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.

She is black and I am white.
I work in the kitchen most of the time and she works the cash register every night. She is a lesbian and I am bisexual.
I met her wife and kids. Great people. We were both new at the gas station then we became best friends in the matter of weeks.
We keep each other sane. I appreciate and enjoy every hour I get to spend with her. She calls me her favorite person.
She keeps me human and I am glad met her. I knew the first day I met her, she was one of a kind.

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.

The Girl with Green Eyes never once stopped the rumors and gossip about me.
The Girl with Green Eyes never once defended my honor when I wasn't around.
The Girl with Green Eyes isn't a best friend at all and she isn't even an ally to me in my personal wars anymore because I don't trust her.
The Girl with Green Eyes was a fluke on my judgement and I don't know how I could that she was always ordinary.
The Girl with Green Eyes deserves her loneliness and her crowds because she never deserved my love nor friendship.
The Girl with Green Eyes isn't human because demons like her deserve to burn in hell.
She will forever be haunted by my poetry because I don't care anymore about what she thinks of me.
This vengeful angel have stories of truths to tell and that demon or siren whatever she is won't ever hold me back.

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

The Mystery Girl really likes me and I really like her.
Those dark blue eyes and how the fire inside of me seems to burn brighter when I am around her.
I forget how speak when I am around her. It's like this warm spreads across my body then my mind goes blank. My heart beats faster when I am around her and my pulse rushes a mile a minute.
I tend to lose myself in her eyes then it feels like it's just her and I. Now I just need the courage to ask for her number or give her mine.

I learned most things quickly now that I have a job.
The simple things are easy to earn when the person you are friends with mutually cares for and loves you.
Not through manipulation. Not through co-dependency.
Not through personal gain. Not through allowing rumors to spread.
Not through letting yourself be vulnerable while the other person reveals nothing at all. Not through them guilting you to trust them.
Not through believing their ******* thinking they are better than anyone. Because friendship and love in general is a selfless thing which worth everything that it costs when you aren't being taken advantage of by people who can't humble themselves to the point of mutual respect and equality of effort.
Because friendship and love in general requires both people understanding nonsense of life by which the small things are the big things. Because friendship and love in general isn't about selfishly taking the feelings of love as an illusion since love itself is a reality of becoming greater for the good of the friendship.
Maybe I am not mad for wanting simple things and becoming mature at a young age.
Maybe I am just better at seeing through people's masks because I know what real friendship is.

I read in a textbook that 3 out 4 people with mental illness commit suicide. I have only attempted suicide once in my life a long time ago.
I know what true hopelessness feels like and it's the worst thing to ever feel. It's as though every cell in your body is turning against until your mind tells you to give up because you are in so much agony.
What are we to live in a hopeless and cruel world?
What are we to defy statistics?
What are we to become so resistant to despair that getting out of bed is a triumph?
What are we to be warriors rising from the grief and hopelessness?
What are we to be so mentally and emotionally indestructible to our own darkness?
What are we to mature from pain?
Are we angels or demons? Depends on the person. The true test of character is the how and why.
Are we inhuman? Depends on if you turned into a monster or not because certainly the test took away something childish from you.
Change is becoming so beyond your own standards that you are someone new.

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.

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.

My ex-boyfriend thinks that I am the only person who can make him feel happy. He doesn't give anyone at his work a chance because he hates everyone he meets.
He thinks because I follow my parents rules that I am too much of an angel. He let me pick the places to hangout at. He means well and my parents don't know that he is emotionally abusive. My siblings like him. They just think he is a sweet guy.
I haven't told anyone because my family likes him since he is my friend.
I haven't told anyone because I don't know how to break the news to them.

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.

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.

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.

I know movies start off with a quirky girl. Otherwise known as the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Trope. Not all weirdoes are like that. We weirdoes come in all shapes, sizes, personalities and colors. Guys can be weirdoes too. I know so. This isn't about fixing a boring ***, depressive guy who can't get his **** together. This is about Hollywood wanting to objectify a person with dyed pink or blue hair to make a romantic narrative. This is about calling out Hollywood on it's abusive romantic narratives. You can't follow someone around forever like a puppy with a tight leash; that's called stalking.
You can't quilt someone to love you; that's called emotional abuse.
You can't force someone to kiss you; that's called ****** assault.
You can't act like someone else by stealing their life; that's called identity fraud. You can't lie on your resume; that's called lying. These are the plot holes Hollywood forget. Do better Hollywood.
The ****** Always Cares! Unless you objectify them you are in for a rude awakening.

