Dysphoria is like a flood,
Sometimes it makes you shed blood.

It hits you suddenly like a wave,
Sometimes, it puts you in a grave..

You remember that girl, senior year? The one who had too many piercings to count? You assumed she was goth, but you were too afraid to ask for the truth.

You remember that girl, senior year? The one who showed up with bruises like it was show and tell? You assumed she got into fights with other kids, but you were too afraid to ask for the truth.

You remember that girl, senior year? The one who wore either all black, all pink, or all blue? You assumed she liked those colours, but you were to ignorant to ask for the truth.

You remember that girl, senior year? The one who never talked nor smiled? You assumed she was shy, but you were too afraid to ask.

You remember that boy, senior year? The one who spread rumors about the girl? You assumed the rumors were true, and spread them around like a wild fire, but you were too afraid to ask for the truth.

You remember that girl, senior year? The one who was there one day, and disappeared forever? Everyone assumed she transfered schools.. But they were afraid to see the truth.

You remember that girl, right?

The one who played piano and guitar?

The one with straight A's but pushed herself even harder?

The one who painted with silver, and it turned out red?

Well guess what..? If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why she had piercings galore. She would've told you that she liked the pain.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why she showed up with bruises and cuts. She would've told you she was being neglected and abused at home and at school.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why she wore all black, all pink, or blue. She would've told you she was GenderFluid. And that they perferred the pronouns they/them.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why they never talked nor smiled. They would've told you they took mountains of medications for their depression and anxiety.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked if the rumors were true. They would've told you the rumors were false, and to not believe them.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why they left, for the gave you their number. They would've told you "goodbye.."

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked why they tried to improve their grades, even though their grades were above average. They would've told you that their parents' expectations were higher.

If only you asked for the truth. If only you asked anything. Instead, you ignored the kid from senior year.

So. Remember the kid from senior year? The one who killed themselves after finals?

If the tears in my eyes aren't enough
To tell you to stop talking
Maybe you should look at my arms
And then tell me it was a joke

If you hated me that much
You should've told me sooner
I wouldn't feel this empty
And I wouldn't have this ache

If you hated my complexion
You could've helped me change
You could've saved me before I fell
Before i sunk deeper into depression

If you hated seeing me in public
You couldve told me, and I wouldn't have gone
You could've saved me before i cut deeper
Before I sunk into death's awaiting arms..

In my past life I was a Slow Loris.

The voice is like a chorus.

The slow loris is nocturnal like mice.

I dont sleep at night so I can study, which is nice.

Slow Lorises are also slow walkers

Like me, they aren't slow talkers.

We have a lot in common,

Which isnt forgotten.

I was a Slow Loris in my past life.

The bottle has a lot of words
Like a flock of flightless birds.

It tells me not to exceed two
Just like my friends telling me not to exceed heartbreaks from you.

You tell me to take eleven
So that I wont go to heaven.

But I ended up taking thirteen
So that my vision turned green.

I started getting dizzy
And the world was going fizzy.

Which way was up, and which way was down?
My vision started turning brown.

My stomach started to ache
My mind started to break.

The tears kept falling
And i kept bawling.

The ground was so cold as I laid there waiting for oblivion
I felt like I was done.

I couldn't handle the colours no more
so I shut the door.

I laid on my bed looking at the clock
And glanced at the door lock.

I shut my eyes calmly
As my arms rested near me.

The clock struck one
And I was done.

The hero.

He wasnt

Worthless and expendable.

He was

Loved by the entire kingdom.

He wasnt

The villain.

The marks that line my arm
Were done in the topic of harm.
The lines that cover my wrists
Are kinda like long lists.
The wounds I draw on my skin
Are there to remind me I do not fit in.
Society is cruel to us.
Sometimes I wish to get hit by a bus.
But then the light flows
And the wind blows
And my idle remind me
That I am not a bee.
That I am not alone
And that he does not condone
People like me harming ourselves
Because we are not someone's elves.
And we can take a stand
And make a band
Of people against this negativity

Summer is just a bunch of days
It’s kind of like a giant haze.
I hardly remember the first day of break,
For by now my legs are starting to ache.
The summer went by so fast,
Because it was such a blast.
But now the days are filled with sorrow,
For the last day of break, ends tomorrow...

