiding
in the corner of my closet.
I tried to pick it up
it told me
“No more
I’ve been picking up after you for far too long. Give me a break.
I need to empty out the unfinished sentences
and broken scenarios you’ve left graffitied on my inside.”
“I’ll be back when I’ve healed”

It returned yesterday
and told me
"You worry me into a panic
I can't leave every time
you fall asleep
to the sound of your heart
pounding so loud you can hear
nothing else.
People are beautiful
and you know this
because you are one.
You have every reason to
love this world
You have every chance to explore it.
Instead you choose to stay at home
and watch a new movie
Because its much easier to watch excitement
than it is to experience it.
How selfish of you.
You were given this chance
to live
and instead you simply choose
to exist.
Do not sell yourself short.
Do not be afraid of New.
Do not harbor Old.
Release what you know
and replace it with
more.
Give life its chance to prove
that it isn't as scary
as you think
it is.
I won't leave you again
but don't give me
a reason to."

Last Friday I did a very good job
of drinking away
my anxiety.
The sad part was
the only person
there to see it
was my mom.

It took me awhile,
but  five beers
and two
hard ciders later
I was free.

I’m almost 19
and I’ve already
started solving
my problems
with vices.

I had my *** phase.
It treated me no better
than any cigarette I bummed.
In the end
it was all just smoke.

Alcohol made me into something
I believed to be better.
I smile because I mean it.
I don’t shy away
From people.
But I’ve come to realize
that I’m worth more
than two shots of *****
and bottle of Mike’s Hard

It’s so easy to forget
what’s circling
in my brain.

I forgot about
school starting
in 2 weeks.

I forgot about my friends
and why
I’ve been feeling
that there’s a lack there of.

It is no ones fault
but my own.
I have no pity
for myself.

I’ve refused to believe
that taking a pill
would vacuum
away the half finished
poems and the
torn up ideas I have
in my mind.

It’s become very
difficult
to explain
myself.
Most times I wish
I didn’t have too.

I’ve never been approachable.
I look mean
But I promise
I’ve always tried to give
everything.
I always thought
that if I said yes
then so would others.

I woke up that Saturday
at  five a.m.
Realizing
that the world kept moving
when mine slowed down.
School will still come
and so will tomorrow.

Give me a pack of cigarettes
Because it’s much easier
to wash that smell from my mouth
than it is to get
these thoughts out.

I knelt beside my bed last night
looked at the crucifix above it
and pretended it was God.
Truth be told it’s a ceramic cross
that I was taught to believe in.
Stare at it, confess your sins, absolution is yours.
And that’s what prayer is.

I spent 12 years in Catholic schools.

School taught me little about God,
Other than how to recite the Our Father
And why I should remain a ****** til marriage.
As well as how lucky I was
To have my parents pay for my schooling
Just so I could say prayers I didn’t understand out loud.
My parents worked hard
For my sister and I to wear uniforms
and say the rosary 5 times more a year than we would have.
I wasn’t taught faith
Or how to seek kindness.
I was told to accept Catholicism
Or risk damnation.

My family went to church every Sunday.
We said grace before our meals,
And we thanked God for food we bought ourselves.

This sounds atheistic.
But it isn’t.
Because I believe in God.
However I do not believe in ignorance.
I do not believe in hate.
I do not believe in discrimination.
Three things the Catholic Church practices.

I’ve never believed that saying  “****”
Was a one way ticket to hell.
I never believed that missing mass
Would be more suffering I’d endure in purgatory.

I believe in a God
That accepts us
For everything that we are.
A God that will not mind if
We didn’t spend an extra hour
Kneeling in a pew
Listening to another human
Preach to us HIS interpretation
Of a book
None of us will ever
Fully
Understand.

I don’t believe in a tall man
With a long beard.
I believe in a young girl with brown eyes.
I believe in an oak tree that’s branches have
Seen more than I ever will.
I believe in everything.
Because God is everything.

I’ll kneel by my bed tonight
And look at my ceiling.
Because my ceiling is as good as any crucifix.
I’ll say my prayer
For everyone
Who recites their Bible
Fears God
And squeezes their rosary tight
In hopes that it will give them something
They’ve always been lacking.
Faith.

I always seem to write something
In hopes that I’ll be the first person to say it.
I never am.
Someone has always said it
And said it much better than I did.

