every part of me
wants to get away from me
every part of me knows
I don't like me
and every part of me
wants something else to hold

I don't know how to feel about you but mostly
I like how you pointed out to me
that grass looks lovely lit by approaching
headlights of gleaming silver
cars, when you're sitting on gravel and dirt
and a garden grows in hearts
of people who like to hold hands
and you told me that forget-me-nots were your favorite
but you never told me why
you said maybe if we ride rollercoasters
together you'll show me how there are stars
in the day and how leaves can shine gold
like veins and you smiled
saying, yours and mine

12:34 AM  — *I scream “I love myself” over and over in my head, whisper “I don’t need you,” even as my eyes are drawn to my slim wrists and I think about how mirrors are glass, and, oh, what I could do with the shards.

If you remember how it felt
to dream of her at night, then you remember me -
The love you lost and couldn't keep.
The first time you looked into her eyes
and realized you were happy;
to the girl you thought you would marry.

Do you remember how it felt
to have her near, not yours to touch
Do you remember feeling everything so much?
Because first love is always an only.

If you remember how it felt to cry at night,
then you remember me.
You thought nothing could ever hurt you
that deeply. Your heart so brave and clumsy,
so sorry for itself. You belonged to someone else.

And yet look back and remember,
that girl made you less scared. You took risks
and you learned, and you grew,
and it hurt; it was the first -
the love you lost and couldn't forget.

The girl who went and changed
everything, the light of your world,
the love that made you believe
in heaven, 'cause she was an angel on earth

Though in the end she saw you
as nothing more than a friend,
you loved once, and you will love again.

i'm trying to be my own hero

whispering "it's okay"

out to the cold night and in

to the chill

that seems to line my veins nowadays
                                                                          

"it's alright"                                                
                                                    

holding in the sighs

shying away from eyes

how many times have i

told myself "you'll be fine"
                                                                          

"it's okay to cry"                                                


but i drench my pillow every

night, and beyond the eighth-

floor window is a world

separate from

here (consider the fall)


"smile"

i do smile,

my own hero,

remember?


(well, only fairytales have

happy endings;

and twisted storylines

are beyond saving)

my first love
he kissed the hickeys and the bruises and all the parts of me that only he had ever touched and said, this makes you mine.

my second love*
he taught me you can still feel pleasure when your heart is broken. pleasure so intense, i still dream about his hands on me sometimes. he knew me no further than my body, but,* oh god, *he knew my body.

If you don't want to be friends

anymore, just leave

Hopefully I'll stop

noticing you in the halls

Yes tell me when

you begin to want

to push me away

'cause it's completely okay, I know,

my laugh is annoying, (tell me when

you've began to find

i have bigger flaws than that), and
                                                                                        

Pretty boy, if you don't like me

(anymore)

it's alright

We should be getting on with our lives

A woman of 20

her heart was captured

as she shot photographs of

the sunrise that had the rainbow at its edges.

A girl of 15

wrote a poem and filed it away

to be passed around someday,

a piece of paper decorated with flowers.

A man of 30

to whom the world was a canvas

made note of the colors

how magnificent the blend.

And an elderly man

gave a sad smile:

How his wife would have loved to see this.



                                                                            

And it was beautiful

And it brought them together

In ways they knew not,

As the plane dipped,

the clouds danced,

and their thoughts sang.



                                                                      

                                                                          

                                                                                                                

A young girl at the back

Eleven going on twenty

considered how, as time passed

and they got closer to the ground,

the windows on one side

held water and clouds

and the other showcased

buildings and little shanties.

She watched as huge pink clouds

rested on the pale blue surface;

she looked upon

the fishermen and boats.



                                                                              

And she felt

the world was a big world

bigger than she'd ever know.

She tried to copy the messy buns

but the style

doesn’t go with her broken smile

And she could draw pretty dolls on paper

But she’d been made of flesh

And pencil, brain, and heart are powerless

She could do a lot of things

Actually

Gifted, they called her,

But she had

the kanji character for beauty

As the background of her computer,

And she’d dip her brush in black paint

And write it on her white walls

That maybe one night while she slept

It would seep into her skin

and settle there

having breathed secondhand
smoke all my life, and
having never taken
a liking to veggies,
I can hardly be blamed
for being a bit
dull, a bit of a numbskull.
and having seen
too much greatness in others
having known
too little in myself, I can't help
but cut myself up
trying to be better.

