I’m not sure you know what it’s like to love
someone you know is only going to demolish you.
What it’s like to give your body to someone
who doesn’t care what it would look like
turned inside out, the beauty of it
dripping from your bones, the words that haunt
you when the lights go out, the dreams you swore
to catch but just nearly missed.
I’m not sure you know what it’s like to watch
for the expiration date, wait for
that last good day before the question
is asked, the “where is this going?”
the self-promises not to reach out to him
days after you’ve gotten the wrong answer.
I’m not sure you know what it’s like to prepare
bomb shelters out of empty Ben & Jerry’s,
your roommate’s wine, your favorite leggings
and a blank document. I don’t think you know
what it’s like to play tag with each other’s tongues
in your bed while you just wait
for it to be empty again.

I love all the things you do,
all the stupid little hair flips and the smiling
between kisses, how you cradle my face like you just know
you’re going to tear my smile apart one day,
but you don’t get it.

You don’t know what it’s like to be the girl
everyone breaks. To have to watch days
on your calendar pass by while crossing your fingers
that today isn’t the day he grows tired of your jokes,
the day he finds the sparkle has faded, the day
the disinterest starts. You don’t know
what it’s like to hold someone you know isn’t ever
going to be yours.

I want poetry to come easy
slide off my tongue like text messages
come off of my finger tips at lightning speed,
like something I was trained to do
since the my very first flip phone.
But sometimes it's too hard not to weep
on the keys of my laptop,
and the last thing I need now is a short circuit.

Can we talk about busy city streets?

how they look most enticing at rush hour when the sun is dipping below the treeline in late November and it would take just one second too long for any passerby to notice you staring deep into their eyes as they hurtle towards you at a speed just high enough to rid the world of you permanently. How when they stop in time, something inside of you shatters, disappointed, and you sob violently as they rush to come to your aid, saying things like "what were you doing in the middle of the street?" or "honey are you okay, is there someone I can call for you?"  They mask their confusion with sincerity, and you tell them they can move on with their day.

Lets talk about the voices in the back of your head.

the ones that others swear don't exist. they tell you it does not get better. they tell you that your parents lied when they said they would never leave you, because everyone ends up in a box someday.

Lets talk about the depression that grips you ferociously, swearing its normal to stay in bed all day, to sleep for 23 hours, and eat nothing but chocolate icecream, or even nothing at all.

Lets talk about the anxiety that helps you question stepping out of your house in that outfit, or calling a friend, or trying to make friends, because you're probably just not good enough, right?

Lets talk about the invisible diseases, the ones that parents swear are a phase, the ones that helped me create this multitude of "obviously hypothetical situations".

Mom, Dad, Aunt, friend, they're ******* real. i know because they devour me as i lie in bed awake at night google searching for things that could cure me. make me less awkward at family parties. make it so i can start up a conversation at the dinner table without tripping over every single syllable, hoping i chose the right ones to use. make it so that i can stand up for myself, without the immense fear of being wrong for doing so. make it so i feel good enough. make it so i don't ******* hate myself. they're real and i'm tired of you putting them on the back burner, if you care about me, they matter.

they are not disposable, i cannot get rid of them. they are not something that you can fix by buying me a new makeup palette, or explaining that a lot of other people have it worse. do not tell me to just "make friends" or find a new hobby, if it were that simple, I'd have my doctorate in human psychology by now. So next time you tell me that my problems are silly, or irrelevant, i swear there will be slurs screamed so loud that they'll be heard in Hong Kong, because you cannot take these away from me, because they are chained to my ankle, and i am stuck in the middle of a busy city street, enchanted by the way headlights shine on my skin.

When the leaves first start to change,
I know I have been warned.
Winter is on it's way and soon
I'll be forced to take refuge
from my thoughts, and the cold
that will try to slip into my bones
and rattle me to the core.

Though I've never been diagnosed,
I'm almost certain its true,
seasonal affective disorder lies
dormant in my veins
waiting for the first autumn breeze,
the first winter flurry,
the first ******* signal to send me
into yet another yearly downward spiral,
only difference now
is I'm becoming more aware of the signs.

Sometimes I can't sleep at night
and some mornings I struggle to open my eyes.
Mid lesson, my mind will wander,
taking me down dark pathways
cobblestone streets too often strolled down
by those who've yet to find a way around
the mind gripping struggle that is
Pumpkin Spice Latte commercials,
and fuzzy ******* sweaters.

These things that are supposed to bring comfort only bring me down.

I stare at glass ornaments all night long
because the light that reflects off of them
is much more exciting than the blackness
given off by the backs of my eyelids.

You take pride in Christmas lights hung
all over this one bedroom apartment,
cramped with two bodies,
four cats,
and enough clothes to stock a salvation army
for years, and make millions.

This is plan B and
we are adjusting.
Awake at 5 AM to be out at
6:10 to make the 20 minute journey
across town to the school
I refused to leave.

I am an honors student,
but not destined for Ivy League.
Cramming is my best quality,
though I guess it could be worse.  
You could find me down by the tracks
with ***** on my breathe and
glazed over eyes. Luckily I decided
I just don't have the time.

I've adopted the habit of running daily.
Just around the complex until my lungs
scream so loudly for air that my vision
threatens to leave me.
I find something comforting in
not being able to see straight.
Dizzy with oxygen deprivation,
it's a kind of Euphoria.

This is life: new, and exhausting.