I stayed up until the sun rose. Now I don't know whether I want to sleep or stay awake. I have a road trip ahead of me. So now I have to act happy in a car ride with my mother. Great(sarcasm)! I will just read on the way there so I don't have to speak to her.
Avoiding my mother plan complete. Good thing my little sister will be there. Sometimes I want to tell my mom the list of things she hide from her friends in conversations. Including my mental illnesses. She would probably put me on a prayer chain without hesitation. Because according to her, avoiding things being said out loud is a way to face problems. Yeah great way to teach your kids(not really). I don't understand how she can hide behind that mask when some days I can see right through it and see the monster she really is. Because I know that I am not the monster of the family. My older siblings refuse to bring up our deep seated family issues that are generational. I don't get how they wear their masks. I can peel them all off with a single truth. My family keep secrets from people when we could just tell them our problems but no hiding is safer. I refuse to hide my problems and the generational issues.

The scorching sun. Panting breath. Colorful signs. Afternoon stroll in the downtown. People walking by. Pool open kids coming in crowds. Lunchtime rush. Businesses overflowing with people.
Coffee. Smoothies. Refreshers. Anything to bring a smile to someone's face on the hot, sweat filled days. Ice cream. Snow cones. Funnel cakes. The snacks that remind me of my childhood.
Air conditioning. Conversations everywhere. People looking at their phones. Typical summer behavior.

I run through all of the situations even the impossible ones before I start talking to someone. I rehearse conversations to the people I want to talk to before I even say a word. If I want to ask for forgiveness I make a speech ahead of time. If I am going to make a fool of myself then I might as well be sincere while doing it. I read the room before I make a statement. I read the body language and the expressions of every conservation before I take the spotlight. I know everyone's job position just by looking at their clothes. I don't hold back my words so I never get to live with regret.
I overthink a lot, this is my anxiety that I speak of.
I overthink a lot, I know it's brutal honesty.
I overthink a lot, just give me a chance.

It was my freshman year of college. You played flute in concert band. I played clarinet. You made me nervous. You nearly kissed me when I was staring at your red lipstick with your polka-dotted navy blue dress. I meant to ask you out sometime during college. My heart always raced when it came to you. I was speechless around you which is a compliment to you because when it comes to music I never shut up. Yes I know this is gay poetry. I mean this. All of this. I know I am socially awkward sometimes stoic. But I mean well, my intentions are pure. I like taking things slow. I wanted to start out as your friend then give you a love confession but I didn't get the chance to. You can ask our ginger friend for my number if this won your heart. I just wanted somewhere to start.

You are a 9 months younger than me. You have grayish-green eyes which are sometimes dark blue. You are a genius at math and science. You are straight and I am bi. You could have gone to Harvard or Yale when you graduated from high school but you chose Lincoln, Nebraska. We are best friends. We went to prom together with our friends. I had a crush on you in high school. How stupid of me falling for a straight girl. You are passionate about music and writing. At Writer's Club you were outspoken and had a good sense of humor. You get more beautiful with time. You wonderful Catholic Irish nerd accepting me as a queer person.

I felt someone kissed my head when I was at Olive Garden with my siblings. It ran a chill down my spine.
I felt someone kissed the back of my neck when I was in the SGA office working on my poetry. My pulse raced against the touch.
All of this was 2 years ago. I know somehow they are the same person. I just don't know who they are. You can come out of hiding. I am not scared of you. I just want to know: why me?

Your smooth skin beneath my hands. Me holding you so tight to my chest. Your soft lips against mine. Your gentle hands holding up my head. I swore all of time stood still when we kissed. Your chest against mine. We were two puzzle pieces stuck together effortlessly.
You sitting on my lap. It could have been 5 seconds or a whole minute but I never kept track of time. You whispered in my ear that I look better shirtless. When you got off my lap and let go of my head I could breathe again. And you kissed me again on the lips. It was deeper and more passionate than the kiss before it.

I don't need a magic broom to "Defy Gravity" as the musical Wicked implies. I just need ink and paper. I create new chapters of my life. I forge my path. I slip off the expectations like a jacket and hanging it up so it shine up the white room with it's gilded glory.

