The sight of jail is beyond frightening.
It's locked doors.
It's watching guards tear our your freedom as if it's nothing.
It's blue outfits you're forced upon your will to wear.
The smell of jail is the smell of the girl ******* her insides out.
It's the smell of half cooked meat, but hey at least it's food.
And it's the smell of musty deodorant.
The sound of jail is the sound of T.V.
It's people yelling.
Guards screaming at you.
The feel of jail is cold sheets and a mattress just a titch too hard to sleep on.
It's the feeling of isolation and depression seeping in.
It's the not so quiet feeling of sadness.
The taste of jail is lemonade that's ever so sour and gross.
It's the taste of blood because you keep biting your nails.
And lastly, it's the taste of your own fingernails. Because it's the only thing you can do to pass the 17 hours you have all 4 lights on.

Anxiety sips at me because I’m a living example of what not to worry about
If you were to throw a weird microchip in me to see what my thoughts were,
Anxiety would be ****** as **** because god, what does an 18 year old have
That’s worriable?
Depression eats away at me due to the y'anna whole mental illness component
But it eats away at me even more because it knows I’m young and innocent.
I’m young and innocent so therefore it has everything to worry about.
Depression is the worrier in my head.. It worries if I will ever get better.
Why? Because dear god, if I get better I wouldn’t be worthy enough for depression’s deadly grasp.
And trauma, lastly, grips me for dinner. Due to the fact that it’s sad.
Trauma is sad I’m leaving it behind, for once.
Trauma is sad I’m moving on.
Trauma is distraught that I have a chance at not being the traumatized one.
Trauma is the depressed.
Drug abuse, he sat there stalking my every move.
Waiting for me to come home so I could finally be gunned against the wall and die.
And god it couldn’t wait for me to die.
The illness finally caught up.
All the illnesses caught up.
And this was the end.
You see, anxiety, depression, substance abuse, and trauma make me up.
And in themselves, they make each other up.
The depression is the anxiety, the trauma is the depression, etc.

I should’ve been concentrating on reading a book.
But instead I sit here, at a modern day typewriter,
Asking, what do pronouns mean.
What’s the hidden meaning?
Do pronouns contribute to society or take away from society?
Do we as citizens of America understand what it’s really like to not feel comfortable in a said type of pronouns?
Or do we just feel uncomfortable in our own thoughts and use pronouns to cover it up.
Do pronouns cover our darkest, most dangerous, truth-telling secrets...
Or do we just hope and hope and hope that it will?

God, now that I finally understand what gender is to me,
I think I used she/her pronouns to conform,
And they/them pronouns to hide
And finally, he/him pronouns to accept.
To accept who I am.
To accept the “real” me.
To accept that I am different.

hi i'm dylan
king of nervous thoughts
today's nervous thought is brought to you by
trauamaticmemories.com
in which we remember the overdose and precipitating events
leading in towards the overdose
and we second guess every good that's happened since then
and so stimulants naturally make dylan paranoid
so you'd think without them, he wouldn't be...
well, it's still emotional withdrawal peak time,
so the paranoia is in full blast
~
so why do i deserve good things?
like, what's so special about the good things i experience?
~
it makes me heartbroken that such a thought
can exist
while being tremendously content
and holding the person i'm falling in love with
~
i feel shame
for having done things
that are in my past
that i have to sit with at night
i keep trying to run away from that,
but it keeps haunting me at night
~
like phantom limb syndrome
i will still feel the addict nerve endings shift and grind
against the proactive, recovery-oriented, lovely nerves,
and it will HURT.
~
i will squirm
cry
hurt
&
crumble
~
but i will rise again
to hold my love
and give her one last kiss on the neck
before turning my nose towards her to acknowledge
"it's time to go to bed"
~
and that is my train of thought
today
at
3:22 pm
on Sunday
March
29th
in 2020

"i'm fine"
Oh you're you say?
What happened to those scars on your arms?
What happened to the crying I heard at 3am?
What happened to you?

