The chocolatey sweet cream is deliciously gay.
Coffee is Emotive.
Activate the Resurrections!
Randomness. Dream Dating.
Life is very bisexual if you ask me.

I am Changing the Key to my heart.
I require to not feel like I have been spiritually violated.
Every memory I go through of the Girl with Green Eyes and Scientist Boy No.2, I realized that I was emotionally abused both ways.
I trusted too easily. I loved them too much. I cared too much.
I gave them a friendship that they can never replace because I am too good for them. And they are too bad for me.
I am Changing the Key to my heart because I tore my walls down long ago because I thought that vulnerability was power.
I trust neither of them now. I don't know where to start with either of them I just know that I need to figure out a way to escape their expectations of me.

Lost in your night blue eyes and how your giggles of those nights.
I remember how I trailed kisses along your light tan, soft slender body.
I remember how we cuddled. I remember how you smiled into each kiss on the lips.
I remember how your long, dark brown hair tickled my bare skin.
We still exchange smiles when I see you.
Then I remember that you are my ex-girlfriend. And I am glad you aren't mad at me.

The Ancient History of Anglo-Saxonism started off with the English to the French because cultures aren't the same therefore different.
Being different isn't bad and being all the same isn't good.
If everything is the same then nothing is interesting and there would be no cultures to learn from. If by Trump standards making America White Again means getting rid of diversity and new ideals because the American Dream is a fairytale. Chances of becoming a millionaire is a ratio 1 in 1,000 meaning slim to none.
Ancient History teaches us: Hubris is humanity's downfall, Small gods still have backstories, everyone have weaknesses and greed is fruitless. I am not saying conquering places is evil, I am saying ancient history means starting new chapters not repeating past mistakes.

He isn't perfect. In fact he is a **** in many ways. He is the new kid at the gas station I work at. He said rumors that weren't true to my coworkers. At first my bosses believed him then everyone figured out he was wrong about me in many ways.
He assumes anything about everyone around him and everyone of my coworkers hates him for spreading rumors about me.
He picks hard battles against the kitchen manager and the store manager. He respects no one at work. He thinks everyone is against him. He forgot about manners when customers be rude to him.

I know referencing Tessa Violet sounds cliche' but each day I get inspired to write poetry. The only reason why I am not ******* Tessa Violet because she is my friend and I know it sounds weird.
I enjoy my platonic relationships. I know not a huge surprise considering you know me Chelsie. I would rather be friends with my favorite musicians than you know do that.
Whatever Ken said about me isn't true. He hates everyone including liberal bisexuals who know what the hell they are talking about.
His puppy dog eyes aren't worth a damaged pen. I was repulsed by him and his political views. If I could turn back time I would have walked back into the SGA office instead of avoiding you.
Ken made it sound like you hated my guts and told me we were sisters. Even though being medicated and sane enough to vote, I can honestly say, "You could have just talked to me. I would have talked back to you." He gas-lighted me and lied to me for months. You never did any of that. Driving me insane is one thing but emotional abuse is another. There is a difference.

Forever Ago, you were in my arms as we cuddled nakedly together in my bed.
Forever Ago, you told my dad we were a couple.
Forever Ago, you told the whole town about our nights.
Forever Ago, I called a ****** for being with you by people I didn't know.
Forever Ago, you were mine.

Love is someone who called you their Supergirl.
Love is wildfire and electricity.
Love is them being my Lena Luthor.
Love is indescribable, passionate, all consuming and true.
I know was first true love with you my Lena Luthor.
Because I love you too.
And if you are reading this. I never questioned your love.
Love is sometimes starting over and I want us to be friends again.
Because this Supergirl will never give on you.
You said, "Drop the innocent girl act."
So here is me being bold.

In college I fell for Chelsie. We met on a sunny day after the SGA interviews. At Black Hawk, Jana the student leader organizer of SGA said I got into this spin off of SGA. Eventually while I was in Writer's Guild I became vice president then joined SGA. I perfected everything I could.
Since I was too afraid to go back to SGA, I got to pick who was in the support system and a wooden gavel. I still don't know why. I may be a good judge of character but my mental illnesses make me disabled.
I got a vocal witness which is her. I don't know why she still cares about me so much. According to my psychiatrist's assistant I am autistic. So that's new.