They say, "The mother's love is strong."
I say, "My mom is drowning me in disappointment glares and suffocating me in a love that doesn't let go."
How can I fly away from my mom when she chooses to never let go of me? I do one thing wrong and she wants to go through my phone which is invading my privacy rights. I am still human. She thinks I am another species because of my mental illnesses. Like I am her monster that she is required to care for but she hides me away as though I am a secret that no one else can have. I have big dreams to accomplish and I need to get out of my small town at some point. I push forward towards my dreams and she pulls back on my cloak as if it's my leash. I never needed popularity it just happened when I left high school. I never wanted people to see me as perfect because perfect is an impossible standard that no one can reach. Yet my mom compares me to my older siblings and I fall short of her mark of expectations. If I am a monster to her then watch me become human revealing my emotional scars from the wrappings you use cover up my beauty. To find sunlight in the reality she created for me is like finding a coin in mud until something glistens then there is no way to find it.

I was 7 years old at my big sister's cross country meet. The Sunlight warming my pale skin. Running on the grassy plains.
Wind rushing in my ears. Smile on my face. Yelling out my big sister's name into the rushing crowds of dark green and navy blue. Pep band playing in the background. Blood speeding through my veins.

I shoot for the stars aiming to part of sky. To shine for even a little while is worth it. I run towards my dreams. Seeing my reality sprawled across the pages like a pet cat looking for love.
The rebel with a silver tongue. The wild yet mild mannered reporter with a tender heart gazing into the dangerous, loud world hoping to become something. Reading books to have a world to be free from society's grasp on my identity as a female writer.

As Lewis Carroll puts Insanity, "You're entirely bonkers. But I will tell you a secret. All the best people are."- Alice in Wonderland
I know comparing myself to Alice Kingsley is very cliche'. But this is how I imagine myself on the crazy scale. I create worlds to escape reality and Alice always dreamt of a world where escaping reality to embrace her insanity is her muchness. As they say in the Flash, "I have always believed in the impossible. Then I became the impossible." I know those are two different stories. You can't compare a mad woman to the fastest man alive. Well it's creative rights so technically I can. Doing insane things is impossible. Being insane is perpetually making your own reality to fit the stories you hear about yourself. Insanity is allowing yourself to be who you are without questioning what you are. Being the first person to point out someone's reality without making yourself an **** is an art form. The strongest form any human can craft in. Insanity is doing something so crazy that no one believes you can do it until it happen then you are branded a genius.

Your sky blue eyes, your smooth voice, your sarcasm, your rockin' body and how you make me feel as though it's just you and me on this planet. I fell for you in my freshman year of high school. I hug you gently in my strong thin arms fear of breaking your fragile bones. You make me feel valid. When I hear you sing I call you Soul Singer because everything about you is soulful in the best way. You are a pastor's daughter. You are opinionated, have the best humor and full of puns. You took advanced classes and got started on college in high school. You helped me get through the loss of my best friend. When we sing together your raspy, deep voice mixes with my melodic, dark, sweet voice it's as though our souls are lighting up the world. People thought your band was my band. I never told you because I didn't want us to lose the good, strong friendship we have. You are just as wild as I am and it shows. I love you anyways! Happy Birthday!

The Blue Door is the door to my mind palace. I open it every now and then when I have the strength to. In my mind palace is rows and rows of books I have read along wooden bookshelves. My journal shelf is an ever growing catalog of knowledge from over the years. Every year there is a new volume in my mind. My journals are like my encyclopedia of emotions and love history. My type gets refined with every year until it's a list of characteristics and personality traits I seek in a person. The Danger Book behind the Red Door is all of the times I shouldn't have done but did anyways, regrets, past mistakes and the what ifs of me. These are all in my mind palace. I have learned from that summer don't get locked in the mind palace or bad things happen.

I may be an odd ball but I will make the ground beneath me crack open from my rage. I find that when I fight a war wits, the Earth Bites Back. Doctors in psychology, medical, therapeutic and logic all agree that I am crazy and insane. I have been through all of the scans, x-rays and tests for mental health. I have medications for my bipolar disorder and my high functioning sociopath-ness. The meds don't take away my creativity nor my high strung rebelliousness. I know how to take care of myself. My psychotic break was the worst thing to go through. I don't have all of my memories from that summer. I know how to decode my literary codes from that summer. I remember the mood swings, the restless nights, going to the hospital, my mom freaking out and me having no idea what was going on. That summer is all a fever dream to me.
The Earth Bites Back what some call crazy, I call genius.
The Earth Bites Back, I don't plan on relapsing my psychotic break.
Mentally, I sound like an alcoholic, too much stimuli and I am everywhere either too high or too low. The fall and winter depression is the worst too. All of the crying, all of the misery, all of the dreary overthinking and all of the sulking over the past.

