i wish that i still dreamt
because then i could escape the reality
that i dread so much

dream (/drēm/) :
   1. an alternate reality created by our
       subconscious minds to satisfy our
       greatest and deepest desires

if i shut my eyes and open them again
could i appear somewhere else
somewhere brighter, kinder
somewhere that birds sing and winds are soft

if i shut my eyes and open them again
could i find peace ?
please, i am desperate for resolve
these headaches, they rip through me

if i shut my eyes, maybe i will not open them again

i have good and bad days. its just that the bad days outnumber the good ones. and sometimes the bad days get really bad and i lose myself in my thoughts. sometimes the bad days get so bad that i can feel my heart aching and trying to burst out of my body. sometimes the bad days get so bad that i forget to treat myself like person and instead, beat myself with sledgehammers and hockey sticks. but sometimes the good days are so good that i skip around dancing and singing all day. i smile and laugh and forget the bad things and become this becon of light. i just shine and shine and infect everyone around me with all the pure happiness i project. sometimes the good days are just the day where i dont break down. sometimes i have good days and sometimes i have bad days. im hopeful that the good days will outnumber the bad ones, eventually.

the red and yellow fire glistened behind her eyes
shone so brightly it was obvious to the specators
the red and yellow sparks frightened her and those who flanked her
when they saw the saturated color of the flames errupting no one could stand by her any longer
it was clear that she was set to explode

spectators watch from afar as the red and yellow flames rapidly consumed her
as they ate away at every part of her flesh
the smell of burning organs groped their nostrils
filling them to the brim with a stench they could not withstand

the girl stared as the people continued to back away
stuff their noses with their sleeves
and felt as she burned
her body became bloated with the fire
and then she burst
into a great flame that scorched everything in its path

the specators watched the finale
as she disappeared
into the red and yellow flames
and was never heard from again

i want to write
but, not just anything
i want to write beauty
i want to write poetry that transforms people
i want to write so exquisitely that when a person who doesn’t love, or rather show love, reads my work, theyre overwhelmed with emotion and passion and love
i want to change people’s perspectives on the world.
i want people to fall in love with the delicacy of life and the human race, the way that i do everyday
but how, how can i write all of this grace when im so angry?

anger is the least graceful emotion
and im angry all the time, at nothing specifically
im just angry
sometimes i can feel myself getting angry in my stomach
it starts in the pit
then it travels up and up and it feels like its consuming me
and my chest gets tight and
i cant breathe
and i can feel the blood hastening its flow through my veins
my head burns like someone set me on fire and i lose control of my body
it feels like the air flow to my brain has been disconnected.

i become a ball of energy
no longer able to control its own thoughts, feelings, emotions, movements
or anything for that matter
how can i breathe my own words into other peoples hearts
if i cant even get myself to breathe air?

i dont like the person i become when im angry.
its as if i forget im human and i turn into a machine whose only purpose is destruction
i get scared of who i am when im angry
i get scared to hurt someone. not physically, but emotionally, i am so mortally terrified of scarring someone else’s heart
emotional scarring doesnt heal like the scarring of the flesh, it stays, constantly reappearing in your frontal lobe, all the time.
who am i to bestow that kind of pain on someone else?
no one, i am no one.

i want to write
beauty
passion
misery
emotion

i dont like who i am when im angry

inhumane

destructive

i want to do better.

i will do better.

i sit shotgun in her pickup truck
with a pen in my hand
a notebook resting in my lap
and i try my best to focus
focus on anything
anything to stop this

the whole car starts to spin
my heart beat thumps in my brain
a nauseous feeling creeps up from my stomach to my throat
and just before i lose my breath
she stops the car

i can hear her voice spilling from her mouth like sweet honey
and she says:

“focus on the pen in your hand, charlie.”

“breathe, charlie.”

“you’re okay, charlie.”
“you’re okay, charlie.”

then a miraculous thing happens

the car stops spinning
my heart stops thumping in my brain
the nauseous feeling finds itself a way out of my body
and i breathe because,

“im okay, sam.”

lying under the fluorescent lights
wading in the white sheets
the lights faded in and out
it took everything in him to suppress the tears accumulating
even with the red liquid surfacing from every scorched part of his body
he couldnt let himself cry
because MEN dont cry
boys cry.

the last time he cried
he was too young to remember
except for what his father had done
when he saw the glistening drops rolling down his face
slammed him into the ground
and the sprained wrist he acquired
was his reminder everyday that
MEN dont cry
boys cry.

