So many people tell me I look happy.
I want to tell them it's all a lie,
but then I'll just break down and cry.

We finished talking;
no more words to say,
no more time to spare.
Yet I still had a story to tell,
but time was gone.

What I wanted to share was far
        too graphic, far too heavy,
to be told before parting.
An eagle can't swoop to the lake
to scare the fish.
It must complete its task
and take its time.
If you only have time to scare,
you don't have time to spare,
save the story if you care.

I visited and it happened again.
I grew excited and saw who I needed to see,
for the most part,
but I always forget that a visit
requires an end -
I would have to leave at some time.

I am good at hiding,
good at hiding my truths,
good at hiding my secrets.
My mask is a smile,
it disguises my frown,
it hides my flaws.
Tears can't be seen behind a smiling mask.

Why do people judge your name
        already?
You haven't even taken a breath yet.
You haven't even another half to you
        yet.

Your name is one of beauty,
one that shows strength.
It's like a jewel,
full of beauty, elegance, and
        strength.

Your name is after the one who
        fought and defeated my villains.
It's after the one who stood by me
when I stood alone on the sheet of
        ice
floating atop the melting sea.

I used to hate your name,
but the one it's after changed it all
        for me.
The one of the name gave me hope,
and I have hope for you.

Judgment is not necessary
for a name of a child unborn,
unconceived, unfathered.
A name is a name,
each with its own purpose,
its own story.

Your name is one dear to me,
a story I tell a whole lot,
one whose purpose is to give
        hope.

When I teach you,
I'll try to be kind.

I'll keep your dreams in mind,
and try my best to keep their
        breaths.

When I teach you,
I will hold your hand till the time is
        right,

and I know you can do it on your
        own.
And if you need me, for work or for
        safety,

know I'll always be there.
Because when I teach you,

it goes you then me,
you have dreams ahead while I live
        mine.

When I teach you,
I'll try to keep your dreams alive.

I am like the sky.

We blush at the same
        moments:
before the dark,
and before the light.

We don't know the difference.

People know because I show them my words,
I never say them.

This is how I express my sores,
I can never speak of them.

I physically can't.

She smells like the following:
farts,
****,
and baby powder,
but never at the same time.

She also thinks she kicked me out,
when in reality,
I was ready to leave.

She gives me looks of disgust,
like she's better than me.
But in all honesty,
she's the socially awkward one

who only has friends because they
were mine first.
She's the one who caused all our problems.

She left dirt in my bed
and denied it.
She touches and uses all my stuff
without asking me first.
Then she gets mad and offended
when I tell her not to do that.

She's a *****,
that's really all she is.
A smelly *****.
She's almost nineteen years old,
and smells and acts
like an infant.

My roommate is a *****,
and I hate her.
I am so glad I'm leaving.

I've always been told I overreact,
so now I underreact.
I could have been mugged,
and I'll tell myself that others
have had worse times
being mugged.

I tell myself my problems are small,
because I know there are worse ones out there.
I don't have it that bad.

I could have been stabbed in the ribs,
and think, People have had worse,
I'm no big deal.

I've been assaulted and abused,
but I know people who've had worse,
so I don't make a big deal about them…

…at least not out loud.

Home is where five taught me life,
told me its tricks,
and showed me its hidden secrets.

The artist who showed me secret passageways,
who inspired me to capture memories,
to capture one at a time.

Focus on one thing at a time;
too many focal points is messy.
One thing at a time, you’ll make your
        masterpiece.

Capture the time in multiple shots,
you’ll find the winner.
Capture the moment in time.

The astronomer, the birder,
who taught me to take a step back,
and look to the sky from the ground.

Look for the patterns of far away suns,
listen for the melodies sung by small singers
        in the trees,
pay attention to the beauty of every pattern,
        every song.  None are the same.

So listen when the singers sing,
look up when the sky is dark,
and bask in the beauty that is all around us.

