i don’t want life to be easy,
but i wish it were simple
i don’t want to pick flowers
to die in a vase on the table

it’s too late to retreat
it’s too late to begin
it’s too late to start over
i’m too broke to give in

i want it all or none
spend my days in a class or the sun
either a mansion or shack on a hill
if i could put in the effort, complete overkill

but they don’t want me to belong to the land
(only if i put a dollar in their hand)
so i am a little bit lost
a little bit lazy at a pretty large cost
and i want to know things but not out of need
fulfill my own longing, a curious greed

it’s too late to go back
it’s too early to die
it’s too late to start over
it’s no use asking why
can i only have just one?
rich exhaustion or penniless fun
i’m sure that some can,
but that someone’s not me
unless there’s something that no one can see

i’m digging for treasure
i’m not sure is there
maybe i’ll find it…
if i just change my hair

i would like to die by the lighthouse.
pere marquette in the dead of night
the walk there peaceful,
as they are my last steps
after all.
and i won't have to speak,
or sing, or dance,
or flush my face out of fear or ridicule,
of embarrassment,
but i'll flush my face
with the waters of the waves
sweeping up into the rocks
and down goes my breath,
my last few breaths.
i've a few (many) pills
concealed in my pink jacket pocket.
i've a few (many but not so many)
catfish
swimming by to say hello,
to say farewell.
and with my last blink of my eye,
the moon is in line
with the lighthouse
and my star will forever sparkle,
i hope.
and the beacon passes o'er my body,
the light of an absent watchman,
it's just us, me lifeless and the beacon radiant.
no one to bother,
poke,
**** at me,
at my mind.
searching outside of their own minds
for answers to their own hearts' questions
to which i respond
a blank stare, for the lake is in my eyes.
water filling up, ready to be unleashed
later tonight rejoining with the waters
of the big blue lake and
my emptiness will be in harmony
with the moon's lonliness
and the black sky's vastness
and the bleak, rusty red
of my favorite old lighthouse
all muddled together, a sickly brown...
no, gray. no, i don't know...
colors don't matter at night
when you can't make them out anyways.
same goes for when you're dead.
i hope the stars shine for me,
but when the night is cloudy,
i can trust my beacon,
my lighthouse,
my waves,
to give me peace, rest,
rhythm,
in my most chaotic times.
i suppose they drew me in.

i can’t imagine not
being grateful to the water
when it is not quenching thirst
but when it’s flowing faster
than my fragile self can handle
when its power is beyond mine
and i cannot sip nor swallow

the gentle, careful waves
don’t hold still for me to wade in
i am simply coexisting
i am free to swim around
and i may be swept under tomorrow
it’s an ever changing world
and it doesn’t give us rain because we ask

You're going to be running for a long time.
Your eyes are on the finish line, your eyes are pointed towards-
What was that? Happiness?
No, that's not what you're chasing.
You want to be better than them, but that's not being happy
Because, and I'm sure you know,
It's all
A
Competition.
You run and you run and you fall and you get back up
To beat them, of course. To show that you can go further
You can push yourself to do whatever they're doing
(Your friends, your enemies, what's the difference anyways?)
But a thousand times better.
Better yet, make that a million.
What you don't understand though, is that the tables have turned
And now it's a race to see-
Who's sadder? Who's suffering more?
Nobody pays attention to what you feel, you think to yourself.
You have to show them. You have to fight.
Show them you're hurt or make something up!
As long as the attention is on you!
Are you happy? No.
Are you successfully taking advantage of others' pity?
You're **** right.
But it's all a race, a fight, a competition, a
Pile of crap, that's what it is.
You won't get anywhere pushing yourself to be more ******* up
You think you're outside of the box and unique because you have feelings.
You're just like everyone else, you don't even try to be happy.
Have fun fitting in with those who bury themselves alive.
It's not a game.

i want to love you
so much
but my throat pulls me back
and closes before i can get the words out.
and i want to hold you
in my arms.
we can drift off to sleep
together.
but sometimes my fingers whisper to me,
they tell me not to touch you.
i'll touch you when
your tongue is no longer bleeding
and
your skin no longer tears.

