when I sleep, I
hear sounds of crashing
and war
to the steady, beating

d*** beneath my breast.
oh, the fear

you instill and the
outrage I feel
undo me.

whispers in
ash-covered bullets of sweat scream
nonsense.
thinking is death.

free me.
reach out.
our moments are painfully slow.
make up your

mind,
e**ntangling me.

I hear a slight buzzing through the walls
as the tips of my fingers click against the keyboard.
Now and then a door crashes open
to the sound of end-of-the-year chatter
just before footsteps fade into another shatter.
But all I do is silently lie here,
reminiscing about the four years I’ve spent
in the building that lies below.
This is where I grew up.

No,
I did not spend my childhood roaming these halls,
nor did I begin the tricks of my trade,
but this is where a naïve 17-year-old girl
was carved into a woman of strength.
This is where I made myself who I am,
and this is where I struggled the whole way,
having nothing to do with a single class period
spent here.

And now as the rain begins to pour above,
slowly leaking into the cracks of these concrete walls
similar to the scars I carry inside my chest,
I am proud that they are symbols of my past,
For a scar is a wound that has healed
but simply left a mark behind.

The marks from these puddles never seem to fade,
so we avoid them.
We do not write our deepest thoughts there,
because they just get washed away.
I think I avoid the scars
for fear of them reopening
and myself washing with it.

This is the place where I was given life.
This is where it was taken away.
And this is where I fought to retrieve it.

As much as I hate this place,
as many good memories are harbored here
that I don’t let myself think of,
as many painful memories I've had to forgive,
as many selfish memories I’ve had to overcome…
I still think I’ll miss it when I’m gone.

Cool, wet ringlets form in my hair,
Sweet aroma of precipitation.
Eyes wide open to a world widely shut,
All I can hear is its splashing
against the warm, solid grass
and the blacktop beneath my running feet.
Such a vast and beautiful place this is.
So, I halt to throw out my arms,
close my eyes,
and lay my head back
to just feel...
To feel the crash against my skin,
to feel the sun and rain collide
to feel the breath of the clouds surround me,
to feel fully alive.

If I said that I didn’t think about you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t miss you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t wish for a break in the silence,
I’d be lying.
So, I won’t say anything at all,
just as promised.

In all my years here,
I will not remember what's on page five of my notes
for that one class I took last semester
or the one before,
but rather the lessons I've learned along the way.
This,
I would say,
is what I have learned in college.
This,
I would say,
matters:

Live your life.
Don't let others live it for you.
Act your age.
Mind your own business.
Be there for the people who care.
Be there for the people who don't.
Be independent.
Get over yourself.
Love.
Let yourself be loved.
Be honest.
Hold on.
Let go.
Change things.
Accept things.
Break things.
Fix things.
Win.
Lose.
Cry.
Laugh.
Mess up.
Step up.
Be better.
And whatever you do, don't let someone else take the best of you away,
And if you do,
forgive them,
but mostly,
forgive yourself.

I tried to find
the perfect words,
most poetic line,
or graceful prose
to encompass
the passion that builds me,
but in this moment
every lyric
makes the world
a solitary
cliché.

This bed feels hard beneath my back,
while my head aches with swarms of beasts
trying to break through the door,
faceless demons who want to reunite with my bones.

They won’t.

This exterior has strengthened,
shielding the dark magic the devil tries to drill.
And my sword wards off the stragglers,
drowning the witches in water and smoke.

But sometimes I just want distraction –
from my head,
from my heart,
from its steady beat,
reminding me of who I am. –
Because, sometimes, I just want to drown out with the rest,
to fade into the crowd,
and feel ever-so-swiftly faceless.

See, sometimes I want a warm body to hold me,
for once in my life to live out pure lust –
animalistic and loveless. –
In a world where it’s use or be used,
For once I want to be the predator.

Rough arms to wrap around my bare back,
my legs to wrap around a smooth waist,
my body pressed against a cold wall
as a steady hand grazes my thigh,
a tongue that ventures around my earlobe,
and lips that travel down my *******,
but no eyes to look into, for this means nothing,
so eventually we can…

But I stop because it won’t ever be.
As much as I want to feel nothing at all,
even for just a few moments,
there’s nothing that will make me forget.

I’m too strong for this now,
too happy for this now,
that when I’d like to cry, I can’t –
lucky if a single tear cools my cheek,
but never enough to feel better.

Every time the wish arrives
my own voice makes the thought subside
with a single, chilling whisper:
I’m better than this.

So all I can do
is hope that someday I’ll eventually be rewarded
for the falters that led to my freedom,
a freedom that has chained me down…

for simply
being
me.