I can tell you there is an afterlife. I went to heaven when I died in sleep for one night and met God when I was 11 years old. It was beautiful I got to see my dead grandpa and grandmas again. Everything was bright white and Jesus was there so I got to touch his man-made holes from being nailed onto the cross. I got to see the Heavenly Gates jeweled, full of diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and golden gates. There was a Time Room, there was clocks floating everywhere and the Life Book sitting on a huge oak desk. God told me while I was there, "Don't worry your name is already in it." I wanted to ask him, "What have I done so great that glorifies you?" But the words never made it out of my mouth because the clocks were drowning out my thoughts chiming with light telling me I had to leave. Before I left God said, "You will be back one day, I love you my child."

Yes it's another one on an uncomfortable subject. I am a Christian so it's not going to be superiority propaganda. That's very Anglo Saxon ******* to force a religion on anyone. So I am just going to put my thoughts down. If it's very forward of me on any of my opinions then I plan on offending as little people as possible. No you may not interrupt my train of thought so shut the **** up. Christians are uptight, don't look this way or I will religion you type culture, they deny people who God doesn't hate love because hell you go politics, they will be snobs in the most casual settings because dress up isn't just for church, prayer chains are shame settings for people who need therapy and they will give you food when you really need someone who actually cares not a casserole. I am writing what I know so here it is.

Yeah it's going to be one of those poems. I already discussed scandals so why not politics? I know you think it's going to be all popularity propaganda. Some parts yes. Other parts are going to be scientific facts. Real stories have facts. So why not this? Sure it's a poem. Watch me turn this into art. Politics are starched expensive collars, noses in the air and pride in the chest. What makes them better than everyone else? They will tell you. It's not the confidence or the over-product smell good hair on their. Nor is it the fancy dresses and over-priced tuxes. It's the ever growing tide of pride, narcissism and over-indulgent life they carry with them. It's the galas, ribbon-cuttings and over-the-top parties that draw them in. High class is what most people call it. Sure it's what most people call "paradise" but never called "home". Being rich doesn't make you soulfully rich. Some of the most arrogant, rich people I know will tear apart someone's reputation with one rumor. Yes they were popular people but it's how animal-like they were that terrified me. How can you call someone friend and destroy them in the worst, most inhuman way possible? What business are they actually running?

See I got your attention. It's human nature to want peel away the fake and reveal the ugly. If "beauty is skin deep" for most people then what is the ugliness in the beautiful? Obviously from most science documentaries there is ***, drugs, peer pressure and low self esteem. In a way popularity is full of scandals. I never understood popularity from a nerd perspective. Normal is overrated and highly praised.
Normal is drunk nights, too many parties, getting high and who slept with who. It's dramatic and boring. Normal is seeking attention and validation from people you barely know. Normal is begging for information from people you want approval from. In a way it's a system that is emotionally, physically, mentally and psychologically abusive. There are people who suffer from *** addiction because of their "glory days" and don't know how to connect with people because that so-called popular life was their drug. Don't anyone get tired of following trends and huge crowds? Do those people ever form their own opinion or are they trapped in that system? There is more to life than popularity, *** and drugs. Don't you know narcissism blooms from that lifestyle? I don't claim superiority in my nerdy intelligence. I just feel sorry for popular girls who cut themselves because of awful rumors. No one should ever feel worthless if their beauty is deeper than just their skin. I always prayed for the popular girl who I wrote letters to. I saw how that life ate her up but she didn't back down. I admire people who gaze into darkness and choose light no matter how small of achievement by human standards it is.

I love smell of old books. I like hanging out with old people. Something about old souls just drawn to me. Old things have souls. From an old typewriter to an old library. Art museums to paint galleries have souls. The whole point is to bring life to someone, an inspiration. A flame or an ocean of emotions.