The historian who helped me remember the
        past,
and move on from it.
The historian who held me when no one else
        would.

Remember back to the day.
Feel it, remember it,
put it behind.

It won’t do anything for you now.
The past only shapes you.
Learn from it, grow from it.

The speaker who gave me new eyes,
more perspectives,
and respect for all.

We all come from different backgrounds,
different cultures,
even at home.  We’re all different.

Judgment for differences is foolish,
because we’re all different -
no one is the same.

The reader, the writer, who taught me
        individualism,
to be myself with no fear,
who gave me my dreams.

You can do whatever you set your mind to,
no one can tell you otherwise.
Do whatever makes you happy,

because you’re the only you in this world.
No one person is a waste, a no one, or a
        nothing;
we’re all somethings.  Sometimes it takes
        time to find

what we are, who we are,
but that’s the adventure of life,
and it never ends.

Soon I’ll be brought back to them:
the artist who taught me patience,
the astronomer, the birder, who taught me
        gratitude,
the historian who brought me back to bring
        me forward,
the speaker who spoke words of wisdom
        that taught me kindness,
and the reader, the writer, who showed me
        me.

I could tell her everything by reading her my poems' titles,
or, instead, I could read to her a few poems.

Then I could tell her how my mind races
but never places.

Then I could tell her what he did to me,
though she'd still be grossed out

because she's so innocent at heart.
I want to tell her,

but I'm afraid, because
I don't want to break her.

Though I know it's more for me than her,
I just don't want to scare her.

There are two places where I feel safe,
here, this very site,
and that room.

It's weird to say I feel safe in a room
such as that,
it's a classroom.

But it's the one of my hero,
so I guess it makes sense.
Right?

I don't know.
All I know is that when I'm in there,
like when I'm on here,
I want to spill everything.

I want to tell her of the
**** that wasn't ****,
but I know I shouldn't

because who wants to hear that?
And will I even have the guts
to use my vocal chords to say it?

Can I say it aloud?
I never even told her the real reason Kung Fu came to an end,
that ****** assault has been a common occurrence the past few years.

I can even see the awkwardness now.
She'd ask how it was but was not,
and I'd have to tell her how I let my innocence go, to an extent.
I said no ***,
but it went in,
his underwear being my savior.

I'll tell her how I'm leaving to the next tower,
because my roommate kicked me out,
even though she was the one who caused the problems.
I'll tell her that, no problem.

I'll tell her how my neighbors
are strangers who think they know me.
I'll tell her my excitement to leave all this.
I'll tell her that, no problem.

But how do I tell her of my assaulter?
I need to outwardly tell somebody,
and I need one of her hugs.
Maybe it'll slip out.

I want to tell her, though.
I want to tell a lot of people.
But do they want to hear it?
That's my question.

There are two places where I feel safe:
here,
and that classroom.

You told me over and over again,
even after you called it off after me,
you care for me deeply.

But tell me how that's so
if you tell me we'll talk tomorrow,
then have seven days pass

with only two messages
sent to you from me.
You read both.  I saw that.

Again,
Thanks for the text,
all of the ones you never sent.

Again,
Seriously, I did want to talk to you,
but now I don't know what I want.

You read these messages, I saw.
Twenty minutes later,
Read 7:27 PM

I send another,
four hours later,
Read 2:25 AM

Remember when you told me you cared?
And you had to convince me you were honest?
Good luck trying to do that again.

I won't let it happen.

Dear Minimalist,
Dear Belittler,
Dear Soulless Ginger,
Dear Stupid,
        because I know you hate being called that.
Dear ****,
Dear Liar,
Dear Sexist,
Dear Racist,
        you typical stereotyper.
Dear *******,
Dear *******,
Dear *******,
Dear ******-****,
Dear *******,
Dear *******,
Dear *******,

*******.

You think you're kicking me out,
but I'm leaving.

You smell like **** and baby powder,
I'm the one who's leaving.

On my own will,
bye, *****!