it’s okay i’ll be
a different me when
tomorrow comes

i’m turning a year older

and here’s to hoping
that the extra number
will mean i’m stronger;
that 40-odd push-ups
won’t make my muscles
ache for much longer

and a shoutout to my blind spot
the weakest muscle
according to my calculations
that it quickens its palpitations
when a boy smiles

but i’m turning fifteen in
fifteen days and in
fifteen ways i will always
be alone

on my own two feet

but here’s to hoping you will
hold my hand and
be a receptacle of hugs
and tired sighs and puppy eyes
that die

i will be 15 and my heart has been
torn since 13.
i will never
get tired of fixing it up
i will never
give myself up

young but not that young
and old
old, old, old

my hands are threaded thickly
with veins
and my eyes are shrouded
with thick lenses
but there is no wall between me and the world
and the thinnest of spaces between
our shoulders
my heart is protected by a plastic bubble

but this will be the year i swim the sea

to give it all my tears
to let the salt in all my wounds
to feel the pain
to know i’m stronger

to not let anything hinder me

i.
i don’t want to cry* on my birthday but here we go again, thinking ‘god, it’s a mistake,’ is a mistake. god is a mistake? i’m tired; i come from the far-reaching corners of your heart and in front of you now i have to say, i found i didn’t belong there. the journey has tattered my clothes, and my head hangs low but i’m ready, papa. i’m ready for the next one. journeys that will make me better, better journeys ahead.

ii.
i will be okay; it’s not that hard. i will let my head go under the waves sometimes. i will let my hands fall. i will hold my breath but no one will see the struggle. let me be alone, i will be fine. i want to go deep sea diving with my broken pieces. —i’m lying, i’m not fine. i want to be in danger, i want to be uncertain and laugh.

iii.
tell god i’ve always been wanting to die young. he knows what ive prayed for. pray he knows what he’s doing. don’t want to get into the habit of hurting people but each year the list gets longer and as i grow taller does my heart get smaller to make room for all the stars to grow again. reborn in my lungs in my chest, a supernova. leave me hacking with a cough, heaving. give me the pain i feared when i was small, and when i am broken pour my night sky soul into space.

*give me back the universe.

i'm going to **** myself soon
because of how badly breaking hurts
and how lonely 'broken' feels
but sixty percent because lately

my sadness
is forming echoes in my bones
such that my broken pieces hit other hearts
before reflecting back to cut against me
scratched people are not art
and I don't want to hurt anybody

thank you for listening to my stories
and for never spelling out
that I was not in fact 'okay' even if you knew
i'd been crossing out the days really quickly

it was just what I needed
to have my delusions persuaded
my fears remain seated

because how can people not have breaking
points when water has a boiling point
and we are three-fourths that
I am three-fourths not
good enough

the decision had
long ago been made for me
i had stopped being happy
and it's been some time since I've prayed
because what can you do to fight fate
when they confiscated your weapons
they never returned them

I want to be whole, alone, a poem -
anything but broken,
but I am broken.
I am dying,
I am dead

08.23.13; 1 AM

And do you know, that night I went to bed thinking “What if four years from now I still like him?” The possibility haunts.

It’s been a year and fortysome poems since you. It’s been fiftysome conversations that I wasn’t the one to start. It’s been one birthday. And I carefully avoided greeting you.

You don’t know, you broke my heart. And then you made me trip over it. Maybe I bumped my head and got confused. Maybe I’m still on my knees, picking up pieces. Forty poems since you and only three were written without thought of you; you stained my fingers and you’re always seeping out. Fifty conversations which you began, but you’re always ending them; maybe I still want a thousand more.

I didn’t greet you because you greeted me late… Do you know, that hurt, but I almost understand now that you don’t care. And I cried a lot because you don’t care. I am so stupid though, because, I do. I miss you.

11.09.13; 11 PM

I just want to make up for all the good I haven’t done and whatever bad I did do while trying to be happy, then I want to disappear. I wish no one would ever have to feel this alone.

When I go, I will find it.

There is nothing to forgive. Things will be better from now on.

11.09.13; 11:48 PM

The house going to sleep is a matter of sounds fading, tap-dancing one after the other into oblivion. I know it’s just me when gone are the television sounds, the whir of electric fans, fingers tapping on the keyboard when I pass by your room, the air-conditioner hum when I pass by our mother’s, gone are all the reminders of life. The bags under my eyes are unwanted proof. By 12, my nail beds are bleeding and I am blinking at a million open tabs so I don’t think of you. At 1 am, there are gaps in my soul and I can feel the bitterness of a smile that may be mine, or perhaps yours (the one you never gave me), the saltiness of tears that may or may not come out. Last is when at 2 am I think I hear floorboards creaking and there are shadows in the kitchen that cannot be accounted for, my fear is limited where loneliness is not. my soul longs to be gazed upon, for a conversation to be begun, on the topic of truth and the depth of the ocean.