The sound of pen against paper. It's like two lovers continually making love. An endless symphony of Ink Against Paper.
The Whoosh of the pen with each word. The growl of the paper.
The pen catching it's breath then returning to the paper. The smooth, gentleness of the pen and the fragile, firmness of the paper.
New worlds created with pen and paper. Business deals with pen and paper. Starting a job with pen and paper. Getting medical treatment begins with pen and paper. Beginnings are Ink Against Paper.

I was hanging out with my new friend today.
I saw a popular today who begging for information about me even though I was having a casual conservation with my new friend in Coffee Boy's coffee shop. If she actually hung out with me in high school she would still think that I am weird. I don't care about her since she is "that popular person" because "beauty is only skin deep" for them. I don't pay over 100 hundred dollars for my fashion sense. I would rather put my money towards books. "Knowledge is power" as much as "Ignorance is bliss" so, therefore; any knowledge I acquire from books is my power over ignorance. Anyone who messes with my friends expect a war of wits and knowledge. I protect my friends with my iron clad stubbornness. As I said before my friends enjoy helping people so they can handle themselves. Being nerd have it perks. Like an army of friends, being genuinely loved and valued, as well as having people who validate who you are as a person.
I may be vindictive but I know how to handle myself in this world.
Vindictive is My New Favorite Word. As you may say I am an everlasting vengeful angel.

The ink bleeds my pains and sorrows.
The paper captures every ounce of ink.
I don't need to cut myself because the Pen Cuts as Well as a Knife.
It's better to spill my soul rather than have blood to worry about.
I unravel my wild side into the pages. Chaos spreading. Anger ebbing into tiny flames. I pass my literary codes to those that I trust. Warning them of the flood of rage that is to happen. I keep those I love safe from the beast within. I am the kind of beast that needs to be understood in order to feel loved. Understanding between two humans is the intimate thing people do. I would rather have my mind and heart understood than be glanced at as though I am a crazy person. I may start a wildfire of scorching rage all around me until I rise out of the ashes like a phoenix. Vulnerable, exhausted, bright in the light and full of colors. I keep my distance and my silence until all of the anger is out of me.

I hangout with my best friends much more often now that I am medicated. It's refreshing talking to them. I trust them with my life. They are amazing, talented, intelligent and good people. Every time I hangout with my best friends I feel free, loved, and cared for. When they smile and laugh I know it's real because I can feel it in my heart. They are the realest people I know. I never have to hide my mental and emotional scars from them because they aren't perfect either. I never have to try to be normal around them because together we are weird, quirky and well read.

It was freshman year of college. We kissed there was no spark. We lasted a week. You wanted to get married to me and kids with me on day 3. I didn't see that future. You tried to killed me in your car several times going at top speeds because you were angry at something. You texted me multiple times you wanted to **** yourself. I came out to you as bisexual after we broke up. We stayed friends somehow you got worse. You became a sexist ***** because of college. You slap my **** when you want attention. You talk about sleeping with my friends. You make jokes about my sexuality. You generally make me uncomfortable. I am your only friend. I am glad we broke up when we did. I can't deal with this. You are toxic and I know I should leave at some point. You think everyone want to use you for money which is pessimistic on a multitude of levels. Even "The Beast" inside of me can't stand you and that says a lot. I know you are a science nerd but you give that honor such disgrace it makes me want to punch you in the face. I emotionally and mentally stopped investing you already. You are so clingy it's exhausting.

It was 8th grade. We were at a school dance. You danced with me and we were good dance partners. Even the popular people thought so. We lasted 4 months. We kissed a few times. What I thought was love turned out to be lust. You were sweet, endearing and you were a nerd too. Pokemon and Back to the Future movies were our thing. You loved NASA science stuff. You didn't think I had a good sense of humor. On our dates you brought a wingman. You thought my religion was a fictional fantasy. You made me feel inferior to you. You personally insulted my cousin. Everyone knew it wasn't going to last. I broke up with you over a letter on Christmas Break. Freshman year of high school all we did was fight at the lunch table and at Writer's Club. Sophomore year of high school you went on a date with the Writer's Club president. Eventually you stopped going to Writer's Club. Junior year of high school year you told me in Home Education Class that I was the only girl that you ever loved and told me that you were gay. We became friends. Senior year of high school we graduated.