"no i don't like her, mom"
Why not, she's getting a three point o GPA.
She's in honor's classes...
Lastly, she's humane! She has a life sweetheart. Something I so dearly beg you get one day.

"i can't, i'm busy."
****, I ain't busy.
I ain't doing jack for work.
In fact, I'm sitting home right now.
Watching T.V and eating a carton of ice cream and breaking a bottle of *****.

"i won't give into depression"
Really?
You won't attempt at 3am when the voices tell you you're better off dead.
You won't use when you're too riled up sit straight?
Lastly, you won't cry when you've been sitting up for 3 nights in a row thinking of your ex mother?

"i'm staying at (best friends name's) house tonight"
Hell, I'm not.
I'm actually smoking at -stoner's- house.
I'm going and having *** with literally everyone whose ever loved me.
I'm going to be happy.

during the morning i see
a fresh start
new perspectives
the sunrise looking slightly different than yesterday
i see that i will get better today
i see i am okay
i see my life getting better

during the afternoon i see
mistakes
curses
reasons to do xyzabc
i see hate
cruelty
anger
shame

during the night i see
failure
"****-Up" engraved into the mirror
everything and nothing
i see the fact there's new scars
a comedown to face tomorrow
my life didn't get better today.

*and repeat

i mistake a first date as settling down
a deep conversation for a new best friend
five carrots as my dinner
free ride home for continuous vehicular mobility
i mistake a kiss on the cheek as marriage material
and those glossy, deep blue, swooning eyes
have been mistakenly viewed as
my one and only partner
-
my friend once told me i looked miserable
i thought that meant she cared
little did i know, it was her way of
manipulating a situation to her liking
so she could bring it up as "instability," only two weeks later
-
don't forget the time i let shame and disappointment come over
to hold me in the absence of your wrath
-
i never really realized how many of your lies i believed
and took as truth
when the future and upcoming consequences
proved you to be wrong
-
i thought that mistaking the next door neighbor
for a friend
would mean i'd never be put into a risky situation with him
yet little did i know
he'd end up ***** one night while i was intoxicated
and **** my dysphoria to the point i couldn't see myself
as lovable, compassionate, valid, or kind
-
i thought that by you grabbing my back instead of my *******
meant you just wanted someone close
but the second that strip turned blue
i realized i was just another pawn in the game
-
you were *****, alone, and fearful
i was tired, inebriated, and misguided

i know that when you eat 13 more pills than your body is used to, it will freak out and land up in the ICU where you will fight against yourself to stay alive. and that's no easy ****, i also know that when you did this the first time you were a lot healthier than you are now.

i know that last night i came to the most tragic epiphany ever. when i was a kid, i watched my mom turn herself into a puppet as a hand went across her face, fast, and i would turn my brain off into a different world. and then it became toxic. i began imagining the pretty little 80lb girl slicing her pinkie-wrapped-wide wrist in order to look pretty. and by 5th grade, i developed an eating disorder.

i know that if i wasn't abused, i may have actually stood a chance to make something of myself.

i know that i have an issue with denial around my anxiety and the crippling level of it. i know i'm downplaying. i know i hurt. i know.

i know that if i hadn't fallen in love with trauma and ******-up **** to make me aesthetic and pretty, we'd be in a different place.

Ode to the love I have for myself that I wish would love me back.

I wish you showed up on every day including the ugly ones.
So the sunny days. The cold days. The snowy, winter days.
I wish you loved me back.
I wish we could make love the way I make love to paper and pen.
I wish I could show you the deepest parts of me and you'd comprehend what those meant.

But till then, I can only wait.

Rhonda is just a friend.
“A cat scratched me”
I love you.
Never, will I hit you.
Believe me.
Obviously she’ll be okay.
Well, I’m sorry.

so i guess there's this thing,
it's called a
"trigger"
it's something i viewed for a long time as
an excuse
but now, i'm viewing it as
"oh **** dude you're struggling"
and right now i'm ******* struggling
i'm in pain
i hurt
i'm sad
i'm wanting to leave
and give up
and run
far
far


a

w

a

y

i had kind of a different experience today
with the weedujuanas,
instead of feeling really hyper or really suicidal
i just . . . could breathe
i could sing and feel alive
i could paint and think 'good' things
i could laugh with no remorse or guilt
but. then.
it wore off, and i needed more
so i went to my friends
and sold her some **** so i could get some addy
and man, i wish i wasn't so destructive
otherwise,
none of this would happen.
but
whatever.
life's life
and here i
am
.
.
.

