Don't write me off as apathetic because you don't understand me.
I am mountains sobbing in earthquakes.
I am rivers screaming in floods.
I am bridges laughing into splinters.
I am systems crashing and burning out with a wink of light.
I am a wildfire in skin and clothes and I would destroy you if I showed you my true self.
Do not underestimate my emotions because you do not see them.

I wish it was easy
Love and stuff
Saying 'I love you' without fear
Its so strange to think about.
I love you is like a loaded phrase
Don't you dare say it too soon
Too loud
Too young
Too close.
Like a gun.
Aimed for your head.
Aimed for your heart, too.
A pistol with three chambers loaded
I
Love
You
Each a separate shot.
First in the throat, and you lose your voice while you wait
On baited breath for the rest of what they'll say.
Then the stomach, when the meaning of that word is suddenly
Printed in bold-face type on the backs of your eyelids.
And finally, your heart.
When you hear the last word, and you get a sweet, bitter ache in your heart
Because they love
You.
You, with all your flaws and cracks and fears bared to them
You, with every anxiety and heartbreak you put them through daily
You, who couldn't
Shouldn't, would never
Deserve to be loved.
But they say it, and the truth just hits you.
So hard, it hurts.
It feels good.
Why you?
Why them?
...Why not?

I have always believed that human beings grew up wanting to be grown
and spent the time when we were wanting to try again
all the time I have known I felt this was true
and coming back to me and you I'll say it again:
life is not lived outside of original sin
and every step I take feels like a mistake
no emo lyricism here
just real fear because there's too much dark in this big broad world for anyone to shed any real light
and without light the shadows creep and crawl
and I can watch the walls but who mans the halls
all night long I wait awake
every blink and every breath I take another reason for me to fear
"major depressive disorder"
doctors croon that like a sweet lullabye
but that does nothing to dry my eyes because what?
I'm not sick, just crazy?
I'm not hurt, just lazy?
I know the pains I feel so deep
if they aren't real then neither am I
I fall short of every sunrise with color but I try
major depressive disorder according to books
(allow me to paraphrase, I can't be bothered to look again)
is categorized by an extreme feeling of hopelessness
and loss of interest and I feel they are lacking finesse
when I am told I am a sad sad soul because the world is grand and wide
and I would invite it all to come inside
but I can't and that makes me sad.
it makes me sad when I see the way people are treated.
it makes me sad and often downright defeated
and when the little flame that keeps this broken heart burning
gets washed out by the darkness of the world awake and yearning
waiting for a moment of doubt and weak
I feel so ******* meek
me, meek.
I feel like the world is collapsing but only in my chest
I feel like an infant in a bulletproof vest getting shot
my skin starts to itch and I can't scratch with my nails deep enough
and son of a ***** they don't trust me with sharp things anymore
and the scores on my arms are the times I have lost
and this battle isn't won and this is hardly a war
this is slaughter, this is me standing alone under the whole wide world and keeping it up
and this is everyone I love looking at me straining and telling me that I'm slipping up
alaska is too far south today, do I even give a ****?
depression is not a feeling of overwhelming sadness
I am not sad because of misaligned cables in my mind
I am sad because no matter how hard I try
I'm told that I am not.
but here I am still trying, standing up from my cot on the floor
and every step outside that yawning door
there are people pulling me back and slinging words that cut deeper than I ever did
and every hand that grasps my shirttails to try and pull me home like a lost little kid
leaves mars all down my back, claws that sink and ravage leaving me ****** and raw
and bleeding open and sloppy all on the floor I keep my pace, like every step will be the last straw
like every step is the last one I need to take to get away
and as I go I follow all the trails of similar blood, refreshed by people like me every day.
and I just wanted to say
I don't give a flying **** what you think you know about my scars
I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable to see my arms, the sun is out and it's 90 ******* degrees
don't lie to me and say I should be ashamed and not wear these badges like good luck charms
don't tell me my survival is offensive to your eyes because you should know without being told
these scars are here to help me grow old
when I needed to remember I was alive these scars
were fresh cuts, science experiments on a corpse brought back screaming "I'M ALIVE"
I'm not ashamed for surviving because if I were ashamed
I wouldn't be.

