Waiting my turn in
----------------------------- line
for the golden star
from Self-Gratification.

Now to find the shortest aisle.

For an hour and a half I sit on the floor
holding a piece of shaped cardboard.
I turn it round and round to show all side
while holding a paper plate of paints.
He holds the brush like he holds his pencils
                           “wrong.”
He pays attention to the cartoon at his lap
and sporadically looks at the tip of the brush.
Colors are scattered with no rhyme and reasons
and brush strokes are seen without hesitation.
He paints and paints and saps his little energy
to make a Christmas present for his little sister.

My mom is snoring,
thirteen stairs and ten feet away.
My mom is peaceful,
thirteen stairs and ten feet away.

My dad is watching,
seven stairs and fifteen feet away.
My dad is learning,
seven stairs and fifteen feet away.

I am sitting,
on the floor against a trunk.
I am crying,
on the floor agains a trunk.

Less than three denotes a heart
showing love between two teens.
Texting back and forth with words
created out of broken and squished words.
Back with “ilu,” “ilysfm,” “ily,” “ilusm.”
And forth “i<3u,” “ilym,” “ilylc,” “bilu.”
Outsiders don’t understand the slang
but they don’t know,
they do not need to.
Only the two who are in love.

I've always been confused
by media's personifications of Life.

A beautiful woman
                          whose skin is flawless
                          whose face is symmetric
                          who has no faults

She, Life, is perfect and clean.

How life truly is not

A depiction of Life I give you now,
one not so perfect as She before.

                                           Skin and features of many
                                           taking in the best and worst.
                                                    A being who is strong and weak
                                                    visibly ill while being well.
                                A being who is beautiful in it's -u-g-l-i-n-e-s-s-
                                or rather,
                                a being who is beautiful in it's uniqueness.
                                      
A being who is not perfect,
but strives to be.
A being who is not commonly pretty,
but true to the mixture of
                                 Pain and Sorrow
with
                                 Ease and Joy.

Now I am sure you depict
Life a different way.
But how truthful all these depictions are

for life is different to everyone.

I wash the clothes
and fold them too.
I take the dishes
and load them up.
I look at closets
and organize jackets.

I do the chores
mom usually does.
Parents thank me
and smile at my work.
To them I'm getting better
and working to be better.

Little do they know
that when I do housework
my live is spiraling more
and all I am doing
is making things easier
for when I am gone.

I feel the weight on my shoulders.
So I hide under the table.
Let the wood take the crushing world.
And allow me time to sleep.
Lie down on the shaggy floor.
While the makeshift roof is cracking.
Melt into the floor for once.
Becoming something new.
No longer am I human
But a part of something bigger.
My body has disappeared
From the harmful world.
There is no more crushing
The world cannot find me anymore.

The face and body of a million others
because of the 21st chromosome.
The movements and quirks of a million others
because of a little spectrum.
The testers and medication of a million others
because of a tiny chemical.
Down syndrome. Autism. Diabetes.

The most loving person I know.

I pierced my ear today.
        Emphasis on the I.
I bought supplies,
     took the needle,
     and pierced my skin.
Then cartilage and skin again.
Put the earring in and locked it up.
Cleaned up blood with watered down
          chemicals.
I pierced my ear today
                         to get a safer rush of pain.

I'm going on a date
with a man I met online.
We've agreed to short term,
ending with some ***.
Promises of milestones,
talking of consent,
with one purpose: virginity to lose.
The timing we will choose
to do the big event.
We will work out the hormones
and in the very end, be another ex.
This truth we both hold firm.
We hope the last night will be divine
as we end up being just a playmate.

Throw your face into the bucket
full of ice and water.
Leave it there for predetermined times
based on physiology and psychology.
15 Seconds first, to get your lungs to work.
20 Seconds next, after getting used to holding breathe.
Try for 30 Seconds last,
that is what they tell me.
Then I go for personal bests
to make the pain even worse.

I cover my body fully.
     Long sleeves.
     Tights.
     Gloves.
No one can see my skin.

You cannot see my arms and the scars I hide.
You cannot see my legs and the scars I hide.
You cannot see my stomach and the scars I hide.

Let alone the fresh cuts.

So tell me again that I do it for the attention.
When I don’t show you the pain I give myself.

If I could write a letter to my mom and tell her the truth...
how liberating and sad it would be.

Dear mom if I take my own life,
don't be afraid of the word suicide.
There were inner demons I could never beat.
Who left their claw marks on my sleeve.

Dear mom if I die, I hope that you're not sad.
Because I'm finally done with the life that so brutally hurt me.

Dear mom I love you so.
And I wish that you knew that taking my life was never about you,
but the darkness in my soul.

Dear mom I know that you believe in a God who won't give you more than you can handle.
But if this is true then why
is it that I want to die?
Because I've had so much more than I can handle.
And I just can't fight anymore.

Dear mom I don't want to alarm you
to the truths lying in wait
in the caverns of my soul

But.

Dear mom I'm dying inside
and I can't take it anymore.

Dear mom tonight I'll say goodnight
and whisper how I love you.
Then go and be alone
to try to stay alive
for just one more hellish night.

I look at you and see the happiness I wish I had.
The love for everyone you see.
I start to cry for my hopeless wishing
to be happy once again.

I write on paper all the things
I wish I had again.

Happiness
Love
Determination

Now all I want
is to write a new letter
to you.

A letter saying,
"I'm sorry for all I've done"
"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do"
"I'm sorry I can't do it anymore"
"I'm sorry I've lost my fight"

Feel the dull but sharp, pins and needles pain of new cuts.
The worst is on my hips, a new place for this ****** up girl.
I see the cuts on my arm, the checkerboard I’ve created out of skin.

Would you like to play chess with me?

The deep and wide cut created from needed control of the cutting.
I feel the words carved into my body, the new one on my stomach, “****.”
All the words are true.
All the words are true.

All of these **** words are true.

Cutting.
            The release of emotions,
                   The control of emotions,
                           The object of emotions.

So many reasons and so many stories.

Carved into my body.

She believes that she is nothing.
Yet you tell her she is not.
She holds on to that believe
and ties it around her waist.
Maybe if you tell her enough
you’ll pull her out of the deep.
And she’ll she the light above
that surrounds her when she believes
that she is something.

I want to scream and yell
at you, Reader

"Why do you see the longer ones
and skip over them?"

These are the words I wrote
with my heart and soul
for you to read.

"Why do so many get a reading
when they are shorter than them above?"

These are words I quickly found
that do have meaning
but only in those seconds.

I wish you would become a reader
of longer, lingering thoughts.
Then you'll see into my soul
in different ways than I understand.

But truth be told,
I should yell at myself
for doing the same to you.

Dying alone is the secret of life.
It’s what everyone does but no one realizes.
Gather together your thoughts and dreams one last time.
Nothing known and nothing unknown of death.
Infinite wishes of dreams not found.
Thankful for the dreams you were able to make true.
Y**ou die alone after a life of dreams created with lovers and friends.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel
for if there wasn't
it would be a cave
and you would be stuck.

He's taken all of my firsts.

My first date.
My first hand hold.
My first kiss.
My first love.
My first make out.
My first time I was touched.
My first breakup.
My first true hatred.
My first true forgiveness.
My first friend with benefits.
My first *******.

Will he also be my first?