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 gave him hundreds of dollars from my savings account twice so he can pay his bills.
He is grateful but I don't want this to be every month. I have a life to live and I still need to be paid back.
I am a writer and what I put in my savings is my business.
Now I have to wait for him to pay me. He doesn't care that I am back where I started. He doesn't understand that I am not rich.
I save up my money. I have a plan to get out of this town. I have to keep this a secret from my family. He doesn't understand and I hate being his banker. This is what I get for having a good heart.

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

She and I kissed a lot on our first date.
With each kiss I felt more than a spark but a calming flame.
With each kiss we got more comfortable being around each other.
We went to the cities and got lunch together.
We went to the park and talked for awhile.
The date turned out better than I imagined it to be.
Our second date is next Wednesday.
We held hands at each location we went to.

We went to an art museum then to a park.
With every kiss I felt safe.
With every kiss I felt loved.
When she kissed my neck it felt good.
She likes hearing about my dreams.
She loves the poetry that I write for her.
In every way I am hers and in every way she is mine.

I own My Madness not the other way around. It doesn't control me anymore. I am medicated with prescribed by psychiatrist, drugs. I am still trying to find the right therapist.
My Madness is why I write. There is no other way to explain it. I remember when I was in my psychosis I called myself, Eurosia.
Bouncing between that personality and my usual personality was rough on me. I didn't want my name when I was in my psychosis.
I thought it told myself my name is Eurosia it would erase my dramatic, emotionally charged messy past but I was still me, Brandi the Brave. The girl who became a perfectionist at eleven.
My Madness drove me to do crazy things for love and validation. I never scared anyone more than the people I fell for. Slowly over time my love for people became platonic, romantic, and familial. I trained myself to bring myself back to reality by listening to music and counting past ten when it got too wild even for me.
My Madness made me the talk of the town ever since I was 7 years old. Being labeled mentally disabled used to make me feel worthless then I realized it meant I had to learn at my own rate however fast or slow.
My Madness, my cross to bear.

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.

Drinking mimosas and taking down the Christmas tree.
Watching superhero movies.
Feeling the slowness of time.

I will only say this once The Girl with Green Eyes can have her perfect life just without me to save her. I was always her hero. To her I was the perfect vulnerable girl who she could rebuke.
Am I crazy? Yes. Am I beautiful? Hell yeah! Do I need The Girl with Green Eyes? Hell no! She needs me to keep her life interesting and I am sick of her act. I always supported her at choir concerts, musicals and recitals. She always forgot that I existed until we started praying together and singing in praise band together. I am not the only crazy one in the friendship. She abandons anyone who sins more than she does. She patronize and Christianize anyone she can't control. She got a rare cancer while I was in college. She once told me how her doctor visits went.
She never gave up her ego, envy, selfishness and jealousness so she isn't perfect. She wonders why she is empty when she should be wondering why she gave up on people who could have redeemed her. Checkmate princess.

When I loss my best friend at 15 years old, 6 months later I attempted suicide. I felt as though no one else could fix me or even fill the spiritual hole in my heart.
As if no one could understand the pain I felt.
As if the aching grief pounding at my heart was going to swallow me whole.
My family members were asleep and I had a pocket knife out.
I kept staring at my wrist but I couldn't do it.
It was like my best friend held my wrist and I thought about all of the good people in my life. So I placed the pocket knife away and turned out my bedroom lights. Then I cried myself asleep.

As we slowly took off each other's clothes at her place. We felt safe with each other.
As I kissed her neck and slowly kissed her ******* then her stomach, I felt free of the church's purity culture.
I felt free of the heteronormative narrative that bound this society with double standards about beauty.
For in her nakedness, she is beautiful. From her dark blue eyes to her pale, soft skin and freckles.
In our nakedness we were unashamed and safe in each other's arms.

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.

Detective shows. Being a demiromantic bisexual idiot in love.
Going to youth group. Outsmarting the other kids.
Hanging out with the older kids. **** what society says about mental ill and mentally disabled people. Because ***** off Trumpers, I am a Liberal!!!! Sorry but you are all worship a cult that doesn't even deserve a second presidency because he is a ******* stupid conspiracy theorist. Thank you for coming to my poetic rant!

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.

Well you readers knew everything about my church now. My friends and all of the drama that has happened in my life.
Clearly I haven't brought up my Christian/Catholic community. My church is one thing and the society is another.
The patriarchal system in my town is the worst. The sexism is rampant here. I mean in this town has homophobia, biphobia, transphobia and xenophobia happens. Most people in my town are raised in the churches here. There are many queers but no pride parades in my town.
Being mentally disabled, bisexual and liberal meant my thoughts on this town aren't popular then again neither was I.
I like to think I broke the mold because in middle school since being a nerd who loves music and books didn't make me fit in. The popular kids wanted me to fit in but I didn't as hard as they tried.
My edges couldn't be dulled and my intelligence came with my snarky attitude.

