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.

See I got your attention. Hi, don't die today or the next. It's your life not anyone else's. So ***** them. If they hate you for being different.
**** their opinions! You are special, weird, strange, impossible, loved and valued. If they hate you for being talented. **** their point of view! If you ***** with their minds enough they won't mess with you. I know so because I have evolved over the years into a strong, crazy, beautiful, mature, nurturing and loving young woman. The bullying never broke my mind nor heart. It did give me trust issues and doubt in humanity.

To be Perceived is to be noticed. To be noticed is an honor because being aware of people around you is awareness of others.
To be the one who notices everything is a pleasure but it's also a lot of responsibility. I have to be accurate, out-spoken, truthful and be able explain my point of view in detail. I know that I am describing what it is like to be a writer but stay with me on my tangents. It might benefit you or it might confuse you to the point of insanity.
As I was saying perspective is everything and without a main point to something you will get lost in yourself. Interesting or boring if what you are saying doesn't grab them by the ears then shut up.

When you have story so full of details, wonders and converging side characters it becomes impossible to follow just one main plot line.
When your story is full of tragedies, hilarious moments, heart warming people, cold as ice radio silences and dramatic misunderstandings it's as though the story is already overflowing with curiosity.
To Let Go of the past, the hate, the ego and the rage you are left with a heart and soul. What will be left if take away all of that? Will you be free or will you be nothing? What are humans without rage and envy?
To Let Go of the pain and sorrow as well as learn from past mistakes you become a hero with glorious purpose or a rebel with trust issues.
I became a rebel with trust issues became being a hero is overrated and I can't save everyone, that's my downfall. I want to help everyone but not everyone is worth saving. Demons lurk in the shadows waiting for their next vicious move against humanity. Beasts fear vengeful angels. I am not lonely but I am insane. I am not afraid of the beasts and demons anymore they are powerless against my wits.

He tells me that my *** is too tiny.
He tells me that my ***** are close to nothing.
He tells me that I should gain weight and become fat.
He tells me that I am too thin.
He tells me that he doesn't care about my figure but based on his comments and insults, he lies.

I know that I will never be straight because I am bisexual.
I know that I will never be the perfect Christian because I am a liberal and the church brainwashed me long enough that I have my own thoughts now.
I am okay with the fact that I know what everyone thinks of me because I am a writer.
I am okay with the fact that my Christian friends will never accept me because I am bisexual.
I am okay with the fact that my bad memories will haunt me but I don't give them power over me anymore.
I am okay with the fact that one day when I come out completely on Facebook my church friends will hate me but they won't matter.
I am okay with the fact that one day I won't be living in my small religious Conservative town anymore because my past isn't me.
I am okay with the fact that one day my novels, short stories and poetry will be published where my name will known.
Ideally not everything will be perfect but I will be free.

Working through my emotions. Mostly just working in general to forget I have a decision to make. I just got out of an abusive friendship. As much as my emotionally unavailable mother and I bond the bridge is just barely there. As much as I bond with my emotionally abusive father apologize to me nothing is ever right.
I am emotionally and mentally expressive because my parental relationships are so messed up.
Unlike my siblings I am not emotionally stunted. I don't trust many people. I don't like many people. If I care about you then you are special to me. I don't care what people say about us or what they think. I don't even care how bizarre my creative friends are I just don't want to be alone. Their pasts are their pasts as long as they respect mine I respect theirs. I don't like people who judge me because I cuss a lot. I don't like people who have bad vibes.
I have a lot of boundaries I just need normal people to respect them.

I understand a lot of things for my young age which makes me crazy somehow. I don't understand normal people and normalcy.
I am not normal because I have always been weird and beautiful.
My outer beauty doesn't define me. My heart and mind defines me.
Falling in Love isn't The Mistake. It is the losing your mind over someone who doesn't love you back that makes it a mistake.
Falling in Love shouldn't be about outer beauty or compatibility.
Falling in Love shouldn't be whether the person has a rich family nor their friends ignorance. Falling in Love should be about whether you enjoy who they are, their friends sense of humor and seeing if they have an unspoken honor code. I haven't found my person yet. But someday I hope whoever they are will love me back and will be fine with my boundaries.

