I’m the most stereotypical teenager you’ve ever met.
I spend all my time with my friends.
I like frappuccinos and I’m obsessed
With my social media pages.

I fell in love with a boy;
And, when he broke my heart,
I sobbed on the floor for weeks
And then dyed my hair blonde and moved on.

I wore a pretty blue dress and sparkly heels to prom.
I graduated at the top of my class,
President of the honor society,
Friends with everyone.

I’m your stereotypical teenage girl.
I’m the main character in a Disney channel original movie.
I have everything, I think.
Why can’t I sleep at night?

What they don’t tell you in the movies
Is that when I’m not with my friends, I feel lost and alone.
When I was heartbroken, I fell apart.
I’m successful, but at what cost?

The stereotypical teenage girl gets 3 hours of sleep a night.
I spend most of the night doing work,
But I also spend time texting my friends and flirting with boys.
When I’m alone with only myself, do I still fit the stereotype?

It’s been four months since the sun last shown.
Since I last said goodnight.
The stars twinkle,
And the lamplights are an illusion.

Sometimes, I can pretend that it’s the same.
Sometimes, I remember that the sun is also a star.
The stars I see now are just a bit further away;
They don’t shine as bright.

I want to get on a rocket ship
And fly far far away.
I want to forget about this sun and its tragedy.
I will find a new sun

The new sun will shine brighter.
The flowers will grow taller.
The world it shines on will be more beautiful.
I will say good morning again.

Every year, in English class, we have a poetry unit.
I rarely pay attention.
I get a low A on every vocab quiz and
I can ******* my way through essays

I like poetry, though. I love it, in fact.
I don’t like analyzing it.

Poetry isn’t made for English class.
It isn’t made for stuffy classrooms in ancient buildings full of kids who would rather be anywhere else.

Poetry is made for reading at three in the morning
When the world is crashing down
When it feels like my insides are my outsides
And nothing will ever be okay
Poetry is there for me then
Poetry is made to hold up the sky
Or at least a blanket fort in my bedroom
Poetry is made for laying me softly down to sleep
And for waking me up to the bright, beautiful daylight
And reminding me that everything will be okay

The plan was to break up with me at a coffee shop
That’s smart, I think
A public place, entirely neutral.

That didn’t happen
I got sicker
I couldn’t drive
I could barely get out of bed.

You still came over
You still said you loved me
You still said you wanted to be friends
You still walked away while I cried

I didn’t cry because of you, at first
I cried because it hurt to be awake
My body was tearing itself apart
Nobody was doing anything

I got better, not all the way, not yet
I have a plan for my body, now
I had an MRI today and I have acupuncture every week
I use every oil and ointment in the book

I have space to cry over you, now
I have space to be angry
I can tell your friends how you hurt me
I have time to listen and talk

You don’t want to talk
“I want to be friends”
That’s a lie
You don’t want to take accountability or talk about what happened

We gave each other a year of our lives
We’ve only been alive 18
And yet, you don’t want to talk
You just wanted to break up with me in the coffee shop
down the street from my school