In, out.
Silence.

I notice
the particles of dust
illuminated
by the sunlight beaming through my window.

They float
through golden streaks
around the books
sitting untouched on the old wooden shelf.

Dancing around my hand
Swirling, swimming
as I reach my hand to touch the light.

i fall down
down
down

my body thumps, hard
against the cold, dry earth

pain soars through
my body

i run my tongue
over my teeth
tasting
blood
i feel
warmth behind my head

it's liquid
it's blood

oh

i'm dying

the struggle of learning
of knowing

what am i supposed to do
now

now i see
now i know

knowledge comes with a
price

Life isn’t about the fashion magazine that lies open on the bed, or the box that travels in the truck and holds the newest iPhone. It’s not about the credit card numbers whispered in the dark or the heartless comments on some fifteen-year-old’s post on social media. Life is not about getting to the top or being the winner. Life is not about the celebrities everyone thinks run the world, not about the net worths, like one human life is worth more than another. Life is not about the greed and awful desires. Life is not about the having, or the getting, or the money, or the lies. It’s not about hate.

Life is about climbing trees barefoot, smiling in the sunlight that kisses your face, it’s about the strawberries you pick in the driveway and the fictional books you finish one by one. Life is about the twang of the old guitar, the breath of the sleeping dog. Life is about the good nights and good mornings, the I love you’s and I love you too’s. Life is about the autumn leaves that rustle in the wind, the same wind that blows through your shirt. Life is about the ease of childhood, and the pains of growing up. Life is about poetry and holding hands and bright red roses. Life is about giving. Life is about love.

the sight of a one year old baby
attempting to eat a sandy shell
on the shore of north carolina
makes me wonder
if i ever did something like that
when i was that young


















plot twist

i remember, of course not
because i was born at 56

and listen
to the sound
of your breath

one day,
you won't hear it
anymore

the noodles
sit in the warm,
steamy water
they've turned
soft and mushy

left in too long
why? well,
you see,
this person who
wanted to eat them

suddenly had an
intrusive thought;
this caused this person
to get anxious
about eating

so the noodles
were abandoned
in the starchy water
left there
to drown

why do i feel so small
when i look up into the sky and see the stars?

there are so many of them,
they take my breath away

i can't help but realize, with a sad smile,
how insignificant

my life
really is

to be honest,
it's somewhat relieving

and reassuring
to see all those stars up there

to remember that we are all
just a speck of dust

even less,
perhaps

in this universe
that we call our own

and that if we were to fade away
the universe would still persist

am i worth it?

the question i ask at 2 am
when my eyes start to feel scratchy
and my mind feels foggy

or on the fourth of july
watching those blue and red explosions
grace the dark blue sky

or walking through the autumn trees
to step on their crisp leaves
to make that satisfying sound

am i, though?
does my life
have any meaning?

i look at myself in that long, ***** mirror --
the lighting is bad and i look ghost-like
in the shadows of the room

i lift up my oversized t-shirt
and my eyes fall to the blunt cuts
that grace my soft skin

i try not to do this too often
but lately it has become much too hard
to ignore for long

the blade that rests in my sweaty palm
feels like a million pounds
as i bring it to my stomach

She covers the bags under her eyes with a face mask
and her split ends with conditioner,
her bitten ****** nails with pure white polish,
and calls her binge eating "treating herself"

She tells herself it's self care --
pretends she's doing herself a favor
by covering up her pain
so she doesn't have to look it in the face.

But face masks peel off
and conditioner washes away,
those perfect white nails will chip and wear off,
and eating disorders were never a treat
in the first place.

Behind that laughter (it's a facade)
and my clean
unbroken arms,

I hide my deepest secret
from the world.

No one feels the blade
as it tears across my belly,
besides me.

(I can't help but smile)
I know that no one knows
and that's how it should be,
because to them,
it doesn't exist.

And it shouldn't.




But it does.

why
do you bother with me?

what am I
but another torn
plastic bag stuck
to a tree branch?

what do I
have to offer
this beautiful,
broken world?

I make too
many mistakes.
I fall down
much too often.

so why
why
do you bother with me?

If you knew
all the thoughts that come to me
when I'm alone at 3 am,
troubled and depressed

Would you still sit next to me,
in such close proximity,
making my heart pound so loud
to read over my shoulder?