Hazy half-light mornings interspersed with giddy sleep
Silent showers and quick grooming
Breakfast maybe, chores and work and walking in my slippers.
Afternoons tense with labor and stress
Broken up by slow-falling meditative mind rain
And usually Fall Out Boy in my ears.
Quickdark evenings.
No light.
Demons aren't occupied with being scared of being burned.
Staying up until god only knows and then some
Laying in the dark and feeling panic
Ice bones, fire veins, a noose around my throat
And not even in a **** way.
Shaking, teeth chatter, eyes roll, spin, turn, off the bed.
Sit on the floor. Lay down. Room's spinning.
Stumble to the dresser.
Grab the cure.
Illegal cure, no one knows anymore.
Dulled by use, old when taken, press harder.
Crimson bubbles, drips, rolls and stains.
Demons lap it up, whisper thanks, leave.
Sun comes up, lay in the half light.
Fall asleep giddy with pain.

I was born with a broken heart.
there was a deep crack in the middle and my blood couldn't flow the way it should.
I was three when the doctors took up my red thread and sewed me together.
my heart is fixed, now.
my blood flows
with each beat
tugging at the string of fate severed before I could breathe.
I see others, following their threads, searching desperately for who has the other end.
and my hands are free of red.
there is blue, purple, green, yellow,
but not the crimson of love and loss and longing.
my broken heart is still broken,
but now it works.

I feel messy
Full of swirling colors
Blue red green black orange blue
Sad and angry and happy and apathetic and anxious
All at once
Mixing into brown slime at the bottom of my chest
Dried blood
Three new scars
Another night spent sobbing awake and trying to breathe
Three more
Messy things, emotions.

I grew up ignored.
Not neglected, never abused.
Ignored.
Blithely alone with people unawares of my existence besides them.
They spoke about me as though I were not there, so I learned not to be.
I spoke myself through days that stretched into years.
"Don't draw attention.
Don't speak unless spoken to.
Don't be the interesting one.
They aren't interested in you, anyway."
Siblings stole the spotlight and I let them.
'Being ignored is like being abused, kind of. '
No, not really.
Being ignored is being silent and knowing what happens even though no one else does.
Being the ignored one means that you don't have pressure to achieve; you don't exist.
You are no better
No worse
Nothing at all.
You are nothing at all.
And eventually,
You learn to appreciate that nothing-at-all feeling.
It's freeing.
You don't have to worry about things like looks because you don't get seen.
Scars are ignored because they exist on you.
Making friends, though, is hard.
"How do you share like interests when you've never been important to have any at all?"
I'd ask.
"Figure it out."
I would tell myself.
"You have before."
Take on the skins of people around you.
Be who they want you to be.
Be replaceable in that way that makes you needed.
Simpler than it sounds, really.
Being nothing is so freeing
So calming
So boring
So cold.
And empty.
Like the nothing-at-all you are.

I put a bottle by my bedside
Before I went to sleep
To replace the liquid lost
From the times I weep
I closed my eyes to rest
And it was suddenly very near.
So I thought I'd climb inside
And wait to disappear.
I settled at the bottom
And waited for some sap
To come and fill the bottle
With water from the tap.
All the time that this was happ'ning
I was sleeping very well.
Having thought my fate was sealed.
And dreaming I was in hell.

I am ready to fall apart
and with a shaking heart I whisper:
"it's okay"
I know the taste of a blade
and the color of the sky as it bends and then breaks in that way
I am ready.
I hold my head steady and I step
forward, bringing no baggage with me to shlep
"I am ready!" I scream
the lights on a silver screen illuminating
my internal clockworks ruminating
this soul is weak and older than time but I am prepared
I can step into this light with all my anxieties bared
the scars are fresh
on this flesh, prison for the wispy not-quites
the things inside that make me me that give my eyes light
I am ready to fall apart and with a shaking heart
I whisper, "it's okay"
another time, another day,
I can look back because today
the pages of time flipped and turned
and everything synced into rhythm and rhyme
and falling apart seems scary until you do
it makes you wary, you don't want to
but you fall apart, all to pieces
only to catch yourself, not so much glass as puzzle pieces
put it all together and restart.
I am ready, and with a shaking heart, I whisper:
"it's okay"

