My hands still ache –
I’m convinced it’s my atoms splitting
No one asked me how I got addicted –
They said the focus was on quitting

But I’m here in the present
So I must have a had a past
It’s too bad “Where’d you come from”
Is a question never asked.

I went through hell to get here
So it should matter where I’m from
I tell them “it should matter what I’ve seen…
It should matter what I’ve done.”
He then responded like a father and began his sentence, “Son…
It’s the shock, not the trauma, that makes the body the numb.”
He said, “The thing you search is silence.”
“And yet you let your monsters drum.”

You start to figure things out. You know --
When you’re locked up all that time.
But you learn not from what you’re taught,
Instead, you learn from what you find.
And I found mine in the written word,
I found it in a rhyme.


Numbers always helped me think, so I looked for something to count
And as I pondered that man’s words, the room’s only light went out.
So I counted the only thing that I could feel aside from air,
And his seven words made sense, as I counted the one thing
That in the dark was always there.
I’m my own favorite number, so I began counting,
“One…”
But this time I didn’t count to two.
And the monsters didn’t drum.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t rely on someone else
For the first time, in the dark, I counted on myself.
I then knew why “Where’d you come from” was never asked --
Both they and I lived in the present; we couldn’t act upon the past.
It doesn’t matter where you came from, or even why you’re here.
For your past dictates your penance, but the present is your frontier.

Every time I attempt to sit down with my mom and talk about my mental state
She somehow warps the story into the idea that I am simply stressed out because I am not trying hard enough in school
And I sit there and take her words
Shoving them down my throat in an attempt to make them fact
But they do not fit the gaping hole in my chest
Her words are mismatched puzzle pieces trying to portray two different pictures
But she’s not wrong
School is one of the causes of my anxiety but not in the way she thinks it is
I walk into school every day
a new lollipop flavor in my mouth
Hands shoved into pants pockets
A false swagger used as a shield
So they don’t know that I cried myself to sleep last night
I have created the perfect girl
She walks into the room
Smile bold and blazing like the summer sun
A new joke slips past her lips
Causing her classmates to hunch over in stitches
And in those seconds she wipes the remaining tears from when she cried because she looked in the mirror for too long
The girl I come to school as
Has a heart of gold
And her arms wide open to embrace everyone she sees
She holds them close to her chest so they don’t see her cry
She walks into a room
Bold and brash and brazen
Shouting
Look at me I am a star
Look at me I am shining
Why don’t you see me shining?
Notice me
Notice my happiness
Notice my confidence
Notice my high self-worth
I shout and I shout and I shout
All so they won’t notice the cracks and creases on my exterior
This girl that I am from the moment she steps into the building
Until the moment she touches down on her bed
Walks like the world is her runway
Flashes her painted on smile like it's her ticket to happiness
Her skin is stitched together by quirky comments
Corny jokes
And faux vibrato that reverberates in her chest so she can shout my words out to the room as if she is the Queen of the world
The fictional heroine I composed
A character I have created because no one wants to be friends with the girl who dreams of killing herself
No one wants to be friends with the girl who shoves her fist in her mouth at 2:00 in the morning
Hoping to choke down her sobs so she would not bother anyone
No one wants to friends with the other part of me
The one who puts the lollipop in her mouth to block the screams from ripping out her throat
To cease the quivering of her voice
The one who twirls the stick in her fingers so you won’t notice the violent shaking of her hands as she looks for something to hold onto
Something to control
Something to rip
Something to shred
To hopefully not tear out her hairs and huddle into a ball in the corner of the classroom
So she keeps ******* on that stick of comfort
To steady her nerves
To not cry out
Help Me
For this is not their problem
Not their baggage to drag behind them
Her shoulders have become pedestals for her pain
Because it is hers alone to carry
They do not need to see it
I have come to the conclusion that I am a pathological liar
a body snatcher who transforms into the person she dreams of being every ******* day
and you may call this identity theft because she’s not truly me
The little girl that I truly am deep down inside is still afraid of the dark
Still scared of heights
Still petrified of clowns
But she’s even more horrified by the thoughts that run around in her own mind
She’d rather face a thousand killer clowns on the top of Mount Everest in the middle of the night
Than sit alone with her thoughts in her hands
Weeping out the story of a girl who’d rather die than keep breathing half of the time
Tears clog my eyes and blur my vision
I can feel the oxygen slipping out of my lungs
I can feel the heat pool in my chest
I can feel them start to shrivel
Hyperventilation occurs
As I begin to heave my chest outwards hoping to fill this void
I can’t breath
I can’t breath
I can’t breath
I can’t-
I grab a lollipop out of my bag
Fingers quivering like fall leaves
I Rip off the wrapper and throw it into the trash
Just as if it was the little girl
I place its perfect pink roundness between my lips and hold it there
I inhale
I exhale
And I feel the smirk plaster itself onto my face
I sense my eyes flicking to a lighter color
I sit back down at my desk
Twiddle my thumbs
Insert a sly comment into the conversation
And they laugh
They laugh so loud that they don’t hear the cracking of my heart
The little girl is sleeping now
And I foolishly hope
She won’t wake up
Ever
Again

I want to be available
to the people who love me.
I want to be there
emotionally, physically, financially.
I want to be their shoulder
their crutch, their solace.
The person who does not drop anything.
I want to give the feeling
of lightness to every being walking this earth.
Every human, creature, and plant
as they grow up fast.
I want to be nutrition,
a steadfast superhuman
so unfazed, so cool-headed.

It infuriates me
that I'm not this person.
It should be so easy to give.
If I just get my **** together,
I've repeated on and off again
the last five years.
But somehow, I always manage
to waste enough time
to get there,
but late.
When I have nothing
left, a hollow person
someone gave too
many tries.

Still, the people I love
tell me I'm wise,
an angel body.
Like they must justify,
who I am,
the imposter
the transient,
always planning,
for when she can
run away again.

It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived