No matter how you celebrate whether in hiding or among allies you are valid. I celebrate in hiding again this year but my family and friends support me. My church friends still don't know that I am bisexual. Then again I don't want my pastor to know that I am bisexual otherwise I would be kicked out of church.
I am out and proud in my town but I am in hiding at my church.
Most days I feel like both genders or somewhere in between but still me, still human; somedays, I feel like a woman and other days I feel like a man because I am a genderfluid woman. Which a whole different story. It's simple to me because I experience being genderfluid everyday. I guess anything can be simple when you experience it.
Anyways, Happy Pride Month everyone!

I may be alone but I am not lonely.
I have a wonderful army to hangout with me, allies who respect my boundaries and enemies who refuse to challenge me.
I may be alone but I am not lonely.
I write to make sense of my galaxies. I think to make sense of reality. I know to defend myself. I am not lonely. I used to be but I am not anymore. Losing my mind with meds just tells me that I am stronger than what my doctor says I am. I was never weak to begin with. I used to pretend to be meek and stupid. I took off that mask a long time ago. I am undefeated so why do I keep sharpening my wits?
Am I bored? Maybe. Do I care? No.

I want to change only socializing at work.
I want to change how I beat myself up over the past.
I want to change how my thoughts being negative about my past.
I want to change how lonely I feel sitting my bedroom thinking of a better life.
I want to change how stupid I feel when I have no words for my feelings.
I want to change how my family think of my love life. I am not hopeless or stupid or uncapable of thinking for myself. I can consent to my own life as insane I am. I accept my madness. I accept the messed up past. I accept the negative thoughts I have.
I accept that there will always be drama no matter where I go. My life is not a debate. I am still human. I have flaws and I accept them.
No one has a right to my love life. The poems that I write are personal I get to choose who publishes them.

Gentle kisses. The kiss deepening and deepening until our passion overflows and hearts beat as one.
Her dark blue eyes and strong insults with my dark brown eyes and strong wits are dark chocolate and strong coffee in Italy, perfection.
Our deep conversations rotations of hot topics of politics and medical skills.
So do the forbidden love stories! So do those queer romances! Rise up and win your own wars!

She has night black hair, steel gray eyes and plump scarlet lips.
She glanced over at me throughout my dinner with my parents.
Her seductive steel gray eyes and scarlet smile entranced me in her beautiful large curves of her bodice.
Even though I couldn't ask for her number, I got her name.
It's Leila. She was our waitress.

What am I mad with? For if I am mad with love. Who is it for?
What am I mad with? For if I am mad with desire. Why is it swallowing me whole?
What am I mad with? For if I am mad with death. What am I mourning?
What am I mad with? For if I am mad with courage. What is my sacrifice?
What am I mad with? For if I am mad with sorrow. What am I sad about?

A name as powerful as my own. The girl who stole my pride, broke my heart and took my virginity. She drove me mad and read all of my poetry from my journals and notebooks. I didn't mind. She had me at we how gazed at each other.
She wanted me for my charm, talent and heart. She used to sleep with me in my bed to comfort me on my worst nights. She made me the legend of my hometown. She did research on my past and loved me.
She was my muse. I forgive her, I just don't forget. She called a day ago. Telling me that I was never an ******* to her, that I was her best lover out of all of her girlfriends, that I should update my voicemail and that she hopes that I live a happy life with her older sister. Also that she misses me. I still miss her and I don't regret anything. I knew I recognized those blue eyes from somewhere its genic.
She is in a psychiatric hospital right now. I never knew how insecure she felt about her own voice until I heard her have a meltdown on my phone. I want to visit her but I don't know where she is. Deep down I know she is my best friend and I don't know maybe it the fact that made me feel wild without doing anything. She touched my heart so she is worth it. I know that I just hope she does too. She is still human. She is still my girl even with all that madness.

