i wrote you
a letter every day
letters to tell you
just how i feel

written in neat, curved
writing i told you
just how sweet
i thought you were
how you made my heart
glow

letters in which i wrote
with various colors of ink
pouring out my whole being
to you

i wrote you
a letter every day.

i wrote you letters in which
i told you how you made me
bloom.

eventually
i found myself
pressing harder on
the paper
than i had before.

creating tears in them
similar in shape
and size
as the ones
inside of me.

i began to send
letters
with creases
and bumps
and stains
splattered with tears

pouring
from my eyes

as i wrote
the anger
bubbling within me.

my last letter
addressed to you
contained
no words

but was blank.
because
i had none that

could reach
as far

and deep

into the cracks
of my
heart

to describe
just
what you

had left
of me.

Dear society,

Don't tell me how I should think,
Feel,
Act,
Or look
I'm not a reflection of your perception
And I won't ever be

You can't decide someone elses identity,
personality or style
It's their own to define
Don't take that from us

I'm sick of feeling like an outcast for trying to be me,
We should really celebrate each others differences,
Those are what makes us unique

You can stop trying to dictate my life,
My way and my being,
I'd rather be outside of your ideal,
Than be repressed under your glorification

My creative soul dies held captive,
And it blooms in freedom
I don't feel free under your judgement,
But I don't live to please you either...

One day I'll be gone,
And if I die suiting your reality,
I've been dead all along
If I die creating my own reality,
I've never been more alive,
Even on the day I die.

So dear society,

Don't tell me how to feel,
Act,
Or look,
I'm done being a reflection of your perception
And I won't ever be that again...

Maybe we'll meet again,
When we are slightly older
and our minds less hectic,
And I'll be right for you,
And you'll be right for me.
But right now,
I am chaos to your thoughts,
And you are poison to my heart.

I tore a page out of my notebook and I burned it.
I tore another page out and I burned that too.
I ripped out every single page and burned each one.
But it wasn't enough.

So I tore the pictures from my wall and watched the faces melt away.
But I could still feel the need for destruction in the pit of my stomach.

So I put a joint to my lips and watched the smoke escape from my mouth.
But not even that could soothe my pain.

So I ran.
And I ran.
And I ran.
And as I ran I set fire to all the trees and bushes.
And as I sat there in the chaos I had caused I realised,
Nothing could burn the memory of you out of my brain.