i don't mean to blame
other people

but i find it ironic that
they tell me i was fine till i was
fifteen , yet i can remember
being twelve and so
terrified of being late

seriously, **** that guy
who screamed in my face
when i was sobbing and shaking
and hiding in bathrooms
because i thought everyone
would think i was an idiot
if i came five minutes past
start.

anyway
i just feel like it's never that
simple. i am not a sudden person.
i never will be.

i showed the signs. they didn't see them.
and it's my fault that i couldn't recognize them?
that i couldn't be introspective before i was even
out of middle school?

haha, yeah. fifteen and suddenly ****** up
depressed and anxious and angry and lost
impossible! i was in honors courses!
no way in hell that i was so ****** up before!

well, now i'm here
still a *******
still afraid
and now there ain't time
to be fixed

been a year and
some would say
i've gotten worse

they say
you'll hit
rock bottom and
then you can only
go up . hah, okay
yeah well i'm
ready to climb, so
ready to get out of this
pit. but turns out
i still ain't hit
the ground yet.
this isn't over? ****.

i want to be a modern day shakespeare
dancing words around these fools
spitting fire and misery
instead i'm a ******* monk
-ey

barely talk and
when i do
i'm spewing ****

god, i hate myself

i don't hate
who i am today
for although i make
mistakes & although
i struggle with being
myself, i
find that humanity
thrives on the knowledge
that none of us are perfect, &
beauty is subjective. so the
next time i glance in the
mirror and grimace, i
will tell myself that i
am what i make of
myself and my
eyes can only see
what i train them to see. i will
remind myself (gently, of
course) to blink and
blink again.

the art of smooth handwriting eludes me &
i scribble silent letters
distracted by
boldly loud ones
onto the lines of a page,
emotions and confessions i will
turn in for class, my heart
out, &
where the teacher will
ultimately return it,
confusion marked
on the pages in red ink
and
my thoughts will be half understood
half appreciated and
half loved;
characterized by nothing more than luck,
who chose,
blindfolded
which thoughts deserved to be seen and
which ones would be
lost in translation,
from my head to the paper
existing clearly in my mind
yet appearing as hieroglyphics-
and i have yet to find my rosetta stone

purple nails
don't belong on
mountaintops
where the ground is
too far from the
clouds, it's hard
to breathe when
reality can no longer
support my weight
and sagging , stopped and
held down by pressure
of the goals unachieved,
two years ago promised
but now it's 2018
winter doesn't bring snow
and new year doesn't
bring change anymore