I know most conversation shouldn't involve religion, politics, money and death. But I can't help wanting to bring up religion, politics and death. They are interesting subjects! Life is what everyone talks about. Money isn't a conversation starter. Too many people are afraid of death. It's inevitable. Why not talk about something that going to happen anyways? Politics get juicy and hot, people eat it up all of time. Religion is starched collars, civilized talks and prayer chains. I read too much for the average human. I read people's moods by body movements, journal articles when I am bored, books of all kinds and sometimes newspapers. Sometimes it seems like people don't read at all. Conspiracy theories aren't going to make up for the real facts and truths. Joining a pseudo-cult isn't going to change the actual events of things. The Democrats didn't cause anything. The Republicans didn't cause anything. They just want people to blame for their societal problems. What are your resources for your point of view? Are you really that self absorbed to not listen to someone's point of view? I listen to both sides of the story so I end up on the right side of history.
Do you listen to yourself? Will you care about someone else who isn't you? Or is your opinion enough in your own eyes?

Sometimes I will call myself "The Phantom" because I love The Phantom of the Opera and I live in the shadows of my older siblings. No one thinks the mild mannered, overly polite writer can be a  reckless rebel with a wild side so strong that it scares people. Sure I don't wear a mask I live out in the open. But my emotional scars are secrets and I don't reveal them to just anyone. I wear my blue jack as my cloak and my fashion sense is spot on for having a traditional, socially aware family dynamic. My wardrobe is to please crowds and make my quirky heart happy. I am a low-key business woman. I know how people function. I know society's perspective of me. I make the most of my mood swings. If I am going to make it in this world I might as well impress people with my intelligence while doing so.

My emotions show up on my face.
My mood swings are sharp and all consuming.
As the saying goes "I wear my Heart on my Sleeves".
Throughout the years I have learned to guide my mood swings to my benefit. To let the emotions flow through me and feel every ounce of them. Not stopping the emotions if it's one I don't want. Not pushing the emotion back into my heart. Just letting all of my emotions be valid, it's a peaceful and happy life to live. What I have learned is that I can't control anger and sadness. Those are the two most powerful emotions on the human spectrum. If you can't control it, feel it completely. Sure anger is a dangerous emotion but so is sadness. Guiding anger into passion to a healthy way to guide it.
Guiding sadness into happiness is a way to make the sad moments feel more valid. Having anxiety and depression ever since middle school it took awhile to guide my emotions the right way. In high school dealing with grief was like wanting to forget the tidal wave heading straight towards you but of you can't runaway from your emotions forever. I know so I have tried multiple times throughout my life. It helps no one including you. I find talking about these emotions to your closest friends who you trust helps a lot. Sure they aren't therapists but they are smart enough to know you fully. Understanding someone is the most intimate thing for we humans to do. Empathy is the ultimate intelligence. Sympathy is just surface level comfort. Empathy is walking two moons in their shoes and loving someone for what they are going through.

Many people do know it.
Many people have experience it.
Something that is freeing, unfiltered, light-hearted, smiles and laughter.
Something bubbly, talkative, kind, caring, thoughtful, too smart for their own good and a low-key comedian.
Yes this a part of me. Where there is darkness, there is also light.
I know so I am the who have to manage both sides.

Very few people have seen it.
Very few people have experienced it.
It's my wild side or should I say the darker version of it. I am not all rainbows and sunshine. Sometimes I am holy fire and everlasting instincts. Scorching and fierce. Harmful by actions and ruthless by words. Something primal. Something relentless and is a raging beast inside of me. Sometimes as cold as ice and as calculated as a mongoose. It's like losing all control in your body and something else takes over. Rather someone else who has no rage in any other way I have experienced. Imagine you living your life and a rage, full of fire and ice was yanking at your chest but when it's free you are left with the damage that is caused. Everything bottled up is spilled out and there is the canvas created by someone else who happened to be you. It's beautiful, honest, terrifying, unnerving, messy and bizarrely all you. That's the best way I can describe it.

I fell you in the 6th grade. You wanted to be friends.
We stayed friends. You met my best friend. At youth group growing up throughout the years you were the popular weird boy. I saw you perform at church. You went to my graduation party. I went to your wedding and you got married to someone else. I am proud of you.