I am God.
And not because I am above it all,
but because I am above myself.
I am above my arm
and my leg
and my thoughts
and my words.

I do not believe in God.
But I believe in Myself.
I am ultimately beautiful
with my stardust arms
and my stardust legs
and my stardust thoughts
and my stardust words.

Humanity is God.
We dictate and we consume
all of Earth’s wonders
and we make them our own.
We create, We create
such joy and such hatred
with just our arms
and our legs
and our thoughts
and our words.

scattered scribbles cover my knees
i'm a wreck. god. help me, please.
blank mind with spotty lies
about the state of my eyes...
i cry more than i think
just let go

make the most of foggy breath
air slips from my lungs to its death.
like a bird song from the sky,
my thoughts are peaceful. free to fly.
no noise to keep me company...
i am alone

I'm only having fun!
I said.
I'm dancing in the street.
Little bolts of lightning
Are charging up my feet.
Oh! But it's the morning?
Well, what is that to me?
What does it affect you
If I'm dancing until Three?
New experiences are all around,
And surprisingly, most are free.
I have the urge to feel them all
Before it's my time to flee.
I have the urge to make a mess
And let my wild be.
I just want to feel the movement
Of the swaying of the trees.
And I want to feel the rhythmic tides
Of the seven seas.
But all I have for now
Is a hazy yellow, red, and green
Above my head, now Four A.M.
Not a car that I can see,
But if one stopped,
I'd have to ask,
"Wouldn't you like to dance with me?"

and in the in-between
of my heartbeats
the empty space where no blood is pumped
...might be a split second,
might be a second and a half,
or three quarters...
we are both dead and alive
we are both conscious and lifeless
schrodinger's thump thump thump
and blank blank blank
and alive, dead, alive, dead, alive ...
and at any blink of your eye that little spot
where your heart rests from all the work it does
could be still forever
and you never know when your poor,
over-worked little heart
will give up the will to keep beating
because you can't pump blood steadily without break
but you can surely halt
and be totally grounded
the energy trickles away like a dripping tap
one day it stops dripping

i am extremely aware of who i am
yet i am so terribly lost...
i cannot put it into words, its subtlety.
i cannot put it into thoughts, its sublimity.
every breath, every click, every tap, every blink
pushing me to the brink
and my ears are on fire and i can only seethe
while i try, i try to slowly (slowly) breathe.

i am extremely aware of who i am
yet i have no idea!
i cannot stop their glares, their whispers.
i cannot reach that hope that glimmers
in the eyes of those who don't feel this way
who don't have a million (million) things to say
who go by their days, a bad one once in a while...
who maybe 2 or 3 times have had to fake a smile
and i'm thinking all these... thinky things and breathing,
and i am so terribly lost.

do you ever have those times-
a few days, maybe ? a couple weeks ?
where the stars in your mind are unaligned
and nothing seems right?

i've got blackheads on my nose
and black spots on my brain
and black holes in my heart
and nothing is right

it should pass
it always passes in like, a week.
but until then i just feel like orion without his bow
just kind of lost

i don't know what to do because
he asked me why i was sad today and it was a bit funny
i just stared off for a minute before responding.
a shrug. i dunno.. stress? no.

stress makes me pick at my nails and have migraines
but this is just... a dread
nothing matters and it never will
and same goes for us.

i ******* hate philosophy.

maybe i'm not special.
maybe the world is like me, in that all that they see
when they look at themselves
is folds and lines and marks-
and ugliness,
and broken hearts.
maybe it's the trust thing,
because i can't trust anyone else
when they tell me i'm beautiful
yet i can trust myself
when i say that
i'm lumpy, bumpy, gross-
and detestable,
and possibly
the most beautiful girl in the world.
i don't know,
and i can't see it.
maybe i will one day.
maybe just a little bit.