When I got my wisdom teeth out I was put on strong pain meds and my feelings became 20 times intense than before.
I felt lonely so I grabbed onto the future I wanted without hesitation, I was in college. I felt like an outcast in SGA because I had to explain myself so often. I thought I would be bullied like I was in middle school because of my mental disabilities. I wasn't because even though they were popular, rich kids and I was the nerdy, poor kid who just there to have a voice in something. They respected that and loved who I was no matter how confusing my mind was at the time way back when.
I didn't know that making out with the SGA's secretary would spread like wildfire through my college and my hometown. Even though we were a power couple, we still had things to go through and people to meet. After all these years when I heard her love confession to me it was like my old feelings were stirring again and I picked up where I left off by being the endearing lover. Not the lovesick girl that she probably heard rumors about when she stalked me for a year.
I stayed in my hometown and she went back to her hometown.
I am starting my writing and singing career which is great. I mean have been for the last 15 years but now I am actually getting momentum. So glad the Art Man thinks I am talented.

Only a handful of people know that I am a demiromantic bisexual.
Imagine having crowds of people are only friends with you because you are religious and straight. Then imagine only having a small group of people knowing the real you. That's my life.
It's complicated and I don't trust a majority of people in my life.
I was raised in a church and with my rebellious soul, a curious mind so naturally I read anything with facts. I became a well read nerd and made friends quickly no matter their background.
I could get the truth out of anyone because my presence makes people feel safe and I am a good person.

Gilded Hearts wither in the storms of life.
Gilded Hearts pass by me each day. Coaxed by their comfortable lives into a drum sound of normalcy.
Gilded Hearts are predictable in their white picket fence lifestyles.
But are they ever really living life to the fullest?
Gilded Hearts are prejudice of those different from them.
Gilded Hearts break too easily because I used to be one of them. Always with a stick up my ***. Then I learned about people who were different from me. Until I realized I wasn't Gilded Hearted at all. But someone different from the Gilded Hearts.
Where I reveal my emotional scars like trophies and the gold fades away then I am just me.
Gilded Hearts act like they are gods and goddesses when in reality: They are only human.

He is boisterous, loud, sweet, and empathetic.
He has bright blonde hair with streaks of dark brown hair, high cheekbones, pale white skin and light blue eyes.
He is a good friend of mine.
I don't mind that he is loud when talking to me because he accepts me for being an openly bisexual woman.

I have a twinge of pain in my chest then that pain spreads all across my body. I try not to look into the mirror.
But as a woman my features seem sharper and my curves are all I can see.
I gaze at myself in the mirror and see my coffee brown eyes then I look down to my lips still light pink. I love myself but I feel uneasy.
My anxiety is cranked up to 100 and all I want to do is tell someone that I am a gender fluid, bisexual woman.

I used to chat with you behind the staircase in the back of the old sanctuary in the church.
We used to used to pray together. Now we are adults and I hardly ever see you. I hardly ever get to talk to you.
I hardly even get to know how you are doing. You were a part of me and now I don't even trust you. Did your hubris take you away from me? Was your singing career more important than our friendship?
Why did you let your biphobia reject me for who I am? Did you ever really love and care for me? People change. How are you so childish?
Our Hiding Place is still Sacred to me. What about you?
You would be nothing without me and to think you were going to be my Dr. Watson. We have a wall between us. I took down all of mine.
Why don't you trust me? You with the picture perfect family.
You the poster child for praise band. We used to be unstoppable and now we don't even know what to talk about. I tore away your mask and you are a monster behind those beautiful green eyes.
You who don't understand humanity. You weren't ever really weird to begin with you only said that to get close with me.
Your words used to mean something true and now all think about is how you betrayed me. I was a vulnerable 18 year old coming out to you and you chose to hate me. Now I never let you in because you damaged me.

The art walk isn't here yet I still have 2 months until my debut performance of my poetry. According to one of the librarians I am a well known poetess in my town.
It's not my first time reading my poetry to a bunch of people. I read my poetry in the church while I was growing up. It is just my first time reading my poetry to the whole town at an art studio.
I already have most of it collected I have more poetry in my journals but I am pretty sure I don't need to read those.
Those are too personal for even me to read in public. My journals are sacred to me. I only read my past journals when I need to ground myself in reality. I have excerpts in my journals that I won't even share with my college because it's my property.
My private thoughts and life is my business not anyone else's. If I wanted people to know things about my life I will tell them the stories I keep to myself but I don't trust most people in this town. I let them talk gossip and rumors about me because I don't care what they think of me.