I saw you across from me at choir class in the 6th grade. I fell for you.
The popular choir girl. You blended in so well in this small town.
You told me that I was "brutally honest" in the 7th grade.
My mom didn't understand my obsession with you. You met my best friend with storm blue eyes in the 8th grade. We sang in Praise Band together in the 8th grade. I still don't understand why you were jealous of my best friend.
In freshman year of high school I loss my best friend. You were there for me. We got close.
In sophomore year of high school we went to homecoming together. You looked stunning, we had fun.
In junior year of high school I trusted you with my anxiety and depression.
In senior year of high school we graduated together.
In freshman year of college I came out to you and you rebuked me.
In sophomore year of college I tried talking to you about girls and you shut me down.
In junior year of college my mood swings were drastic and I told you nothing. I dropped out of college during the COVID-19 breakout, my depressive episodes happened when I had exams.
Now we don't hangout anymore. I still know who you are and I remember everything you love. I trusted you. Do you miss me? When people mention me do you even bother to say we are still "best friends"? What do those two words mean to you? You rather be praised by others than be loved and cared for by me. That's your hubris.

The Taste of ***** burns the throat.
The Taste of ***** mixed with soda is a luxury.
Sure it's strong but so am I. I can't get drunk off of it because my metabolism is too fast.
The Taste of ***** it's gives a buzz.
The Taste of ***** it's not liquid courage just another high compared to my mood swings.
Sure it's one of the things normal people get drunk off of, good for them. Try having natural happy high then crashing into sadness lake. It *****. It feels like being Icarus.

One roof, lots of rules. Several rooms so many mental triggers.
Outside the house is freedom and laws. No one to watch every move.
It's Your Life Now Live, Our siblings are living lives separate from mom's grasp on our futures. We can escape every now and then.
It's Your Life Now Live, I know her rules are strict but someday will get out of this town. Whoever you become just let me support whatever you do. I am your big sister so I don't care what mom says you are amazing to me. As long as you are reasonable with you become I will do everything in my power to protect you.
It's Your Life Now Live, We are both creative so let's make the most of it. Don't get high too often. I will notice. Mom won't.
My little sister, I love you. There I said it. I don't say it often enough. I looked after you all of these years. Sure no one understands in our family why we chose our passions except our older brother. Being weird have perks.

My experiences are mine to share.
Thank you everyone for supporting my poetry! I really appreciate it. This is my safe place. So I am glad people like you enjoy my experiences.
To Anyone Who Listens, I love you people.
To Anyone Who Listens, This army is worth celebrating.
To Anyone Who Listens, I consider you people my friends.
To Anyone Who Listens, If I could give everyone hugs I would in a heartbeat.

If I touch you will you smile? If we go into a deep conversation will you be interesting to me? Are you worth me losing my mind?
What obsessions and passions you have?
I am curious. I have always been curious about everything. When I read people's stories through social interactions I notice a lot. The little details that matter in a story.
How Real Are You? Will you cry when I tell my tragic story? Will you love me for my quirks? What kind of jokes do you tell? Do you have a sense of humor? Let's figure it out.

Cliches' are boring and overused like a 1950's newspaper, it has no relevance.
There are so many Cliches' and new ones that come with each year.
They stick to people's minds because they are used so often. Cliche' you disgust me, it like a stale piece of bread no one wants it anymore.
Cliches' only stimulates the populace and capitalism.

When my nose bleeds my heart pounds, my ears echo, every noise is louder than before. I taste blood in the back of throat. Blood rushes at top speeds trying to get out of me.
                                     Drip
                                           Drop. I speak my truth and my soul feels free. My heart feels as though I released something I wasn't suppose to.
     Drip
           Drop. I write something worth revealing. Excitement cheering me on. Fear screaming at me to stop what I am doing. My heart pounding with mixed emotions.
               Drip
                    Drop.

I push my issues your way you give a death glare and ask for my opinion on things.
I become the opposite of you and you think something is wrong with me.
I am someone you don't want to mess with. You ask for a war of wits, I will see how you can last with my iron clad stubbornness and everlasting defiance. I don't need to wear a mask to be vigilante, I have nothing to cover up. I am the Crazy Writer so I will bring an army with me and I won't hold back anything. My words are so sharp that you will bleed from a sentence. I wave my flag in honor to be a rebel.