but he let that glorious shining tear roll down anyways
because maybe men cry too.

if you take a minute and

look at yourself

you will see

a vast inquisition is held

in that brain of yours

because who are you, really ?

everyone is an artist
because we craft our lives and decisions
so meticulously
our choices are so specific to who we are
that no one can make the exact ones as the other

everyone is an artist
because we craft our insults and hatred
so carefully
our awful and greedy actions are so specific to who we are
that no one can do the exact ones as the other

everyone is an artist
because we craft our love
so perfectly
our hearts interwine with those we seek the most and are so specific to who we are
that no one can love another the exact say way

everyone is an artist
but just the same as art we can not plan our lives
because it will not come out the way that we imagined
and it will not go perfectly
but we will plan anyways
and try our best to make everything go the way we would like it to

we cant really craft our lives

we cant really craft our hatred

we cant really craft our love

but we sure as hell can try

insecurity is poisonous

because it will enter

your bloodstream

using your eyes and

seep out of your

mouth to infect

those who have only

treated you well

my mother told me that
a woman’s prized possession
is her hair
that it defines her
and all of her beauty emanates
from it
but i didnt agree with her
so i shaved my head

her mouth was sealed shut
and her eyes were leaking
she didnt let out a single word
from the outside everything seemed serene
tranquil, but sad
wrong.

her mouth was sealed shut
and her mind was on fire
she didnt let out a single word
from the inside the chaos was immeasurable
infinite, still sad
close.

her mouth was sealed shut
but her heart was beating a thousand miles a minute
the voice in her mind was projecting her insecurities back in her face
on the outside everyone knew she was better than this
but on the inside she felt she wasnt

so she let everyone glance at her placid face
and she let her mind battle itself inside of her skull
tranquil face and infinite chaos
correct.

her heart beat at an unfamiliarly fast speed
as she picked the small container
up off of her nightstand

hot tears raced down her face
as if they were racing to reach
the finish line of her shirt collar
as if it were a life or death competition
they poured down in long, hot drops
and she tried to wipe them away
but it was useless

everytime she wiped a bunch
of tears from under her eyes
a new bunch would form
and continue the competition

her soft, sunkissed hands
trembled with the container in them

she lifted it up to eyelevel with her
but even then the thick stream of tears
blocked her vision
and she could only make out
the faint colors of the container

without a second thought
she inhaled one final breath
and shut her eyes

the white bottle cap
twisted open in her hands

and little pale pills
trickled down her throat

her heart beat at an unfamiliarly slow speed
and she went out with a small thud
and a smile gracing her face

breathing is a regular body function
still, it seems like it was the hardest thing for me to do my whole life
i always felt like i was being swept up roughly by an ocean wave
i would grapple with the demons that lived in the deepest parts of my mind
just for one, just one breath
it was so difficult to fight all of the time
so hard to convince myself that it would all pay off in the end
that in due time, breathing would become easier

then i met you, and it felt like everything in the world changed
those long nights i spent alone gasping for air hour, after hour ceased to exist
the demons in the deepest part of my brain dissipated
and nothing was difficult
i stopped thinking negatively and i felt that for the first time in a long time,
that i had hope

and instead of staying up, restless at night i would lay my head down peacefully on my pillow
no more harmful thoughts
i didn't feel a pressing weight on my shoulders anymore
and for the first time in my life, my lungs weren't burning in their longing for air
air was filling them graciously and wholesomely
and thus i began to fall in love with you

we became inseparable
and the whole world seemed to know it
because we were in love, and everyone wished they had what we did
right?

in time we would realize that we weren't in love
not even close
you stopped caring and so did I
and just as quickly as we fell in love
we fell out of it
and as quickly as you seemed to heal my lungs
you damaged them again

now i try to breathe and it doesn't seem to work
my lungs are burning, desperate for air
but thats ok, because they say time heals all
and maybe instead of someone else healing me
i just need time
and i can heal myself
and breathing wont be so difficult
and the demons will permanently disappear
for now, ill just learn to forget you

i will sit alone
and i will stare at those stars
the ones that litter the night sky
like little shining blemishes

i will sit alone
and i will stare at the window
the one that separates me from a fatal plummet
like a guardian

i will sit alone
and i will stare at myself
the version of me that is filled with nothing
like a lifeless corpse, floating

i will sit alone
and i will stare at the people
the ones who roam freely, carelessly
like real, living people

i will sit alone

because no matter

how many people

surround me

i am always

i will always be

alone

im not a mess
everyone just happens to be holding a different piece of me

When I met the sun
Like my mother,
Her warmth lay upon my skin
Caressing my frozen fingers
And thawing my frigid heart
Then she passed me to the moon and said
“It’s your turn”