I am selling myself to death because life will not take me.

i know your eyes are tired
your exhale sounds tired
too, here's what i want you to do
start breathing out the tears
my dear
start breathing out the tears

don't catch bullets with an
open mouth, and
a pained smile is not a smile
so stop smiling
when you're dying
inside

close your eyes
close your ears
open your heart
i know there are monsters
but listen
feel for the light

don't be surprised you'll
find it's inside you
my dear
it's inside
you

distance in miles and daylight
is absolutely nothing, tell them that.

some people were never
even meant to speak.
even breathing the same air
every day, she's not there,
at least not to his eyes. it's
distance

distance in hearts and minds
and the important part of fingertips
that is the distance that cannot be bridged
let them know that.

but there are people
living three thousand miles apart
still keeping the other's laughter in their hearts
and every breath is a search and a sigh
and the whisper that says, 'far'
the conviction that says,
with a palm over the left breast,
'here'


even when we touch
he is looking elsewhere
but I've seen his eyes and he is marked with oceans

if your heart is filling up
like cherry blossoms would
litter up streets,
if you're smiling so wide
and laughing so big,
don't do it

if you're floating and flying and
cartwheeling through
days in a daze,
if you're grinning at the mirror
while putting your hair in place,
don't do it

if the stars are shining for you and
your love,
if your heart is a song and
the breeze is filled with
melodies, wait

wait for all of it to settle down and
well, don't do it
(when I told him I liked
him, we never spoke again)

i cannot dream big
i dream backwards
and forwards
and dream myself out
of situations, into coffee shops
with strangers

i cannot dream big
if and when things happen,
so they shall
and i want the constants in my life
to be the following:

sunsets
flowers
laughter
and your hand in mine

there's always a reason to be happy
like meeting up with you
in the dead of the night
sparkling eyes
in dreams

You're turning eighteen.

I know you think it's a big deal, and well, yes, you should celebrate it. But for the most part, things are still the same and change is yet to come. You will wake up still with acne scars. You will wake up still with painful memories carved into your thighs. You will remember that once it wasn't like this and you will have the vague sense that even what you have now will soon no longer be.

Rejoice in the fleeting nature of this moment, with its infinitesimal relevance and infinite beauty. You live here in this ever-changing space; nothing stays the same and you let yourself be carried from day to day. You drift. You watch the landscape of your heart slowly change. Sometimes the sun is creeping over the horizon and the sky is painted in your favorite colors. Sometimes you watch the sky shed tears and apologize for its mistakes. Sometimes you feel filled up with it.

You're turning eighteen. You're scared. And no, you will not wake up entirely different. You will have to keep being alive without knowing what it means. You will still have to be alone. This is your body. This is your soul. This is your brain; these are the demons you've created, monsters you've fed. This is your heart; these are the cracks, these are the bruises which are still tender, still blue.

If you listen closely, it is still in pain, fighting to beat each second. It remembers how you kicked and screamed and threatened to hit it, beat it to a ****** pulp, if it refused to give up on its own, to just stop, to pack its bags and leave behind a sunken, shriveled mess. You remember you were wearing tennis shoes and holding a baseball bat.

Sometimes, inside you, there are thunderstorms no one can tell are brewing. It's just the weather. Tell yourself that. It's something you will have to put up with and make adjustments for every day of your life. So pack an umbrella, buy pink rain boots and a matching polka dot rain coat, if you want. Bandage your heart better, prop it up with stilts, and whisper good things to it sometimes.

Say you've made it this far.

i practice pulling my bones, at the joints,
little bones out of bigger bones
i practice breaking my knuckles
pulling muscles
pitching forward onto dead earth.

i practice getting myself out of scrapes
even if it leaves me a little less whole
as a person. a ****** laughing mess.
i practice hurtling towards the sun,

i throw myself at you. quickly,
you recoil. you sputter. you spit.
we are flames,
burning out.
we are flames.