A flicker of pain. Blood dripping.
An open wound. A rush to the hospital.
In the ER waiting for a doctor to close up the ****.
The sting of a needle to numb my pain.
Couldn't feel my arm for the rest of the night.
Thick string going beneath my skin and tugging at my skin.
A doctor with steady hands. He doesn't mind the blood oozing from my wound. Slowly my wound got closed up.
Now my wound is healing at it's own pace.
I am grateful for my coworkers; the cashier who called the store manager to meet me at the hospital and the pizza maker who drove me to the hospital.
I want to thank the hospital staff for taking care of me that evening.

He is tall, reeks of sweat and gas station food.
He leaves a mess in the kitchen of the gas station.
You don't care who you make clean your messes as long as you leave beforehand. You got a girl pregnant, it's your life.
I don't know how you still got a job at the gas station.
Your girl works harder than you do.
Everyone knows it. So drop the entitle white guy act and actually do your job better.

Considering I am writing a new chapter of my life. I enjoy the freedom from his world. I like this new me.
I can be whatever I want. So I am going to be me. Brave, kind, sweet, hopeful, intelligent and the girl worth remembering.
Sure I am damaged, rebellious, traumatized and full of scars yet being brokenhearted is why I shine so brightly.

My parents divorced when I was 7 years old.
I Didn't Ask to Grow Up Early. I have always been mature for my age. My mom abused my stunning looks for her benefit in my religious community. I have always hated going to big gatherings. My dad would let me leave early. My mom would never let me bring a book with me to every social gathering. Even though I would always be bored out of my mind. I always felt numb being at huge gatherings. If I found someone I knew I would have fun, if not I would beg my mom for us to leave early. She wouldn't let us leave early. I am an old soul in a young body. I am peculiar so to say.

I am divided in two because I loss my best friend at age 15.
Sometimes I am delusional. Sometimes my thoughts make no sense.
Sometimes my words slur in mid-conversation. Sometimes I can't feel anything at all. Sometimes I have no motivation to eat or sleep.
Sometimes the voices in my head aren't my own and I want to scream at them to shut up. I will not romanticize my mental condition.
I am giving a voice to a personal issue of mine. Do that make me insane? No, just aware. Movies make my condition a horror movie or a thriller movie. It is neither something that controls me or makes me a lunatic. Maybe I am just more strong willed than most people with my condition. My mental illness doesn't make me any less human.
I could argue that it makes me more human. Do I sound insane bringing up my symptoms? Maybe I don't know what normal 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.

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 woke up with my long term memory blank.
It took a cup of coffee to regain it all back.
Strolling downtown I panicked and went to the art gallery.
I couldn't breathe and felt hungry so I went into a cafe'.
I kept reading everyone true emotions and everything felt loud.
My heart was pounding in my chest and my brain kept trying finding to calm me down. I had to leave the cafe' and brought my food with me. But I couldn't eat and I felt like vomiting. I threw away my food.
I walked into my church and went to my hiding place to catch my breath. I felt hopeless like a piece of me was missing and I wanted to cry, to scream in pain. But my mind was on overdrive and my heart was going at double time. I walked out of my church and walked home. I could breathe but nothing felt right.

Everyone has a comfort zone. It's human to have one.
My comfort zone is my bedroom. I get my best writings done on my bed. But I can't live in my bedroom forever. I socialize and I try to open up my heart to people. The thing is I don't trust people.
I did once a long time ago. I don't know when to shut up when I open up my heart. I guess whatever is left of my heart there is still hope somewhere in there. I want to permission to be me.
I want permission to have a relentless heart and a restless mind.
I am not normal because I never have been normal.
I don't need validation nor people to like me.
I need to be seen for who I am. And who is that?
I would say that I am a bipolar, high functioning sociopath and most importantly a creative writer. I don't ask for praise, being criticized and being called strange. I just ask for human decency, my boundaries to be respected, my silence to be honored and my life to be stable.

Imagine a blank canvas. Pizza dough is like that before the sauce is on it. It's squishy, soft and flexible. It's saucy, full of ingredients and complex. Every pizza has it's own type of sauce.
Every pizza has it's own way to be made.
It's fun and thrilling to go through a dinner rush.
Tons of orders. Multiple types of pizzas. Different sauces. Different meats and vegetables. The loud beeping of online orders coming in.
The phones ringing off their ends. The satisfaction of going hours without taking a break. Now I sound like a workaholic.
Maybe I am I don't know it's my first job. I am good at my job and everyone knows it.

