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.

You don't deserve to hear my stories.
Your one-word responses
and interest in my life for just five
        minutes,
they are not getting you anything.

The few years I knew you were great,
but I wonder if they were a lie.
You said you cared, and you were
        there.
But now that I'm older,

you can't spare a care?
Can't spare a helping hand
or helping word?
I thought you were there

like you said you were.
I might see you tomorrow in passing,
but don't expect a great story…
you're gonna hear what everyone else
        hears…

which, I'm sure, is what you want.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

Home to where the tan sand lays,
beaten by the waves that just want
        to stay.
Home to where we sail
till Lawson becomes a snail,

so small and so unnoticed,
like the little town covered in tourists.
Boston to my right,
and Gloucester in sight.

We tell stories around the flames,
put the passing train in shame.
Looking up at the floating embers
as they become stars to remember.

Lighting up the harbor, rock by rock,
keep the candle going with all your
        luck.
The Luminaria will make you gasp,
the little town is hard to grasp.

So little with so much beauty,
my little town is an opportunity.
Art by hand
and art by land.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

God tried to warn me,
and the devil tricked 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.

I am from the seas
where the harsh winds blow,
where I learned all I know,

where my mother
taught me to accept people
as they are,

where my father
taught me to be me
and to fight for me
when no one else would,

where my teacher
showed me that the me I am
is an okay me to be,

where my friends
very different from me
taught me what it means
to accept all for who they are,

where the birds
sing me good morning
and calm me when I'm not,

'cause the winds hit us hard,
and the power often leaves,
leaving us with each other,
an open community where everyone
and anyone
is welcome.

I am from the seas
where the harsh winds blow,
where I learned all I know.

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.

I don't know how
we're going to spend
an entire weekend together
when the past two nights,
you've made me feel like ****.

You should be able to tell me
No
or
I don't want to
without hesitation
like I do for me and you.

I don't know how
we're going to spend a weekend
together
when you keep making
me feel like ****.

I forgot how
you keep me
up at night.
Ignore my fatigue,
and drag me
to the wee
hours
of the morning.

I forgot how
you keep me
from eating.
The thought of food
makes me want to *****
anything inside of me.

I forgot how
you make me
realize how
full of flaws
I really am.

I remembered how
you can help me,
but is it worth this
pointless depression
that drags me through the day,
day by day?

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.

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.

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.

Am I doing myself a favor by
        doing this?
Will talking to you again make
        this more bearable?
This depression I've been
        bearing
with me over my weak shoulder,
it's been eating me alive.

I'm failing and I'm scared.
Some people tell me it's my fault,
but they don't know my story.
People who know it
know why
I am the way I am.
My depression was not something
       I chose,
it was something he gave me.

And after a month of not talking to
        you,
is it worth the aggravation?
Maybe this is liberating?
Is this what the light looks like?
I'll let you know when I find out.

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.

Imagine being in love
for twenty years.
Twenty years of loyalty,
promise, and forgiveness.

Imagine being in love
for forty years.
Forty years of honesty,
sharing, and openness.

Imagine being in love
for sixty years.
Sixty years of love
and all its adventures.

Imagine being in love
for all its endeavors.

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, *****!

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.

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

Your face is in the trash at Walgreens,
because I printed out a group picture,
        and you were in it,
so I cut you out.

You don't deserve to be in my college
        photos folder
with all my good memories.
Maybe if you didn't think I was a liar
and if you were a little more caring,
your face wouldn't be in the trash at
        Walgreens.

I remember when you said
you'd be there
and would help make my life
"a little easier down the road."

Now you never talk to me
and my care for you has dwindled
into nothingness.

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 our last night in the same room,
and you ignore my presence,
smell up the room with your
rotten baby powder stench,
and burn my eyes with your light
because you knew I was sleeping…
and you thought I was the bad roommate.

I want you in my life,
but talking to you cuts me like a knife.

I restrain myself from spilling,
save myself from the person I'm
        killing.

I miss when we talked everyday,
even when it was about that loser
        that played.

You're the first good guy to want me in
        his life,
and I had to go and cut you like a
        knife.

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!

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.

So afraid we lost touch
and too afraid to try again.

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.

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.

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.

Maybe you'll see these poems.
And if you do,
you'll probably get mad.
And if you do,
that is not my problem.
Because if you do,
it is not me who said you was you.

I got over the boy
of two years' desire
in a single day,

but no matter how much I've tried,
getting over you,
a month's desire
and the only month I've had
where a man was good to me,
is not something that will come soon
or with ease.

I don't know if or when
I'll move on from this phase,
which I hope I'll be able to call it,
but I sure hope I do
if you don't hop on this ship
and join me down this river.

I've been ready for awhile,
and lately been walking down this
        aisle.
It's getting darker as I wander
and slowly tip-toe my way through.

I see you in a passing pew,
smiling and waving, offering a
        trusting hand.
Your caring eyes blaze through mine
that hold fear for a red-eyed beast
in the pew behind.

Its eyes glow red with villainy,
putting me in agony.
He stands tall like a werewolf on
        hinds,
breathing heavily and convincing
        minds.

Your hand still extended,
I want to take it.
I know no beast is in you,
but the beast is always there.