I pull the pink flowers

From the mass of black hair

And they fall to my hands

As I release a breath



                                                                              

I shrug off your shining words

And the glow of your eyes

As I shut myself away

Again, the world

In the deadness of mine



                                                                                            

It's hard to believe in

Anything

When nothing and

No one ever stays

I am always left dark and gray

Or brown at the edges and

Fading, crushed



                                                                  

Like the flowers in the palm of my hands

I am going to write you a poem that rhymes
I'm not sure how I'll get it out of me but I will
I just hope it's not as bad as an oilspill
Or that haircut you got last Christmas
The time you almost punched the glass
And I was laughing

I am going to tell you about how I dream
Of a big brown house, kids going "Mommy, Mommy"
And a border collie, and a handsome man
And you'd be living next door all alone
I'd be laughing

Okay I swear I am going to stop joking

The truth is
a) Your smile is like the candy cane
A kid would **** to ease some ache somewhere
Or like the cake the fat person is eating to
Cheer herself up (on a separate note,
The fat person is me)

b) Your voice is like ocean waves
Pulling, crashing, rushing,
Tripping; beautiful and brave
And your voice is like birdsong and ambulances
Yes, that much of a mess

c) Your company is the floater I'd grab
Before jumping off a boat
Your company is the lifesaver.
I'd get tossed by the waves while the thunder
Roars to state that life is unkind,
You're still keeping me from sinking

And d) you're the prettiest boy I've ever met
And I'd be in love with you except
You make me laugh 'til I'm crying and my vision blurs

So instead I just love you
I hope you love me too

and if through the breath released in smoke
someone’s poison lips let out words that come
to mess up your breathing, if you
grapple with your feelings, don’t look
at your skin until you can brush
the sting of their gazes away:
it won’t last unless you let it
form thunderclouds above your heart
then it will tear you apart

when you pick up that guitar again, or run
your thumb along the grooves of your pen,
pluck a tune, strum a melody
begin a paragraph with ‘I love myself’
and pour it out until you are whole again
do what you love and never stop,
not for or because of any soul, other than your own

and about the people who have hurt you, if they
are around and you feel down and I am not close by:
lift your chin a little ways, and walk up high -
walk straight, keeping your gaze far away
do not act the winner nor the loser,
just close the window on the rain
when you don’t want a damp blanket.
when the rain stops, I will reopen them
and the starlight will fall upon your sleeping figure
(tired lines, thin bones, tiny heart)
one bright light for every time you’ve ever felt alone

if you are the first boy to love me* say, i am sorry you didn’t have anyone there when you were young. that the words you always needed to hear were so long in coming. i don’t believe no one wanted to hold you in their arms before, i bet they loved you but couldn’t show it. like you made their breath catch so they left your hands shaking, afraid to love the girl whose emotions ran deep like a well, whose heart was wide and open, who would come to know them better than themselves; afraid to let you in.

You were a girl they weren’t ready for but I, I will not be the same kind of foolish. I’ve been wanting to give you roses for the day you turned sixteen, but I can’t. Maybe in another life if I will be so blessed, younger we will meet again. For now instead I will plant you a whole garden. Am I a godsend? Was I what He intended for you? I have no idea but, you have been alone for so long it’s all your heart remembers. I know you are used to it, but I want to love you, and I will, for as long as you will let me. More than ‘i love you’, you are my life now, and i will plant new flowers every day, and we will water them together.

Maybe love is* I wonder who you were when I didn't know you yet. I want to see how you first came to know the world and the ways the world tried to teach you that it loved you. I want to know if it hurt, and how, and how sweet.

I wonder who you will be when you reach your best, a person I haven't met yet. I wonder how you will love, and how you will hurt, and how you will learn. I want to see your sad smile, your tears, your broken heart; the days that feel strange, I want to be a witness to. I want to cry for you; I want to know you that well. I want your hurt to lie closer to my heart than my own. I want my heart to be jumping out of my chest into your hands. I don't need 'safe'. I need right.

And honestly there's no telling what that means.
I want you to lie beside me, in bed at night. I want each of us to think our own hands cruel, for the possibility that one of us might ever hurt the other. I don't trust my hands, my heart, my lips, my body to ever love you right. But let me tell you at my simplest, that I love you with the most truth a human soul can offer.

That when you are near or when you are far, I love you at the center of my being. That I always need you. That everything that hurts, hurts twice more when you aren't there to lift me from it.

