"I may or may not die soon."  "What's wrong with you?" "I'm human."

The selfish part of me
Wants to be the one
To save you
But I know
That's not the way
I can't light up all your shadows
Because sometimes
Darkness traps me too

Some days it's hard to breathe. For the past two years, there's been a weight sitting on my chest. Drawing in oxygen feels like hiking through piles and piles of snow just moments after the storm. I don't know where I'm going.
Some days I take my glasses off at school. I like the way the world blurs in front of my eyes and fog settles in the forefront of my vision not unlike the way depression can blind you with only a small shift in perspective.

The first time I wanted to kiss a girl, I was fourteen, and the scars on my hips from feeling too much too young had barely healed. Picture a shy, high school freshman who hadn't yet figured out if she wanted to live. Her breath caught in a cloud of promise and mouth left open just enough to speak if she decided it was allowed, thoughts halted with the wonder of the girl laughing next to her. As the girl simultaneously overflowed with beauty and mirth as only girls can, I was terrified by the prospect of being different. I didn't know if it was allowed.

I went to see my therapist today, and he asked me why I tried to **** myself. I couldn't say it was because of my sexuality because my mother was sitting right next to me. Instead, I said it was because I felt numb. It wasn't a lie, I just left out the part where every Saturday dance class was becoming a steady stream of homophobic monologues and each passing comment left me staring at my wrists more often than the last like a lifeline- a final bridge to Terabithia where I could dance without worrying how my thighs looked and run without worrying about who from and love without the compulsory package of suicide.

My depression started as a fog. It crept over me while I watched powerless and stole away my friends one by one. Misery loves company, and we ran from it in a race to the death but we couldn't opt out. All I have left from what they call my suicide attempt is a vertical scratch on my left wrist where I was too afraid to press harder. I wasn't afraid of death. I was afraid of waking up, and the marathon that would come with it.

Ever since time began
Man looked to the stars
At Saturn and at Jupiter
And at Venus and at Mars

I know each star up in the sky
Each star is a bright flame
It's the spirit of someone you've lost
And each star now has a name

A star's a spirit waiting
To start again, for a rebirth
A star's a soul of someone
Who will soon return to earth

Even if the sky is dark
And the stars are hidden for the night
I look up through the inky shroud
And see them twinkling oh, so bright

My list of star names grew
A little more this year
Which makes the sky much brighter
And makes it seem so near

I look up in the heavens
I think of who they next will be
And hope that one day in the future
Someone thinks the same of me....

Hollow inside;
someday, a secret bride.

fists clutched, arms wrapped tight,
a hug or a fight?

vocal chords distilled
unable to rebuild.

bones so cold
and heart so old,
happy thoughts covered in mold
to match the soul too much like wold

Cast out were his alien dreams;
Aspiring and confident he did leave.
Fiery ground of thunder burnt his home;
As he alone cast out for that void,
perceived through his singular glass dome.

Adventure had caught him lonely
But peering out from his craft
his pupils did glow!
Circling fiery molecules hovering to and fro!
How could he now transmit and show
Reflection of scale small and macro!

Fumbling, his fingers did try
To articulate the machines
Imprinted of his native language.
"Calling Cpt. Crow!"

Sending the signal the results did show
A break in the wire and a fuse did blow.
Barricading that soul far and deep,
A minuscule solar flare
Emanating a glow!

And from that earth looked upward team and crew
Saw idle in that gigantic void a singular golden hue

Distant but true was the connection they all knew.

everyone seems to have a dream
a poet that must occupy their time
weaving words through the weary seams
an artist must dance their brush in line
with the natural beauty of rivers and streams
a dancer spends their evenings alone
forgetting who they are, at home
and can never be forgotten-
a violinist feels their fingers hum over the strings
and the far off mountain's distant thrum
calling to their soul-
everyone seems to have a dream,
a plan for the future, divine-
planned out by heaven before them
but the hard question is: what is mine?

There are women against feminism
And I really don't get that
Feminism is about equal rights for men and women
And without that
I would spend my life suffering through the remark
"Get back to the kitchen"
Because it wouldn't be my place to deny that
And little girls would grow up
With their purpose in life to be
To look pretty
And have children
Without feminists
I would grow up and never get the chance to vote
Without feminism
It wouldn't matter if I had an education
As long as I looked good enough to get a husband
Isn't there something wrong with that
And feminism is around today
Because some men still look at women as objects
Because women can't dress nice
Without a male seeing it as an invitation
Because women who have *** are *****
But guys who have *** are praised
Because women get paid less than men
Feminism still exists because so does inequality
And men don't think I'm blaming you
I'm blaming the society
That uses a woman's body to sell anything from burgers
To perfumes
I'm blaming the society
That constantly photoshops women
I'm blaming the society
That blames the victim
I'm blaming the society  
That makes women believe feminism is wrong