Him.
He makes your heart race and your skin redden from the way he makes you feel.
He makes you smile when all you want to do is cry.
You want him.
But, so do I.
I want him too.
Probably as much as you do.
He makes my heart race and my skin redden.
He makes me smile when I wish I was never born.
But you have more friends,
better friends.
You have a bigger personality.
You're more noticeable.
"I saw him first." You always tells me.
I feel awful.
I know I should forget about him, but I can't.
You told me you wouldn't date for a while because you just had a breakup.
You always have somebody who wants to date you.
Always.
I never do.
So why are you doing this to me?
Let me feel.
I don't want to forget him.
He makes me feel.
The way he rolls up his button up shirts.
The way he teases others.
The way he sat there and listened when you rant.
You want him.
But so do I.

I step onto the stage,
the bright spotlights making my eyes water,
the rows and rows and rows of seats making my mentality waver,
the judges with their eyes penetrating me like icicles.
Their emotionless faces making me doubt myself and what I'm here for.
The palms of my hands are drenched and clammy,
I almost drop my-
oh, I forgot what I'm doing.
Whycan'tImoveI'mstuckIneedtoplayohgodthejudgesarestaringat­mewhatdoIdoIcan'tbreatheI'mgoingtomessupI'mafailure
I
need
to
bre­athe.
Slowly inhale in,
S
   l
      o
          w
              l
                  y
exhale out.
I can do this.
The violin's shoulder rest takes its place,
I inhale,
I exhale,
and I begin.

TRIGGER WARNING*
You
You don't realize it
But you are a part of the reason too
Why my snow skin in stained with red blood.
Why I stare up at my ceiling at 2 am asking myself
"Why am I like this?"
You say that I,
I can tell you anything but,
This "anything" is limited.
I stand up for myself and you say I'm not old enough to speak up.
I don't say a word and you say I must speak up.
You don't understand,
You don't understand how you are the depths of my misery
dragging me deeper towards Hell.
No,
You aren't dragging me to Hell,
You turned my mind to match the devil's,
You've turned my reality into Hell.

TRIGGER WARNING*
She is the girl.
She's the girl with her creamy, chocolate eyes.
She's the girl with her curly, crazy hair to match her personality.
She's my best friend.
I can't help but stare up and down at her curves,
but you're not supposed to look at your friends like that, I realized.
It felt like a knife,
similar to the one kept hidden safely in my bedroom,
penetrated my heart.
It hurts.
Having a sleep over with a Christian friend
"Any boys ya like?"
Having to bite my tongue until it bleeds so I won't blurt my secret.
It hurts.
Having one of my closest friends pretends I'm not there,
after I come out to her.
It hurts.
Why am I like this?
I scream into the night,
sharpening my nails and slicing my skin.
I bleed,
it hurts.
Why can't I be normal?
I guess my heart just doesn't go that way,
I guess I'm gay.
She's my best friend.
She's the girl with the curly, crazy hair to match her personality.
She's the girl with her creamy, chocolate eyes.
She's the girl.