and I absolutely
hate
the way my voice
shook
as if an earthquake suddenly
struck.
and I absolutely
hate
how I had to
pause
and swallow the
words
that wanted to
escape.
and I absolutely
hate
the way I looked
away
so you would not see the
pain
hidden in my
eyes.
and I absolutely
hate
how much I absolutely
hated
myself in that
moment.

i am nothing
but a poet.

like so many others,
i use words
as a disguise
for pain.

we are an army
of word-weilders

feel our pain

one day my teacher asked me
why I always wrote in lowercase letters
her glasses perched on the top of her beak
she squawked,
"you were not taught that in school, young lady.
it is not proper, young lady."

and I gripped my pen tighter
or maybe a little looser
it's hard to tell lately.

but I looked in to her black beady eyes
and disapproving frowny face
and whispered "see how I am whispering
do you see how you are leaning closer
like I have a secret
more intimate, correct?
that is my writing:
an intimate secret.
for you"

and if I told you
that I did not want to live anymore
automatically you would start talking
saying stupid things like
"it'll get better!"
"you have a future!!"
"maybe we should up your medication!!!"

but if I told you
that I did not want to live anymore
you would be all talk, no help
you would not wake me up at dawn
and take me to watch the sun rise
you would not let me throw red paint at a white wall
you would not bake me cookies with extra chocolate chips
you would not read me my favorite book
you would not write me a stupid poem
or crack a stupid knock knock joke
you would not cuddle with me under 3 blankets
or whisper to me at 3 am

only words
that had lost their meaning
once they were repeated
more than three times.

I knew a boy who liked to draw people
(with guns pressed to their temples and blades at their wrists)
he liked to tell stories
(about a girl with a chafed neck swinging from her closet)
sometimes he wrote these stories down and submitted then to the school newspaper
(but no one likes stories about sunset thighs)
they thought he was crazy
(did you hear- let us chat now now now)
but he was not crazy
(just suicidal)