He is a sweetheart to those who work hard.
He is like a brother to me.
He may be demanding, entitled and an idiot but he is a good man.
He defends my honor on multiple occasions to my boss and to customers. He listens to me. He helps me clean dishes in the kitchen.
He helps prep vegetables with me and he makes me smile on long nights. He treats me like the queen that I am.
He is trustworthy, loyal, speaks his mind and makes everyone feel seen.

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 am reading Two Different Books, one about schizophrenia and the other about bipolar disorder now that I am reaching the end of both books the advice sounds similar through different words.
I know that both give advice on how to always stick with the meds and therapy.
I know that both give advice on to keep insurance because mental health is expensive.
I know that both give advice on keeping notes about when to take meds and to write in a journal everyday.
Mental health is as important as physical health everyone should know that. If you don't then read a book about any mental illness you want in the nonfiction aisle because research is just as important as definitions. Knowing the meaning behind the words is just as important as knowing the symptoms.

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.

Anyone else feel alone? Because I feel so distant from the life I was raised in. Maybe I was always distant from my church life I just didn't notice.
A World Alone from my church friends because I don't want to be a chasten woman.
A World Alone from my church friends because I have faith but I am openly bisexual.
A World Alone from my church friends because I already lost my virginity to a girl in college. It was a perfect night.
A World Alone from my church friends because even though I have an innocent girl act for them, at heart I am a rebel.
A World Alone from my church because I refuse to be ignorant.
A World Alone from my church friends because I prefer to marry a woman.

Every time I was angry with the Girl with Green Eyes it was justified by the fact that she never paid attention.
Every time that I was angry with the Girl with Green Eyes she would pray for me not understand me.
Every time I was angry with the Girl with Green Eyes she would say that my cussing was ungodly.
Every time I would call out her selfishness she would forgive my rage.
Every time I would notice her avoiding people I would follow her to see if she was okay, of course she would never tell me how she really felt.
Anger is not my problem it's how she treated me that made me sense the distance between us.

Grief reawakens each year yet all I can remember of my best friend is her kindness and her love. I still feel her love even though she is dead.
Well her body is dead but her spirit is very much alive.
Grief is what no one prepares you for. The constantly missing them, and knowing their spirit is with you. I always leave a space in bed for my best friend's spirit because I know she would do the same if I was dead. She died 8 years ago yet her spirit is alive.
Grief is feeling that huge scar on your heart and knowing the love you have someone else never left.

So I had a job interview today for a place and it was a good job interview. The place interviewed at is very quiet and you make soup and sandwiches for customers.
It's an ideal place for a writer like me. Then again I am not disclosing the place because I hope to get the job.

People now a days says that, "Vibes are everything" well it's a half truth. Personality and true heart is everything because vibes are one thing but who someone really is. That's how you know.
People are complicated, messy, strange and unsure how to go through life. It's instincts that help me through life because knowing who brings out the worst in people is how I use opposite energy.
I counteract bad people's actions by taking their venom and use my actions to be the antidote.

It's not always figure out someone's weaknesses and strengths to get out of a situation sometimes it's seeing all of potential of a good person and forgetting they aren't that angel yet in fact a demon.
It's not always telling someone the root of their hurt sometimes it's seeing a monster and loving them as if they are human because the world is cruel enough.
It's not always defending your character to someone that won't listen sometimes it's showing someone that not all angels are gods to be worshipped.
It's not always starting a rebellion from Christianize society sometimes it's acting as if you aren't a judge but a friend who is willing to look past the flaws to see someone worth through hell and back for.
Changing the Game is a matter of humanity, it's up to us to change the world.

I know I want good friendships which I already have.
I know I want a good family which it's dysfunctional but it's fine with me.
I know I want to eliminate anything that is bad for spiritually wise.
I know I want a lover one day but not yet.
I know I want a good career which I am developing with every ounce of my being.
I know what I want from life and I enjoy what I can. It's a good life sometimes dramatic, sometimes messy, sometimes complex and sometimes dark yet still worth living.

I write poetry to give a voice to people like me who are bisexual, mentally disabled and mentally ill.
I write poetry to give a voice to bipolar people and schizophrenic people because I am bipolar and schizophrenic. And chances are they are afraid to speak up because of stigma regarding the mentally ill and the mentally disabled.
I write poetry to give a voice to bisexual people because I know hiding in the closet *****. And I want to give those people hope if they are trapped in a religious community. Because other queer gave me hope while I am trapped in my religious community. We don't even have a Pride Parade in my town.
I write poetry because I am free here among my fellow poets.