I started writing as a senior in high school.
What a terrible time to start
Because my ego got in the way
Of all the words I wanted to say.

I should have picked up another habit
Because smoking or gambling
Would have been far less
Self destructive
Than writing has been.

The first poem I ever wrote
Was about a heartbreak
I thought I had.
I wrote in hopes
That they would see it.
I don’t know if they ever did.
But that’s when I learned how not
To write a poem.

I’ve moved on since then.
Now I write about things.
Because it turns out they don’t change
People do and that’s okay.
But writing about who a person is now
Will not stop them from becoming more than your words.

That doesn’t make sense to everyone.
I’ve written poems
About people who lived life
A day behind everyone else.
Because they believed it gave them time.
But life catches up
And believe that it is the most unforgiving
******* any human will meet.

I’m now a sophomore in college.
I’ve recently decided to start a career in writing.
People always give me that look
When I tell them.
Writing doesn’t assure you of anything.
“Why write?
You could teach and live life $30,000 a year.”

This is truth.
It’s consistent, no worries.
But it’s easy.
Everything I write
Comes from a part of myself
That I have to struggle to find.
This struggle kills me
But I regenerate when the poem is finished.
And I’ve found that I’d rather **** myself a thousand times over
Than live to die once because it made life easy and hurt less.

I might never say something first.
Someone will always come before me
And I will always come before someone.
This poem is done.
And I am alive.

My bathroom has a faucet that drips.
It’s very easy to sit there and stare at it.
Drip drip drip.
It reminds me of this saying
People in hell want ice water.
And I wonder if people in hell would take any water
Because being in a situation such as that
I wouldn’t be too picky.

I watch this faucet
And it feels like a sin
To let all of this water go to waste.
I know enough about tools
But not enough about sinks to fix it
So it continues.

It’s such a waste
And I wonder what’s a bigger waste?
The water going down the drain
Or the time that’s ticking
While I watch the water go down the drain.
I know where the water will go
I’m not so sure on the time.

I’ve done worse with my time though.
Nothing compares to summer I spent
Every night re-watching Stand By Me
Because I thought it might end differently.

Or the four times I looked in my mirror
Last night before leaving my room
To make sure I looked the same as I did before.

Or the time I spent writing this poem
About a leaky sink
Trying to find metaphors in water
And lost time.

But everything will add up in the end.
At least I hope it will.
No, that’s wrong.
I believe it will.
I can’t spend time hoping.

So the time I spent watching that sink
Or writing this poem will be for the greater good?
I have no idea.
I’ll just keep watching this ******* sink

Or I’ll leave the bathroom
And Google how to fix
Leaky sinks.
Because
People in hell want any water
I can't waste any more of it.

I didn’t think about fire
until I was 5 years old.
We once knew a family whose
house caught on fire.
My parents spared me
the details.
But I was terrified.

I wasn’t allowed to light fireworks
until I was 11.
Truth be told I didn’t want too.

I once had a friend whose brother
lit their house on fire with a snake.
The ones meant for concrete.
The ones that are “safer” for children.
He used a blow torch
on his bed.
He was 4.

That was the first day I saw fear.
Not “scary movie cockroach” kind of fear.
The kind of fear that can only be fathomed
when you are so close to death
you can feel it kissing your neck.
I was 13.
That was the year I learned how to use a lighter

I wasn’t allowed to burn candles in my room
until was I was 15.
By that time I really wanted to.
Fire meant responsibility.
Fire meant trust.

I was 16 when I smoked my first cigarette.
I thought it felt right.
Which couldn’t possibly be true
because statistics show
everyone hates their
first cigarette.

That was the first time I used fire
without permission from my parents.
And the funny thing is
it was one of my mom’s cigarettes.

That was the first day I saw adulthood.
Acting without warrant
Fire meant rebellion
Fire meant disobedience.
And ever since.