Yesterday
Yesterday I was suspended and now I don’t know my left from my right
My left is emotional
And my right is emotional
My left represents anger and resentment
My right represents suicidality and sadness
There is no middle.
There is no grey
There is no “This too shall pass”

I could be expelled for hitting a kid, due to the fact it’s my 3rd fight in a year and two months
I could be expelled because I am on contract.
I could be expelled due to the fact it’s a tiny school. Only 60 kids, and 35 on a regular basis.

one. landslide by fleetwood mac is a really good song to listen to when you're sad or upset
two. i struggle with mental health which is, but not limited to, bpd and ptsd
three. john oliver's episode's of 'last week tonight' make me smile on my bad days
four. i am over eighteen and a half years old
five. i graduate june 9th and that means i'm one million percent done with high school
six. yellow is a really good happy color and purple is a really good sad color
seven. jennifer lawrence is really funny and super hot
eight. i apologize to my body for utterly ******* it over
nine. art may be the only thing that keeps me as whole as i am
ten. i know neko case is pretty great, and seeing her live in concert was the best night of my life

so, the boy and I are boyfriends now.
It's been 3 days?
It's pretty gay.

when i say
'things will be okay,'
i mean that things will eventually work out
that doesn't mean life is going to become perfect, no
but it does in fact mean that the things you're worrying about
right now
will be okay
they will become memories
and you'll forget about the time you were so stressed for finals you didn't eat for 48 hours
things will be okay
you'll forget about what it was like to turn 17 when you were 18
and you'll never remember your favorite song as a 1st grader
on December 13th
you just won't
and for that
things will be okay

today i am yellow
not that neon yellow that
shouts at you to wake up from the bedside,
but instead that soft, quiet yellow
whispering at you to with coffee
from the doorway.
today i am yellow.
the yellow in a sunset,
bidding farewell to another day
gone awry
--
today i am abused.
not that i checked my schedule and
thought that today would work, but that
i looked at my schedule
and saw it was the 5 year anniversary
five years strong *******
five years ever changed, guys.
today i am abused.
not physically, where you can see it
but bruises that are shaped like hickies
and those hickies whisper sorry to me
and i repeat it every 3 seconds,
as though i'm on repeat.
---
today i am lost
not lost on a map as though i'm looking for treasure
but lost, like i get, when i search for my soul
my soul is fragile just like
my searching abilities
---
but just like yellow, abuse, and lost souls
i am drifting home so soon
and i see so much in front of me
but for now i am yellow
a lost soul
and abused

Love. Love is so much. Love can be that hug you get at just the right moment. Love can be the song she showed you. Love can be the first time you two had *** on the bathroom floor. Love can be an object.

Love is the sound of a pen writing and typewriter clicks. Love is the sound of keypad clicks because you know that means they're typing something just for you. Love is playlist after playlist. Love is the sound of knitting needles going back and forth and back and forth because she's knitting the scarf for you. Love is the sound of the perfume/cologne bottle spritzing. Love is the sound of pottery. Love is the sound of comforting words. Love is the sound of confessions late at night. Love is the sound of hang-up buttons and cars starting up. Love is.

Love is the feeling of the universe and stars moving to my brain stem and *******. Love is the feeling of you kissing my lips and moving slowly until you're at my collarbone. Love is the feeling of you moving my fingers to match yours. The feeling of poetry being written about me. The feeling of the zoo and butterflies, and even the robin outside moving around in my stomach because that's how you make me feel. Love is.

Love is the sight of you in the red dress that I bought you for our one month anniversary. Love is the sight of the paragraphs when I wake up. Love is the sight of seeing your wrist clean for a year. Love is the sight of waking up and realizing it's our one year anniversary. Love is the sight of nakedness. Love is the sight of you smiling. Love is the sight of our first date and delicious looking food.