Frigid night as the snow continues to fall.
People at the library.
Deep, navy blue sky.
Clicking of computer keys and the sweet smell of books.

My Charm attracts Many but I trust Few because I felt lonely in the crowds.
My Charm attracts Many but I only talk to Few because with the Many I never seemed valued.
My Charm attracts Many but I only care about Few because I am tired of being a people pleaser.
My Charm attracts Many but I only think of those I love because I only make plans with those I trust.

I found the old you in a letter. You had so much humanity.
I found the old you in a letter. You were afraid to lose me as a friend.
I found the old you in a letter. Too bad you turned into someone I didn't recognize. You used to be a sweet guy then college turned you into a monster.
I found the old you in a letter. Maybe you were always a monster but I couldn't see it in your handsome dark pink smile and charming blue green eyes.
I found the old you in a letter. Truly I am sorry our friendship didn't last forever. But you were trapped in your misery and you wanted me to be miserable with you. When honestly I was trapped in your world too long so you lost me at your monstrous ways. When you lost your humanity, you lost me as a friend.
I found the old you in a letter. Why couldn't you just stay a sweet guy? The answer is I don't know.

Chris and I's first date is on my birthday.
He is a gentleman and a Christian.
And I know it sounds like a different tune from my poetry.
But he isn't like most guys who just want to get into my pants.
He is a nerd like me. He is a handsome black man who actually wants to go out with me. Sure he is a straight, cis man but he accepts me being a bisexual and gender fluid woman.
I will still be me. And I will still be a gender fluid, bisexual woman. None of that is changing. I will just be in a straight passing relationship. I am not picking a side so to say. I am just figuring out who if that someone is the one for me.

I always have to decide what to wear. Whether I want to wear something masculine or something feminine.
Sometimes something that is gender neutral.
So far I have only told two people know that I am gender fluid.
Everything feels new. Eventually things will be somewhat normal.

She has dark blue eyes, black glasses and a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
She has a slender body, chestnut brown hair and when she looks me with her dark blue eyes I forget what I am doing so I smile back.
She is beautiful in ways I try to understand from the way she laughs to the way she walks. So I appreciate her beauty with each glance in her direction.
She is confident, smart, funny, vivacious and beautiful. I know she isn't mine to love but I hope whoever she loves, loves her the way she deserves to be loved.
I still care about her even if she isn't mine to love.

I love the rush of Adrenaline. To feel as those I am doing something scary yet brave. To look fear in the face and give it the *******.
To feel the blood pumping through your veins at double time.
To feel a weight being lifted off your chest.
Adrenaline is the thrill that I seek because I conquered most of my fears. Why not have something that alerts you from your brain?
Go ahead call me an Adrenaline ******.

Love is Madness.
It is felt in the depths of your soul.
Love is Madness, It is falling completely in love with someone worth the madness.
Love is Madness, To be insane I already know of Madness now I have to find the Love that I lost ages ago.
Love is Madness. It is losing your mind one moment and regaining yourself in their arms.
Love is Madness. It is being their one and only who truly knows them.
Love is Madness. I had Love that was Madness once. I am trying to get back to that not the idea of it.

I grew up in the church and I enjoyed most of it.
I am just sick and tired of hiding in the closet around people who have known me, my whole life.
I know they won't support me in any way because of church politics and right now I am not ready to be kicked out of my church yet.
But when I am ready to for everyone to know who I am then I will face the music.

He says that I am not bisexual enough because I haven't slept with a single gender.
He doesn't understand how demeaning he is.
He says that *** define sexuality even though he don't know how wrong he is.
He doesn't understand how draining he is.
He says that my little sister is hot and that she probably have lots of *** with the way she looks.
He doesn't understand that his sexist comments makes me feel like ****.
He says that no girl would want me because I am crazy.
He doesn't understand that I listen to him even though I shouldn't.
He doesn't know what he is saying because he doesn't do research on the things that I know about.
I know he is just emotionally and mentally abusing me yet the things he says still hurt me.

