I will let you win this arm wrestle
So that I can win your heart
Girls are meant to be pretty
Girls shouldn't be too smart
Because boys are meant to be strong,
Only girls can be weak.
Isn't this what you've heard since before you could speak?
But does being female have anything to do with wearing pink?
Why isn't it okay for him to shed a tear?
This is becoming a cycle I fear!

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

You cross your i's
and dot your t's
when everyone's watching.

"Have a nice day!"
"You're welcome!"
when everyone's watching.

You sing the alphabet
and count on your fingers
when everyone's watching.

you are
perceived
judged
tallied
misunderstood
when everyone's watching

i was in the seventh grade
when i met a boy in a red shirt
whose voice sounded a lot like home,
and i remember hearing them say

"silly girl,
you're only thirteen years old,
you don't even know what love is!"

but who are they to judge
when their ancient bodies
have already forgotten
what it felt like to be yound
and electrified?

who cares if it isn't their
dictionary definition of true love,
i'd still rather be young and clueless and trembling
with my veins pumping his name
over and over again
than having to spend the rest of my life
away from the only thing
i'll ever love enough to call
home

HelloPoetry
Q: How do I enter death year?

A: Die on your laptop

"I love you dearly..."
You spoke those four words to me countless times,
like a mother should
but a mother also should notice
the harsh words that follow
that feel like a bullet her daughter's chest.
"You're tearing this family apart."
"Maybe you should have killed yourself."
"You're going to ruin Christmas."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
And how do you not notice the added bracelets?
Or see how a light's always on in my room in
the crazy hours of the night when you're  
creeping around for another swallow of pills?
Or how I lock my door when I go to a
friend's house so you don't go in there?
You told me you wanted to jump in front of a car.
A train.
Overdose.
You say we don't care.
Is that why you treat me this way?
I'm numb now, Mom.
I feel nothing.
You've done it again.
I thought it was over,
when I just started to trust you.
But now?
Now I don't trust you.
Or anybody.