Strength is evolving until you find the best you there is.
Being strong-willed doesn't just happen.
You can't pay for a strong mentality with money. You have to pay for it with your past and all of your sins in your heart.
You have to pay for a headstrong mind with every dark thought you have and over planned conversation you have ever lived through.
Being gifted don't just happen to people. Being gifted involve being called insane, delusional and weird from time to time.
It isn't an award you get to wear around your neck. It's a heavy price to pay for all those things. I should know because I am stubborn, headstrong and gifted.
I Never Said That Strength is a Treasure. All can say that being strong-willed isn't for the weak at heart.

Maybe I am still in love with my straight Christian green eyed best friend. But that would be insane. Absolutely insane.
Maybe she changed while on her internship in Ohio. I mean she wants to be a photographer now. That's good I think, I hope.
Maybe she isn't as bad as I thought she was. No that's ridiculous even by my standards. She is still a hubris idiot with a kind heart.
Maybe, she rebuked me for being bi and she would never accept the fact I had a crush on her in high school. Why do she have to be so adorable and beautiful?
Maybe we aren't so different. She is still human and I am this Phantom that makes pain into poetry.
Maybe she was lonely without me which I highly doubt. She is this angelic gorgeous girl that follows all of the rules and I am this nerdy, out-spoken, rebellious girl that knows where I am going in life.
I don't follow all of the rules, I break the status quote, I challenge society's perspectives with my own and I lead my misfit army.
Maybe she is the beta wolf now and I am the alpha wolf because she is way too polite to challenge anyone to a battle of wits where as I do it all of the time. I pick my battles, fight my demons, embrace the path I am going on, prove people wrong all of the time, let people know my opinions and write until I feel free. What is she without me? She would be lost, heart-broken and confused without me.

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.

To have a boss that can't stand someone that wants to help a best friend at work seems unreasonable. I work on cashiering and doing kitchen help. I work with men each night but my work best friend is a woman. I have every right to help up there as much as I help back there. I am not the only one who can do dishes. I am not the only one who can help cashiers when they need it.
I guess it's a rite of passage to have a **** boss though I could say worst but I won't. He thinks his actions are justified even they based off his mood. I am the only night shift kitchen worker that is a woman. I have every right to do both because I signed up for both.
I didn't sign for his attitude or his being chums with other guys.
It's human nature but clearly he doesn't study it because he is a kitchen manager.

I never had to hide my madness. I am crazy and insane.
Madness is my home. It isn't a fickle feeling or a short wisp of happiness. It's embracing every flaw and painting a new reality every day. It's existing in a thriving state of being human. It's evolving to a better version of yourself to feel accomplished in every human way possible.
Madness is my home. I never have to pretend to be me. My reality changes with every mood-swing. Each panic attack, anxiety attack and depressive episode gives me new awareness of my reality.
Noticing every small detail in a person comforts me in a weird way.
Madness is my home. I have trust issues, mental illnesses and a collection of trauma. This is how I live and I love every minute of it.

Mentally I feel like I could sleep for days in this weird sense of calmness. Psychologically I feel at peace with my life.
Physically I keep glancing at my arm because I get worried for myself since it's healing but there is bruising around my stitches.
Healing is the art of becoming a better person to the point where ruts are just detours in life.
Healing is telling people that you survived life's traumas and grief with a resilient mind.
Healing is running into the painful memories and not backing down.
Healing is many things and many people don't know how to heal themselves because that's life.

My perspective isn't based off of my emotions most of time.
I write because I am passionate about difficult subjects.
I may be insane but my voice is still valid.
I don't question what I can't control because I know I can't control my mental illnesses. I do research about multiple things when I am passionate about topics. I have a lot of wisdom because I learn so much from my experiences. I accept the fact that it is generational in my family to be narcissistic so I got rid of my ego entirely and just stayed empathetic. I got rid of my hatred and my judgemental aspects as though they were phases in my personality because I didn't want to be like the rest of my family. My grandma, my dad, my big brother and my little sister still have flaws but they aren't narcissistic.
I am a high functioning sociopath but I choose be warm and loving because I don't want to become bitter and heartless.

My reality is real in every sense of the word.
Imagine getting your heart torn out brutally and sadness filling up every joyful moment. It's like drowning in an ocean of your own thoughts. My bad and dark thoughts pulled up in a flash of guilt. Everything tangled up and wired at high speeds. Agony and sorrow in my mouth. Anxiety in my chest. Panic in my mind. Depression pushing out every good feeling like janga blocks. Mood swings whooshing all over the place. You think you would ever lose your best friend who gave you galaxies to dream in while giving her a realistic point of view. Anger blowing up anything it can every chance it can.