Love is lovely
To me.
Love is darling
You see.
Love me sweetly,
Love me kind.
Love me gently,
You will find.
Love me honey,
Let me know.
If you love me,
Don't let me go.
If you love me,
I'll never show.
If you love me.
You'll never know.
Love is darling,
Love is lost.
Love is startling,
Love does cost.
Love me sweetly,
I'll never tell.
Lovely darling,
I can't, oh well.
Love is nothing,
At least to me.
Love is empty,
Space I see,
In my chest
Cavity.
Love me sweetly,
I'll act so good.
Love me darling,
Just like I should.
Love is fleeting,
Love is kind.
Love is two hearts beating,
Love is blind.
Love is loss,
Love is gain.
Love, no double cross,
Love,  so much pain.
My lovely darling,
I'm so so sorry.
My only darling,
You feel that for me.
My precious sweetie,
My only dear.
Though I can't love you,
I'll stay near.
I wish I loved you,
Or you could see.
That though I adore you,
You only love me.
I love you,
As much as I can.
I need you,
This wasn't my plan.
My darling, me sweetheart,
Never forgive me.
Never, for my empty heart.
You can hate me.
That's okay.
Just be happy.
At least today.

I'm lost.
Intensely so.
Lost adrift or on land or in any place between.
Lost like the credibility of someone when they judge a stranger on the color of their hair.
Lost like a tan when you move to Ireland.
Lost like that scrap of paper that cute person at the club who sounded like your soulmate might gave you their number on.

Sometimes I find directions.
North, then west at the fork in the road.
Follow along until you find salvation at the bottom of a green bottle.

Now I'm not found.
I'm more lost than ever, really.
Lost like I have been the moment I could step past my home's threshold.
I'm just lost in another direction.

Pray for me,
God knows I need your prayers.
Amen.
Wish better on me,
God knows I'm beat down by naysayers.
Amen.
Eyes and hearts so vacant,
Starlet-smile empty shells.
Amen.
Easy words, complacent.
Open lips and full-up hells.
Amen.
Amen.
God is love, take me to church.
He knows I need something in my heart.
Hallelujah.
Accept me, catch me in this downward lurch.
God save the poor broken thing, this heart.
Hallelujah.
God is light, take me to church,
Darkness never scared me this much.
Hallelujah.
Please, don't hurt me, aide this search.
I can't think over the loudness, it's too much.
Hallelujah.
**Hallelujah.

Being a freak isn't what makes me sad.
Being the kid who doesn't even have to think twice when swallowing three pills dry doesn't bother me.
Being the kid with long sleeves on all year
Because you're tired of people asking stupid questions
I'm okay with it.
I don't really care anymore.
I hate people saying I do it
Did it
For attention.
If I wanted attention, I would have started smoking.
If I wanted attention, I would have gotten an STD.
If I wanted attention, I wouldn't have hidden so well.
Showing my parents after the fact wasn't a bid for attention.
I wanted help, because in that tiny moment
I actually felt like I was worth it.

First, you choke on an easy mouthful of air, gasping in over and over but feeling more light-headed all the while
Second, you close your eyes, taste the terror rising up the back of your throat and blocking the air from going down
Third, you shatter, feel your body falling apart and realize with a vengeance how delicate your life is
Fourth, the panic starts. you shake, scream, sob, curl up or lash out while it grabs hold of your nerves and bends your body to it's will
Fifth, you find some breath. maybe someone is helping you. maybe you're helping yourself. a wave of calm displaces every other feeling.
Sixth, you lose your body. your mind floats in a pool of nothingness while your body runs out of primitive instinct. your calm turns to numb.
Seventh, you blink. you breathe. you remember what it feels like to be in control of your body again. you drink some water, or sleep, or both. your head hurts. your mind drifts between your body and the ether. you wipe your face and try to remember what it's like to not be having an attack.
Eighth, you can't remember, because it never seems to end. you accept it. you refuse it. you hate it. you cry. your chest gets tight.

Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ******, I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******.
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...

Remember when you were young and dumb
And the world was new and big and beautiful and terrifying?
Remember when
You weren't embarrassed of being excited for small things?
Remember when
The flashes of things that can't be and thing that aren't
Were fairy gifts and magic being?
Remember when
You were so small, so very small
And you compressed yourself into corners and boxes
Much like you try to now.
Remember when
It was safe to tell people the things you saw
Because your imagination was healthy?

