the year of anxiety and emotional breakdowns
we asked our doctors for xanax

crying ourselves to sleep
waking up at ungodly hours

using study tips we found on the internet:
quizlet, kahoots,

khan academy

replacing lunch hours with study halls
desperate to get our projects done

on time

wondering why I haven’t had my period
in months

why I can’t ever seem
to relax

or how many more productive ways
I could have spent my time today

besides calculating the lowest score I could get
but still pass the class

watching movies on netflix
like the gospel,

hunched over in bed, clad in pajamas and tear stains,
crying over my math test marked with a B

because I only feel smart
when I get a perfect grade.

if you don’t get an A,
you are failing.

by the time I was sixteen, I had already experienced
being average, meeting expectations and failing

as a child, gifted was the first word
my teachers used to describe me

which didn’t haunt me
until I found out it was supposed to

when I passed pre-calculus, my dad was so proud
he started carrying my report cards

above the visor in his car

so relieved he could stop worrying
would I get into a good college?

he saw a program on the news
about the epidemic with depression

says he is just so glad to finally see me
taking care of myself

if you develop depression
when you are already broken to begin with

you go to the hospital

if you develop depression
when you are not already broken to begin with

you get told to “**** it up”

so when my grades started dropping,
everyone was disappointed in me

for being lazy

teachers who never spoke to me before
stopped me in the hall to ask if I’m okay

I say, I am sick
they say, No, you are

just incompetent

how could I not
hate myself?

with becoming the kind of mistake
people are supposed to learn from?

why would I ever want to
stop studying

when my intelligence was the most
interesting thing about me?

so, how lucky it is now,
to be boring

the way not going to guidance
is boring

the way looking at a 86%
and only seeing a B, not a failure

or fourteen points marked off
is boring

my story may not be as impressive as it used
to be, but at least there is nothing left

to count

the calculator in my head
finally stopped

I used to love the feeling of passing a hard test,
being the only one in the class to do so

not obsessed with being perfect
but afraid of being flawed

I used to take pride in being
top of the class

now, I am proud to have stopped
seeking revenge on this body

this was the year of accepting my grades
when they weren’t immaculate

without punishing myself

and I know it sounds ridiculous
but that is so hard

when I was little,
someone asked me

what I wanted to be
when I grew up

and I said,

smart

It’s easy for anyone to associate harmony with music.
I’m no exception.
I’ve been an alto since I learned how to sing,
Dedicating the past seven years to rhythmic consonance.
That’s not the case for what’s in my heart.
In fact, the past seven years,
I’ve felt at constant war with myself.
Ironic, coming from a pacifist.
I can’t love my neighbor as myself,
If I’ve never known that feeling.
I’ve been taught to despise
Every one of my imperfections,
Learned how to hide my flaws;
Nothing but perfection was accepted.
None of my friends know the depth of sadness,
The dark in my heart,
Or the intensity of my rage.
I don’t know who I am,
Or who I want to be.
Nothing about my emotional state
Sings like a four-part harmony.
Nothing goes together,
It’s all a mess,
Pointlessly swept under the carpet
And I hope against hope
No one is smart enough to look underneath.
I can’t write about peace
If I never seem to relax.
I can’t pretend I’m alright
When I stress over everything.
I’ve never known harmony
Outside of sheet music,
And I’m terrified I never will.

I had my first dream last night that you weren't in.
not even a minor character,
your ****** name wasn't even in the credits,
let alone plastered across the sky in flashing lights
like you want it to be.
my first reality that you didn't belong in,
and it was the most blissful peace that I can remember since we bathed in pools of cloud.

I heard the first song that didn't make me think of you yesterday.
the lyrics, for once, were just lyrics,
not an embodiment of you and the things you do.
guess what?
it was coldplay.
you always hated coldplay.

this morning, I basked in the sun and didn't picture you coated in gold light beside me.
I didn't look at the leaves adorning the trees and picture your face laughing beneath it.

I didn't trace the plate lines of my palm and imagine the earthquake we used to create when yours collided with mine.

I didn't eat new food that I wanted you to try and I didn't want to share the smallest details of my day with you.

you may have won this poem, loverboy,
but don't be too triumphant.
your victory won't last long.
it's the era of my new beginnings without you and I'm going to be just fine.

i have anxiety
undiagnosed.

sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with crumpled ***** of paper: the things I never said, the things I should have never said, the things that someone never said to me.

all of these things are written on every piece of paper
there are so many right now that no more would be able to fit
yet i can't stop thinking things, i can't stop saying stupid things, i can't stop wishing things.

i sigh I reach up to my forehead and i grasp my bangs
with my shaky hands and pull

i'm hoping one day when i do this
the top of my head will yank open
all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts
will pour out in a pile
on the floor
i will kneel down
and uncrumple each and every piece
i will read each one
until my head fills up again.