my head is heavy.
my head is heavy.
my eyelashes are teensy weights
drawing me down, closing the day
but there is work to be done
even when my eyes are blurry with tired tears
and i am relying solely on my fingertips
to find the right keys to press.
(i wish there was a key to turn off my headache)
i doubt i'll get my work done.
i do that a lot.
doubt myself, not get my work done.
i always think that my future is set in stone and i'll be settled
but i really have no idea what to do
because of all this assuming- my grades will be fine, my test scores will be high.
but what if it's not, and what if i end up being a UPS driver or something?
i don't understand how everyone else is so easily ambitious
and they do all their work
and yeah they might complain about a bad test grade
but they're like robots.
they achieve, they do this and that, they volunteer and they're on student council,
they have enough money and they might not even be certain on what their future entails
but they'll be fine and i know it but i do not know as for myself.
and it drives me absolutely insane.
how?
How?

the war the poverty the chaos
the detrimental society, the
animals leading our countries
the.. ignorance flooding our nations

flooding our eyes
flooding our thoughts
our actions, our
views on beauty on love on hope
endangering.. killing our faith in a better life
killing our mood our spirit,
making us believe we are
what we are not.

endangering our eyes.
endangering our hearts.
endangering our trust in
every
single
person
out there

endangering our ability, our ability
to find knowledge
and to believe in it
to understand what we feel
to understand what we see
we can't understand
when our eyes are under attack

our endangered eyes can't function.
very few see clearly;
the rest wear foggy glasses
most wear blindfolds.
going extinct, our eyes
we can't see.
we just look. we look and we don't care.
we can't see.

the walls are closing in on the dark, empty space that is soon to be filled up by her heavy breathing and small existence. she can't breathe, but she barely wants to anyway. she just wants to let the swarm of thoughts **** her, the exasperated breaths sneaking past her lips to wrap around her neck and wring the life out of her like an old dish towel. the walls are closing in and she doesn't try to push them away because she knows the walls will crush her. she knows the walls will crush her but they don't. she is awake and alive and she is merely standing outside of school at three ten in the afternoon, slowly breathing and effortlessly calm. no walls, yet the swarm of thoughts is still there, created through small glances and even the slightest judgmental remarks. what starts as one flake of snow collects into a billion and soon enough there is a constant blizzard happening in her mind where a desert was before, a barren wasteland in need of some feeling, in need of something to keep it alive. but not this, this is not what it wants. just some water would have been fine, but this? a snowstorm is too much. a happy drop of water was just a little thing to want, a small request. but her mind replies with a whole mass of feelings and thoughts and overthinking things until she can't feel again and then it is desert. desert then blizzard. too little then too much and no happy medium no happiness whatsoever for that matter. no in between where there is comfort. just "i need to feel something, anything at all" then "oh my god please take it away i can't handle what my brain is making up please"... she is told to just calm down, to stop overreacting, to be reasonable for once jesus christ, and then she is told to show some emotion to stop being such a downer to be positive. and those drops of water sure do come but not to the right places. they go right down her cheeks and onto that pillowcase instead of her mind. she feels too much to end it all at once but at the same time she feels too little for death to be enough. she doesn't know what to do she is scared and she is lonely inside of her brain.

how directly my attendance can affect my future...
no matter how much my
heart is pounding
my stomach turning over and over and over and
my brain in sync with it,
pumping red, hot, scarlet thoughts through my nerves
and my heart is pumping
red, hot, scarlet worry through my veins
and my stomach is filling with
red, hot, scarlet acid
about to make its way up
from all of this sickness. and tiredness. and nausea
and discomfort that has become my life lately,
i can not miss school.
god forbid i miss the exam reviews
god forbid i take a sick day
god forbid i try to care about myself just once..
you go around telling me to love myself more
to just be happy and be positive
to take time for my own needs
but everything depends on these exams
this red, hot, scarlet anxiety
surrounding me, adding on with every letter i write,
the red, hot, scarlet color of the pen used to grade,
to judge,
to **** my chances at college
or a future
or anything
or any happiness
and the red, hot, scarlet
and the white, winter, frost
and the blue, searing, cold
colors of the flags of our country
the land of the "free"...