My mother always gave me childhood trauma that my father made up for. I always enjoyed wear boyish clothing. My mom had to force me into a dress when I was a kid. Where my mom gave me sad and angry memories, my dad would give me joyful and loving memories.
My mom and dad divorced when I was 7 years old. They would fight about my siblings and I. My dad always defended my sanity to my mom.
One of the things I heard when I was 7 years old my dad said to my mom, "You wanted to have her!" That's when I knew they were talking about me. My older sister was expensive sports wise. I was the expensive kid therapy wise. I had reading help in kindergarten. I had speech therapy from 1st grade to 3rd grade. I had physical therapy since I was in preschool to 5th grade. I had emotional therapy from middle school to college. I stopped one of my friends from erasing himself from the earth multiple times. Growing up friends I thought I could count on to stay around left me. Being abandoned by my old friends gave me trust issues. I still don't trust people easily. If you are going to drain my soul, take a piece of my heart then leave me. What was the point of getting emotionally invested in you?

Your coffee brown eyes and dark brown curly hair.
That smile and your voice.
Owner of a coffee shop, smart, creative, innovative and yet you call me friend.
Coffee Boy, you have no idea how happy both your ambition and dark chocolate Americano make me. I hope we become best friends one day. Your everyone-is-my-friend personality is probably why your coffee shop is so successful.
Coffee Boy, you are an optimistic ray of sunshine in a dreary, pretentious small town. You understand why I am a writer. Same way I understand why you are a coffee shop owner.
Creativity is a lifestyle.
Coffee Boy, you peaked my interest.

In middle school I desperate to in fit but still be myself. I had a crush on a popular girl who eyes were turquoise. I sat next to her in my clarinet section for 7 years. I wrote her letters until I gave up on the hope of her writing back. We had art class together. When I gazed into her eyes, I saw a good person. I am a softie for good people.
I watched her YouTube videos. I accidently Facebook stalked her. I had an obsession with this girl. My obsession was once about getting into a popular group then turned into genuine caring for her.
I saw her at college once she blushed when I glanced at her. I had dreams about her from middle school to high school. In high school I stopped caring about fitting in and just stayed myself. I figured I rather not change my personality to fit into a group that I know barely anything about. Yes my best friends were always the nerds. I didn't care about the status quo and I hated the drama that would occur with popular people which was everyday. I preferred the company of my friends. Sure there was some drama every twice a month. It was what I could handle. Being academically gifted didn't mean we nerds weren't impartial to dealing with anxiety and depression. It would take me forever to count how many of my creative friends deal with social anxiety. It's common to have to deal with anxiety.

My mom was overbearing as usual. I wanted to escape so I found my fictional paradise in my mind palace. I lost my mind. I couldn't rest or slept too much. I heard so many voices and I spoke back. I left hints for myself in riddles, some riddles were easy others were hard but I understood where I was going. Trying to find the doorway out. Three months I was trapped in my mind palace.
My house felt like an institution. My mom kept stressing me out. On my worst days I stayed in the house. On my best days I could outside my house. The medications helped. The doctors were nice. I still talk to my psychiatrist and my therapist. When ever my mom stresses me I walk around town. She goes with me to my sessions it's annoying. My dad normally is loving about that summer and calls me Crazy Brandi. It's endearing. He thought I was sleepwalking when I interrupted his sleep when I really couldn't sleep at all. I guess being overstimulated by bipolar disorder and anxiety is why my sleep schedule changed so much so often that summer.

I may not be an teacher like my older sister. I may not be a pastor like my older brother. But I can write.
This Is Where I Lead, I may not be my older siblings but I have lead Writer's Club as vice president in high school and I have lead Writer's Guild as vice president in college. My older siblings had to be taught how to lead. I could lead crowds even if it was small crowds ever since I was a kid, I had leading down to a science by high school due to my natural instincts.
This Is Where I Lead, I hardly ever lied growing up but when I did my mom would notice. My siblings had no idea how much strength it took going up against mother mentally and emotionally growing up because none of them ever did it. My mom always thought something was wrong with me even I was being a good person front and center for her.
This Is Where I Lead, I have always been opinionated and outspoken because I hung out with geniuses so of course I would play catch up in the matter of minutes at lunchtime and have my voice be heard. We would have a different topic every day so I felt like a reporter in a good way. The nerd table would be filled with music nerds, writing nerds and a couple of science nerds. Being a nerd requires being strong willed, being looked down upon by the popular people, tough skin, and having to deal with bullies.

