I wonder
What would happen
If people I knew saw my work

I think
My friends
Would be shocked
At what goes on in my head

And that my mom would cry
Both proud and sad

And my dad would either **** himself
Because he hates himself even more now
Deny and call me crazy
Or get mad

Sometimes I debate
Whether or not to show people

Sometimes
For the less personal poems
I show my mom
And she says
How I can try to publish them

Though I know they're not good enough
And that they might never be
Sometimes I wonder
What would happen
If I did
And they would read them

I hope that they won't
Completely change their opinion of me
That I've so carefully sculpted
And made sure was okay

The book probably called
"Silent Screams"
Wouldn't be so silent anymore

Of course you feel alone
People don't show when they feel bad
Scrolling on your social media
No one shows imperfection
Or the reality of the world

Of course you feel alone
There is no question in
"Are you okay?"
But a cue to say
"Yes"

Of course you feel alone
Because people cover up their scars
Are wear their masks all day
It's not just you
7 billion at least

Of course you feel alone
We're told
"Don't cry"

Of course you feel alone
If everyone is scared to be honest
Because we have a different opinion
We all might end up lying
Just like the other day
When someone told me
That they actually liked the book we read in class
As if it was a crime
And she was the only one
...
Three other people told me that

Of course you feel alone
And even in that
You're not
I'm right there with you
And so are billions of others
At some point in their lives

Running
Back
And forth
Reach the line

I'm not that bad out of shape
But still struggling

Throat burning
Head pounding as if there's someone trying to bang their way out
And lungs desperately fighting for air

I give up...

I sit down when I reach the line
And try to catch my breathe
Instead of running back

Chest rising and falling
With each gasp for air

Oxygen
Why do you hate me?
Lungs,
Why aren't you working?

Coughs hurt my throat
And make me weak

I take my inhaler
But it isn't working
It's just making me shaky

Panic rising inside me

I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe

I take another puff
And wait
1
2
3
4
5
...
Breathe out
And couch violently

I'm going to die
I'm going to die
I'm going to die

No one notices

they say, 'it's all in your head...'

i ask, 'where else is it supposed to be...?'

I tell my friends I didn't study
Because I knew I wouldn't get in either way
I lied to them
I studied like never before
Flashcards
Notebooks filled with practice questions
Yet
I didn't make the cut
I wasn't good enough

begin the
first day
new year
with
thumb and forefinger,
tracing in no organized
specific pattern upon
her arm’s smooth skin,
just a sliding meandering

she grabs the intruders
for a squeezing acknowledgment,
unnecessary, for the sensation
sensual is shared equally,
soft, of course, but so far beyond,
there are elements that lie beneath
that requires mining deep within
yourself, contrasting currents that
soothe the heart and yet, electrify,
simultaneous, a concerto for
piano and violin

this delightful touching is the stuff
of poetry, a wish, a commandment,
for long after after the first day of
the unknowns of the measuring stick,
a ruler with 365 ticks to check the
day’s of time concludes, the touch
will be
implanted on thumb & forefinger’s
cellular memory, and be carried on,
reusable, recycled, even biodegradable!

but then heart hears a lyric,
“she is living proof”
and now!
happily concluded,
is a poem that is gifted
a title, entitled, certified,
and recorded for

*every ordinary moment
when memory is required,
and the thumb and the forefinger
can be diverted to write this all down
for the day when a memory fades,
and the skin is eroded!