Love is the smell of ha long bay and ginger tea. The smell of perfume on your girly days and the cologne on your not so girly days. Love is the smell of our house, along with bath and body works. Love is the smell of your hugs and your chapstick. Love is the smell of fresh vinyl and flower bouquets. Love is the smell of marshmallows and a crackling fire. Love is the smell of **** on my favorite sweatshirt. I love the smell of your sweatshirt and that's perfect.

Love is the taste of ha long bay. Love is the taste of her lips and chapstick against me. Love is the taste of wine and blood. Love is the taste of well, love. Not much to say for taste is there? Love is you.

i hope you travel to lots of places
places you favorably call home
places that make your bones hum in enjoyment
places that ring of heartbreak
places that radiate joy
and sparkle and singe in awe and amazement
I hope you see things on your travels
that restore faith in humanity
that make you scream from rooftops
that make you feel that you're one with life and love
I hope you meet people that make you feel beautiful and raw
I hope you meet others that define heartbreak
I hope you experience sadness
and joy, and rage
along with euphoria and sonder
there is so much out there to see
and smell
and experience
and taste
and hear
I hope you go to concerts that make you
feel so in the moment you can't imagine anything out of this one feeling
I hope you do everything and so much more
I hope you hear new music
and live life.
i hope you live this beautiful mess of a thing we call life.

I tried to be depressed again but it just wasn’t the same.

I tried researching depressing songs,
Depressing lyrics, and
Depressing photos...
None of it was the same.

Nothing felt quite as...
Angsty.
Rebellious.
Sad.
Upsetting.

Nothing felt as bad.

But then he said he didn't like me back.

And everything began to feel the same as before.
I researched depressing songs,
Depressing lyrics, and photos,
All of it was the same.

The songs?
Sad,
Relatable,
and even a few help me shed a tear.

The photos?
Made me crave.
Made me hurt.
Didn't make me cringe.

The lyrics.
Yes.
I understand you, dearest artist(s).
I get it, what it's like to be depressed.

You see. When a person says they don't like you back, the typical response is to move on. But no, I didn't move on. I dwelled. I sat in that uncomfortable feeling and died internally because that's how numb I was.

You see, depression takes so much from you, it takes your freedom, words, music, and abilities. It is horrendous! Anyways, I hope I get over this ****. Because this ****'s a *****.

I’m not going to use 5,000 similes in this poem.
Why?
Because your bones do not tickle my throat like constellations,
Instead you abused me.
And I’m not going to make abuse into a pretty aesthetic poem.
I’m going to speak it how it is.

People assume abuse is pretty because people write about it in pretty terms.
But no, abuse is scary and messy.
It’s the forgetting your birthday and how you were born.
It’s the significant other hitting your thighs because you’re “too fat”.
It’s not getting coffee in the morning because “you’re a big girl” and can sweat out the hangover
-you didn’t ask for- off in a few hours.
And most importantly, you can’t forget how much of a **** you’d look like if you shaved your head, so you don’t.
Abuse isn’t “wrap me in your arms and put me in a choke hold so i can feel what it felt like to be mom”  
ABUSE IS NOT AESTHETIC
ABUSE IS NOT AESTHETIC
ABUSE IS NOT AESTHETIC

I can’t say it enough. I can’t phrase it different ways. I can’t say “hey dude look, abuse ain’t cool
man” BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW IT AS IT IS. AT FACE VALUE.

sometimes words don't
c l i c k
in my head
the same way some others have
c
h
o
I
c
e
s
about which math class you're in.

sometimes my head tells me that I'd be better off alone.
it goes far.
it runs far.
my life feels far.

i'll wait.
until all the petals from the flower drop.
until all the raspberries from the plant are eaten.
until summer is over.
i'll wait until then to say the magic words.
143.
i.
love.
you.