If you saw the red lines that mark
my pale stomach,
and saw what I see
when I look at myself,

Would you still smile at me
from across the room,
offer to play some game
I don't know the rules to?

If you knew how many times I
skipped meals,
how many times I wanted to disappear
and never come back,

Would you still stand to be
in my presence, untroubled?
Would you love me
the same way?

The answer is no,
because the real me
is scared, ugly and raw.
It would be unbearable to love me again

So I'll keep it hidden
I'll cover up the scars that haunt my memories
and put on a believable smile
before letting you see me

But oh, it still hurts,
so, so much,
because even though you don't know the truth,
I do.

sometimes we feel trapped--
isolated from the world,
like the air inside a bright red balloon
or the unseen ocean inside a conch shell--
like the idea stuck inside my head
before i write it down.

we feel forgotten, like the world
cannot see us anymore--
we are the picture in the frame
behind the one that touches the glass,
the water before it flows from the tap,
the sunrise before it reaches the horizon.

we feel like we're almost there,
but not yet--
we've woken up in the morning,
but we haven't opened our eyes--
we've opened the window,
but the breeze still hasn't come--
we're almost there,
but we're still so far away.

Sometimes I feel stuck
like there are cotton *****
stuffed in my head,
muffling my senses.
They make it hard to concentrate.
I try to feel something,
anything,
but the cotton ***** are blocking the way
to my emotions.
When I try to tell someone,
they scoff at me and tell me
to stop trying to get attention.
I hope one day I'll feel better.
For now,
I'm stuck in the middle of cotton *****,
hoping someday,
one day,
I'll break free.

i'm inside
but i watch the snowflakes fall from the gray sky
through my window.
the floral curtains that hang there
stand out,
as if willing spring to come

soon
it will, its warm breeze blowing the snow away.
for a moment, winter meets spring
but then, it's gone with the wind
waving goodbye.
soon it will be time

but as for now,
i watch the snowflakes, sitting here;
just a day in march.
i don't miss the snow,
but i know that soon
i will

I like my green converse
They aren’t black, like the night without the moon and stars
Or the bottom of the ocean
Or the greasy cast iron pan
They aren’t red, like the blood
That flows in my veins
Or the sunset at seven
Or the maraschino cherries in my fridge
They’re green,
Like the grass beneath my feet
Like the painting in my dining room
Like a ripening banana
Green is my favorite color,
so I like my green converse

the music starts
shhhhh...
the dancers silently
slowly
sway to the melody
their breaths even and
silent
the piano is soft
no one speaks
or whispers
as the dancers move,
not a step out of place

no one sees what happens when you're alone
no one understands the depth of your mind
alone, you don't have to pretend to be someone else
alone, you are free to be who you are inside
alone, you don't have to hide under a mask
you can take off your clothes
let down your hair
wash your face
stop pretending
and live

Soft sunlight penetrates the dark blue ocean
where it silently illuminates the waters
beams of light fall from the sky
to touch the quiet coral.

Sweet cinnamon sifts through the air
Buns from a bakery are warm
their sticky glaze drizzled atop
the golden, cinnamon filled delights

I see a magazine at the checkout
A half naked woman is on the cover
and rude words are splayed across the paper
I wonder who writes such crap

I see a little girl staring at the woman
whose body is obviously altered
Please don't listen to those lies,
I silently plead with her in my head

I see another girl looking at the magazine
This one is older, a teenager
She picks up the tabloid and flips through
"WEIGHT LOSS TIPS" is where she stops

I want to tell them both that they are not fat
I want to tell them that they don't need to listen
they don't need to look
they don't need to change

But I already know it's too late
when they both buy a copy
and leave
I sigh and try not to think about it too much

depression doesn't care
if you've got millions of dollars
or you're just getting by.

depression doesn't care
if you've got loving friends and family
or you're all alone.

depression doesn't care
if you've got a successful career
or you're unemployed.

depression doesn't look at your life situation.
depression is a mental illness, not an emotion.
depression doesn't care.

