And at that moment,
I realized I needed to stop dreaming of you.
Because my dreams would never be my reality.
And everyday that I pretended they would be,
I lost piece of myself.

I never thought I had a bad life, I actually always thought I had a simple and boring life. My mom works a nine to five, and my dad works a seven to six. We live in a nice house in the suburbs with two dogs and a twit little brother. We have a nice life through the eyes of most people, but behind closed doors everything is a nightmare. Every night I go to sleep with the sound of blood curdling screams from my mother and father trying to find some way to relive their anger, but only hitting at themselves through each other.  I do believe they love one another, they have just forgotten to love themselves… Once in a while when my depression lets me be myself for a minute I go in and check on my baby brother; still so young and innocent. I walk down the hall slowly and slide in through the crack of his door so I do not wake him. He looks like he was the king of something in a past life; I sit on the floor beside his bed, kiss his forehead, and whisper “my little prince” just loud enough for me and his soft calm breaths to hear it. When no one is looking I love that little man more than the moon loves the stars. I know that what happens between my parents get to him, everyone has been naïve in thinking he isn’t smart enough to understand what is going on; but I was not raised to be naïve. I think what hurts me the most is that I am so mean to him for no reason other than I am jealous of him… I crave the attention he has from everyone. I am blind to see that I also get attention too, for my grades, from my teachers, my family, and random people that we meet at the grocery store. But I was so blind and jealous to see that I even get more attention than he does, and he may even be jealous of me. What a dumb thing to be jealous over… such a funny thing…

One of the down falls of having depression in a failing home is that everything hits you twice as hard, and maybe I’m just a big baby and can’t handle things like the big people can; but everyone in this entire universe has something in their lives that can make them break at any instant. Ironically mine just so happens to be life itself. I try so hard to be strong, or at least I tell myself that I am being strong, and I just glide through life being stuck in the same place. Anyways, I know where I want to be, I am not so sure how to get there but I believe that once I get out of the quick sand that is eating me alive I will find the cure for all of the world’s problems. I am strong enough to do that.

Every night is not always a bad night, and every morning we all wake up and pretend the night before never happened. My brother and I sit and eat breakfast together while my mom sits outside and smokes her “last cigarette”. The little prince and I sit side by side punching each other in the arm; each bruise means I love you. After he is done with breakfast I watch him walk away. Light brown hair, skinny as can be, year round tanned skin, freckles, bright green-blue



eyes, and the world’s most precious smile. I sit there at the Kitchen Island and think about all the girls I’m going to have to **** in the future. Young man so handsome, he is going to break hearts. I yell something ****** at him and then go back to my room to finish getting ready. Today I have decided to wear jeans and a plain white t-shirt; I finish my makeup and slide on my cowboy boots. I stand in front of my mirror and look at the person staring back at me and realize that I don’t even know who she is. A cousin maybe? A long lost sister? Who even knows at this point, and I am too disappointed in myself to care. When my I walk back down the hall my mother greets me with the usual “you look really cute today Donna”, but I don’t believe her. The demons in my mind take everything I hear and turn it around so that I get an angry lump in my throat and I want to punch a wall. I say something else mean to my little prince and then rub his face and kiss his cheek; my mom tells me I should be nicer because he is just a little guy but I fear that we would lose each other in a time of need if we were not like this.

            School is another task all together, I can feel people looking at me and judging me… “she’s to tall…” “she’s fat…”   the remarks go on and on; I can’t hear them say it but I know they are… why would they be looking at me if they weren’t trying to be mean? Maybe they aren’t even looking at me and the inconsiderate demons inside me tell me that my peers are just to get a reaction out of me. One day they will finally get what they are looking for. I am not an ugly girl, but that is what they tell me. I picture them as worm like creatures, or maybe even electric eels set on fire inside of me. So upset by the pain they are enduring that their only relief is to take it out on me(I would explain to you my face and figure, but I feel that it would take the point away from what I am telling you). I go through the rest of my day mechanically, smiling when I’m supposed too, raising my hand, giggling, doing all the little things that make me seem sane and composed on the outside. My image really is everything.

            The second I get in the car my mom and I have some small talk, the sad thing is that we are so close and she doesn’t even know what is going on inside of me. I do not have the courage to tell her that I do not have the energy to keep pretending that I am alright and that I need her to save me, even though I am the one that should be saving her. Lord, why can’t I do this?