I try to defend myself for the obsolete rules my boss makes.
He always threatens me when he feels powerless.
He never listens. He never asks anyone if his view of events are right.
He assumes that I don't care. He assumes that he can do whatever he wants without consequences.
His ideology is flawed in many ways.

I was taught to be cold and calculated by my mother.
I was emotionally and mentally neglected by her.
Everything I learned about mentality and emotions was from cause and effect. I was raised by therapists of all sorts, be beloved by everyone who have ever met me, church moms who cared about me and youth pastors treating me like I was their kid.
My mom always says when someone asks how her kids ended up so great, "God raised my kids." In a way that's true.
Being the only special needs kid in my family means I had to work 4 times harder than my siblings in order to get any praise from my parents. I learned faster than siblings because they trusted too easily in humanity and I trusted too little in humanity.
I knew the expectations and pressure of being myself.

So Girl with Green Eyes. You went to a worship band internship in Ohio. I know who you are but I don't know what you are. I have seen your monster. I have seen your madness.
What are you? Because I don't know anymore.
I know the labels you have put on yourself. But what exactly do you see yourself as? I know you are a good person. But to what degree do good turns to bad? You go as far as the crowd. Why? You have so much potential. Why chase after boys who only notice your outer beauty? I know the extent of your beauty. You are out of their league. Why do you seek love from boys who have to know you in order to love you? Your romantic fantasies are much more surface level than mine. Love isn't a grocery list. Love is selflessly devoting yourself to a person regardless of what and who they are. I can be your bi best friend but I can't be your therapist anymore. You have all these issues but you don't tell anyone. Are you trying to lose your mind? You want all of the glory from a stage when you act even when it's your closest friends around. I won't spill your secrets but please get your head out of your fantasy land you can't live there forever. I may be a rebel but you are still human. Your ex is living his best life. Why aren't you? You know leading is about guiding the crowds not becoming the crowds. Just saying this strict over zealous, narrow minded choir girl isn't the girl I became friends with. You used to be so open minded, accepting, less this, cheerful, willing to do anything for the outcasts and willing to trust the gothic people at youth group. What happened to that girl? I miss that girl. Who hurt you? Who destroyed that girl? I know people change over time but I hate this wall between us. Who asked you to burn that girl away to ashes? Where did you get all this hate for queer people? You wouldn't even let me watch Love, Simon with you because you said it was a gay movie. I mean it is because it's based off of a good book. Representation of the queer isn't degradation for the straight. Who gave you that idea? Because God loves every outcast. Why don't you? Straight America isn't a real thing. Sure straight people are the majority but queer people still have minority rights. I learned that in history class.

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.

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.

They don't tell you how amazing it is to love.
They don't tell you how much unrequited love *****.
They don't tell you how great every tastes after your first time.
They don't tell you how every emotion is louder when you are older.
They don't tell you how coming out is terrifying.
They don't tell you how depression feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.
They don't tell you how anxiety feels as though everything is falling apart.

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."

Changing roles in society is becoming part of your dreams and welcoming a new reality. I may not be a billionaire nor a rich doctor.
But I am a witty writer with a soulful heart. That's worth something in this fake, bitter, delusional and hypocritical society.
I know what it is like to not know if you are going to live because feeling worthless it is the worst.
People in this society don't know how to have an honest conversation about abuse, sexuality, love and hate. On the surface they are happy but on the inside they miserable. Why live like that? Do my writings make you feel uncomfortable? Good now you are using critical thinking. Use your feelings for something that isn't going to **** your soul.

My big sister married a farm Catholic boy in her grade at age 22.
I was 16 years old and one of her bridesmaids. I am proud of my big sister who was Christian converted to Catechism for him. Catholics enjoy gossips and rumors as much as Christians do. They have their routine and we have ours. My family being Christian middle class and the in-laws being rich farmers who happen to be Catholic it was good for my big sister to marry that farmer boy because they dated for 5 years then he proposed to her during Christmas. They have a great love story. Their daughter and sons are my niece and nephews. But once we have to socialize with his family it's awkward. It's getting closer to their 5th year anniversary. As I said in one of my earlier poems I don't like big crowds it's draining for me.

