There’s a theory about alternate universes, or if you want we can call it the multiverse. It’s where for every single idea ever thought of, there’s an alternate universe where it’s actually happened. For example, when George Lucas thought up star wars, somehow in another time, place or galaxy far far away, a star breathed in light. It breathed it in and out and created a universe where eventually, like ours, it gave life to atoms. And these atoms created people or monkeys or god or something which eventually : Became the star wars universe. I’m not a scientist but I think that’s pretty sweet. It’s this theory that kind of punches hope into my chest because what other way will I be able to take hope without a fight except to punch it directly into my chest. I guess though in a way also though, ****** also thought up of killing off all the jews and probably becoming world leader but let’s hope that didn’t happen.

It’s a simple idea like that though, that I have a little more reason for living. I’ve seen dark days and darker times created inside my own little piece of mind like p-i-e-c-e and not peace like a peace sign. Cause my mind is a battle field filled with corpses and death and totally dead people all around and to be honest it gets me really bummin. So instead of filling my mind with the dead I fill it with scenarios where I’m spider-man. I swing my web high till I run out of buildings, I let my body sky dive down into the ***** pits of New York where I help clean up the trash and gag cause I really hate taking out the trash like literally it’s really gross. But I help nonetheless.

When I was little I’d have dreams that didn’t end up happening until like eight years later and I realized I could see into the future. All the things I’d see were insignificant though so it’s not like they really mattered but one thing I keep a look out for are spiders. I had a dream I was spider-man, I swung a web accidentally and if I hadn’t woken up panicked I would’ve hit pavement harder than the realization that maybe God didn’t exist when I was eight or that...dad wasn’t coming back. All of this is off track so what I’m trying to make my point about to close a poem with is this: There’s a theory that what you think up in one universe, it can happen in another. So what I hope for is maybe there’s some kid in another universe, just like me. He looks up at the sky or in his room or a ceiling light when he’s really high and thinks: Hey, maybe I have spider powers in another universe. Cause the day I become spider-man, maybe I won’t be such a loser anymore.

you used to tell me that death was nothing to fear
but that's not true
and it's not actual death that I'm afraid of  though
it's what happens afterwards

where will I go?
what will happen to my spirit?
will there be a heaven waiting for me?
or am I destine to sit in eternal darkness?

I like to imagine that we all become stars
shining down on the earth
and guiding our loved ones through the forest
looking down on everyone and smiling because you know they admire you

I also think a lot about what will happen to me physically
I mean, I know that I will decompose
but what will happen after that?

I like to believe that flowers will sprout from my remains
covering the ground in beauty and joy
people will look at my garden and know I was loved

some might not be as lucky though
weeds might grow from them
they're poison will cover the ground and create landfills
they're toxins will spread into the hearts of everyone that sees their grave

it doesn't matter what happens once your dead though
what matters is what happens when your alive
and maybe that's what I'm most terrified of
that what I do while I'm living won't get me stars or flowers

maybe I'll leave scars and be destine to have a poisoned grave
the few who come to my funeral will spit to the ground
hoping that my soul will still be there to feel it
hoping that I live in eternal darkness

so the next time you tell me that death in nothing to fear
I will simply laugh
and reply with 4 words
"you're right, life is"

I want to be a superhero. I want to shoot heats beams from my eyes like I shoot...spit, from my uh, mouth. I want to save people in the burning building. Lift girders with a finger and hope with my words. I'd give food to the poor and teach respect to the rich.
   I want to show the kid on the ledge that the bully is the loser and not him. That he has a life to live and what an ******* says is just a bunch of ****. And no matter how many times he jumps I'll pull him back on the ledge, show him that the hero he looks up to was just like him. Show him miracles happen and if he's lucky he'll become the hero in his eyes. Show him scars are scars and they're just out battle wounds, that even his hero gets hurt sometimes.
   I want to be like Tony Stark. Have an ark reactor in my chest powering a suit of armor. Knowing that any second my heart will be torn apart. Be like the Hulk cause I have such anger inside that sometimes I want to turn green and break things.
   I want to have the power of Thor, and show others that despite their expectations that deep down I have something they won't ever have: Compassion.
   I want to be a superhero. Because despite my expectations I am a hero in someone else's eyes. In another world, place, dimension I am the hero I want to be. And I know that eventually I will be a hero. I may not have powers but I have enough hope that maybe one day: I will.  
   But this isn't the future. I am in the present. And right now I am not the hero. Maybe I'm the villain.

Red. The color of anger. Red. The color of passion. Red. The color of fierceness. The only color I think of when I see you. Those words seem to make so much sense together, passionate, fierce anger. The color of your words spitting out in quick succession at me, telling me to grow up. When you read a book, authors will often say “And suddenly he saw red.” Maybe there is a reason behind it. Red. The color of anger. Red. The color of passion. Red. The color of fierceness.

Red, the sound of you stumbling home drunk. Red, the shuddering of the house as you yell. Red, the smooth way your lies flow through my ears. Red is all I can think of! Because every other color has been drained out of my life. I used to see rainbows around every corner, believe in those Disney Princess sparkles. But that is all gone. All gone because you have killed all of the happiness in my life, taken all of the color, all of the surprise until there is nothing left but red.

You made sure that there were only ever two possibilities in my life. Red, the color you chose, or a life with no color at all. I was raised on “If violence is not the answer, you’re not using enough of it”. I never blamed you as I watched the colors slowly seep away one by one, I only ever blamed myself. I thought I deserved to live in this bleak, lifeless world.

I want all of my colors back, so I can see beauty in my blue eyes, instead of a dull gray, the blonde highlights in my hair instead of a dingy brown. To be able to see wonder and light in everything around me, the sparkle in my friends eyes as she rants about this new band. But all I can see is anger, hurt, Red. I want to forget, I want to live, but how can I live when there are no more colors in this world?

So now Red stands for different things. Red, the first color in the rainbow, Red, my mother’s favorite color, and Red, the start of seeing beauty again.

Artists are not people who draw, or write, or make music.

Poets are not just people who write, poets are observers, poets see the beauty and tragedy of life and put it into words.

Those who draw are not people with pencils and paper, people who draw have figured out how they see the world, and how to recreate their views on paper.

Dancers are not just people who can move to music, dancers are people who spell out stories with their being.

Painters are not people with paint and a canvas, painters are the people singlehandedly making the world brighter.

Artists are people with leaky faucets.

this is a shout out to the kids who haven’t cracked a smile since last summer.
To the kids who’s wrists turned to cutting boards
and stomachs intentionally went empty.

This is the anthem for saturday nights spent on the couch just asking yourself “why”
For hours spent thinking that it’s your fault your parents split and theres nothing you can do.

For the kids who drag a blade across their wrist and carve grand canyons into their wrists although its still not the same.

A song for the kids who crack their knuckles as a distraction from the glares they get from across the classroom in fifth period science.

A harmony to the kids who are trying so hard to fit in but cant seem to get the hold of the right words to stick on their tongue so instead the wrong words slip out of their mouthes and roll into a ball of embarrassment.

A five star dinner served to his four friends which left him three years later and two years later he was just one kid by himself fending off the monsters we call classmates all alone.

Another sleeping pill for the boy who prays with his eyes shut but cant sleep because his eyes have already been closed for hours.

A brace for the broken and the weak as the week drags on to the point where every word that ends in the letter y makes you want to pull your hair out.

A poem dedicated to the kids who cant fend for themselves in the jungle.
Its a hard existence.
But we can make it through.