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.

So my friend and I have flirting back and forth for a while. She told that she is interested in me and I told her that I am interested in her. So I asked if she wanted to be my girlfriend and she said yes. So now she is my girlfriend.
She has light blue eyes, blonde hair, pale skin and black framed glasses.

Young people chattering in Coffee Boy's coffee shop wondering who I am and glancing at me as though I am some sort of wonder.
While I drink my cold brew with vanilla sweet cream. I knew they were talking about because everyone couldn't stop looking at me and I have sensitive ears. Ever since I broke things off with my ex-boyfriend I seem to be the talk of the town. Coffee Boy is happy that I am coming back to his coffee shop. We are good friends, Coffee Boy and I. Coffee Boy never really liked my ex-boyfriend sure he joked with us about him and I hanging out as friends. But when I explained things to Coffee Boy he understood. My ex-boyfriend Ken hated everyone including his own family. I didn't like how obsessed Ken was with me. Coffee Boy always respected me and valued my creativity. Ken called the coffee shop seeing how I was and Coffee Boy told him not to come because I was there.

To hear the phrase, "They can smell fear" repeatedly which implies human can smell fear is a myth.
Wolves, dogs, lions and cats can smell fear which is true.
Humans can see fear in body language, tone of voice, the way a person breathes and in the way eyes move.
Humans can sense fear with the gazing of the eyes because the eyes reveal everything.
Humans acting confident and actually being confident are two totally different things.
Humans are inclined to benefit of the doubt, nervousness, socially awkwardness, believing in humanity too much and believing in humanity too little.
The Scent of Desperation is the trembling of the hands, the waver in the voice, the heavy breathing and the wobbly walk.

I have done a lot of stupid things and you aren't one of them. I am an open book just in multiple languages. I don't have a bucket list.
I think about dying on my worst days but not to **** myself just in general. Anxiety leads to heart disease with exercise. Depression kills 3 in 4 mentally ill people.
I have done a lot of stupid things and I am not an idiot.
I am not my mental illnesses, I just have mental illnesses. If you are reading this I am the gayest girl in my hometown and a legend.

Blonde hair and black glasses.
Light tan skin and dark blue eyes.
One night, long ago.
One time her older brother waved at me from his ******* truck and said, "My little sister talks about you all the time."
I smiled and waved back. Saying nothing as he drove past me.

If you have ever read The Host by Stephanie Meyer then you know it ends with "People are strange" with the reply, "The strangest". I hate the Twilight series but loved the werewolf aspect of it. My mom read the Twilight series and forced me to watch the Twilight series with her growing up. I personally love Cassandra Clare books. That's the difference between my mom and I. I give an in-depth analysis of every book I read so I have my own well read opinions while mom enjoy the fandom high. My mom stopped reading fiction books when her church friends thought they were the devil's work. I still read all types of fiction books. I watched The Mortal Instruments: The City of Bones the movie 10 times before I actually started reading Cassandra Clare books. The show Shadowhunters was a poor adaption of the books. No matter what series you read "People are strange" is going to be the overall take away. The Beautiful Creatures series is great because forbidden love is wonderful to read.

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.

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.

Why do we fade into crowds, we don't belong in?
I don't belong in a church because I am bisexual.
I continue to go to church because my straight friends are there.
But they think I am straight when I am not.
I prefer women. I have slept with women.
And I don't care what the church says. I still want a girlfriend.
Even if the church hates me for existing.
Why do we fade into crowds?
Maybe it is because it is easy to do. But fading is just existing.
I want to live my life authentically. One of these days I will.

I am still the same me. Poetic, strong, smart and brave.
My new job has less drama than working at a gas station.
I am working at a thrift store. Much better than a gas station.
My coworkers are fun to hangout with.
And I love my job. Nothing is better than that.