I left a trail of footprints in the snow as I walked today because I am here.
I smiled as I walked because I am here.
I am alive and free to be me because I am here.
I am here, I am queer and I am totally done with existential fear.

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.

The World is Divided between Republicans and Democrats.
The World is so Divided between two halves of itself it is blind.
The World is Divided between red and blue that it forgets the color purple.
The World is Divided between moral and liberalism that it forgets that both is an option.
The World is Divided between truth and lies that we forget what the truth is.

She looks down on everyone.
Her venomous glare from idiotic old men to young poets.
She is content behind her computer.
Her salt and pepper colored hair and bright pink lipstick.
If you annoy her then she raises her voice.

Being a storyteller since I was 7 years old made me invulnerable to pain. I used my uncontrollable rages and imperfect weaknesses growing up to outsmart anyone who couldn't handle my rebellious old soul and heart.
I outran my fears every time until inevitably I left for dead all alone in my bedroom sobbing into my pillow and suddenly I realized I only had myself to trust. If I was going to be repeatedly abandoned then I would have to be my own hero and villain of my own tall tales.
If no one can tell the difference between hero and villain then why stop being a rebel?
With revolutions at a single heart stopper smile and manic laughter then insanity is my best friend.
I am a medically insane, medical journalist so pay the price of your sins confess them to your closest enemy.
Surprise surprise I am morally queer coded as a mentally ill and mentally disabled girl.

I was lost in his darkness drowning in his manipulation.
I was lost because he was a hurting soul and I thought I could help little did I know that I would be trapped.
I was lost in his begging of me to be his best friend.
I was lost in the connection that he convinced me that we had.
I was lost in his calculating nature and beastly ways.
I was lost in his proving that we could be more than friends by spoiling me to make me forget how awful of a person he was.
I was lost to his constant wanting to control me.
I was lost to his blue green eyes and trying to get him into therapy.
I was lost to recommending self-help books to him.
I was lost to him blowing up my phone with texts and memes that I didn't care for.
I was lost to him as a narcissistic man because of my empathetic soul but I didn't lose everything.
I was lost but in the end I found myself because of that I am rebuilding my world.

I am not high class. I don't read erotica or watch ****. Because gross. Why would I ever want to ruin my mind with degrading stuff that sexualize women to the point where it is unrealistic? I respect men and women. Boundaries are there for a reason. I am not hetero. Most lesbians are actually quite good influences to hangout with. My closest friends are bisexual.
Trans people are the most accepting of most people.
I have met too many straights with fake expectations of humans. Humans are messy, weird, inconsiderate, stupid, selfish and talk too much. Normal is just another word for bland.

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?

Socializing, talking and communicating.
Notifying the bosses about my gig in the art walk.
It felt like being in Home E.C. again the kitchen meeting.
Just as exhausting as Home E.C. too.
Church is tomorrow and I am not mentally prepared.
I think my church will want to excommunicate me after I give my poetry reading because I am not holding anything back.
I am already seen as insane and unholy because I had *** with Chelsie. I can express myself however I want as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. Critiquing isn't same as saying outright that hey this church need more queers.

Creative people comes in packs I know so because I am one of them. I have known so many musicians, writers, singers and painters within my lifetime. Ever since I was a kid Art has been my Lifestyle.
I was blessed with my talent and determination. I was blessed with a life where art became my home. Not my town.
I may make my songs, poems and novels in this town but I am not bound to stay here forever. I was never meant to stay here.
God wants me out of this town as much as I do I can feel it is true.
I just need a car and a driver's license. As well as a place to go to. I have plans to do more poetry readings. I mean a church friend of mine always invites me to go to poetry slams in the cities I would go but I don't have a car.
I mean I would have a panic attack on the way there but putting my works out there is worth it. I still need to call my college back so they can put my works into the paper. They could just interview me at the art walk. I don't mind. I know how important it is to have my works published. I always wanted some of my works published before I turn 25 years old. I mean being an artist in general is being fearless and expressing yourself.

