once when i was 11 i read somewhere that you could fall in love with someone just by holding eye contact with them for a number of seconds. i cannot tell you how many hours i would spend in front of mirrors, staring down my reflection hoping to feel something other than my breath on cold glass.

you know the craziest thing to me when i was 12 was that i had never seen my face in person. i mean i'd seen myself in photographs, and i'd obviously saw myself in standing water, or mirrors, or when passing store windows but i had never looked myself in the face for real so maybe that was the problem.

when i was 13 i was in the eigth grade and some boy told me my kiss didnt taste sweet like it was supposed to so i stayed up all night perfecting the combination of chap-stick and lip gloss, and i made smudges all over my mother's make-up mirror in her bathroom, but it still wasnt enough so i left it shattered on the floor and never told her what happened

ages 14-18 i lived my life through glasses and tried so hard to be someone else that i lost sight of who i really was. because people dont want to hear about how you have daily staring contests with yourself, or how you always blink first. people dont want to watch the happiness disappear from your eyes, or see how your reality comes crawling up your throat and sits on your tongue waiting for it's chance to scream help, while your depression runs ramped, changing all of your picture captions to "ugly"

when i turned 19 broken glass and razors became my best friends, and lungs filled with smoke were like breaths of fresh air and i've never told anyone, but there were nights when i didnt come home because i couldnt remember where home was. they tell you that home is supposed to be this safe place where comfort can be found in your own skin, but i wasnt told that home is mirrors covered by sheets, and covering your eyes to anything that showed a reflection because i never quite figured out the trick of falling in love with myself the way everyone else apparently had

i hope that 20 is the year that something amazing finally happens in my chest when i look down at puddles and see myself staring back. i hope when i'm 20 that i'll be able to go through old pictures and not want to cry. i hope that 20 is the year that tolerating myself magically turns into loving myself. that i wont have to constantly replace shattered mirrors or picture frames. i hope the 20 year old version of me will finally be able to look herself in eyes and see more than what's missing. i hope when im 20 this poem wont hold relevancy and that my scars will be faded and the only thing left of this will be a success story

Still water runs deep,
But the puddle remained,
Ripple less
To take turns to look in the reflection,
of the backrounds sound that reverberates across the landscapes.
Twisted invertebrates,
You still got my back?
We’re stuck in the mud,
up until our waist.
As the sunsets' behind,
I can’t look over,
my dislocated shoulder,
blades,
slice and sharpened,
by pebbles grains,
and then
skimmed across the puddles
so only ripples remain.
Though they soon disappear,
into the stagnant grasp
of fear and statuesque
placid, tranquil times.
In a hushed halycon,
hedonistic slices of life.
Still water runs deep,
but I drown in the shallow aqua,
in the afterlife of undulation.
The aftermath of the ripple effect.

I am completely fascinated by humans:
their behavior
their emotions
their desires
their needs
or at least what they believe to be their needs

So fragile and vulnerable
filled with doubt
weighed down by insecurities
finding joy in the unexpected
always surprised by their own accomplishments
struggling with experiences they thought would be easier
but miraculously solving problems
finding ways to get by
making it through another day

My nights are often filled with lucid dreams
where the whole of humanity is contained within a zoo
They are the rare and exotic creatures I came to admire
...but I feel like a human impostor
A sense of paranoia begins to seep in
like the ominous heaviness you feel before a dream becomes a nightmare
I feel as if they've always known I am not one of them
They've known since the day I was born
They've just been playing along
until someday when my suspicions of self will be confirmed

Maybe that's what death is - the big reveal
Maybe this is how every human feels
Maybe I am human after all
I hope I am