how infectious is this joy!
looking into the eyes of a canine companion,
a pair of shining stars, filled with nothing but love,

undemanding,
a love that asks for nothing.
not food, not shelter;
only-
you.

yet on our streets,
those same stars are dimmed.
silenced in the name of safety,
while the true criminals parade on in broad daylight.

tell me,
what kind of world-
cages a heartbeat?
erases a wagging tail?

they asked us for nothing,
gave us everything.
and we repay them,
with absence.
with killing their love,
a love, that;
just
wanted
to
stay.

the stars speak to me
tiny glimmers of hope dotted across the
vast abyss of darkness
for they burn for millions of years,
yet light up not a fraction of the sky
but they persevere!
they persevere for the one who might find solace in their glow.
lighting up even one person's life
is reason enough to keep going
to keep living

i am surrounded by mirrors
i look different in each one
every time i glance at a reflection
i morph into something else entirely.
and a stranger stares back.

in one i'm too short.
too short to hold onto my father's hand
i reach and reach
scream and cry
but i go unnoticed.
and a gaping hole forms in my heart.
a hole i try to fill with substances, people and emotions-
but none of them fit.  

in the second i am too fat,
tummy bulges out, and thighs rub together.
my arms are too flabby.
in the background is my mother,
staring at my body with disdainful eyes.
those eyes burn a hole in my chest,
one i that i think starvation will fill,
instead food became my best friend in that reality,
and my mother, a stranger.

in the third hard eyes glare back at me.
a girl who's been so unloved she becomes silent.
this reflection petrifies me,
for this girl is angry and cruel.
her excellence is used against her.
she has been shunned and left behind,
with nothing but her writing to find.

finally, in the last there's droopy eyes.
and that's all that's there,
droopy eyes, smudges on the glass, and someone else's fingerprints.
which reality is mine?

who do i believe?
the version that cries?
the one that lies?
the one they clap for,
or the one that watches from behind?

i feel a sense of dread
there are beings inside my head
they believe me to be undead
i think the monsters want me bled.

i told them i think something is wrong
they looked at me, smiled, and moved along.
i danced with one in the dead of night,
now they grip onto my mind with all their might.

endure gracefully.
bleed beautifully.
but never too much,
never enough to make them uncomfortable.

cry.
but wipe your tears when you're done.
open your eyes wider,
don't look so depressed,
you're ruining the photo.

girly you can text me anytime
until we actually do
then its,
im not ur ******* therapist.
and a lingering guilt.

why has mental illness also produced standards we must meet,
standards in order to be accepted.
why are some shunned and some welcomed?

we are not an aesthetic.
not broken people in soft lighting.

i scream,
i rot,
i flinch when someone shows me affection,
i hate being hugged,
but still crave it the most.
am i still worthy of love?