My Work Best Friend makes me the most joyful and peaceful person ever. Whenever she compliments me my heart warms up and I feel vulnerable in a good way. I trust her and she trusts me.
We are close to each other. Whenever she calls me the best pizza maker in the world I just smile and glance her way.
Everything just feels natural and right whenever I am around my Work Best Friend. I don't have to be stoic around her. I don't have to be someone that I am not and something that I am not.
She just understands me in a way that I haven't experienced in 6 years since I loss The Girl with Grayish Blue Eyes.
I respect her in a way that she knows that she is valuable to me.
She is my equal in wit and in charm therefore she is worthy of title of being my best friend. Very few people in my life make me joyful and peaceful yet I don't mind. To be insane is to be observant.

I am not ashamed to be a bisexual poet.
Writing is freeing and therapeutic.
Poetry is home.

You walked into youth group like you owned the place with your mother not far behind you. It was the 6th grade. I couldn't stop staring at you. You hung out with the gothic kids in middle school.
I hung out with the nerdy kids in middle school. On my birthday we slept over at your house in town. You chose me to be your best friend. You came from a rich family. I came from a poor family. You were an artist, I was a creative writer.
In the 7th grade you brought new friends who came from rich families to youth group. When they started bullying me, you fought for my honor and starting bringing your gothic friends to youth group. You the creative indie, goth girl and me the creative nerdy girl. We broke societal norms. I never doubted your instincts for one second. You moved away to Bloomington-Normal and you were excited. But you kept coming back for me. On my birthday we went to the Rockin' Lockin'. You brought a crowd and I adored every minute with you.
In the 8th grade you moved back to Ohio, you came back for me. You had your spark in your grayish-blue eyes. Girls wanted to be you and boys wanted to date you. Yet you chose me as your best friend.
In my freshman year of high school, church wasn't the same without you even youth group seemed empty without you. You were my missing piece. You came back before my birthday. You slept over at my place and went to the Rockin' Lockin' together as always. 5 days before my birthday I loss you, my best friend.

I don't give access to many because the few I have in my life is enough. I hide behind my words because my actions confuse a lot of people. Politics in SGA ran high it was like walking into the lions den on purpose. I got tangled into the politics even more so when I slept with Chelsie then dramatics spread like wildfire. People wanted to think for me. People spread rumors about me. I got so many curious glances from people I didn't know. Once the fact I lost my virginity got out to the public, it went through my college and ended up in my small town.
I don't give access to many because when I express myself I don't know what to say. When I think it's jumbled like earphones. I don't where many of them come from. It's like sorting clothes, some are old, some are new and most of them are random.
I don't give access to many because radio silence make me feel bored. I have to listen to something to think clearly.

I read old letters hoping to take in the love of the past.
It's like eating stale bread in war times hoping it's enough to fill that roars into the light and dark.
It's leftover love yet I devour it hoping it heals my broken-heart.
I read old letters yet there was a time where the letters sustained hope in me.
It's leftover love and the more I read of the past, the more it breaks my heart.
It's leftover love and it no longer brings me hope yet I devour it to revive what is left of my heart.

That one wedding long ago, she was in a night blue dress.
I was in trance looking across the dance floor to this beautiful creature.
She glanced from her friends to me then she smiled at me.
The more we gazed at each other, I felt electricity.
With every twist and turn I was trying to impress her with my dance moves.
And I did impress her with my dance moves then she disappeared.

Truthfully my life from the outside seems tragic, heartbreaking and full of drama. Because it is. I had to face everything that scared me.
I am getting a new medication from my psychiatrist, don't know how I am going to react it but if it helps me get out of my house then I am open to the possibilities.
Truthfully I am still healing, still revealing my heart in songs, still thinking about everything that hurts and still processing.
Truthfully my instincts help me think. I wouldn't be me if I didn't have my protective instincts. My mom and my church sexually repressed me so that ******. I don't like feeling trapped or suppressed. So I think romantically and thoughtfully. I am old fashioned even for my age. I believe love needs to be felt and seen through actions because love without actions is just another feeling.
Truthfully I don't care about ***, status or death. Death never cared who it took away from me. Status always got me into trouble. *** is common knowledge in a small town because who you **** with is what most people care about.
Truthfully I don't think I am better than anyone else because I don't judge anyone. People's privacy rights are theirs. People's human rights are theirs. People's beliefs are theirs. If it's not mine then I respect it whatever it is.
Truthfully my past don't define me. I define me.