Lift me from my reverie, my dizzy spell. That when your hand isn't in mine, I am always waiting for you. But when we are apart, never mind what is going on in my heart... I smile at the thought of your smile, cherish whatever is making you happy. Maybe it's when you're in line with the groceries, or with the sunlight slanting across your face. You are my every joy, my only, my absolute, my everyday prayer.

pisces:
stop claiming you are weak. it doesn't come down to strength,
it comes down to self-discipline.it comes down to
there should've been something there (love),, every time he looked
at you, every time he needed you to hold
him. you scorned him, when you were both on the floor but it showed
on his face more. it comes down to
you left

his body wracked with sobs, gasping for breath because he didn't think you
would. everyone believes you when you say you love
them except after a while they don't. he was spellbound and starstruck
and delusional. everyone thinks you are kind. but there are five people
who might be able to tell how you are cruel
and self-absorbed when you are bored. you tire of your toys

and the people who fell for you first got the worst of it. when you know
you;ve got it you don;t want it anymore. so you pretend to cry,
tell everyone youve never been loved back. but get a grip on your head
and your heart, pisces, if you really want everything to stop
falling apart. surrender that cruel magic of yours, have more truth;
puke out the pain you've enjoyed, [give up] the shallow joys for profound
ones. pick your soul up off the floor. beat some sense into it.

go out there with everything in the right place and when you know want
to do, go do it.

It's been a while since I've tried writing the loneliness out of my soul.
but how do I stop feeling so alone?
can I cage up the feeling somewhere away from my bones
so I can breathe easy again without the voice in my head saying
"you don't deserve to be loved" and "you'll never have anyone to hold"
because it's true, and i feel bad when i look at you,
and when i hold you my hands are full of apologies,
selfishly not wanting to be empty, but in the end we let go.
we always let go and i'm always alone and i want to be free
of wanting to be otherwise. i want to stop being so restless on my own at night,
pleading with whoever's on the moon to give me someone too,
hoping for friends and for something more and for love that will forgive me for wanting it too much,
for desiring what i don't deserve, for a soft voice that will say, "it's okay. i want to love you anyway."
but i'll settle for nights that don't feel so cold; i just want to feel okay on my own,
no tears slipping down my cheeks when all i want is to sleep.
i want to stop feeling empty, i wish my bones would know they're home -
i am my own safe place. i want to be alright. at night i clutch a pillow to my chest so tight
it's like i am trying to squeeze my heart numb.

You are a continental force. You are something to be reckoned with. You are a wild thing. You are a dust storm, made of the ashes after all that’s been said and done. You are a valley of regrets that has learned to laugh.  You are what rose from everything that’s fallen. You were not meant to be left alone.

I

And I don't know what they mean,
by not falling at your feet,
and kissing your wounds
every time, with apologies.

You learned
to run until your legs give,
and they never do.
You're still running.

I've watched you

pick yourself up,
dust yourself off,
and sigh, enough times.
It's just another scratch.

The world can't break you until
it does. God knows
they've had enough chances.

God knows you've been waiting.


II**

You're hardened;
you expect nothing, await
only one thing.

Come out of fights,
doubled up but breathing.

You don't know why your bones
don't break, just as easily
as promises have.

When was the last time
you were offered a hand?
When you stopped looking into
people's eyes

knowing you weren't going to find anything
There's nothing for you here.

And maybe every wound,
brings you that much closer
to leaving.

i am free to be me;
i want to ride a bicycle,
so i will: kick the pedal,
ride out to sea
i will listen to the
sound of the waves
and i will take it with me
in my pocket, pink slips
of seashell, grooved like
the sand i will
lie down in.
i will float in the sea -
no rope tied around
my waist or my neck
or my wrists attached
to an anchor, no
there's nothing to hold me
down; there's nothing
to hold me at all

maybe words come out better on paper

it's been a while and I haven't figured out
what to say
and how exactly to say it

but maybe words would come out better
when gates are unlocked
and your heart left open

for whispers and quiet little songs
to come in

maybe if you let the words stain your skin

maybe if you stop hiding the tears
and look up at me
into my eyes

maybe when I tell you I love you
you'll believe me

the sky is a warm blanket, yet we
are inconsolable. wrapped and untouchable,
cloaked in isolation
desolation; this is not about crying anymore.
this is not about blood.
this is about ragged breaths, open pores,
mudstains. muddied legs wrapped up in pink
and white and flowered sheets. this is
about needing more. this is about
the hopelessness of the
search, despite and because of
the ceaselessness of the fight.

We will not be falling down anymore,
though our limbs turn jelly: this is about iron
spines. This isn't about eyes. This isn't about
weakness. This is about outshining the sun,
about the unflinching--
not wincing in the face of the truth.
This is not about invincibility:
this is
about

invulnerability.