To be stoic and emotionless is praised upon.
To be emotional and heart-broken is frowned upon.
Let Men Have Emotions, all that toxic masculinity isn't good for anyone.
Let Men Have Emotions, they don't get live much without them.
Let Men Have Emotions, the ******* who rule the earth aren't allowing themselves to feel at all.
Let Men Have Emotions, not all sweet boys are gay and not all angry men are straight.

I am going to see her this Sunday at someone's wedding. She is going to be stunning and my heart will race. My heart always race with her around. She is my best friend. It has been 9 years since we became friends at youth group.
Praying with her was my way of telling her that I trusted her. I observe everything and she isn't perfect. No one is perfect. I have met beasts, demons, angels and humans because the bad, the worst and the good are all just labels we put into stories. I don't trust people. I did once when I was younger.
I was naive, hopeful, the outcast and the sunshine in people's lives.
I grew up because my heroes were selfish and abandoned me to deal with my own problems, my expectations of humanity broke my heart repeatedly and my villains were bullies with inflated egos.
I don't have a perfect life and I am okay with that. I am always learning from my past and I am grateful for my wild life.
It's mine and I am not alone anymore because I have my closest friends, my good friends, my misfit army and people I meet at Coffee Boy's coffee shop in town.

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 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.

You may fit into the perfect Christian girl lifestyle but you were never me. You never walked in my shoes because you were a coward.
You are afraid of your own shadow because you leave a trail of broken hearts and lost souls behind you. Those lost people trusted you with their lives and you spilled the blood to the popular kids.
I guess that's why you only ever had me by your side. They couldn't handle your perfect green eyes and rockin' ***. Your pure hearted and virtuous bull crap is underneath that mask you call your personality. You selfish, self-absorbed, relentless, innocent and spoiled brat fooled everyone around you but you haven't fooled me. I see right through you and I hate the monster you have became.
I trusted you but never again. You push everyone away from you and keep your secrets to yourself because you are afraid of dying alone.
Remind me to never bring you to my wars ever again because traitors like you deserve the sadness that comes with being alone. Look at your own sins and cry your heart out because this is where I say step off away from me, demon.

Being weird I have many friends on Facebook. Don't why. People are just like that I guess. I don't understand most humans. Well that's half true. I don't understand most people's habits. That's fully true.
Popularity makes people feel powerful and indestructible when they are really terrified of being themselves and vulnerable to haters.
I guess the normal people hate being called out on their *******.
So ***** them but not literally. I have thick skin figuratively. Not the point but if you are a nerd you understand what I mean.
Popularity is just a construct. Yeah well go **** yourself. You are speaking to a proud nerd here. You weren't the one who tried so hard to be popular. You weren't the one who made corny jokes trying to be cool. You weren't the one constantly planning whole conversations in your head. So I say this politely, go **** yourself.

Flaws are what make us human. So is creating human connections.
We need other humans to love us and value us because part of being human is not wanting to be alone. Loneliness is a silent killer in most humans. Depression cause people wanting to inflict pain on themselves because they don't want to be a burden or suicide because you can't be a burden dead. Cause and effect is what science calls the consequences of others actions. People who roam in packs take on animalistic lifestyles. As science puts it roaming in packs brings the fear of individualism. I have always been a lone wolf because it took me awhile to find my people. I enjoy leading a small crowd, reading to form my own opinions and writing to become a better version of myself. In a way my loneliness made me mysterious to other people. Hanging out with geniuses turns out I wasn't the only lone wolf who needed a pack. I don't need to be validated by big crowds in order to be happy. I have a small group of best friends who I trust with my life. Fitting in was never the issue it was hiding my weird personality quirks that scared me from the animalistic lifestyle. The thing that makes me mysterious to other people is my mental illnesses. People who claim that everyone is weird clearly never met actual weird people. Normal people may be animalistic but they are also stupid due to fitting in. I guess pleasing other people made them forget to form their own opinions. Who is the idiot who claimed that and made everyone believe it's true? Human connection is important but so is having your own mind. Being brainwashed into a modern, animalistic society that doesn't give a **** about your life is just giving society what they want and that is feeding their inferiority complexes by spilling stories about personal, intrusive events.