I wander when I'm alone.
I walk for as long as I can.
I've gone miles before
Gotten lost, even.
I get lost a lot.
I feel better when I'm lost.
Losing myself physically helps me feel less bad
About losing myself mentally.
You know?
I like storms for that reason.
I can walk out in a thunderstorm and be lost to the world for a while.
And drown in the rain.
And it's wonderful.
People never suited me, not really.
I love my friends.
My family is important to me.
I'm sure I could become dependent of one person's fancy if I chose to.
But wind
And water
And ice
And loss
And the smell of the sea beating the rocks into sand.
Those are the things I need more.
So I wander.
I wander for miles sometimes.
I get lost a lot.
It makes me feel better.
You know?

I hate sleep.
I hate dreaming.
I hate wanting things I shouldn't and I hate the word hate.

I hate sleeping and missing so much that goes on.
I hate dreaming and waking up in the same situation.
I hate wanting to sew my mouth shut and never speak again.

I hate hot summers and I hate damp springs.
I hate being nervous and I hate being unsure.
I hate the color yellow and I hate not crying when I need to.

I hate making decisions.
I hate white walls you can't paint.
I hate being alone and I hate having people know.

I hate that people don't know how great they are.
I hate that I miss my mom, even when she hates me.
I hate walking in the dark and I hate using an umbrella.

I hate hearing people sleep and I hate cold fries.
I hate falling asleep holding a pillow, wishing it was a person.
I hate the sound of chewing and the smell of melted ice-cream.

I hate the color my skin gets when I tan.
I hate not being able to help anyone, ever, at all.
I hate having to act like I know what I'm talking about.

I hate when there are people on my early morning walks.
I hate that my best friend is so much better than me and I don't want her to realize.
I hate how quiet the room gets when I walk in, because, what do you say to that weird kid?

I hate not writing stories and I hate not sharing them.
I hate that I hate so **** much and I hate that I write poetry.
I hate when my head itches and I hate when it doesn't rain for a long time.

I hate losing people.
I hate being left behind.
I hate that I deserve it, all the time.

I hate my inconsistent style and I hate rhyming.
I hate getting my nails painted and I hate wearing makeup.
I hate not being enough for anyone other than me and feeling like I owe them.

I hate being lost in a boring town.
I hate not having internet.
I hate me.

We all own other people.
In parts.
We cut out the things we want with words and wear the pieces as badges
Medals.
Blood dripping sashes.
Words are knives and we ask for the cuts people may deign to give us
We want to be owned in those parts so we can own them in turn.
I wonder what pieces
I've let people take from me?

Fire licks at my heels
Blood, thick, black and brackish
Spills over my lips
The eyes of one thousand lost souls crown my head
My wings
Black eyes from an inhuman face
Watching
My sword, drawn, drags
I am monstrous
I am deadly
I am immense
I am celestial
I am godly.

You put so many words in my mouth
Sometimes it's hard to breathe.
All you show me are warped faces
I look in the mirror at a monster.
Words in your voice are different
"Grateful" means subservient.
My time, my thoughts, my being are worthless
But I need to keep trying, because... Why?

The bright white filaments
Burning behind my eyes
When I close them and lay down with
An arm over my face to block out real lights
Burned out brightness
Setting fire to pain receptors
Send bolts skittering through my pan like lightning
Or raindrops
A heartbeat multiplied tenfold
And reversed
Fluttering like butterfly wings
And mazapan
And fire in the wind.
Sleep becomes a fever dream from a nightmare
So I stay awake another night
And burn out my filaments.

A lifetime of wrongs
Wrought by insensitive hands.
Grasping like prongs
And, well, as it stands,
I'm ******* ******.
There's nothing left but this.
All the chances, you missed.
So give my fist a kiss.
You're gonna bleed, you're gonna die
I'll burn your past, I'll skin you live,
Before you open that mouth and ask "why",
I don't care, take a ******* dive.
I can't stand you breathing
You made me mad, and don't you see?
It all ends, in a ****** wreathing.
And you bet your *** you'd better be scared of me.