I want to go down a different path,
and maybe the one with you is best,
but perhaps I'll find another beast,
who'll eat my heart and leave me rot.

If you're scared to drive with me,
you can tell me.
But if it's because of my ADD,
like I know it is,
instead of the fact that I'm new,
you can kiss rides to the store goodbye.
No, you can't come.
You don't like my driving.

If love never dies,
then what you had for me
was never love.

I learned to never idolize again.
Never have another hero.
Idols and heroes,
they're only here to disappoint.

In a world of people who cheat
        and lie,
how should they be any different?
They lead me on
and leave me in the ditch.

I'm done with heroes,
done with idols.
Have to find new motivators,
those that are not living,
that cannot die.
Gotta work on my mind
and never idolize.

I'm a brat and I know it,
no need to tell me twice.

I overreact and I'm aware of it,
no need to shout it in my face.

I don't care about your purpose, I only care about how it makes some people feel.  If you're going to post something graphic, descriptive, or something that could trigger flashbacks or anything online and your account is connected somehow (via following, facebook friends, or whatever) to someone you know or even don't know who has dealt with what you want to share to make a point like "all men are evil," then you have to reflect on who you are as a person and how dire it is that you share this piece of information.  Is your point so important and "accurate" to prove that you need to put someone in harm's way?  Do you really need to post that video of someone being run over or shot, or killed or wounded in any way?  Do you really need to share that person's **** story?  Do you really need to post that picture of someone's hanging?  Do you really need to post any of that?  If you really feel the need, AT LEAST - okay?  at least? - put it in your settings that someone you may know who is sensitive to whatever you want to post doesn't see it.  You want to make the world a better place?  Maybe start thinking.

When all you want is love,
and you're denied that love,
nothing else seems important
or even worth it.

I'm not sleeping
because I'm afraid of the nightmares
        I bare
when I'm asleep and no one's there.

I'm not sleeping
because I fear,
in less than a day,
she won't be there
or she'll push me away.

I'm not sleeping
because I think about the things to
        come -
the good and the bad.

The nightmares keep me up.
More attacks on the innocent
to be screened inside.
Mostly in schools,
once underground.
Flaw-full students,
ones with glasses or inconsistent
        tardies.
Or innocent princesses,
animated and have come to life.
Attacks from the power gone evil.
Principals become ******
and evil witches or queens grow
        the size of skyscrapers.

The innocent become meerkats
in the ground when the hyena
appears.
Travel great depths to find the one
to help them save the world.
Wake up before justice is served.

I'm not sleeping
because I can't stop the mare
and save my mind.
Wake up in fear
and then have her push me away.

But I need to sleep
so I don't explode
when I am pushed.

I'm not sleeping
because of fear.

Why don't I ever talk about things that
        stress me out?
Because you don't understand.
You think you do,
but I know you don't.

If you lived just one day as me,
you'd do the same thing.
In fact, I don't think you'd survive.
Maybe you'd finally understand,

finally understand that I'm not afraid
to drive,
not afraid
to get a job,
not worried
to live for myself.

I never take charge and do something
        when I feel uncomfortable?
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you.
I was busy telling off
every creepy man who comes my way.
I was busy reporting him to the police.
I was busy telling administration
that the person who should be looking
        out for her students
just told me flat-out I'd be nothing.
I was busy standing up to my coach
who played me so much, I'm in chronic
        pain.
I was busy crying as you yelled at me
when I told you something that
happened to me that
made me uncomfortable.

I'm sorry you feel that I don't tell you
anything anymore even though
you're my "biggest supporter"
and I "know it."
It's not like every time I talk to you,
it ends in my tears.
Sorry, "biggest supporter,"
that I don't feel comfortable
talking to you.

I felt very-well supported
when I told you you made me
uncomfortable because you make me
feel like a failure,
and you yelled at me and told me to
        get my act together
as you told me it's my decision,
not yours,
to do anything or not do anything.

I'll see you once more,
call it quits.

I stopped caring
…about everything, really.
And now look at me,
I'm carefree.

oh, you might read this?
oh no,
looks like i don't give a ****.

guess i should apologize
for pouring my feelings out there.
guess i'm overreacting again.

oh well.

Here's one of my many
flaws:

I'll be mad at you for months and
months,

then I see you
once,

and my anger
disappears.

Your welcoming
smile

brings me back to easier
days

and warmer
times.

I forget
assault,

throw away the
drama,

drop the
changes,

and leave behind the
stress.

Then I leave like nothing made me
mad

to begin with.  No
communication

is like nothing.  A
part

of me is quite
peeved,

while most of me has taken
forgiveness

without the other part's
consent.

Violations,
no responses,
his fake kisses,
my hypnosis,
their absences,
my displacement,
the false judgment,
haunting flashbacks,
no acceptance.
They all own me
in this depression.

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.

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.

Don't say I stopped being there for you…

Because I'll have you recall the numerous times
I heard you crying
and offered to be there
and asked you what you needed…

and all you did
was push me away.

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 made the mistake
of reading past scripts
after a rejection
that hit me harder than the rest.

Monsoons didn't come,
but I'm sure they will.

Every morning, I wake
up and long for
his body beside mine
and know it will never be.