Sometimes it's like I am restless. I read book after book. I don't know how to stay still. As though my thoughts are going a mile a minute.
Sometimes it's like times slows down. I like that I get time to myself.
Time to heal. Time to think.
Sometime it's like with all this happiness I want to do on adventures. I want to get out of this town for a little while. I want to get out of my head.
Sometimes it's like I don't know where to start. I am afraid to trust people.

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

Day one, surrounded by family members who tested positive for COVID.
Day two, read an article the mentally ill being at high risk and freaking out then read an article about vitamin D deficiency which freaked me out even more. Went to the grocery store and bought vitamin D3. Calmed down a little.
Day three, fatigued and had an headache. Took a nap then started sneezing a lot. My mom got worried about me because she tested positive for COVID.
Day four, I developed a sore throat and everything seemed louder than normal. I tested positive for COVID. I called my boss and told her I couldn't work tomorrow.
Day five, I started coughing and my lungs felt like someone scooped my insides with a spoon vigorously.
Day six, all of my muscles were aching and my nose was running.
Day seven, I never got a temperature just my body tempt going up and down basically shivering to overheating.
Day eight, headache gone and muscle aches gone. Started breathing better.
Day nine, took a nap and felt a little better.
I feel better my nose is running less each day and coughing hurts less. I am not contagious anymore.

You may never know how much the past ***** you into a void.
One that you can't out run nor drink away.
Who is to say how much you have to survive in order to live?
Who is to say how courageous you have to be in order get through the night? Do God actually count my tears? Does He see my pain and sorrows? His messengers were there for me. His scripture only feed the suspiciousness of the rich and demote the curious.
I have always been curious. In Christianity to ask deep questions is to be chastised by the public or praised by peers. I have never been afraid to be vulnerable. I have been afraid to talk about my mental illnesses and my past. Could I be loved if I reveal those things? I already know that I am insane. I embrace it. It is better to be feared by the public for being crazy than loved for hiding personal issues.

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

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.

If you know me then great. If you don't then welcome to my life.
I am a band nerd. No surprise there. Music is what makes me better creatively. It helps me think. Ever heard of Mozart, or Bach? I love them. I know it's classical. Ever heard of The Fray, or Paramore? They are punk rock. Huge difference between genres. Duh, use your ears.
Octaves and dynamics are fun to play with. Changing keys is a *****.
Music is Medicine! It's scientifically proven to improve mood and memory. I hate stereotypes, imagine me being the rebel to ***** with people's minds. That's better. I can either be your morning sun or your holy fire. Either way, you can get burnt if you have too much of me. No I am not always a superhero. I am a rebel. I get to make up my own rules, I follow them. If you ask about my rules expect them to change each day.

I am alright. I have a job I love and coworkers that are amazing.
I am alright. When I work I can be myself. My boss is thinking of upping my hours since I am such a good job at work.
I am alright. Even though I am distant from my church life. I prefer my work life. I won't stop going to church but I will be working more.
I am alright. And finally I can say that honestly.
I am alright. And nothing is better than that.

Light blue sky and icy wind blowing on the library.
People passing through and checking out books.

From an angel's eyes to a poet's pen.
Poems are made.
Humble beginnings is where we all began.
Trapped in routines. Caught up in religious traditions.
Freed by making poetry.

I dreamt about you last night.
And when I woke up to see you weren't here cuddling with me.
I felt alone. But I am okay.

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

As you can see he affects me every now and then.
It's my story not his.
He is the abuser and I am the victim.
He knows he is a monster and I want him to live in his guilt.
I shouldn't write about him so much but those things had to be said.
I didn't want to feel alone anymore.
Information among poets and readers is sacred.
He may be my friend but he deserves to have his secrets somewhere so I chose here.
We dated for a week, 3 years ago.
It's my story not his.
In a way this is justice.

The Reality is my big sister and big brother used to hold the family together. Now the responsibilities are passed down to my little sister and I. Sometimes I have no idea what I am doing but trying my best to keep the family together. I didn't know that it would be so much work and so complex.
My big sister and my big brother made the responsibilities look so easy maybe it's because they are natural socializers. Or maybe I have more social development to do. My family is dysfunctional and complains about each other when the other isn't around.
My little sister and I have mental illnesses which makes socializing ******* both of us. My big sister and big brother may seem perfect but they aren't. They are human like me. They were spoiled with attention, love and affection while I knew I was loved since I was child it's just attention and affection weren't a given to me like it was to them. The Reality is I had a somewhat good childhood with my little sister alongside me. I am rebellious, resourceful, resilient and brave. It takes a lot to be all that.