"I hate myself.
I'm so ******* worthless."
You know when you think something so much that it becomes a mantra?
You memorize each letter and you write it out a thousand times in your mind and you whisper it to yourself while you fall asleep?
You think it so many times that every time you close your eyes the words are there, painted on the backs of your eyelids and you can't ignore them at all?
Every breath in feels like preparation to say it over again and reply to the not-question posed by the universe at large over what your mantra is and you just know the answer no matter what?
Every thought loops back around to the words swimming in your head to the point you're wondering how you could have started in this world speaking anything else?
You bite your tongue and the blood tastes like those words and you just want to paint them on your skin to show the world your perfect mantra, the words that have forever been with you, that you never doubted once?
My mantra is a bad one.
I've been told, I'm not allowed to feel that way.
I have to love myself.
I have worth.
Even thinking those phrases makes my head hurt.
My mantra doesn't quell the spreading hollowness in my chest or quiet the white-noise of regret and hatred in my head.
But it doesn't make my demons angry, like the ones people force on me.
My mantra reminds me how to deal with the hollow void in my soul that tries and tries to swallow up my body and crush away everything else and leave a black hole in my place.
It tells me that with just a slim line, just a smooth slice to the wrist, I can stave off the void.
With just a small burn I can beat away the demons telling me lies.
I can convince myself to eat.
I can force my lungs to work.
I can make myself live, if I remember my mantra.
There are people who need me, broken though I am.
And I can't just let the void consume me, even if I should.
Even if its better to have this churlish waste of space
This disgusting, grating, barbarous, surly, persnickety, talentless, slow, moronic, lying, cheating scoundrel of a self wither away into nothing.
Even then.
I need to keep going.
I'm needed.

I hate death.
I hate the eventuality of it
I stopped being scared the first time I hoped for it, the first time I chose to run alongside the car and try to leap into the door instead of wait for it to get to the bottom of the hill.
the eventuality of death is horrific.
I have to plan for when I'm alone.
that far-off time when the people I love cease to be
and that's terrible.
I hate death
I hate losing people, I hate that someday
someday I won't be able to go to your house
and watch those silly alien shows and make bad jokes with you.
I hate that someday I'll have to stop saying "my dad always says"
and start saying "my dad used to say".
I hate that you won't be able to help me anymore.
I hate how much I miss you even though I saw you today, even though you're still here.
I ******* hate that I have to plan for you to be gone when I can't even fathom a world
without you crying over pixar movies and dogs
without quiet heart to hearts on the porch, the boxer circling our legs like our words are morsels for her to grab
I can't even imagine never having your grilled steak again, silly as it is
I hate death
because it will eventually take you

I am allowed to be alone.
I am allowed to enjoy solitude.
I am allowed to not want to spend time with anyone.
I am allowed to feel like this for days at a time.
I am allowed to be antisocial for a month.
I am allowed to feel the exact opposite the next day.
I am allowed to not be like you.
I am allowed to do what I need to.
I am allowed to be alone.

I hate myself
I want to die
I can't draw
It's 10 PM
This is all I know about myself.

In the dark,soft
Feather-light
Moments before my mind either shuts off like an old game,
With a click
Or becomes more vivid in my impossible dreams, splashing colors where white walls once stood, bare
A soothing float on a petal, swirling in the stream of my thoughts
I find that music helps me to avoid the latter,
Keeping the warm, comforting possible improbables from welling up in my eyes and mind
People and places twisting into threads tied at the middle and ends to each other.
Silence, in these instances, fill me with terror.
Dread, fear,
For impending calamity
For the dreams pooling behind my tonsils
Demanding to be seen and understood
For me to drop this eggshell life
To let all the small joys I work for shatter like cheap wine glasses
And to pursue the unlikely future,
Leave the definite present
And forget the shimmering past.

Once upon a time
The sky turned darker than black
And I was lost
But then
There were two lights
Brighter than hope
And you stepped forward
With eyes like shiny pinwheels
And pulled me into the daylight
So
I love you.

I'm detached.
I know that's not the right word, probably.
But I don't care.
People wish they were like me
"I wish I could stop caring and just be."
Like they can choose
Like I chose.
Like I made the choice to care about what I do.
I care about myself, sort of.
I care that I do not use myself to make life ******* people I love.
But I do not care about
Succeeding
Love
Friendships
Work
Life...
I wish I cared.
I wish I could just
Fall in love with because I care about them so much
But I can't.
I'm selfish.
I want people.
I wish I needed them.
But I only want.
Want is selfish.
Want is having-not-requiring, and I only want.
I'm selfish.
Detached.
That's still not the right word.

scissor cuts and pencil marks
crumple, flatten, write, cut
take out of your pocket before you wash
more than hearts, entire wholes
grind with water, spread on screens, let it dry and repeat
the deep breaths that sound like open books in a breeze
inhuman dolls, things like people
two-dimensional
we fold ourselves small
compact the colors of those ***** feelings
get lost in corners and swept under chairs
sleep between the covers of a good book
written out theories of thaumaturgy and melanokinesis
painted, torn and taped and writ three times over
tattooed trees, spineless, boneless
the kind of kid to crumple at a stiff breeze
sideways invisible
diving into the creaking cracks in the floorboard
the kind of adult to only give tiny, stinging cuts

