Being empty is a strange feeling
Not even prescriptions help.
I mourn the Death of my passion.
The fire in my head that gave me my edge
You Are Not a Number
Not Nearly That Simple
You are not defined by the weighted or unweighted
Or the 2400
You are Not a Shape
You are not fat
You are not skinny
It's only the eyes that can be so petty
You are not a Letter
You aren't the A or the F
You aren't the reports hanging over your head.
Or the mark on your forehead.
You are not a label
You are not simply gay, or simply straight
you aren't smart or stupid
you are so much more than just the words.
You are not what they say
When they think you aren't listening
You aren't what they think
You are not to be put in a box.
You are not theirs
You aren't the clothes or the attitude
If You are afraid of what you are
you may allow yourself to become theirs.
You Don't Have To.
Your life is your choice,
the people not so much,
But it's better to be who you are, than the person people aren't afraid of.
You are who you chose
You are who you aren't
You are those secret desires you keep in the dark.
You are the choices you make
You are how you handle life
You are how you handle pressure
You are the activities you do
You are the way you treat others.
Most of all, you are you
You are the only one inside your head
While lonely at times
It's also beautiful.
You are the only one that sees exactly what you see.
You are the only one that thinks how you think.
You are who you hate
You are who love,
You are how you handle the haters
You are one of a kind.
Don't become anything else.
You are drowning me with your tears
Please my girls don't be afraid
nobody is dead or maimed
nobody should be like this today.
You have to worry about the Petty little things.
The stupid little things.
The useless little things
You have to worry about the petty little things
Do you really?
Does a boy, a grade, really to determine your fate?
Please can't you see these are petty little things?
I try to help, you, save you,
but it's useless if this is what is on your mind.
Why does everyone seem to worry about the petty little things?
We have roofs over our heads and three meals a day.
We have song, and dance, and friendship.
With that, we can beat the pressures from the outside.
So please help me understand why everything is so petty?
I try so hard to help.
But I just don't understand.
Sometimes I worry I can't fathom what goes on in the teenage mind, even though I am one myself.
I can't relate
I try I try I try
And they just laugh and laugh
An awkward little alien sits with them
But I just can't relate to petty little things
So I'm Sorry.
Pretty Little things,
Don't be scared of the Petty little things,
If you are emotionally evoked by such trivial aspects of life
I can't relate.
I probably seem dull
For I am a person of far much less laughter and tears than I am of an intriguing sense of reality
Just please for me, try to remember that I'm trying my best,
Your lives aren't over
Just give it a rest.
Please, Don't let me sink in your emotions.
(another poem written a while ago)
Since long before I remember, Just through Story
I’ve always been an anomaly.
The Bird that Prefers Walking
The Dyeing tree in the Spring
A Mime Who loves talking
A choir-girl who won’t sing
My thoughts do not come from a common place
But from a world full of complications and haste
I find no humor in the common air
I find no sadness in these normal waters
I find no hurt in the common tears
When people think cooler, I think hotter.
Since I am Not Justified
Others are simply Terrified
Anomalies ruin common thought
So I am shunned to the corner to sit there to rot.
While hurt and confusion bring me such tears,
I’ve learned to ignore the most potent jeers.
It scares me sometimes, why’m i like this?
Why I can’t understand their desires, hopes, even their bracelets on their wrists.
I’ve never drank from the common fountain
and if I were to try, my body would treat it like poison.
So I’ll walk this path alone until I find
Another anomaly with an open mind
Maybe I won’t be the glue without hold.
Maybe I’ll be the rock that turns to gold.
I Wrote this last month, but I just wanted to add it to the sight.
You sit there and take pictures of me,
The winter air chills our breaths
You Laugh. I laugh. I feel a small spark of what I called happiness.
It's absolutely freezing.
Come on, the high today is nine degrease.
But for some reason I don't feel so cold
as the Ice blues my skin and snow infests my bones.
Your infectious laugh carries over to me.
"Uh, Beth, I think I broke the camera!"
I know you didn't, of course, but I still rush over.
I pity the way I can't stupidly giggle.
or be anything resembling a teenage girl.
the strange thing is you don't seem to mind.
You stand too close as I fix the glitch.
You smell like Cinnamon, apples and warmth
too bad I'm like the anti-teen so I just stand there awkwardly
Your brown eyes capture mine and I resume my duty of fixing the camera
You run out of film.
I frown. We walk back.
We don't talk after that.
You do this every month or so, I never expect it
I want to Hit myself afterwards.
Taunt me, tease me, leave me confused
You are another cruel reminder of my living little nightmare.
Until Next time, My brown eyed "Friend"
Please leave me alone
Just let me be
Your desires are a mystery
I don't know
What you want from me anymore
You are a manic depressive cyclone.
I can't see
Why you flaunt yourself in front of me.
For nothing I want with you can happen in this reality.
If someone told you of my feelings, they are true.
But you pass me by and my heart fills with glue.
I'm not to be but on a string, and am not here to amuse you.
Sometimes you sound like you want to hear what I say.
Or brush your hands against mine and get close enough to stay.
Sometimes you even look me in the deep in the eyes and swoop me away.
A dreary little nightmare
On the outside is a dream
But the only time there is peace
Is when I'm fast asleep.
Now that piece is shattered
Because this dreary little nightmare keeps waking me.
My roses, my sunlight, my flowers, my trees, withered away and died with me.
No mater how much they are watered with amphetamines, resurrection is not enough.
My nightmare has very small daydreams that die as quickly as they come to spring.
My gardens are trampled on by idiotic teens.
And no matter how much I try not to feel lonely.
I'm in a dead garden, and there's only just me.
But the raincloud ahead could bring joy to my fettered limbs.
But it's over eight seasons of dryness before.
By then I may be too dried up to grow.
This is my nightmare, this is my time, this is my trial, but I don't know for what crime.
So maybe in the darkest dawn when I see a rose bud grow
Ill pick it, but not hit its thorns
Paint my spirit with the joys of a new season.
But my nightmare has only just begun.
I have a long way to go.