I remembered today a recent memory repressed.
I recall how my scared mind yelled when it happened,
It is technically in!
Oh my God, it's gone farther!

It's technically not considered ****,
it didn't go very far.
But I felt things I've never felt before,
and I've done a lot of things.

If his underwear weren't there,
it would have been ****.
But his underwear was there,
still I felt my privacy and lifestyle intruded,
and I still don't know what to call that day.

This was the day he left me.

My mind is racing.
I'm remembering things I once blocked,
remembering things that once brought smiles
and now bring tears because I miss them so.

I remember when you treated me like a princess.
I never thought I would enjoy that.
You called me sweetheart,
and when you hugged me,
you held and swung me
so my legs swayed to and fro
like those of a doll.

I should have known I was just a doll,
just a toy.
I wish I had known I was nothing else,
maybe I'd be sleeping tonight.

But then I remember her smile,
my hero's warm, welcoming smile.
I cry because I can't remember her voice -
it's been too long.
I remember her face simply because I see the prints
on my wall, the pixels on my phone,
of the days we were minutes away.
Two hours is too far.
And once every two months is not enough.
You can't go that long without a friend,
without a role model,
without a hero,
at least when you're me.

But I cry because of how he changed things,
and I cry because of how far she is from me.
But I smile because in a week, most will change.
I will see her smile again and forget his,
at least for a short while.
But I still cry because I focus on the negatives,
rarely on the positives,
especially in the dark.
And maybe if he didn't change his ways,
and her smile was next me always,
but not in print,
maybe I'd be sleeping tonight.

Because she's the only one who will get through to me,
one of the only ones who will listen to me.
Everyone says they understand me,
but everyone includes him,
and that's why I won't be sleeping tonight.

I get so much judgment for talking about you
and what you taught me,
what you saved me from,
what you have inspired within me.

I am even given judgment when I tell others
of the times when you protected me
from my peers,
and even from myself.

You don't even know my history of
physical self-harm.
You only know how I put myself through misery
without a care.  I won't ask for help.

You're my hero because
I didn't need to ask for help,
you gave it regardless.
And I get judged for telling people that.

Granted, I talk of it a lot,
but you mean the world as a hero should.
I won't stop talking about you.
In a week, I get to see you.

You don't want me to come back,
because you think it'll be best to stay away.
Stay away and detach from that place for a bit.
But I can't not see a friend when I can.

I want to catch up, to talk with you,
to not face the judgment I face every single day
from every single person I know.

You are my hero,
I will never forget it.
You were there when no one else was.
Hero, I won't forget you.

I wear all my valuables
because I trust no one around me.

I wear them when I shower and sleep
because I know when she and they see

an opportunity,
they will grab, and they will steal,

until everything in which I have put care
is gone, until it all is demolished in their hands.

It's been four days,
going on five.
Where are you?

You're the biggest **** I've ever met,
and you think you're a saint.

You act like you’re the only one,
the only one who has urged to self-harm
to make the pain go away.

Tell me about it.
Tell me about how you’re alone
and pain might be your sole escape.

You’re going to tell me anyway,
because you’re alone and I know nothing.
I’ve never harmed myself.

I don’t use my hands against myself.
I don’t hold myself back from fighting back.
I don’t let myself hurt myself.

You’re alone,
no one gets you.
Right.

You don’t see reality.
You don’t see that it’s you who gets no one,
it’s you who makes others feel alone.

It’s you who’s made my hands turn on me,
and fight the physical and mental battle
against myself.

You act like you’re the only one,
the only one who has gone to self-harm
to make the pain go away.

Strangers never take the time to know me.
Assuming is all they do.

Whenever she talks,
it's about us.

That's where you're wrong,
because, unlike you, I don't talk about

people
I don't know.

You told me three days ago
you'd talk to me tomorrow.

Well, that was just another one of your lies,
infamous lies.

I care a lot about you.
I am interested in you.
We'll talk tomorrow.