I am Trapped in Two Worlds. One World where people of the church think I am straight when I am not. Another World where the people of my work place know that I am openly bisexual and everyone in this town knows that I am openly bisexual.
Yet when I am at church I can't talk about ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends because to them I am straight... I am not. In that World, I keep my mouth shut and just blend in. In that World, I suffocate from being in the closet around them and the boredom of vanity through small talk because nothing ever changes in the church...
In the Other World, I am free to myself as an openly bisexual woman.
In the Other World, I don't have to care what anyone thinks of me because they know who I am... so do I.

In college I loved SGA, Writer's Guild and my gay friends.
Ken was determined to isolate me from everything and everyone I cared about. He thought if it was just him and I then I would care about him more. Or that I would randomly fall in love with him which never happened. He thought if I hated Chelsie then I would love him which didn't happened. My heart told me something was up but I didn't trust myself with all of Ken's mixed signals.
I was confused about him. I was thinking at the time, "If he tells me he loves me but still hurts my emotions without regard to my boundaries then he doesn't love me at all." Somehow I still stayed around. I want to go back to college. I miss SGA and Writer's Guild.
I still talk to my gay friends because they are amazing people.
I think without Ken I will actually be able to get my degree in the Associates in the Arts.

I can't be straight and I refuse to be a chasten woman.
I don't want a chaste marriage.
I want passionate love not a boring, white picket fence marriage.
That may have worked in the 1950s. But it is not the 1950s.
There is more to life than faith in Christ.
I can't be them so I am myself.
With all my sanity I refuse to be them. I refuse to be them because I used to be them. Ignorant and thinking all there was the church.
In the metaphorical closet I was insane, thinking I was trapped there forever. Then I found my people at college. I came out the closet and fully became me.

Today is Different because it's my birthday. Chels, what Ken did to me had nothing to do with you. He wanted me in his bed since high school. You had me in your arms the moment we joined SGA.
You challenged me to be a better person so I did what I do best try make everything perfect, spout out truths, apologize profusely and care too much what everyone thinks of me. When we hugged at the first SGA meeting, you liked me back.
Today is Different because it's my birthday. Chels, everything Ken did had nothing to do with you. What you did to me is okay because I expected to be betrayed by someone in SGA that year. You are still my best friend. I know weird expectations. You are still you and I am still me. Eventually, you will understand that.
Today is Different because it's my birthday. Chels, you said drop the good girl act so here I am. Wild, insane, adorable, nerdy, loving, caring and still around. I am a dramatic ***** so come back to me.
If you don't know that already then catch up.

I hope my life is interesting to all you readers.
I hope my experiences are worth thinking about.
I write these stories about my life because I needed to start somewhere. I couldn't keep them all to myself that sounds selfish of me. Especially to poets and readers like you. As an audience, I love poetically making these speeches. To the people I fell in love with, I hope it gave you my perspective. To the people I called out and roasted, I am not sorry for my rebellious writings.
My past is not up for debate and my future is what I own. My present well I am cherishing every moment of it. The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

To be a vengeful angel the story of you changes a lot telling to telling.
Hero in one story and Villain in the next. Haters and admirers galore.
I am used to the rumors and the gossip about myself. I am a legend and a myth in my small town. Popular girls wish they were half as weird as me and popular boys wish they had dated me.
I may be the sweet, quiet girl in most tales. But in other tales I am the fierce, relentless genius girl who is three steps ahead of the crowd. I will tell you as a reader some of the tales are true but it depends on who you ask. I had several nemesises over the years growing up. I also had several loyal best friends growing up. I had both the bitter and the sweet. I am still human. I am no demigod. I am just a vengeful angel with a sword as sharp as my wits. Safe to say if you cross me you won't forget where you land.