Everything’s feels right when everything is burning

You could learn a lot about a person by whether or not they like rollercoasters.
A dream told me that once.
So when I woke up I asked people what they thought.
I didn’t know how to decipher their answers
Until recently.
There are two types of people in this world
Those whose chaos is consistent
Their weekends are filled because they don’t have time to listen; they just have time to do.
Most of them smoke (not all) because filling their lungs is the next best thing to filling their hearts.
Patience is unbeknownst to them.
Life is always playing a game of catch up, because they move too quickly to understand
that good things come to those who wait.
They hate rollercoasters. The track doesn’t lie straight; they can handle the speed but not the turns.
Then there are those whose chaos comes in bouts.
They lead life in an endless line of day to day
They lock windows during thunderstorms
Afraid of what the sky might share
These are the ones to be cautious of.
When their hectic hits, it’s a ******* typhoon
No amount of alcohol and cigarettes can contain them.
Rollercoasters are for them, because they’ve grown used to crazy coming in twists.
They are patient souls
Life doesn’t need to prove itself to them.
They are content with short weekends and long weeks.
I don’t know if all of this is true.
Perhaps I’m deciphering it all wrong
But you could still learn a lot about a person by whether or not they like rollercoasters.
I love them.

You Frenchman
You explorer
You harbor courage I could only dream of having
There is something burning inside of you that people around you wish for.
I’ve never met someone so in tune with the truth
So coherent with what the world is saying.
So present
You don’t believe in God
But you believe in this world.
You left because you wanted more
You came back because more was your origin
Life hands you lemons and you make something new.
You dream something big.
You transcend labels
I saw kindness in you first.
Kindergarten you let me in your club
I’ve remembered that ever since.
I remember that each day so I can find happiness in small places.
In kind words and strangers’ smiles.
Your curiosity is insatiable
You ask questions hourly so you don’t have room to stop growing.
You don’t have room to stop thinking.
You don’t have room to stop dreaming.
You believe in more than we can understand.
Your mind is extraterrestrial.
It is not well-known to think outside of yourself.
But you do.
You’re name means door keeper
It fits because you welcome others so humbly.
I could spend a day in your mind and still never fully understand you.
But that’s okay, because I’m not supposed to.
Thirteen years has taught me nothing.
Another thirteen won’t do.

You are not broken.
That term describes shattered glass
That term describes electronics that don’t work.
It doesn’t describe humans.
It doesn’t describe feelings.
It is not an excuse for anger, and spite.
It is not an excuse for raised voices and tears.
Stop searching for sorrow because that’s all you know.
Search for a light in the sky.
Follow it.
Search for companionship in humanity.
Accompany it.
Search for love in hate.
Remember it.
The sadness you feel is not permanent.
Depression is not a way of life.
It is your responsibility to find strength in dusty corners and foggy windows.
You are not empty.
You are filled with organs that work just perfectly for the sole purpose of giving you another day.
Do not take that for granted.
Do not wallow in anger because this is hard.
Do not give up.
You are worth much more than that knife in your hand
You are worth much more than that noose around your neck.
This universe is large
But you are not small
Rid your vocabulary of excuses
Start speaking the language of heartbeats and galaxies
Because they are important
As are you.
You are not broken.
You are not empty.
You are not the sum of two syllable words.
You are a heart. Filled to the brim.
If only you'd learn how to use it.

I believe in fate.
I sound like such a sappy cliché
“Everything happens for a reason”
But **** it, because that’s what I believe
I like to know that everything I do is for a purpose
Everything I see I was meant to see.
Everyone I’ve met has pushed me closer to becoming the person I am supposed to be
My life wouldn’t mean much if I didn’t believe in a future brighter than the present.
If I didn’t believe I could still grow
It’s called self actualization. I’m not saying I’ll reach it
But I’d like to get close.
I believe in fate, because I believe in God.
And that **** gets heavy.
And I know people will laugh at me
Saying how naïve I am.
Because how could a God exist in a world full of hate.
In a world filled people who hate because of skin color, or who a person sleeps with at night.
So much proof gives way to the idea that he can’t exist.
The Big Bang.
The atoms we are made from.
We come from stars.
No really we are made of stars.
Another sappy cliché deemed true by a science that feels the need to explain everything.
Every breath I take is for a reason.
And every atheist in the world can tell me I’m wrong.
But I’ve found purpose in this world
And I think that scares people.
But what scares me is having no purpose
No mark to leave
I hope humanity can find something to believe in whether it’s God, or fate, or karma or a combination of all three.
Whatever gets you to sleep at night.
Because you know what.
It’s none of my ******* business.
If I lived my life intolerant
Well then my purpose is ******
My beliefs belong solely to myself
We are all going to end up in the same place
Whether we believed in it first or not.