If loving you was a mistake,
either way—mine to make,
says she, to shape in my hands,
your body. And this pain?
Mine to deal with.
Deserved,

maybe, found guilty,
for trying to trick you
into loving me. Through
the whispers, the touch, she
laughs, inducing only
ecstasy—

What if the burning at the
stake is not the witch's
fate, but her pleasure?
Her final triumph. No end
more fitting. Nowhere
to escape but
in flames.

they say to be suspicious
when a naked man offers you a shirt but

how does that apply
when I love you so much
but I am empty

when I love you so much
does it matter that I feel nothing
for myself

does it matter that all I ever wanna do
is go to bed or talk to you

do I love you less
because I hate myself?

it's funny because heroes die for love
I mean, the characters in novels
and stuff but if I were to die

for you, that would be nothing,
zero, nada, zip;
I am proving my love

through every breath
that I take, darling;
you are what keeps me alive

and  I will not die for you
because you do not want me to

'I think I am fine' — repeat as you grow surer and surer.

1.) That the world will not end.
2.) That you will be laughing, if it does.
3.) That you are indeed fine,

even if you are weeping, even if you are sure the inky black sky is about to fall through; this is not the house you grew up in, here are not your parents, and this time you can take care of yourself. Start with empty lungs in an empty bedroom and shaky breaths. Start with uncertain footsteps. I told you, that is not the earth shaking. Not today. Instead, what if i said it was something new growing inside you?  Something green, something leafy. rearranging your insides, finding space. Let the air in, let it rattle your caged heart like a breeze will tussle with an open window. Pause. This is breathing. Next is laughing. Back to crying... but without the shrieks. Start with quickly getting up and move on to slowly getting better. Start with a splash of water, your toes on the sand on the beach again. Touch your tears that taste like saltwater. I am going to be fine, I know. Tomorrow I will be me again (the me i wanna be). Tomorrow. A day in a string of neverending tomorrows.

the world gets dark for everybody
i’ve been realizing that these past couple of nights,
walking across the football field, getting into the car,
on the way home.

but since you entered my life,
just this wednesday,
and we’ve been talking and laughing
in the bright kitchen,
sharing apples past midnight,
like we’re not tired of the world,

i realized that i was wrong.

for some people, the lights stay on.

it may not look like it, but i am trying very hard.
you think i’m bad because i’m late to class even though
you don’t know why. look at my essays like you know
what grade they’re going to get, when you haven’t even
read them yet. you think because my quiz scores aren’t
perfect that i don’t understand.

but people have different capabilities;
maybe i’m not where i’m supposed to be,
and i need you to stop judging me for that.
all people ever see is how it looks like;
you’re never going to understand if you don’t try.

i haven’t slept right since school started, trying to solve
math problems which don’t seem to make sense. i read
the textbook before i was asked; did every single thing i
was supposed to. it’s crazy. it meant waking up at dawn
after sleeping at two in the morning.

you don’t know how it feels when your best is never
enough, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep
doing that, to keep trying anyway.
you don’t know how often we break.
i have learned to count myself strong, not because i win my
battles, but just because i face them.

we learn to compromise, sacrifice. i don’t have poems
in my head anymore (it’s a mess in there), and i don’t
have the energy to play sports. i don’t see my friends
except in the corridors, all in a rush to get somewhere.

we get no credit, and all the shame. our stories don’t
get told; they’re not the ones where people clap at the
end. we are neglected, felt sorry for, or hated. we are
spectacular at failing to amaze.

we have learned to cheer for ourselves because no one
else will. learned to act like it’s not a problem, that
coffee is your best friend, and you spend nights
studying, just to get lower scores than the rest of them.

tell yourself you’re not tired even when the minute you
start to rest you feel like you’re collapsing. always feel
like crying but you stop yourself; who cares if you’re
exhausted? you still have to finish those papers; you still
have to answer those tests.

what does any of it mean? why am i graded with a C or
a D? are they telling me i will not lead a good life, that i
am doomed already? my story has not started and no, my
fate will not be decided like this. you cannot pass
judgments on my character based on numbers on a paper.

i am more than all these requirements that never end. i
am the work i put into them. so instead of looking down on
me, let us carry ourselves with some dignity. after all, it’s not
a game; it’s not a race. we’re all stuck in the same place. and
the world is tough for everyone, regardless of our “grades.”