Nothing is the same.
The Girl with Green Eyes and I barely speak to each other when we used to be inseparable.
Nothing is the same.
I am out of the closet to everyone I know but not to the people I go to church with then again they would never understand.
Nothing is the same.
I am proud of who I am and I like the job I work at.

Her eyes as blue as the skies on a stormy day.
Her lips as red as a rose.
Though I don't know her name I have already fallen for this mystery girl.

The Sweet Girl has lightly tan that it is almost pale skin, full, dark pink lips and light blue eyes.
Her voice is as gentle as the wind.
She is vivacious and kind. She has a dimple on right cheek when she smiles.
She is someone I work with.

You couldn't be happy for me because you wouldn't understand what it is like to be medicated for something you can't control.
You couldn't ask my mom what was wrong with me last summer because you are a coward.
You couldn't ask me this year even though I would have gave you the answers.
You couldn't stop thinking about yourself for one second to be concerned and see me for one day.
You are so used to icing people out and pushing people away when you don't realize that I am the only one left who cares about you.
You couldn't ask if I was okay because you are scared of me saying no.
I checked up on you everyday you were in the hospital but you never even wondered how I was. Time really does fades things that shouldn't matter.

I am not limited by my past because I am more me than I once was.
I am not limited by who I once was in my past. All of who I once are not me anymore. I am not shy anymore. I am not scared of who I am anymore. I am not passive about my life anymore.
I am not lonely anymore. I am not alone anymore. I am not a victim of abuse anymore. I am not the crazy lovesick girl anymore. I am not the misfit loner anymore.
I have good friends and a great family. I have people who understand and accept me for who I am. I know that I am not my mental illnesses but still me because I figured out how to be insane and me without losing who I am to the madness.

Truth to be known I am good. I am excited for my new hours.
Truth to be known each woman I loved made me better.
Truth to be known I don't regret anything.
Truth to be known my past makes me who I am.
Truth to be known I love my job and the people I work with.
Truth to be known I don't mind being called a ****** for who I love.

Kind, light blue eyes and bright blonde hair.
He is tough on everyone but sweet to those who work hard.
He isn't from my small town. He like an older brother that I never knew that I wanted. Someone who can hold me accountable for my pacing when making pizzas and rewards me for having a good ethic with free food. He is the kitchen manager at the gas station I work at.
He is adorably mainstream cultured and he makes dad jokes on the clock. I trust him because he treats me as though I am normal when I know that I am not but I don't mind. Mostly because he sees me as his equal and he trust me with the kitchen. Sure sometimes he is a **** but sometimes he have to be in order for other people to see things his way.

I have grown muscular, thin and stronger with every year.
I have out grown my old clothes: my hand-me-downs, my Christmas presents, my old band and cross country t-shirts.
My SGA polo still fits me. I haven't changed that much.
I just have more pounds on me and I am medicated.
I still eat healthy and walk around town.
I still have coffee every morning and I still read a lot.
I still write a lot and I still love music. I haven't changed that much.
I still got my endless quirks and a sense of humor. I am better than before just medicated.

You with your precious learning blue eyes and tan skin.
You regulate your blood sugar problem known as Type 1 Diabetes.
You are the new kid and an intelligent kid at work. You are the boss's pet. You try so hard to please everyone else it's adorable.
You are a good friend and a hard-worker.
We trade life stories and nobody cares what we talk about.
You aren't an idiot and I like that about you.

Shower to wash away my dark thoughts.
Letting the waters drench me.
Shower to clean me of sweatiness from walking around town.
Shower to stop thinking of the past.

Chelsie wanted to pressure me into having video *** with her. Of course I refused because her older sister told me at the library that she didn't recognize any of them. As many naked pictures she sent of herself to me, I refused because I knew something wasn't right about her. There was church bells going off in my gut telling something was wrong with her. No matter how turned on I was I couldn't lose her.
I refused despite what I remembered of her.
I just did what I wanted someone to do for me if I went into psychosis again. Then again when I went into psychosis I read every book in my room and wrote gibberish from my audio hallucinations into my journals. I got lucky I guess. Good thing I used my calming methods from when I was eleven when I got panic attacks a lot.