Its 2:00 a.m. on a Tuesday
I’m sitting here reading quotes off the internet.
It’s this time where I race through my mind for the best word to say next.
Because despite what I say.
I care what goes through people’s minds when they see me.  
And as hard as I try
Every part of me is a part of someone else
Every word I speak I was taught
And every thought I have was influenced by someone.
I speak about things that are tangible
Because my mind hides parts that you can’t feel
You see I make fun of who I was
Because it isn’t who I am now
I do it so no one else will
Because despite what I say
I care what people thought
Thought as in past
Because the thoughts you left behind
I’ve picked up
I’ve had some for years
They aren’t all bad
But some wrench my heart
I still have them because they taught me to be unashamed
And I suppose that’s a lesson I’m still being taught
You see out of the qualities I have
My best is defining who I am.
Because you see, that is tangible and easy
Because it takes only words.
I am Alexis.
I am a twin
I speak loudly and care too much too often.
I tend to smother and sometimes I forget to say thank you
The descriptions too heavy for words are the ones that scare me
The ones I see when I look in the mirror for the 7th time before I leave my room
The ones that rattle my lungs
And hang low in my stomach when I’m having an off day.
Because despite what I say.
What I haven’t said is the part that matters.

I’ve found myself feeling sad at night.
This is not something I say to make myself sound poetic or wounded.
Because no one should ever try to be those things.
They just are.
But as I was saying.
I’ve been feeling sad at night.
And I’ve tried my hardest to find the root of this emotion
Because every morning I wake up with the sun on my shoulder
And I swear I couldn’t thank God enough for the chance to breathe again.
For the chance to see and feel another day.
But I’ve felt this emptiness lately that the night seems to share.
This feeling of unfullfilment.
I’ve thought a lot about the cause of it.
The reason for this.
But there is none.
If anything I have every right to feel fulfilled.
I’m breathing, I have family who are very much alive.
I have friends I speak with every day
And still.
There is something
Missing.
I don’t know what it is.
I haven’t the slightest idea.
And this alone is the most unsettling part.
No root.
No cause
Nothing.
A perfectly healthy 18 year old girl
Who finds herself unhappy at night.
Sounds strange to say outloud.
But there it is.
And I know some would call it selfish.
Stop ******* about your feelings when people are suffering
People are bleeding
People are starving
People are cold
And I’ve found that it’s very easy to say these things about people I don’t know.
But I don’t know the struggles of others , and they don’t know my struggles either
So I can only pray that people don’t say these things about me.
Selfish isn’t it?
Nothing worth talking about.
But still I am.
I’ll just wait for the morning.

I’ve been in love  
With more things than I care to count.  
I fell for the sky the moment I realized the city hides it’s stars.  
I fell for that picture, because it was easy to love a moment.  
I fell for iced tea, because it refreshed me.  
I’ve never tried to hide things about myself.  
Never thought it better to keep things secret.  
I kept one.  
It was something I’d refused to feel.  
Everything I never wanted.  
To ashamed to want.  
It was a person.  
It was a boy.  
I think I fell in love  
But whose to say what it actually was.
I mean for God’s sake.
I fell for tea, just because it kept me cool.  
I’ve fallen for wind, and hands, and rings, and poems, and walls.
I’ve fallen for everything, because I’d always wanted to feel.  
Never needed to heal something that was broken.  
Because I never broke.  
I avoided falling for humans, because being rejected.  
It wasn’t an option for me.  
Putting up a front when it came to others, was easy.  
Everything else was easy.
Loving was easy, when they couldn’t love back.  
The first time I fell in love. Wasn’t the first time I loved.  
The first time I fell in love, was the first time I broke  
I think people assume that I hold on to everything.  
Because I remember alot.  
I think people assume I’m a *****.  
Because I probably am.  
I'd had a heart accustomed to feeling remorse for friends, never myself.  
A heart used to feeling for others, not feeling what others felt.
I never cried. Never shed a tear.  
Maybe I should have, because maybe it would have been all I needed.  
Something small broke me.
But my body never cracked. Just my heart.  
I grew small, because I was angry.  
I was capable of being large, because I loved to love.  
Things.  
Not always people.
I was forgiven.  
But I don't think I was loved  
I hope you’ve fallen for something.  
Whether it be a painting, or a mirror, or a mouth.  
I hope you’ve fallen for something.  
Because falling for something  
Was always easier than falling for someone.