I go to his studio and gallery. He creates all types of art.
He teaches people how to make art of their own.
He is an old, kind man who creates connections with other local artists in the Midwest. He is a friend of mine.
He is surrounded by other people's art and his own.
He wears rectangle glasses and have white hair marking his age.
He is going to let me read my handwritten poems at his studio in the winter.

If I am being honest, I am good alone. I know what to expect.
I enjoy taking the time to write my poetry and reading the books in my room.
If I am being honest, I have never felt more free than I do right now. I have my work friends and my family.
If I am being honest, I don't know if I believe in: true love or God. I know true love exists but I am good alone. I don't know if God even cares about me.
If I am being honest, working at a thrift store isn't the same as working for a newspaper as a journalist. Maybe one day I can go back to college for journalism.

I always hung out with the weird kids ever since kindergarten.
I was bullied because I didn't want to be popular. Anytime a popular kid wanted to put me into their ranks I got anxious and returned to my weird friends because my weird friends treated me as their equal.
The popular kids treated me like an outcast. I didn't understand what it was like to be cool. I grew up going to the doctor frequently because I was a special needs kid. I had speech problems, I was shy, I wasn't physically strong because I had a limp since my knees used to be sensitive. I grew physically stronger throughout the years because of my physical therapy, my speech teacher helped me stop slurring my words so I could articulate my words with lots of effort, my reading tutors throughout the years helped me become the avid reader that I am today and my counselors throughout the years helped become emotionally intelligent.
Being Weird is an Honor because no matter the stigma it's about quality not quantity.

No one is 100 percent pure good and no one is 100 percent pure bad.
That is life. We can fictionalize, romanticize and fantasize life as much as we want but that doesn't change people nor the patriarchy.
I see the Good and I observe the Bad.
I grew up going to daycare when both of my parents were busy.
I grew up going to Pegasus Cafe' with my little sister every summer.
I grew up with parents who divorced when I was 7 but always supported my creative lifestyle and always put food on the table.
I grew up resourceful, artistic, special needs classes, lots of therapy which I appreciated because I became a strong, capable young woman.
I grew up with parents who always gave me Christmas presents no matter how poor we were because being middle class Americans doesn't mean I had everything.
I wasn't spoiled with past glory from cross country like my older siblings. I wasn't spoiled with hundreds of friends like my older siblings. I was just me the nerdy, book-loving, small group of trusted friends, video game addict, who have a vocabulary like an English teacher and will take all of the hard roads because they are more fun since anything that is too easy is never true.
Reality is crazy and fantasy is insane so to know the difference is through experience.

Living to full potential is wonderful, a hero's journey, a villain's nightmare and a rebel's dream.
Some people don't know how so they get lost in the world and blend in.
Some people have a direction and forget the passion then live an empty life.
Some people have so much passion and so many directions that they take all of them to live a successful, memory-enriched life.
Some people simply exist and have nothing to live for then they live a soulless, heartless life where bitterness is their motive.
Life has meaning you just need to find it.

I am me because I expressive to the point that people call me crazy. I was the girl that everyone talked about in college, high school and middle school. Basically I never worried about being bored.
I am me because every time I got hurt or betrayed by someone I bounced back stronger than before. I was always controversial no matter where I went since I am mentally disabled, emotionally expressive, a trailblazer, a vagabond, a writer, a singer/songwriter and nerdy.
I am me because I don't ask for attention. I don't care what people think of me because it's trivial and fickle. Everyone wants to be my friend but I have boundaries that are specifically meant to protect me. I never wanted to be the girl that people get confused by but I got used to it.
I am me even with all of my scars. I never asked anything from anyone. I just wanted an emotional safe place with whoever I spent time with. The things I wanted from people are simple: my secrets secure, my heart protected and quality time with the people I care about. I don't care about money, status, how many followers are on your Facebook page, ***, and politics.
I care about your soul, your heart and what goes on in your mind.