I finally said goodbye to my abusive ex boyfriend. It hard to fall asleep at night but eventually it will get easier. I have a fresh start.
I feel joyful again. I feel like me again and I haven't been me in a long time. I don't feel trapped in the routine of him and I. I forgot what it was like to be happy and excited to hangout with my real friends.
I forgot what it was like to be without him. Yes I am damaged but I am free. My mind feel clearer and my heart is full of light again.

I am the odd ball of my family. All of my family are social butterflies then there is me. The bisexual writer. There I said it. The thing about me from elementary school to middle school I wanted to fit in but still be me. That didn't happen, it's either or. I chose forging my own path than becoming what everyone else was. My siblings were popular. I was just the weird, quiet kid who want to write anything important to me. The guys I dated were science nerds. Go figure. They didn't have a sense of humor and were emotionally abusive. That's one of my secrets. I won't reveal all of them because I am not stupid.
If being outspoken makes me crazy, ***** it.
I have all of my high school friends on my phone.

Normal people are ignorant, self-absorbed, controlled by society and lonely. I understand people far too well and sometimes I forget that I am human too. I may not be normal in any way shape or form but my empathy makes me feel beyond human in some ways.
I can read who someone is by their habits, in their actions and how they speak. Characteristics are easy to me because I am writer it's practically my job to observe everyone and everything with a curious point of view. Being mentally ill I gain wisdom through my experiences. I don't want to bottle up my emotions because that's unhealthy psychologically and mentally.

I go to the coffee shop on my days off hoping I will meet the one but nothing.
I think I need to join a dating app. Maybe then I will meet the one.

If Love is a Measure then the world have fallen short because it is full of hate.
If Love is a Measure then envy is overflowing in people's hearts.
If Love is a Measure then selfishness is what people nowadays benefit from.
If Love is a Measure then divorce and cheating is happening more often in this world.
If Love is a Measure then unrequited love is devouring the hopeless.
If Love is a Measure then change must be required of the true to enact
as the guides of the lost.

It's more Spring than Fall because it's in the 50's and 60's outside.
It's more Spring than Fall because it's so warm and toasty.
It's more Spring than Fall because people are walking around in short sleeves rather than long sleeves.
It's more Spring than Fall because no one is wearing jackets even if you are wearing a jacket you are overheating in them.
It's more Spring than Fall the only indicators of it being Fall is the fallen leaves of oranges and browns as well as the Thanksgiving decorations in every store.

When I read whether it's non-fiction or fiction I analyze it from a writer's perspective. I am studying my life because there is so much I don't know and I am always curious.
Every book I read I learn more about myself. I enjoy reading about mental illnesses. I am learning so much that I can't stop writing poetry. I am processing, healing and growing.
It's like digging deeper within to find what I can live without.

I see through people's acts of fakeness and observe their insecurities as well as their hidden secrets. It's fun for me.
I never have to pretend to bored or exhausted around holier-than-thou people at church. It's normally the same stories but different traumas. The kids my age are spur-of-the-moment thrill junkies with different motivations. I get bored observing the same stories.
With geniuses there are unusually bizarre good stories. Each unique and their own. With curious minds you tend to gain a lot of experiences from life.

I may be crazy and I like the high from pain meds and CBD give me.
I am not addicted to drugs. I just enjoy the few fours of the giddiness I get. It's just occasionally when I have a migraine from loud noises and when my anxiety acts up I will take a couple of Advil.
I only put CBD lip balm on my lips when I need a quick pick me up.
Those don't interfere with my mental meds.
I know how to take care of myself. I do my research. I know what I am doing.

Being schizophrenic, you see horrific things in your nightmares.
Being bipolar, every emotion is supercharged.
Being bisexual, don't get erased by society's standards.
There isn't one way to be you. There isn't one way to have a heart.
There isn't one way to have a mind. Being who you are and speak up for yourself or someone else who matters to you.