            The night goes on the same as always except this time it started off with the potential to be a good one. One false word and the glass shatters all over the granite counter tops, and the ***** seeps down in through the cabinets. My little prince screams at them to stop but he just gets shot down by the red eyes of our mother and we both know that this has to happen. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t think. I scoop my little prince into my arms and run down the hall with him buried in my arms, trying to blockade the cries and whimpers coming from behind me. He screams for his mommy once again but she ignores him and the two parents battle keeps raging on. I keep that little boy with the precious smile in my room with me until all the lights are down and the house is silent. He has already fallen asleep from the weight of all the tears behind his fragile eyes. I lift him up in my arms and carry him to his room and lay him in his big boy bed. So young and innocent, so fragile slight. How could this little boy ever bare the things we see every night?  I sit on my knees beside his bed once again and kiss his forehead. I silently whisper “my little prince” and star at the face of God’s greatest gift to me. I was so selfish thinking that those evil things inside of me were trying to attack me, but really they just wanted me to see that before I could save myself, I had to save my little prince.

And that is just what I did.

I have recently come into contact with one of the smartest people I've had the honor to come in contact with.
We share an enjoyment together in writing out of the box, and both enjoy the fact that our poetry cannot be put into check mark boxes like most other writers can be.
We do not write between the lines, or on the lines.
Our stories come from the margins of our school papers when the teacher is going on and on and on about how great all of these so, so writers are.
They are all writing about the same thing.
These writers are so focused on fitting criteria, that they forgot everything about why they started writing in the first place.
To let something be known.
Writers do not pick conventional topics; the thing people find fascinating about writers is that they have the ability to take any situation, any thought or idea and turn it into something extravagant.
Or maybe not so extravagant.
Writers are a hit-and-miss game.
But everything that we write starts with a purpose, and ends.
Or starts without any means at all, and ends somewhere twenty miles down the road, wandering down the side streets thinking about past experiences.
Writers are all over the place.
We do not always have a purpose for what we put on paper, and more than half of what we think about never makes it onto paper.
But that's what makes it all enjoyable.

Do you?
Do you ever think about how vast everything is?
And how tiny and minuscule you are to the rest of the world?

Do you ever think about how big you are compared to the universe, or the sky, or the ocean, even your own little town? 

Do you? 

Do you ever wonder how many stars there are compared to you?
Or how many of you would it take to wrap around the whole earth
Because that’s just the kind of thinker that you are, and you know it’s ridiculous but you can’t help but wonder just how many, and wonder how on earth you could make it work. 

Do not be ashamed of thinking you are so small and minuscule,

But also do not be misguided by thinking that;

Because even if you are small in comparison to the universe, and the sky, and the ocean, and your small town.

There is someone out there that thinks you are all the rain that falls from the sky, and that your existence is like the radiance of a sunset.

Of course no one thinks that you are the entire universe, but the universe is to vast. 

Too unreachable, too unattainable.
However small you may be,
They think you are all the enjoyment in life, and to them, that makes you the whole galaxy.

Do you?
Do you ever think about how vast everything is?
And how tiny and minuscule you are to the rest of the world?

Do you ever think about how big you are compared to the universe, or the sky, or the ocean, even your own little town? 

Do you? 

Do you ever wonder how many stars there are compared to you?
Or how many of you would it take to wrap around the whole earth
Because that’s just the kind of thinker that you are, and you know it’s ridiculous but you can’t help but wonder just how many, and wonder how on earth you could make it work. 

Do not be ashamed of thinking you are so small and minuscule,

But also do not be misguided by thinking that;

Because even if you are small in comparison to the universe, and the sky, and the ocean, and your small town.

There is someone out there that thinks you are all the rain that falls from the sky, and that your existence is like the radiance of a sunset.

Of course no one thinks that you are the entire universe, but the universe is to vast. 

Too unreachable, too unattainable.
However small you may be,
They think you are all the enjoyment in life, and to them, that makes you the whole galaxy.