i regret being alive
at seven every morning
on the dot, without a doubt,

when i know
i'm going to be
late for class,

with my english teacher,
who thinks i'm good for nothing;
and my mother

will get called to school,
if it happens
one more time,

and i'm not tired.
i simply want
to tear my hair out,

and
scream,
endlessly.

i regret being alive
when i wake
with a splitting headache,

the million alarms
still ringing
in my head,

all of which i turned off
so i could sleep
through them

without doing
my homework.
and i don't want to cry.

i just want to live in hawaii,
beside the beach,
like a hippie.

another day
of not raising my hand in class,
because i'm shy;

another day
of my grades
getting lower.

i feed the fish
we keep alive
to experiment on.

i see a friend
and we're laughing
in the library.

i water the plants
in our garden
for agriculture class.

sure, i'm tired,
but i'm kind of
happy.

i glance out of car windows

sometimes into people’s eyes

don’t we all?

stares that were felt but left unreturned

words heard

answered with a smile and left behind

in the wake of quick fading footsteps

and often I wonder

if I’ve missed what I’m looking for

or if something else worth finding

was ignored

and with every bad decision

that i seem to have made

i pray for my soul

i don’t want to be alone

and sometimes the air feels different

and i look around

i look around

i look around

"love? I don't
believe in love"
I say this a hundred times,
hoping it gets stuck like
the stain on your favorite shirt
you just can't remove
you eventually learn to look good
in it, to wear it
like it could only belong to you

that people would believe that.
that you could just leave
old selves behind.
that the moon and the stars will
be rocks and fire and gases
instead of a promise
instead of a dream
and a life built on a dream
and a whispered "it's okay"
the stars say "what is a stain on a shirt,
when love is love?"

"love? I don't
believe in love"
I say this a thousand times
because I need
more convincing

*"pain, pain, pain."

All I wanted was love, but I swore I’d never ask because it doesn’t count if you force it. So at the start, I brought you cookies and sat beside you in every class, chattering endlessly. I wrote you letters, and made tiny watercolor paintings of your face. I didn’t think it would work, but I guess I was so good at falling in love that you thought you were too.

But then, just because ‘I love you’s are exchanged doesn’t mean the feelings are the same, and when you started taking longer to reply and were barely by my side, I began to wonder. So I went further—bought you only the most expensive presents, gifted you even the parts of myself I’d been saving. Who could blame me if I just longed to make you happy, and thought that meant giving you everything you asked for and wanted?

Towards the end, I realized you wanted more than I could ever give because you looked for it in someone else. But like a fool, I still loved you. Am I not nice and sweet, not right or enough for you? Here I am, still begging. Who else would have forgiven you? Who else would have needed you that much, wanted so badly to be with you? I deserve to be loved back.

But you know what? If even now, you’re still not sure about your feelings, then just admit you don’t love me. Let’s leave it at that. Even if I plead and cry, don’t let me force you. Love isn’t supposed to need convincing. Just because I want you, love you doesn’t mean I don’t deserve better. And it doesn’t mean you can love me. It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to.

You make me think of mornings and you remind me of things that I'd lost, without it hurting.*

(A)

She
We sit at coffee tables and look at each other. My gaze on yours is heavy. You never seem as troubled as I feel. If the world were a river, and we stood in the middle, you were the one who went with the flow, and you changed it, to move wherever you wanted to go, knowing all along that you could. I turn my back on the current, weak and shuddering as it rushes towards me, past me. I like the smile on your face, the fact that you want to be my boat.


(B)

He
We sit in the kitchen; it's bathed in the morning glow. Your eyes are gently closed, palms cupping a coffee mug, held to your lips. We are kept warm this moment in time, while the curtain gently flutters in the morning breeze. I don't know what to make of you. The way you always seem suffused with light. You bring me my day and my night; and the brightest I have ever seen the moon is in your eyes.


(C)

She
You're like evening gowns and the words 'nothing to worry about'. Tears of joy when all your life you have been taught to pray, but never with the certainty that your prayers would be granted; tears of joy when after all these years you got what you were looking for anyway. I still kneel at the foot of the bed we joyfully tumble into each night. My lips, so used to smiling, since you came, repeat 'thanks,' softly, certainly.