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 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Tossing and turning.
Unlearning abusive systems and relearning loving skills.
Becoming a dream keeper as a rebellious angel child anything is possible.
So I am very soulfully strong and heart-meltingly adorable.
I provide nightmares for my worst enemies.
And sweet dreams for my dearest friends.
Anyone in the middle is going to live with their political aspirations.

People come with No Instructions. We simply know we are different.
People come with No Instructions. Yet people write different rules within each religion.
People come with No Instructions. Yet we have a government that is divided because we don't let moderates become president since the saying, "Majority rules and minority rights" been invented.
People come with No Instructions. If we considered the flaws of the generations of backwards thinking of letting men decide women's fate then there needs to be more progress.
People come with No Instructions. Change is inevitable the politicians   have to stop avoiding it.

To be mad you have to understand Nonsense.
Nonsense is a language, normal people can't understand.
To be crazy have to understand the hows and whys of Nonsense.
Nonsense is a language, the sane can't understand.
To be gifted you have to understand Nonsense.
Nonsense is a language that few understand.
To be troubled you have to understand Nonsense.
Nonsense is a language, comforted people can't understand.
To be intelligent you have to understand Nonsense.
Nonsense is a language, the illiterate can't understand.

No one cares because No One is Watching.
If the crowds aren't watching then still be you.
If no one is paying attention then give them small interesting details about you that will get them begging for more.
If no one is giving a **** then surprise everyone with devote stubbornness and strong headedness.
Being who you are doesn't make you less human. Being emotional doesn't make you worthless. Being the strong and vulnerable friend doesn't make you lonely. If being a softie makes you a loser then watch how they end up alone and you with plenty of friends because having a heart doesn't make you a loser it makes you human.
The heartless and soulless people were scorned by their past but that doesn't them any less human or any less of a ****.
Being considered an equal among geniuses is an honor because equality is what everyone wants. Respect is given, trust is earned and honor is put under consideration until proven right.

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

My parents call me the only normal kid of the family which is a nice cover story but the reality is that I am the weird, rebellious, special needs kid with a silver tongue and a heart of gold.
My siblings call me weird, an old soul, an elder person, an enigma and annoying. That's more accurate.
Normal is Boring, it's insulting to my intelligence to be called normal by my parents.
Normal is Boring, I don't like the word normal because it's full of false tales and societal expectations.

I am bisexual and to my mom that means I am "confused".
I am not confused! I am me.
To my older sister, me being bisexual means my girlfriend can't be labeled my girlfriend at family gatherings. My girlfriend has to be labeled as my "friend".
I am not confused! I am me.
To my older sister, her kids can't know that I am queer because it might "confuse" them. So now I am the black sheep of the family.
I am obsolete to my own niece and nephews. I am a secret to be kept.
I am written off by my own mother and older sister as some sort of great shame to the family.
I am out and proud yet to them I can't even be happy because to them I am "confused". I am not confused! I am me.

Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, to see a beautiful sunset you have to walk up a steep hill.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, to see the beautiful night sky you need a blanket to lay down in the grass.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, to get to know a beautiful girl you have to be courageous and ask questions.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, to love a beautiful girl you have to see beyond yourself and care for her as though she is the most important thing in your life because she might be.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, to kiss a beautiful girl is to experience your heart race, all of time stop for that moment and you hold her in your arms. For a split second all that matters is she loves you and only you in that moment.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, when a beautiful girl tells you that she loves you that is when you know she is worth it. Not because all those years you waited to hear from her but because she called you to tell you. And that beautiful girl hangs up before you get a chance to say it back, breaks your heart.
Nothing beautiful comes without a cost, that is my love story with a beautiful girl. I still think about her to this day. She is still alive just not from my town.

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.

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.

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

To be creative is to go beyond the mark expectations. I may be crazy and insane so I embrace my insanity.
Everyone is crazy. Or so I am told. I don't believe that lie for a second. The lie that everyone is weird because it is invalidating to those who got bullied for being outcasts. I should know because I was bullied for a long time. People like giving me a hard time because I am intelligent and don't trust fake people. I don't trust a lot of normal people. Having endless amounts of money doesn't make anyone smart book-wise it makes them spoiled. For a social ladder there is a lot of hypocrites out there. I would rather be hated for telling the truth than loved for telling lies.