Do not be afraid of me.
Do not think that just because I have skin made of diamonds that
I cannot easily break.
You see, I am surrounded by them,
They protect me from the outside,
But my diamond armor cannot block out everything.
Diamonds do not protect my heart;
I can still break, shatter, and be demolished at the slightest of hands.
“Beautiful” they say;
They watch me walking down the street,
but can they not see the scarlet red filling up beneath it?
Can they not see my mascara stained cheeks, and trembling hands?
Or are they mesmerized still by my glittering appearance?
Dazzled that I am so sparkling and vibrant in the sun;
Completely unaware of my cry for help underneath the glistening gem shield.
Do they not know that once I turn off the sun, I will look like a piece of ***** ice?
That once I take off this mask I am just a simple broken girl?

While I have been amazed to see everyone’s lack of attention at how worn I am; I have failed to see how broken everyone around me is.
Once I finally took a step back to examine those around me,
I noticed they were also sounded by their own magnificent gems; going
Through things just like I am.
I found a twenty-nine year old women thinking about
What it was going to be like once her mother left her; she holds back her tears for
The people around her, but once she gets alone she cries herself to sleep.
She is surrounded by agate.
There is a fourteen year old teenager
Scared to death of what she might be.
Terrified of herself.
She carves into her skin like paint on a canvas;
All I can think to say to her is
“Let me save you please!”
But she can’t hear me,
I can’t get the words out.
She is surrounded by eudialyte.
All of these people around me
Going through things I could never handle going through myself;
These things happen to the people closest to me every day
But I am too blinded with myself to see it.
When did I become so self-centered?
When did I,
Start caring for myself when I should have been the one to save all these people around me, and their crumbling gemstones?
One day I will write a book about how sorry I am to each of these people;
But even then it will not make everything alright.
So here is my message;
Please whatever you do… don’t stop fighting… never stop.
Fight for all of the people who cannot fight for themselves.
You could save a life some day with that smile.
You never know when you will save someone’s life.
So don’t stop.
Help me save everyone that I have failed, please.

It's at 10:30.
10:30 when I realize who I really am.
I realized how hard I try to make everyone like me.
How hard I try to fit in.
How hard I try to be this loud obnoxious girl, with this big boastful bad attitude.
Is that me?
I don't really know.
It was about 10:14.
10:14 when I realized what someone I trusted with my most confined thoughts and feelings
Thought about me.
Annoying.
Super.
Annoying.
Am I?
The problem.
The problem is that I do not know who I am.
There for I am not sure how to fix it.
I do not know how to guide myself into the right.
Why not?
Why can't I stay happy?
What happens in my mind?
Does something break? Or snap?
And then reform.
Then break or snap again?
What is it?
Why?
What do I keep letting hold me back?
Why am I so lost?
Who is wiling to answer these questions?
I want to scream into the wind.
I want the wind to pick me up and carry me away into abyss.
No one will find me.
I can be alone with my thoughts and my words.
I can write all the colors in the sky.
When I write about happy things. I am happy.
I can feel it.
But how do I get myself to do it when all the floods my mind is upset words.
I cannot swim in this any longer.
I can feel myself drowning.
But I know that I will save myself at the last second.
Because that is what I was made to do.
Save.
From all the harsh and cruel things that life is.
From myself.
10:38.  
10:38 I realized how jumbled and confused all of this is.
Just like my life.
Everything is a mess.
10:39.
10:39.
Save me from this mess.
Carry me home.
I am tired.
I am so tired.
10:39
Just let me be alright.

I love the way your smile lights up the sky. 

And how when you sweat
your hair curls at the nape of your neck.

I (love) that when
I’m in conversation with you
I’m transfixed on every world that you utter.

I love every breath that you breathe.

I’m in love with the way you roll your r’s. 

And laugh your A’s.

Everything that makes you, you
Is the (love) in me. 

As a contradiction,
I hate you.
I hate all of you. 

I hate how I love every word you utter.
And I hate how you roll your r’s
and laugh your A’s.

I (hate) your bright smile. 

I especially hate you when you sweat,
and your hair curls at the nape of your neck.
I hate that I makes me want to kiss you.

(Most of all)
I hate,
Hate,
How much I love you…
And how far away you are from everything I thought you were.

We are new 

Original 

We are the sun 

And 
The stars. 

The destroyers 

And the creators. 

We are the hellions 

And the angels 

We
love 

Live 

And die for the ones 
We love.

We are the generation

Of the 
Creative. 

The unique. 

The ones that
will make a difference. 

The ones that care. 

We are the ones

That 

Will

Change 

The 

World.

-m.d.