sure, she could hear the wind outside her window,
but she listened to her intrusive thoughts
listened to her mind race then stop still-
as the last one dropped from the bottle.

her hands full of little remedies disguised as pills
she holds bliss, only it wears the mask of death.
this girl is on the brink of the end
when she remembers what she read once-

"you are not alone"

hesitation floods through her veins and she hears
the heartbeats
of many who lie awake at four in the morning
thinking the same thing she is right now-

depression, anxiety, destruction
intertwining, weaving together
broken hearts and withered brains
who all think they are alone...

you are not alone.

her blanket kept getting tangled in between her legs and she couldn't get it right she couldn't get anything right. she drops her books one day and cries over what seems like nothing but is actually a big deal to her because it's a load of things, little things, that add up and up and up until nothing is right nothing is ever right or even okay. even 'okay' would be better than 'bad', than 'wrong'... she does her makeup perfectly but of course there's a zit. she cant thread the needle or she can't keep the camera still or she can't draw the lips right or she can't get a hold of herself and stop ******* up, but really it's not anything unusual she tells herself. everyone always says that no person is perfect or unflawed but then why does it always seem that way? why? why can't simple things work out ? nothing works !? nothing is okay, the air is slightly too stuffy and the bagel shop messed up her order. the bagel shop didn't mess up her friend's order. she lost her ten dollars and even though someone else offered to pay, she couldn't help but let that occurrence add up and up and up into that big pile of mumbo jumbo that is her misfortune. her thoughts are so muddy. they're so collective and her mind is so full of **** that she's just lost focus. her eyes are glazed and her hearing is muddled now because shes just so ******* tired of life never working ever . never working, always adding up, her big problems are worse and shes just so tired because nothing works life never works her brain  never works

when i met you,
your cheeks dusted with glitter
that settled in the light
and danced with every smile,
i could feel you were special
and you made me feel special
in a time of doubt.
you move with the energy around you
and it's hard to look away.
you're comforting like night
and energetic like day.
your words cast spells
and your songs cast a shadow
of peace.
you're not typical,
but it's beautiful
and i'm,
for once,
finally feeling okay.

Turn your eyes from the devil
And turn your eyes toward me.
Listen- don’t simply hear.
You can’t look- you have to see.

Life is far too short
And Life is far too long
You are a concerto, my dear-
Not merely a song.

Make note of the cymbals
And make note of the key
Close your eyes to embrace the nature
Of sweet, deep sensuality.

Those hands don’t fumble
And those hands don’t tread
On the path of harmony
Which humanity is led.

Through waves of emotion
And through waves of grace
Those hands wade deep in the waters
Where your true Beauty is laced.

life is exhausting.
if not mentally,
physically.

my heart doesn't stop to rest
my blood doesn't quit flowing through me.

my eyes blink,

my cells multiply,

my legs grow.


when may we be still?

i always had a feeling something was there-- not like a tumor, more like a devilish little bird, who refrains from my reach-- something so invisible yet so nauseatingly glaring red, strobing at times like that annoying light on those fire alarms that alert, "fire! fire!" and you run.

sometimes i think we're friends. yet when i, in and out of sleep, turn to embrace this Thing, i am reminded of how sinister it can be. and perhaps my shame comes from the people instead, but how could i not want to catch it, and gnaw at its bones the way it has mine?

when i ask them if it's there, they scurry off like a scolded dog. this shame, it's contagious. and this ******* Bird is like a pair of shoes that somehow gets less broken in over time. when i address it, it echoes back. it mocks me and asks me if i would even know who i am without it. what a cruel thing, and even worse is that it wins with my answer!

thinking back on long ago
as a child i strove to never be alone
to always fit in, but the water-
the water was wide.

i hate to know now that
she never figures out how to cross-
the water was wide,
the water is wide.