(D)

He
I think you are the chance I was given to do everything over again. You found me in troubled spirits and I love you in good cheer. We started with nothing, a thousand miles apart, and then I found you (and the other way around) and together we found: this round table made of wood, these throw pillows, a sofa. Our friends say it's a start, but you tuck your head against my chest, with a knowing smile, and whisper: *"It's every happy ending I could have ever imagined."

i only have old poems & watercolors
and it’s not going to be enough
it wasn’t enough when i had new poems
and your face to paint

i gave you blue eyes to see the world out of
and you spared it a glance
said it wasn’t

your shade

i said i had time to spare
but you had already picked up your handbag

i wrote about everything you said
i didn’t have much to go on

i got myself pastels, and pencils,
and everything in between

you can always come back
they’re all named after you

is my blood
the right shade?

I.** That night, I placed a pillow over my head; I dreamt that I was dead. I had cut my wrists over the bathroom sink. I was laying down on the floor. On the bulge of my stomach, written in blood were the words: "I feel better now." Over by the side, in blood too, the wall proclaimed: "This is my version of okay."

II. I dreamt of going to school on Monday and spending my lunchbreak crying in the bathroom. Hiding in the library when I'm full of tears, showing up to class empty. Seventeen is hard. Life is hard. Tell me what you wish for me. (I don't like going to bed sad.)

III. It's so strange that I still feel so alone, maybe worse than before. I am tired of falling apart; I will try holding myself together. Like a scarecrow, mummy, dandelion puff. I will not fall just so I don't have to pick myself up again.

IV. Give me a reason to surrender, or a viable way out of this mess. I don't want to break my heart, or anyone's. I just want to stop hurting. (I knew it wasn't going to be a good year.)

V. I told you "no promises" because I don't need to promise. I have no control when it comes to you. I'm stuck with this overpowering love. I'd drive myself crazy missing you. I'd forget to be happy in the search for you. I promise I won't stop loving you; I can't promise I'll survive it.

my math teacher has flared nostrils as extended proof
that he inhales nonsense and exhales logic
in matters of seconds
and there is a boy who aces his tests
ribcage rattling with numbers
bloodstream rushing with answers

and during math class, i am the dull girl
with the blank face
you can't furrow your brows because
the teacher will stare at you
and i'm thinking about
brilliance and my lack of it, you know
sometimes i have poetry floating
through my brain

but i'm not going to get good grades for that
there are cookie crumbs falling on my lap
and the boy is staring at me

Imagine apologizing for all the ways you were never enough.
Knowing you would never be forgiven.
Imagine the torture.
Imagine the curse.

Having a boy love you.
Wondering when he would tell you it was a lie.
Imagine how the sweetness would make you cry.
Imagine never knowing.

What kind of a life is that?

Consider the blood of people trying to touch.
Consider the cruelty of being different.
Consider the confusion.

Consider everything not said.
Paper airplanes that fly through the air for mere seconds.
Consider people’s hopes.

Consider your heart beating inches from mine.
Consider truth. Consider truth.
Consider what could be between two people. Shudder.

Consider the distance.
Consider the barricades, challenges.
Consider the fear.

Imagine mapping a way
through the heart.

i'm getting ahead of myself and i feel nostalgic about everything already. i swear i was just thirteen yesterday. then i fell in love and i broke my own heart and fell in love again, got caught in the end. all of it just yesterday. some of it just feels like a dream.

and i woke up like this, almost eighteen. with a belly full of worries, a heart tripping on hope, and ribcage heaving with sighs. but still we persist. no matter that i hold my head in my hands or hide behind my hair a lot of the time. no matter that i am becoming afraid to speak. no matter that i think i want to cry all the time. and i don't even try to tell anyone anymore.

but just yesterday i was a kid and i'd never truly known what afraid meant. i never used the words heavy, burden, weight. now they're always on the tip of my tongue when i taste the air and try to gauge how i'm feeling. i open my clenched fists and think, pain.

what did i do? what changed yesterday? i remember at one point i learned to take a blade to my skin. at one point i learned to change my face. i learned to stop eating. i remember making so many promises. that if lord would grant me this, i would be glad. that's it, i would say. i would not ask for more. i would not need anything else. i think maybe i never needed more in the first place.

what have i done? if i could go back, what would it take to save myself? did i ask for the wrong things? had i worded my prayers differently, would i be someone else? what is this story? could i be doomed before i even begin? i don't miss who i was yesterday.  yesterday, she wanted to be who i am today. i don't like who i am today. i don't know if that will change when i wake up tomorrow, or in a few years.

maybe everything will be much the same but i won't know my heart again. i'll be wondering what was on my mind then. and it's just this: i am scared, cold, alone, and sorry for the choices i have made which led us to this place. i think i am weaker now than i have ever been, and it makes me ashamed.