I was raised in a religious small town where ***** and fuckboys were shamed at churches and praised at school.
I hung out with the geniuses and political kids. As a writer I had the most fun with the geniuses and political kids. Always a new topic to discuss that weren't people we knew just random, exciting stories we heard on the news. We brought Writer's Club and Marching Band inside jokes to our group of misfit people. Poetry, abuse, life, death and politics shared at one table. We didn't care about popularity nor whose rank was higher just nerds with big dreams. Popular people tried and failed to copy what we nerds had. We nerds with big dreams are still chasing our dreams and making them a reality.
What Kind of Human Are You? If I didn't mention you as a goth kid or agriculture geeks. Let me know. Maybe I just haven't got to that story yet.

Didn't say this then saying this now:
I love you too my Lena Luthor.
I will always be your Supergirl.
You were my first queer love and I am glad you told your parents about us.
I would be nothing but a lovesick lunatic if you didn't give that love confession last year.
You inspired me to be a better poet.
You inspired me to sing my heart out.
Didn't say this then saying this now:
I want us to be friends again. One of these days. Some part of me will always love you Chelsie!

I am referencing Sam Fender because his voice is awesome. I am a Warrior so that's a fact.
Call Me Lover because my heart is full of love and terms of endearment.
Call Me Lover because I will define my rebellions since my fiery spirit guides me to places I thought I'd never go.
Call Me Lover because I can be make governments fear my loose cannon techniques.
Call Me Lover because I care so much for my people even if they don't care about me.
Call Me Lover because we are heroes to those who can't love themselves.
I am a Warrior because it is vital to have fun when bored in this tiny, adorable town.
I am a Warrior because we love poetic justice even if it is naturally ironic.
I am a Warrior because I lived through many of other people's wars with themselves.

Growing up I remember in high school I was always single.
Valentine's Day is always a big thing in my small town.
But me being single in high school I didn't have anyone.
There was singing telegrams or crush soda can given to your crush.
But I never received a singing telegram or a crush soda.
Nobody had a crush on me well except my friend Ken.
Our senior year on Valentine's Day, he gave me a rose then we went to Sunrise Cafe as friends.
It wasn't until after I dropped out college he and I would go to romantic places as friends. He kept begging for us to be more than friends again. Then he would propose to me over text messages but I refused. He made me a last resort whenever a girl blocked him on the internet or didn't like him on a date. Simply because I would pick our hangout spots. He just wasn't romantic and his proposals weren't sincere. He just didn't want to be alone. And I refuse to be anyone's last resort. Even when he did make me a priority I could tell it was out of his loneliness, he wanted me not out of a sincere romantic notion of he thinks that I am important to him.
That's the difference between him and I: when I am romantic, I am sincere while he loved out of sense of misery. Then again our friendship ended because he was emotionally draining and he wasn't spontaneous or sincere. Sometimes two people who are total opposites shouldn't attract.

They have supported my creative ambitions since I was best friends with their daughter Kalie. Her family became my family when we loss her. I didn't I would come back from that. I didn't think I would come back from losing her my best friend. The one person who understood me in this **** Christian town.
Kalie knew before I did that I am a good writer. She told her family about my stories and poems. She believed in me before I did.
She loved me before I did. She accepted me before I did.
She knew me better than anyone else in this cold, stuck up small town. And I fell in love with her with every ounce of my being.
Most people knew we were best friends because of how we looked at each other. We were so close that people could hardly tell where one personality began and which personality ended. Every time she came back for me I knew I would always remember her. No matter how hard life got without her I knew from heaven how she wanted me to live my life. I was so depressed without her in my life that barely ate anything and slept too much. At one point I attempted to **** myself.
I went to the school counselor more often that Kalie was gone. I knew each time I felt bad to go to the counselor because it was a reflex for me. I always gone into therapy from speech to reading. I grew up depending on therapists for my mental disabilities because I couldn't control myself. I was labeled a special needs kid and mentally disabled. I accepted it.

That night I felt her naked body beneath my hands.
That night I felt her lips against mine. The passion and the pain of making love. Her blue eyes and dark brown hair.
Those rosy red lips and that smile. Her enjoying my wild side and me taking in her madness. Before we even touched I was dressed as Rao and her as Christine from The Phantom of the Opera.
I woke up the next morning with a freshly bitten ear and my shins bruised also I walked with a limp. Then the rumors that slept with a girl.
I don't know what to say what is dream and what is reality. I guess it was real. The rumors made it from my college to my religious small town. I only told one person that secret and whoever that was told the whole school. I don't remember ever leaving my bed that night but somehow that dream was a reality.