The sunlight caresses her dark cheeks and she smiles
She runs her fingertips over those soft, dewy, red petals of a rose
Her bare brown feet step over the broken twigs without a sound
The blue sky smiles down at her from above the dogwood trees

You watch the sunrise through the stained glass windows
of the church you called your home
You see the colors dance across the quiet, dusty room
and fill the empty pews
On the streets, it’s not so bright. The cars drive,
their windshields full of sunlight
At night the lamps turn on, people sell themselves away,
drinking *****

It used to be a place full of happy people with good intentions
and bright minds,
until bullets shattered stained glass,
drops of blood stained the hymnals,
and screams filled the sanctuary
The sun has risen and you step back and turn around.
Safety is an empty word of false promises.
Nowhere is safe.

wiping away the tears i shed
hoping you don’t notice the pain in my head
all day, i just lie in bed
my days are filled with dread

Whenever I close my eyes, I see your smile.
(A thousand doves cannot compare)
It takes me awhile
but I remember the smell of your hair
and how it glistened like gold in the sunlight.

How can I forget someone like you?
You turned me upside down
and made me view the world from your perspective.
(How special is a moment with you)
I wish you were still here, with me.

As I sit here, waiting
I think about what would happen
If someone found out
I'm not supposed to be here

I ponder the consequences
Of my impulsiveness
In seventeen minutes
I'll be gone from here

What could happen in seventeen minutes?
Sixteen, actually, look at the time
I think about what might happen
From now until then

The cameras are watching
Has no one found out about me?
Fifteen minutes now says the clock
Fifteen minutes of freedom

i never know
what to say
i try my best
but i fade away

i'm so lonely
i want to talk
i have no friends
so instead i stalk

come over here
i think in my head
no one hears
so i lie in bed

jeans that are a little bit too tight
numbers on the scale that you have to fight
she wanted it badly, she stayed up all night
to her, the future seemed bright

online articles about low-calorie diets
no-carb, low-carb, high-protein try-its
she thought it was the perfect way
to lose that extra layer, so they say

she noticed it working on tuesday at noon
it was working, working so soon
she was pleased with the results it gave
soon it became less to eat and more to crave

she thought she had it all under control
who cares if she ate less than one bowl?
she never ate until she was full
soon she faded away and her eyes became dull

Dust off that old diary,
with scribbles and pictures
of dreamy days stuck inside,
its pages filled with unspoken words.

Open its frayed brown cover.
Pieces of paper with secrets inscribed on them
fall gracefully to the floor,
freed from their trap.

Pick up the yellowish notes and read them,
memories of forgotten times you remember.
Flip through the breaking pages of the book,
the one you once called your best friend.

Read through the past, relive it;
the golden, precious words fill your mind.
Cry silently and softy as you think of how far you've come,
how very different you are now.

Close the diary and watch the dust billow.
Set it down and smile,
the sunlight caressing your face,
its golden glow a reassurance of today.

i cry myself to sleep because
i'm constantly scared you'll come back
(don't ever consider it)

i feel numb and empty because
you told me i was nothing
(and a worthless piece of trash)

i need therapy and take medicine because
you used to beat me
(it gave me ptsd)

i can't eat anymore because
you told me i didn't deserve to
(and i should **** myself)

i have no more friends because
you made me believe you were all i needed
(***** you)

Wish me luck on the stars above
Their silver seams gleam in your eyes
I stare for just a moment too long
Soon I am mesmerized by you

Wish me luck on the cold blue rivers
That race through my heart like ice
I look to yours for warmth and comfort
Afraid that I will scare you away

Wish me luck on the peaceful music
The sounds blend together with grace
I share with you what I cannot say
Hopeful that you will sing with me

Our love only exists in a picture frame.

Yes, it's sad.
I often think of all our good times;
all the laughter.

Then I remember why we are no more;
because of me.

I keep it on my desk.
It sits there, collecting dust.
Sometimes I have to put it away.

"How can I love someone who doesn't love themselves?"
I remember your words.
They cut into my heart.

I'm why our love only exists in a picture frame.
Yes, it's sad.

No more kissed cheeks or warm blush,
no more holding hands or open smiles.

Did you think this would make me happier?
Well
you were wrong.

All my happiness
exists in you.

There is this person
with electric blue hair
who I am constantly
intrigued by.

Look at their skin;
like porcelain, it's so
pale
and icy cold.

Their eyes speak to my heart--
the green and brown
moving in harmony
and making me smile.

They always have
black eye shadow around
these brown and green irises;
so bold.

I can't tell if they're a boy
or a girl--
maybe they're both
or neither.

They almost never speak
But their voice moves
smooth like milk
And their laugh is contagious.

But underneath their fake smiles
I know their secret--
The red marks that cover their skin
The scars that speak for themselves.