Most days I feel like a guy, other times I feel like the girl I am then sometimes I feel like both.
So far the gender dysphoria gets worse as my mental health seems stable and good.
My gender dysphoria keeps acting up like sometimes I gaze at myself in the mirror I feel content then I will feel dizzy and pain spreads across my body.
My breathing gets heavy. It's as though I am drowning in ocean and all I do is swim with every ounce strength I can.
Some random guy yesterday yelled at me, "Go back where you came from, ******!" And to educate those of you that don't know, being gender fluid isn't the same as being transgender.
Being gender fluid means one day I feel like a man, another day I feel like the girl I am and some days I feel like both genders.
I have always respected transgender people. Transgender means you don't feel like gender you were born with so they take estrogen or testosterone then get gender affirming surgery.

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.

In Fall it's thick jackets, warm mugs of coffee or hot cocoa, fuzzy blankets, red noses, chills of the unknown along the spine and reading folktales.
Waiting for the Cold because I binge read my to-be-read list when it's too cold to go outside. Sometimes I go outside anyways because the smell of crisp autumn leaves, the shiver of curiosity, the tingling of knowledge flowing through the mind and the joy of embracing the mood-swings.
Waiting for the Cold because being bipolar means having grief that makes you relive the past, reevaluating friendships, and getting caught up in past moments.

I remember in college there was months where I couldn't feel my body. I was numb all over and every emotion was loud to me.
Now I know it was gender dysphoria.
Last week it felt like my cells were being seared off by an invisible hot knife. I couldn't breath and my mind was foggy.
I wanted to curl up on the ground and cry. Now the pain is gone.
I still have a twinge of pain in my chest but that is all there is.
My medicine help so my anxiety is in check.
Last week was just a bad week. I am okay.

Slow, deep kisses.
Another nameless woman, months ago.
The weight of her crushing my legs.
But I didn't mind.
Mousy brown hair and light tan skin.
Light blue eyes and dark pink lips.

With Schizophrenia and Bipolar Disorder they cancel each other out.
I can't always be emotionless and I can't always be a hot mess of emotions.
I express everything in a brutally honest way.
I don't always know when I cross someone's boundaries because I like getting into the deep, soulful things.
I forget the rules of communication a lot because I am curious as every writer is. I enjoy finding truths in the darkness.
I don't have a filter for all of my thoughts. They spill out all at once.
People find it weird for my young age that I seek knowledge from books in the library rather than online resources.
I search deeply for answers to my life's questions from the library because stories ring with truths. I am rebellious I don't want answers from my parents all of the time. Normally my researches are fruitful.
If I know what I am searching for then I am on the right path. On the right mindset. You can't be lost if you know which direction you are going.

I have been manic and I have been depressive meaning bipolar.
My manic episodes were like drinking a lot of coffee, just this feeling of happiness and doing stupid stuff.
My depressive episodes were as though I was drowning in my own emotions. Anger felt like a raging wildfire and sadness felt like drowning while on land.
I have a split mind too meaning schizophrenia.
I know what it is like to be so paranoid that dissociating is natural when it gets worst. I know what it like to hear things that aren't there, to feel things that aren't happening, to go on nights without sleeping, to think impossible thoughts yet live through all that and be a warrior.
My psychosis was awful because my anxiety mixed both of those together to create months I can't remember since I have been medicated for 2 years now and my psychiatrist is the best.
I know that I didn't hurt anyone just scared a lot of people.

Dark blue sky and icy wind blowing against the library.
Silence as the sky turns a deeper shade of blue.
Listening to music and thinking about the Sweet Girl's smile.
And how the night sky looks like her eyes.

I am sorry for the things that were not poetry and not true about people of my town.
For that I ask forgiveness. I lost my mind during that summer. I am back and I plan on not losing my mind this time. Though people of my town still treat mental illnesses and sexualities as insanities. That is true. I have a new job. My mental health have improved a lot. So hello poetry. I missed you guys.