You have blue eyes and wavy blonde hair.
You work at Coffee Boy's coffee shop.
You were a normal, popular girl in high school.
You always glanced at me in the hallways because of the rumors and the gossip about me. You are my friend somehow.
I don't know for some odd reason you like having conversations with me. You have a boyfriend and got your dental assistant certificate.
You have a couple of friends from high school. I have an army I made myself. I have big dreams with emotional scars and you are trying to get through life with your homeostasis. We live in two totally different worlds. You have a trust fund and I have to work for my paycheck. What is it like to be normal? Because I don't know what popularity feels like. What are your best battle strategies? Because I need to know what kind of ally you are. I don't trust people easily because people like you abandon people like me when it doesn't benefit you. I inherently don't trust popular people with my dark secrets because they are complete idiots to grim realities.

I have my secrets. My family have their secrets. I don't wear a mask. They do. To live in the shadows is where the madness is.
The all-consuming fire of madness. To be mad you have to be brave. You have to be fearless, stubborn, determined, wanting to prove everyone else wrong about you and be dramatic to the point where it annoys people. To be unforgettable like a scar. To live with good memories and flashbacks. To drink poison and absorb sunlight at the same time. Madness isn't for the weak, meek soulless people. Madness is for people who collect scars like trophies, wear fierceness as though it's a jacket, stories spilling out of journals, endless therapy sessions and looking at the past in eyes to call it your nemesis.
In All Honesty, I am free of my chains, free of my distress, free of my emotional attachments to the past and I am not lonely anymore. I have an army of people I love and care for. I wouldn't trade my life for anything being a middle class American with mental illnesses is worth all of the madness.

I saw people from my past. It was good.
Now I am tired and soulfully exhausted.
The responsibility of being a spiritual Christian.
I grew up at church which overall I had no freewill of being a Christian. It was expected in my small town.
Being rebellious is basically building upon thought-crimes where Big Brother is always watching you. There is always new gossips and rumors. I have always rebelled in my own way I would rather be a vagabond writer than a practical scientist. Logic isn't my enemy but it doesn't help me when I make creative cases against humanity.
I am well read, well researched, always making elaborate plans to get out of this town and standing out the best I can.
To go against traditions makes you the black sheep of the family, to be different is to have the label weird brandished across your heart and to hold your truths by biting your tongue. Oh the world that we live in where eras and renaissances are just ancient history.

Popular people want to recruit me to their ranks.
I am best friends with nerds so no thanks.
I rather not bleed my heart out to people who eat my pain like chocolate at a cafe'. Sure they changed hair color but not skin. I am naturally lightly tanned because I don't need bronzor tanning lotion. I have fair pale skin. In the winter you can tell that I don't go outside that often. I don't go to the beach nor pool all that much if I do my swimsuit is modest. I hate the idea of even wearing a bikini. Just because I am skinny doesn't mean I should fit societal norms. And I have heard of all of the skinny jokes there is throughout my lifetime.
Skinny shaming me won't fix your life so try me I dare you. I break barriers of society's walls because it fun proving people wrong. You underestimate me and I make you eat your words. Don't bet against me because you will lose your money. Invest in me emotionally and I will become your part time therapist.

My mom hates it when I make up stories and create lies. I only do that to survive her wrath. My Imagination was Infinite growing up as a kid. I could never reach perfect but I could reach weird.
I don't know how but I brought out the best in most people even those that popular people feared.

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.

My heart breaking slowly. I miss you Girl with Grayish-Blue Eyes! I have never stopped loving you. I never stopped falling in love with you. It's been 6 years since I lost you to death. I have grown into a rebellious, fearless bisexual woman. You inspired me with your life and my memories of us. I felt your love for me beyond death. I knew you would fulfill your promise. You have never left my heart because no one can replace what we had. Our effortless, endless, loving, caring, soulful, selfless, once in a lifetime and unforgettable friendship or whatever it was. I think our narrative for our love story went beyond friendship because I have never looked someone the way I had looked at you and my broken heart can prove that. I think you took a piece of my heart when you went to heaven because that part of me is vacant. You had me with your grayish-blue eyes and free spirit because no matter how big you went for my birthday all I really needed was your smile, your laugh, your warm hugs and your voice to fill that part of me. I would have asked you out if you would just stayed alive. Now we will never know. I still have the journal you wrote in. I read it every chance I can. You taught me how to live and I am grateful for you every day of my life. I see why God chose you to die and let me live. You fulfilled your mission early and mine never ends because you saved me in so many ways. I hope I was worth the trouble because I didn't know how to say I love you to anyone until I lost you to death. You brought out The Phantom in me and my wild side is devoted to you.

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.