It's so easy for me to fake-cry
To force tears in rivers down my face
Contort my brown and cheek to sorrow
But
Real tears are impossible, nearly
I can sob and shake and moan
With not a single drop to escape my eyes
And then it's over
Three drops, magic elixir
No more tears
Not for weeks or months
Or years.
Why is fake-crying so much easier?

a rolling
thudding
ball of lead
rolling in the inside of my skull
pushing through my brain and pressing ******* the back of my eye
heavy, heavy weight of something
knocking everything loose
making it hard to see straight
heavy something, something
words and pictures twisted together
all thoughts and memories combined
into a marble of dark-matter heavy weight that rolls through my skull
leaves my brain to drool out my ears

Little lost lambs,
Come to me.
Bring salvation.
Sing to me your hymns,
Songs of pain and loss and death and ***,
Gathered through your sacrilegious lives.
Tell me the stories of your life,
All the wrongs you feel you've caused
The lies you've told
The lies you've kept.
Bring me your light,
The souls of wandering beasts inside you,
Burn my tired eyes.
Come to me.
Bring me your scars and fears and tell me your stories.
And then wander on.
I'll not tie you down.

Bodies bend, break, sink in the tide.
Everlasting tides that pull
Drag those like us under the water.
The cuttlefish watch
Bubbles surface, blue water, red water.
Light from the failing sun burns on the sea,
Clouds forming acrobat troupes
Burning
red, gold, orange.
The water is calm and quiet
Beats the stones into eventual sands.
Silent waves wrap
Twist snakes of currents around ankles
Pull
Pull
Until they fall
Join the sea.
Water in lungs, swinging low in the chest
Chests opened by stones cut by the floods.
Chumming the water
Drowning
Lost at sea and revived as sirens.
Blood on the water burns in the light.
The reflections make seeing hurt,
Almost as much as watching the sun die.

Wake me when spring has sprung
when the cold is gone,
and skies no longer gray.
Rouse me with the cries of birds
a warm wind blown my way
and a green light in the shade.
Dress me in the blooming buds,
Let butterflies be my lips,
And raindrops as my eyes.
Replace my heart with a shining star
And fill my head with a soft white cloud.
Drip the shine of morning in my veins
And I'll have the fresh green grass for my hair.
Take my bones for branches.
Make my tears have a honey-suckle taste.
My breath would be the pollen sifting through the air.
Take me from my sleeping ground
And lay me in the fresh cold stream.
Wake me when sping is sprung,
But until then, I'm going to sleep.

one evening, like all others in most every way,
as I wash my face, brush my teeth and prepare for the coming night,
I look farther up than my chin in the mirror over the sink.
I look up, into my eyes, staring mostly blank into my reflection's eyes.
they're thoughtful in the way a sleepy child's are, half-lidded,
vaguely thoughtful, nothing inspiring, wondering what comes next.
my eyebrows raise slightly, startled by the revelation of existing.
I exist, in a human form that is my own. every millimeter of my body is mine.
I'm frozen for seconds, maybe hours, watching myself breathe, feeling my realness so suddenly that it could crush me with the weight of actually being a person,
and then my eyes cast to the side. I break my own contact, **** in a sharp breath, and continue my routine,
to pretend I never noticed myself.

I have the sea in me
this terrible, ugly sea
the salt burns at my bones and the waves lick my wounds
crashing, they smash against my skull inside
agony, immense and innumerable agonies
suffered all in this great and terrible sea
all of them come together
I store them within myself,
bottle this sea up and pretend to be a person
ignoring the pleading calls of the ocean, begging I return it's missing parts

we, all of us, all these
kids
who make lists
and count, count doorknobs
and bus stops and fenceposts and cars on the highway
and scars and broken bones and illnesses
we make lists and reasons and categorize
categorize, organize, memorize
we know, we KNOW how many steps it takes to get to the mailbox
the bus stop
the garage and the car
we count the steps to putting on shoes
1. pick up shoe 2. open 3. pull on 4. tie
we remember the things everyone tells us to stop worrying about
like we don't KNOW
that the weight of this big big world doesn't rest on us alone
and that turning the lock three times doesn't lock it tighter
that going right sock right shoe, left sock left shoe
isn't gonna make things better in the long run we KNOW
we know we've got everything categorized and memorized
and then people have the audacity to say our mental states
are disordered