I am an Old Soul in a Modern World.
I don't know how code anything manually onto the computer.
I have never fitted into this fake, high tech society.
I am real, empathetic, sensitive, an adaptive genius and an understanding friend.
I am an Old Soul in a Modern World.
I hangout with people of all ages. My big brother wants to switch jobs with me. My gas station job for his pastoring job. Yeah good luck. You may be a social butterfly but the system isn't all talk it's more walk the walk or walk away.

One day I will marry someone but not right now because I am single.
Quite frankly I am enjoying being single.
One day someone will make me believe in true love again but not right now because it is difficult to find a soulmate.
One day I will be out of my parents' house where I will be free to make my own mistakes and achievements.
One day I will be out of my religious small town and have new start.
But until that day I will still be me because that isn't changing.

Mind spinning
The dizziness of wanting to *****
Whole body feeling numb
Heart racing
Shallow breaths
Lungs in pain

William Shakespeare once said, "All of life is a stage and we are all performers." He isn't wrong. Some people act until no one is around. Some people are genuinely who they are. Others fall somewhere in between. I stopped acting straight when I felt accepted by my closest friends. That was 3 years ago. Some say, "Life is a dance."
Therapists sometimes say, "One Step Forwards, Two Steps Back." Is life a stage, a dance floor or a mountain? Because sometimes I can't tell the difference. I can dance well for a person. I can write well. I can give a speech without crying nor freezing up. I can make pizzas, breadsticks and sandwiches effortlessly. I can run like the wind. I can do whatever I set my mind to. Some people would call me a gifted person but I just call myself mentally ill because it's true no matter how you put it. Legends aren't made from privilege, they are forged from dark nights of the soul and countless socially awkward environments. How else are influential people supposed to be made? Because crowds get you nowhere.

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

I refuse to be a bully, a person who uses people for personal gain, a person who twists stories for glory and a person who thinks of only themselves.
I don't want to be any of that because I have met people like that and they are lonely.
Bullies are wounded people who hurt other people for fun since they won't talk to a therapist.
A person who uses people for personal gain are evil because they will throw you out of their life the moment they feel you aren't worthy of them.
A person who twists stories for glory is someone asking for the devil to whack them with a broom.
A person who thinks of only themselves won't get very far in life since those who do that can look in the mirror they aren't all that great.

Last night I had a panic attack. The Mystery Girl saw me have a panic attack. She said, "Everything is okay. I am not going to hurt you." My heart slowed down a little at the sound of her voice.
She said, "Don't worry I will ask you out another time." So I still have a chance to be with her. I still have hope.
I am still sore from that panic attack. I was visibly shaking and my hands were trembling. I couldn't breathe. It was as if my lungs forgot how to circulate air in them and my heart couldn't stop pounding against my chest.

People rushing by without a second thought.
People rushing by, couples walking, children looking at the different colors and I walked by myself.
People rushing by, getting Christmas gifts and people going to church while I walk home with fancy coffee in hand because I already did my Christmas shopping.
People rushing by forgetting to enjoy the adventures of Christmas when in the end we will die one day.

It is cold and green. My entire life is confusing.
I am a demiromantic bisexual.
Happy Pride Month! Who wants fresh sarcasm?!
Life is Gay(Sarcasm).

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

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.

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

Change the story. Find the missing link. Some characters are just spinoffs of a bigger story. Other characters are heroes in disguise.
Tragedies don't make a villain less than human. The same logic goes for heroes because flaws don't make them worthless. Perfection is just a tale we tell ourselves so we can convince ourselves that we are worthless and unlovable. Which is false. Why believe a false tale? Because we eat lies so often that we don't know that we are poisoning ourselves. ***** up the truths you think of. Color the black and white world in a rainbow for all that I care. Normal is bland and boring. Be weird, create own stories. Chances are you have people of all ages thinking for themselves without even trying. If they call you confusing, give a grin and show them a masterpiece.

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

The conversations. The casual exchange of numbers.
The smiles and laughter. The shared glances.
Swapping stories and fun reactions.

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

Drama always runs high in crowds. I don't whether it's the leaders that make it tense or the followers. Popularity always seemed fickle and lonely, I mean to do crazy and stupid stuff that has no meaning whatsoever for popularity just seemed like the gold rush, nothing is there. So why look?
To try so hard to get a feeling that you know will go away. Why try?
Why not be what you want, if you want it so badly?
If you need a friend, be a friend to yourself.
If you need a lover, be someone you can love.
There isn't one way to be something like high school taught you to be.
I mean, how does anyone expects to respect you if you won't do the same?