All lies.
All you ever told me were lies.

If you just knew how much you hurt me.
All of you, the ones who brought me emotional
        harm,
and you few, the ones who brought me physical
        pain.

You abused me, and you know it.
You won't see you're wrong-doing,
but you know your actions.

I just wish you knew what you did,
what you brought to me,
what you caused me.

I am not a shirt you try on,
and put back because you don’t think
it will work.

I am not a car you take on a test drive,
and leave with the dealer because you don’t like
how you look with me.

I am not a food sample at the food court that you take
to make the poor salesperson happy,
but spit me out later because my taste didn't suit you.

I am not an object,
not something you can spit out or put back.
I am a human being.

Every three-hundred seconds,
she danced three-hundred more.
Every three-hundred seconds,

her head bobbed to music,
her foot kept a beat,
and her mouth mouthed a chorus.

No music played,
no beat pounded,
and no lyrics were there to mouth.

Her silent song played from inexistent speakers,
and her body danced to a silent song of chaos,
every three-hundred seconds.

Every time I feel a passing coming,
it heads full-throttle into action,
taking my happiness with a life.

But for my entire life, her passing has felt near,
yet she’s still here.
I fear that once I feel that she’ll be here for a long while more,

she’ll leave.
The Lord will take her from me,
and leave a family with broken hearts.

She fears passing,
saying at ninety she’ll make it to one-hundred.
I get my fear of going from her.

Together, we’ll live forever.
Only have each other,
and a difference of seventy-one years

has not held back our bonds before.
Lord, we pray,
Don’t take us.  Give us forever.

Lord, don’t take her hand from mine.
God, give us more time.
Don’t let Him let the time pass.

She tells us enough we don’t have love for her,
and now I see her once a month -
maybe.

Lord, don’t take her hand from mine.
God, give us more time.
Don’t let the time pass.

I know the truth behind it all,
but I swore I would not tell.
I just hope that someone takes the fall,
the one who pushed too well.

I know the truth behind it all,
I know the lie that hath been told.
I don’t know why I have to hold,
because the lie hurt more than this ever will.

I am too strong to my word, but keep it in I will.
Just know that when it gets too far, I will spill.
I want no more tears to fall,
I want peace for all.

No more lies to tell,
no more secrets to keep in my well.
I know the truth behind it all,
and I cannot just watch her fall.

I know this feeling too well.
Losing.

For the past ten years,
it’s been the only thing I’ve ever known.

I thought I grew used to this,
but the discomfort crept back.

Though I have not lost it all this time,
I still find myself trekking back to that familiar feeling.

Because after ten years of losing,
it's become all I know.

It’s all I know,
and I know when it’s coming.

It’s coming,
and I’m losing.

Lost in a world where I found myself.
Adrift in a sea that brought me to my discovery.
Missing from mine own knowledge of myself.

Finding myself in a new, unknown world.
Learning me by learning others.
Discovering my mind in a place I’ve never been before.

Confused when I should know what I am, where I am,
                  who I am.
Disorganized where I should be able to find.
Puzzled with what I should understand.

Not as innocent as once before,
yet just as pure as she’ll ever be.

A kingdom of isolation,
and it looks like I’m the queen.
Standing frozen in the life I’ve chosen,
buried in the snow.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal, don’t feel, put on a show.
Make one wrong move and everyone will know.

Oh, I’m such a fool, I can’t be free!
No escape from the storm inside of me.
I can’t control the curse!

I can’t,
I - I don’t know how!

Please, you’ll only make it worse!
There’s so much fear!
You’re not safe here!

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn’t keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
Can’t hold it back anymore.
Turn my back and slam the door.
I know I left a life behind, but I’m too relieved to grieve.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see.
Be the good girl you always have to be.
Conceal.
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.

Just stay away and you’ll be safe from me.

No!
I—I CAN’T!

The crudeness of their lies is everywhere,
hurts everywhere.
They write best wishes to everyone,
but deliberately put one in the corner.