Some Heroes Leave you to deal with a destroyed structure.
Some Heroes Leave because life sent them away from you.
Some Heroes Leave grief inside of you so deeply you want all of the pain to be cried out of you.
Some Heroes Leave because they didn't know how to save you anymore.
Some Heroes Leave because the cape got too heavy for them and mask fell off revealing a selfish glorified coward.
Some Heroes Leave because there was nothing left to say.
Some Heroes Leave because they never understood anyways.
Some Heroes Leave because they have their own demons to face.
Some Heroes Leave because they have no idea how to articulate their words about their feelings.
Some Heroes Leave because it was there turn to be cared for.
Some Heroes Leave because they are injured from battles.
Some Heroes Leave because it was never about you maybe they just needed time to heal.

My big brother supports everything I do. I have always looked up to him. My big sister would boss me around and try to mother me in a way. As you can see there is a difference between my older siblings. My big sister agreed with my mom on everything they wanted for my path, never let me put word in on my own future. My dad and big brother loved everything about who I was becoming. My little sister looked up to me and she still does. Growing up was difficult for me. I chose not to listen to my mom's patronizing lectures and my big sister's ever growing grip on my socials. I hung out with my dad and big brother a lot. Now that we we are all adults, my little sister understands my rebellious nature. My big brother still checks up on me and supports my creative lifestyle. My big sister still thinks she can control me.
Here is How I Evolve, if anyone thinks they can control me I throw red herrings everywhere I can.
Here is How I Evolve, if anyone support me I will show you an unconditional love like none other.

Mom thinks I am lazy and unobservant though if she ever listened to the parents around her, she would know that I have a strong work ethic and is very observant. Mom used to call me a worthless kid when she thought I was asleep. I stayed up those nights thinking of ways to make my mom proud turns out nothing creative I did made her proud. Only when I got awards from cross country about me being the heart and soul of the team or a certificate for having a good GPA in high school my senior year and perfect attendance. Otherwise I never felt loved and validated by my mother. I lived in the shadows of my older siblings. Perfect at sports, perfect at school, and always hanging around a crowd somewhere. No matter how many times people would tell me how great of a friend I am or how smart I am it's hard for me to believe them. I had my small group of best friends that trusted with my life and I still do. I don't care about what people say of me. You can't criticize my life when you have never lived it.
What Everyone Says about me depends on who you were. I got used to living in the shadows of my older siblings and forged my own path. Watch me become someone great, I dare you.

Being invisible when I was in school most people didn't bat an eyelash at the things I wrote on the internet because I abstained from having ***. My atheist friend makes fun of me for it, he jokes that I am asexual but he just doesn't understand that I want trust and love when I have *** with someone. Is that so wrong? I am monogamous and a hopeless romantic. When I kiss someone I want them to trust me. I kissed a girl in college and it was worth it. The guys I kissed growing up had nothing on her except for my first kiss when I was 7 years old. Bisexuality is not a phase, isn't a trend, and most certainly isn't an excuse to cheat on anyone of any gender.

If you went to high school then you probably heard of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" as the poem goes, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I -- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."
Being a rebel writer I always take "the one less traveled by", people in my life will say so. Most of my friends enjoy helping people, one of them is going to college for social work, one of them is planning to become a Registered Nurse, one of them is in college for becoming an engineer, one of them is an English Major in New York, one is a music instructor, and one of them is a missionary planning to open up a coffeehouse. I don't know what the popular people are doing with their lives, I know what my siblings are doing with their lives but that's about it. Statistically speaking, popular people have fewer friends leaving high school because they are normal. The more interesting you are the more people flock towards you like a magnet collecting nails. It's as though the whole "normal" logic flips over when heading into college.
What Path Did You Take? Did you destroy yourself on a drug addiction? Or did you get medical treatment from professionals? Do you have kids? Did you get married? What is your job? Are satisfied with your life? If you aren't satisfied with your life then find out how to make it better. I may not be a doctor but I am someone who understands life pretty **** well.