Today is not a good day
I just don't feel okay
This vessel I'm in
Doesn't feel like my skin
I don't feel boyish
I don't feel girlish
I dont feel neither
And I don't feel both
I hate this day
Because I don't know what to wear today
Whatever I wear won't look good
And laugh,  all my friends would
Laugh because they don't know
They don't know of my woe
And that's why today is not a good day.

Poetry to me is like a bird.
Once you start, you keep going until the end.
My brain stores my ideas daily
And they flow onto the paper like magic.
Its almost like therapy
All of my stress gets poured onto the paper like a waterfall
My emotions turn to ink, on a lined sheet of paper
Writing it is like a secret code
On the outside, it had one meaning
On the inside, it has another
A more powerful meaning than before

But sometimes, after a long day
When I dont feel okay
My brain has no more words in stock
Its called Writer's Block
The words won't form inside my head
Its almost like my creativity is dead
I look around the room I'm in
And I look for objects that I can pin
I try to find something wild
Something styled
When suddenly, it hits me

It calms me like a song of Jazz
I get a dash of zing
I start to write my feelings down
And search up inspiration on Bing
I look up through my window
To see the beautiful trees
I look up at the nighttime stars
And I see all the firebees
I find some peace and quiet
Within the blowing breeze
I find the words inside my mind
And they flow onto the paper with ease.

I have this stupid grin
Plastered upon my face
My face is as red as roses
If only i could put them in a vase

You made the right decision
When i asked the question to you
You said yes to being my girlfriend
And that's all that matters, boo

I love you more than supernatural
I love you more than doctor who
I love you more than sherlock
I love you lots, and I hope you do too

I hope this never ends
For i cant take the heartbreak
You're too much to lose
My heart still has an ache

The smile stretched upon my face
Goes good with the tinted red
I'm going to love you forever
I'll text you all night as I lay in bed

I probably wont get sleep
But that doesnt matter
As long as you are mine
And together we make a mad hatter..

The boy stood in front of his class
The short story unit was ***.
The teacher had them do presentations,
For they all had to do representations.

The boy stood in front of random humans
The class looked like roman ruins.
Most people were gone,
Thank satan for that one.

The boy's hands were sweaty,
No he did not have spaghetti.
He was already forgetting his lines,
It was like in front of his eyes, there were blinds.

The boy was a stuttering mess,
At least compared to last time, it was less.
He sat down with his face bright red
He felt like he could drop dead.

But then the class started clapping.
The rest of the presentations were wrapping.
The teacher handed back their rubric
The boy felt kind of sick.

The teacher, with a smile, gave mine to me..
I had gotten a B..

(True story)

Black and White
Yes and No
Right and Wrong

Those are the only choices according to people

You cant be Blue
You cant be Maybe
You can't be half right half wrong

Boy and Girl
Straight and Gay

You cant be fluid
You can't be bi or pan

Those are the only chouces according to people

Thats the problem with society today
You dont have the right to say
That that is not okay

That's the problem with today's society
You cant be a maybe
Or questioning your sexuality

Thats the problem..

Let's fix it..

The assignments they give us
As a daily breifing
To never forget the logic we learn
So we can use it in future schooling

That doesnt mean we like them
For they give us headaches daily
Its the most boring part of life
I'd rather watch a bee

I'd rather play football as a pastime
Than write math down with ink
The notebooks we use are thick
And the textbooks are pink

I woke up with a friGht
the darkness was starting tO bite
I wanted tO turn on a light
But I was too scareD of the night

As I lied in Bed trying to sleep
Im getting sleepY but I start to weep
Thinking of the day's kEep
It was like failing at a leap

We have to write a sonnet for English
My brain is empty because I am tired
My ideas are starting to vanish
If I had a job I would be fired.
I will try to make this poem neater
For I usually love poetry
Although my grades are starting to teeter
I will have to do better to be free
I understand that this will be graded
Even though i will be really sleepy
I guess, maybe, I should not have waited
Because of that i am really weepy.
But i guess today i will try my best
Because at least it isnt a hard test

Do you remember the boy from highschool? The one that was genuinely cute?

Do you remember the boy from highschool? The one that selectively mute?

He went through years of physical and mental pain.

He saw his parents as they walked inside the kitchen, just to get slain.

He remembers when his parents were alive, and when they had good times.

The only way to remember certain things was to make up those silly rhymes.

In 3rd grade, that boy got bullied every day.

All he did when he was shoved, was mumble "hey.."

That boy who would've been twenty this year, no one asked for the stories from his side.

So he chose the most reliable choice, suicide.

He is no longer part of the living.