So I met the moon
I watched him grin, as my father does
And his moonbeams cooled down my torrid skin
He patted my torched fingers and covered them with verglas
Then he scowled and said
“I cannot reach your heart,”
So he shifted me to the earth

And I met the earth
The dirt immersed itself under my fingernails
The trees lifted my bleeding body with their gentle branches
And caressed me as the wind swayed my fragile limbs back and forth
The earth held me, tattered, and said
“My child, you are broken”
Then she dispatched me to my maker

Where my journey ends
I do not remember my maker
I met the sun, the moon, and the earth
Who all took their turns trying to mend the mangled body presented to them
The earth delivered me, fractured, to the maker
But I am so far gone, that even this celestial being could not restore my form

Their efforts, however good intention
Were futile
The sun, the moon, the earth, my maker
My end - the afterlife
And I must acquiesce

there is beauty in every person
like a seed perfectly sown
by planters with years of life experience

time passes and the seed is watered
with waste, and humiliation
pain, and sorrow

but somehow
it still finds the sweet nectar
of creativity and love

slowly, the seed will
sprout into a beautiful flower
a different one to match every soul

there is beauty in every person

but beauty does not grow
through happy life experiences
beauty comes from the spirit
that transforms the wrongs its been dealt
into flowers for those who hurt them

sometimes it hurts to be living person
it hurts you deep in your bones
it burrows gaping holes inside of you until it reaches you heart
It doesn't stop there
it envelopes your heart
and squeezes
and squeezes
and squeezes

until it feels like you're burning from the inside out
your heart becomes a flaming ball of radiation
and slowly burns its way out of your chest
the process is gradual and agonizing
and when it finally falls out
you feel worse
your screams become louder
and louder
and louder

they become so deafening that you think people across the planet can hear you
well you're right, they can, they can hear every ailed cry
they can see every scorchingly hot tear

but don't you think, for one second, that they can feel you
don't you think, for one second that they know what it feels like to hurt, simply because you're a living person

As a child I was soft.

And I spent my time aloft

The Michigan snow

Looking down, about it



Swimming in her icy wind

Innocent then, I headed down

The frostiest road, (unknowingly)

Listening to Amira unfold



Her cruel and caustic opinions, bold

Upon my beaten little brain.

What a conniving killer Michigan can be.



Distraught in how she sees me,

Amira knocked me off my feet!

So I fell below, burrowing into the snow.



Who was always more loving, than

My dear aunt, Amira (could know).

Hey,

I miss you a lot, but I think it would be impossible to ever tell you how much.
And you know that I’ve always been bad with words.
You remember I never knew what to say, when we sat together at the table for all of the “failing” kids in pre-calc, but you always knew what to say back then.
I remember you always knew what to say.
Even when we talked about nothing, you could tell me something.

I miss you a lot.
I think now that even if it were impossible to ever tell you how much, that I have to at least tell you how I cope.
Because then maybe you could understand somehow.
Somehow maybe you could understand.

I’m in college now and I don't go back home too much.
I pretend like I’m too important, or that I have too much going on to be there.
But you know the truth, you know it hurts too much.
But I go back sometimes, and when I do I go to the Freddy's parking lot, and I sit in my car. In that old plaza we used to work in.

And I put on “To This Day” by Shane Kocyzan and I shut my eyes as tightly as I can.
I listen a few times and pretend like you’re in the passenger’s seat listening with me, and sometimes I cry.
And sometimes I don’t.
Every time it hurts the same.
But I have to do it.

I have to do it to remember you, because I can’t ever forget you.
I do it hoping you’ll see me and sit with me.
Like really sit with me, just for a few minutes.
All I need is a few minutes.

I have to do it because maybe it’ll make me miss you less.
Or maybe you’ll see me and you’ll know how sorry I am.
How sorry I am that I didn’t go to your memorial.
I have to do it because I didn’t go to your memorial.

I do it because I have to tell you that we love you and that it wasn’t your fault, but you know that it wasn’t your fault and you know that we love you.
And I hope you know how sorry I am that I didn’t go to your memorial.
But you know that I’ve always been bad with words, and you always knew what to say.
And even if it’s impossible for you to hear me, I have to tell you how sorry I am.
That I didn't go to your memorial.
Then I turn up “to this day” and I remember you and I have to do it because I miss you too much.

Sincerely,

Your remorseful friend, V