You whisper poetry in my ear
While I cut the heads off flowers.
Your breath is satin and I'm using shears
Stems and bones break the same way.
You're warmth and light and wonder
A sun in the void of myself.
You are a thousand universes all compressed
Into flesh and bone.
You're terrifying
But I want to explore you forever.
You rend me limb from limb
Never laying a finger on my skin.
You're the death of me in an immortal soul
Perfection in the cracks of a vase.
You deserve my hatred for my pain
But I love you ever more with each ache.
You've left me helpless and
I only want more.
You're stars in the vastness of sky
Looking at the flowers I am, sprouting from mud.
You burn me with a glance
My petals withered and fell.

This time of year is so tiring.
Acting all the time.
I get tired thinking about it.
Talking about work and school,
Dreams I shouldn't be following,
Ambitions I can't achieve.
"Have you started dating yet?"
"When are you going to college?"
No, but soon, I swear.
I don't know what I want to study.
Merry Christmas!
Christ was born in August and this celebration is a Hallmark rendition
Of a Pagan sun festival
(But I don't want to go to any ****** where my parents might be present, anyway).
Maybe I'll figure out a major I won't feel is wasted on me
Next year.
But what four years won't be wasted on an untimely suicide?

Saccharine sweet, you make my teeth hurt.
Open your mouth wider, look up and kiss the sky.
Listen to me, for you I won't be curt.
Close your eyes and lose it, don't be scared, say goodbye.
Cut me deeper, I like the pain.
Sometimes I like doing it alone.
Look at the clouds, drown me with rain.
It's so much better now you're home.
Bend it, break it, make me cry.
Twisting, losing, falling hard.
Breaking, losing, where am I?
*I thought I knew, it's now all charred.

I will not be pretty
I will not be quiet
I will not be small and female
I will not be what you expect me to be
I will not be all that is womanly and sweet and feminist
I am angry.
I am angry and I will not stop fighting.
My heart is fire and my soul is iron and my bones are ice and I am angry.
I will not let you decide what makes me who I am.
I am all genders. I am none.
I am not pretty.
I am not quiet.
I am not small.
I will not stop fighting
I will keep yelling
I will scream until my voice breaks and with that and the many like me I will fight again and again
My skin is stone and my hair is coal and my eyes are the waves that break you against the stones and I am angry.
I will not let you decide anyone's fate based on ridiculous ideals
I will **** and fight and kick and scream and I will not fall in love unless I care to
I am angry.
I am not a woman or a man or a human anymore
I am fire and metal and blood and the forces of nature that you cannot quell and my anger will not cease.
I will stay angry until everyone has rights.
I will be angry until women, men and anyone else are all equal.
I will not make myself **** for your enjoyment.
My genitals do not make me a toy.
I am angry.

The storm rages, winds pulling and pushing,
Wrapping around the legs and chests of the world,
Stealing away their breath for instants.
Cold-lipped kisses patter on their hair, the backs of their necks,
Arms of thunderstorm air wrapping round them,
Watching, the sky darkens, lightens,
Morse code.
Damp earth and wet pavement kiss sneakers and boots
And the soles of bare feet,
The earth and the sky, pressing on all sides to reach each other,
Allowing those of us here to become caught
Between them.

You don't give me butterflies
In my stomach
Fluttering and attempting to flit up my throat and into the air.
You've taken the darkest parts of me
And planted a garden of sunflowers
That grow more with each smile you give me.
The butterflies come on their own, now.

Take me apart
You called me your doll
I'm broken and missing some pieces.

Break me in half
It's nothing at all
I'm happier when I'm needless

Cut up my heart
And together we fall
Will you still call me baby?

"Dollface" may be my epitaph
But I'm not pretty, don't call
I need you, don't say it's a "maybe".

People are all born empty
Hollow shells
Of what they wish to be.
They skulk
Walking with thier heads down
Daydreaming of being whole
They fill themselves
With things
Religion
Drugs and alcohol
Friends
Other people
Trying with all they are to feel whole
Real.
"If I get that new tv I'll be fine"
or
"I know MY God is right and that makes me complete"
sometimes
"If this makes me happy, I can handle the side effects"
and
"When they love me, If I have them, I can be happy"