I am alright
is what I say even when I have flashbacks everyday of the intimidating looking paramedic carrying me into the ambulance car as if I’m shattered porcelain.

We’re alright
is what my mom says even when she leaves the house she constantly calls and when we aren’t in the same room she repeats “Kelly? Just making sure you’re alright”.

I am alright
is what I say even when I have to look away when the clock strikes 9:27 am because that’s when everything suddenly went black and then spotted white.

We’re alright
is what my mom says, a single parent paying MRI scans, emergency room bills, antiseizure medication, the neurologist, the neurosurgeon, the epileptic neurosurgeon, without a cent from my father, and her worry lines are piercingly more clear to me.

Does anyone really wanna hear the truth?
I rub my fingers across my head imagining ripping out the millions of neurons lighting paths across my brain. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

I’ve kept my mouth shut because it’s polite but I want to tell everyone who’s pretending to be my friend because they feel sorry for me to ******* because my health is none of their business.

It all catches up to me when I sit in the hallway at Cincinnati Children’s and I watch kids with tubes down their noses and needles in their arms and think to myself:
I can’t be one of them, can I?
This can’t be real, can it?
But I guess I’m alright.

The meds make me feel foggy, like I’m somewhere between awake and asleep.
Where my mind feels like it fell through a trapdoor and into a vacuum.

If it was up to me I wouldn’t leave the house. The only places I feel safe are in the nurses office or in between the 4 walls of a hospital with my mom holding my hand.
That’s what seizures do. Turn an 18 year old girl into a 5 year old, wanting to run in a closet and slam the door so nobody has to see it happen again.

No going down stairs alone, no locking the door when showering, no getting drunk at parties, no driving, no living your life.

So you wonder if I’m alright? If alright means seeing my mom cry for the first time in years, if alright means sleeping 3 hours a night, if alright means having to rely on others because I can’t do anything by myself..
Maybe I’m tired of lying.
Maybe I’m not alright.

loneliness lays in the back of
his car in a stranded parking lot
with a *** stained blanket in the backseat.
he hasn’t noticed that i can’t look him in the eye.
hes too busy enjoying himself.


depression sits on cushion chair in
mr burnside's office,
watching him fiddle with his tie
with a worried look on his face,
as if he would say the wrong thing
and i would fall apart right before his eyes.
“you been wearing that sweatshirt all day?”
yes.
“lift up your sleeves”
no.


anxiety takes a daily trip to the nurses office.
i’m okay, i just don’t feel well.
“here’s a mint, try to go back to class”.
oh great, a ******* mint. i feel better already


hopelessness is curled up in a ball on
the bathroom floor
with the door locked. i can’t hear
my mom yell at me anymore
about how i have no direction,
how i need to try harder,
be better,
go to the gym.


abandonment walks outside at
2 in the morning with no shoes on,
-9 degree wind chill nipping at her toes.
i am crying too hard.
please don’t leave me
is all that echoes in my brain.

teen angst rolls her eyes at ms allen
“im worried about you”
one minute,
the next minute embarrassing me in front of the whole class.
I don’t know how to ******* graph an exponential function
because i spent my night at bethesda north
answering the nurses questions.
“how many pills did you take?”
“are you okay to go home tonight?”
“how long have you been dealing with depression?”


this high school is supposed to look
like a castle.
that makes me laugh.
not once since i’ve been here have i felt like a queen.

around 8pm that night
my lips finally whispered the words i thought i'd never say
but your kisses
plucked my fears one by one
till i was bare and shaking on your mattress

You think I rub my arms over and over again
because it’s a little chilly and I should have worn a sweater,
but really I need to distract myself from the reflection
of you playing cat’s cradle with her fingers and nuzzling
your kiss into her wild hair. It’s not me who’s there even though
when the moon’s face wears the night to it’s annual masquerade
you’re the one who’s reaching out to me. Maybe we don’t kiss
but we don’t have to, because our souls have been suspended
above our heads like mistletoe and you chose
a long, long time ago to hold her instead of me. And you think
I’ve found recovery in the time, found separation
between the summers, but I tuck my hair behind my ears
and crush my lips back into my teeth not out of habit
but so that I don’t scream, That was supposed to be me!
That was supposed to be me. You know, too, or else you wouldn’t
recall some stupid puddle memory just so I’ll cling
to that last ember in the bottom of my heart and light it on fire.
So I’ll be the one to remind you of the frame you cut from my soft cedar
to put her in. You can turn my light down. I’ve got nothing for you now.

I had to look up
the word
'dating'
on Urban Dictionary
because I didn't know
what we were,
what we are.

And it said things like
'a socially acceptable
form of prostitution' and
'feelings of
puppy love that usually
dissolve
in a few weeks'.

But this is
not
puppy love.
This is not going to
dissolve or
fizzle out or
whatever,
you're not a
fizzle
you're a *******
fireworks display.

And you turn
everything in my head
into this
multi-coloured
turbulence and
I can't keep up with
how much I
adore you.

But the thing is
I don't know
if your view
is as good as mine.
What if you're
looking at something
a little less
beautiful.

What if I'm your
fizzle.

What if I'm as
temporary
as the flame you use
to light the
cigarettes
you find more
addictive
than my touch.

If that's the case
I'd rather
I left you
craving.

Because
if I'm your flame
you're my
forest fire
and you're burning
it all down until
the only thing left
standing is
you.

And I'll walk for
miles across this
carpet of ashes
just to feel the
softness of your skin
against mine.

And I'll cough
and I'll splutter
on toxic smoke
but you'll just
breathe it in because
you never realised anything
was even
lost.

You don't see me
crawl
you just know that
I'm here,
I'm here
I made it
I'm yours
I'll always be yours
because there's
nothing else
left.

And maybe
I can be
content with that
if only
you will see
that
you could burn down
everything
and I still
wouldn't put you
out.