Their stares bring rain,
and their glares are what welcome her.
There is no warm greeting on the outside of her door.
Open it and find them there.

Her bed tries to bring comfort,
but then another walking stare marches in,
greeting her with a familiar glare,
the one that watches her as she sleeps.

Everywhere she goes, their glares follow.
She tries to walk away, but a stare finds her trail.
She tries to hide, but is always found by a watcher.
She tries to sleep them away, but the glares rip into her dreams.

Their wide eyes are inescapable.
Too many dilated, dark pupils moving as she moves,
dancing to her rhythm, noting all her moves,
spotting all her trips, recording all her falls.

The eyes of them see her discomfort,
and find their own serenity.
These eyes were once welcoming,
now are forever watching, forever following.

I love how you treat me.

It’s how, to you, I must be the earth you walk on,
the earth you spit your gum into.

It’s the way you try to start a fight
with every syllable that comes from my mouth.

I love the way you apologize,
even though we both know it means nothing.

I love how impatient you are with me,
especially when I forget you’re an all-knowing piece of perfection.

It makes me swoon
when you call me stupid to my face.

I fall head over heels
when you question everything I say.

My heart skips a beat whenever you say my name,
and you say it with disgust.

I love when you tell me you care,
and then go out of your way to cause me discomfort.

I love it the most when everything I do
comes in second to whatever you do.

I love how you treat me.

Friendship is a two-way street.
I can't always be there for you
if you're never there for me.

And just because you say you are
doesn't mean a thing:
because when I do, it's never good.

You tell me I'm wrong,
you tell me I'm dumb,
and then you change the subject to you.

Friends have faith in each other,
they doubt none.
But you,

Oh, you are the one full of doubts.
Tell me I can't do it,
or even that you never ever thought I could.

Thanks for the faith,
oh, dearest friend.
You showed me how not to be.

Thank you for your lessons,
I learned so much, indeed.
I will warn the others of your schemes.

I hope your boyfriend treats you well,
because he's all you have now,
now that I am stepping out.

I am stepping out for my own sake,
because you are no good for me.
All you ever did was bring me down.

Just know that I'm done.
Just know that I'm gone.
Just know that I've moved on.

I hope your boyfriend treats you well,
because he's all you'll ever have.
I'm never running back.

It feels like someone took a knife to my back,
and tore open my skin in one, slow motion.

It feels like the person reached into the gaping hole,
and is still pulling on my muscles, my ribs, and my lungs.

The someone is pulling and twisting on my insides,
their big hands attacking me from behind.

The person stops, and my hopes rise.
Then the someone shoves the knife into my open wound.

Twisting and pulling again,
this time with the original offender.

My muscles are angel hair,
covered in my own marinara sauce.

Playing with its food,
the someone twists my strands,

she slices them,
slicing me again.

Soon the whole me
will be bits of me.

As long as she keeps twisting and pulling,
I’ll continue my way to my death bed.

My death bed,
covered in angel hair.

My death bed,
covered in my marinara sauce.

Every time I think of you,
I see the word ‘Regret.’

It is written over the memories,
the ones I wish were never made.

These memories I dread
are the ones I have of you.

Oh, how I regret you.
How I regret ever being with you.

I regret even knowing you.
I wish I never met you.

I have so many regrets
just because of you.

I sit in the car, think of it,
and fill myself with dread.

I regret you,
and everything about you,
everything you represent.

Every time I think of you,
I see the word ‘Regret.”

I can’t stop.
I won’t stop.

The thoughts keep coming,
keep pouring into my head.

I wish I could forget,
and move on forever

and ever more:
to be everlastingly happy.

But I can’t.
They keep coming.

They won’t stop.
They can’t stop.

They keep coming,
keep pouring into my head.

The stress is not worth my time,
my energy.

They make me negative.
They make my world cold.

I am doubtful of myself,
and these thoughts remind me.

They can’t stop.
They won’t stop.