I can feel my tears
Rolling down my cheeks
I can feel my hands
Trembling like the drums
I can feel my heart
Beating as it fall apart
I can feel my head
Aching as you fade
Not away from me
But away from all the memories we shared

The walk along the streets of fame
Streetlights illuminating the night
Dazzles are but fleeting moments
Adulation of the crowds will wane
Looking through the dark glasses
To fend off the bright camera flashes
Offered the spotlight by bright lights
They will switch off during the day
Temporary embellishments will disappear
With ease walk the streets
Where fame is just not a stereotype

(Written in 8th Grade)

As I grew up along-side of memories, I realized that my name grew with me; shaping and morphing itself into who I am today. But wouldn’t it be fun to not be me for a single day? Not have the name, Alice? I could be someone smiling bright, maybe Melina. Or might I try on the name Jessie. Nah, too laid back and chill; so I take the name off and put it back on it’s hanger. I could be haughty and proud, with my nose in the air; I could be a Penelope. I window-shop for more names, browsing among all the different personalities. Fern seems fun, friendly and cordial. Or I might stick around and act as a Sam. Boyish? Aw yeah. Just maybe not for me. I’ll be Stella, all book-sharp for a day or I could be a Chloé, exotic and beautiful. Or switch my style into the retro girly Natalie. What would it be, to have the name Katie, just for a day? Zoey, Liana, Stacy, Diane. Isabelle, Marilyn, Delia, Hannah. Maybe give my name an exotic twist, Alyssa? After trying on names of all kind, some just weren’t for me. Too ‘krazy’? Shy? Ecstatic? Cool? Like a huge circus parade with different costumes, the loud gaudy colors blinding me. Like all the different shoes at Aldo’s; sky-high heels, wedges, sandals, boots. I slip out the shoes, I peel off the names. Because for now, I’d like to stay in my own skin; as a plain old Alice.

Drinking summer skin,
I hear the voices in the night sky
I'm a slave to the darkness around the stars,
and I can't remember why

One, two, twenty-three percocet in my soul.
Ambulance lights breathing throughout the mist.
Pump my stomach like the sawed-off shotgun
that I was too afraid to use,
because what if I 'miss'?
What spectrum of desolation to be traced with lips;
to kiss away the desire to exist.

Mirrored reflection injection causes the resurrection of my imperfection.
I see me for who I am, who I was, and who I won't be.
It's the collection of
my eyes dilating and my knees speculating their arrival
to the blue and white tiling disguised as neo-survival.
My mind is evaporating. My body begins to convulse.
I am a ghost in a machine. I am without a pulse

I had to watch this boy go from 8-26 with a full man in his chest in less a moments notice, he was so angry from the sudden unwanted growth upon his being. The growth started in his collar bone, spread to his elbows, and exploded through his cupped fist slammed through the dried wall. I have see a lot of anger in my life. I've see small dogs get so angry that we follow them around everyday, their tails that is, that a circle is what makes sense to chase their feeling around the room. The dictionary says there are a few different synonyms for anger, like indignation, rage, and my favorite piqué.... Now this is my favorite word because the definition of pique is to affect with sharp irritation and resentment; especially to the pride. The image this draws across my neurons in the dome of safety behind my eyes ;just  imagine a king standing strong, chest out, flexing his insecurities across his cheeks. These cheeks have seen little girls cry from all the mothers taken away in the daytime hours to feed their needs to be alive, torn hair out of tomorrow because it looked too promising with potential, and a smile with deception lining each tooth. This king was confident in his worth. Then I watched the king wake up from his dream with an anvil on his throat and Grenades in his shoulders, ready to blow on anything with the ***** to step, to only realize he is standing in a group home with bare walls around the meds on the table. The pique sleeping in the beast will stayed subdued, the meds are kicking in. This is the image I imagine, because as I live life with this human machine I have watched the state shuffle his chess pieces into Chinese checkered closets to make it through the weekend. Mondays bring another day of forgetting families that ruined mind sets, but the families still lay on heart strings still playing come home to me. You were not made for this life happening before your eyes, you were made for much more, like changing lives. And you have shape shifted mine. You have shown me what strength is, because I always thought strength was being able to lift the most baggage off hearts broken like glasses in a middle school mix up. I was wrong. Strength is mustering up the courage to step out of bed when the world screams to you no, and your mind is heavier than the world under your tongue that you have yet to tell of. We both know you can change a life, it's just hard with the restraints placed across your ability, I'm sorry. To be honest, I know he is a king with a heart made of palace, bones of gold, and a head made from broken crowns his family has never fixed.  he has directed more life night lights than staff members have told him stop. He will not stop with the directional force of an ocean in his footsteps. I have never told him that he can move mountains with his voice, lift reality with his left arm and a fist with the other to show the power that he believes he can't possess. Buddy, I know they have held you down for so long, and that you despise them for it. I believe with everyday of my ****** heart that one day, you will change the universe. Because with a king like you, there is always a revolution.