I've gotten to a point where
if I stop using
-
I get physically sick
I get emotionally drained
I become suicidal and impulsive
-
but the consequences are glaring in the room down the hall.
-
homelessness
debt
no school/college degree
that'll be rockbottom
-
but wait
I've already gotten so far into the hole
what makes this consequence neighbor different?
-
I sold myself to some random dude
to get drugs
I took a pregnancy test last week
it was positive
-
I broke curfew
I broke my rules
I broke other housing rules
I broke values
-
I guess
don't use.
**** gets bad.
fast.

So. I woke up this morning thinking to myself, what are my values?
For some people, it’s trust, love, and honesty.
For others, it’s authenticity, compassion, and leadership.
Well, I thought about it, and not to sound like a hipster but some values are so stupid.
Other values, however, are pretty heckin’ cool.
I think I really value loyalty and trust.
Along with security and self-respect.
Lastly, I think I value creativity.
WAIT.
Did you see what I said in there?
-
-
-
-
I said “I think (...)”
I don’t think I value creativity.
I ******* know I value creativity.
That **** roots me.
That poetry?
Yeah, that stuff is awesome and makes my heart beat millions.

I know I value loyalty and self-respect.
Without that, we get nowhere.
I also really do value security and trust.

Lastly, I’d like to end this piece of art with a bit of truth.
I value you.
Yes you, the one reading this.

I listen to your problems, which touch soul to heart for years
I still wake up, hearing your laugh
Days later
Weeks later
Months Later
Seeing your smile in your eyes
Seeing your music in your words
Seeing your art through eye/s
I still draw thinking of how elegant your lips would kiss
I still listen to that elegant lofi music, thinking of how you'd cry
I listen to joji thinking about smiling, hugs, and you

You.
Smiling.

You.
Crying.

You.
Loving.



m
e

When clean from the cutting, the alcohol, negative self-talk, drugs... everything. When after 10 years I finally get one day where I'm numb, I enjoy the **** out of it.

I don't think about my crushes or school work. I don't think about cleaning or showering. Instead, I choose to sit in my room. Play re: Stacks by Bon Iver, lay on my stomach in my cat pajamas, and enjoy coloring, writing, and doing nothing other than what is consuming with love and beauty.

So example. I wrote a story that day. It wasn't for giggles. It wasn't for the word count. It was for the fact I wanted to write. Simple. I wanted to write something beautiful. And I did.

It's this.

When the feelings subside...
From the negative self talk to the self-hatred.
From the disordered eating to depression and anxiety.
From trauma to substance abuse.
When all of that and more subsides...

I will listen to "The Only Thing" by Sufjan Stevens. I will lay on my back looking up at the ceiling, debating all that's whole in the world. I will turn my head to see a human looking back at me, as to remind me i'm so much more than myself in a world that beckons to hear me.

When the feelings of
guilt, shame, and self-loathing subside
and the light seems to shine over a trillion clouds
with a small smile from the heavens
-if i were the poet to believe in heaven-

i will draw with my favorite pen
and write a letter to someone i once despised
yet never send it
because **** actual feelings
and **** spending money on stamps

when the feelings of disgust and squirminess
decide to run away,
and i'm left with a black hole of anger

i will simultaneously cry and scream while running away
from everything i once believed
i will block a person or two, feeling utter regret
rant about three more times,
and return to the life i call home.

you tickled me like a sore throat tickles the idea of sickness.
you grabbed my throat like you were grasping for something on the top shelf you couldn't quite reach.
you put yourself inside me as though you were shoving everything into a suitcase after a vacation.
-
do you think that spoke to you?
was that pretty?
did it radiate the constellations you see in your trauma?
-
oh, sweet jesus i hope the **** not.
i hope you were uncomfortable.
i have this insecure faith in the world that you squirmed at the idea of trauma being talked about so aesthetically.
-
when i was assaulted the first four times, i RADIATED hurt, pain, discomfort, and needed the numbness to survive.
-
you shouldn't need numbness to survive pain.
but, it's so understandable.
if you break your leg, you get pain relievers for the break.
if you are in surgery, you get a sedative
you're not expected to stay awake for the pain.
-
so why do we need to be awake for the trauma?