it's just about one a.m.
i missed 11:11,
but this time,
i am thinking of you,
my dear.
and this time
i'm the only one
lying on thier back
trying to make
constellations out
of the marks
in the ceiling,
waiting for shooting stars.
i'm the only one
and i hope it's because
you're sleeping.

to me

she's sunshine and daises.

i may just be crazy

but i think i'm still destined to love.

yet my practice of said emotion,

possibly differs

from hers.

so it seems
this saturday
i'll be the one girl
on the sidelines.
i guess that's okay.
dancing really isn't my forte.
it just hurts to know that
yes had been the reply
but no had been the answer.

i get restless
sitting in my desk
the clock is barely visible
from my seat
so i tap my foot
my fingers
tap tap tap
i've complained about
the clock before
clock just ring.

i'm tired
not because i haven't enough sleep
but because i'm maxed out on life.
lately it's hard to focus
and i'm lacking hope.
people can't see through me.
i've learned this because i'm tired.
i know some days when i smile
it never reaches my eyes
depression has almost taken over
the phrase:
"i'm tired"
has a new meaning
it no longer means lack of sleep
and honestly
i'm tired.

this morning
your head turned
and i felt my heart stop.
maybe it's because
today i felt beautiful
and i felt confident
is that why you turned your head?
or maybe it was the makeup...
i wouldn't be surprised
i haven't worn this much makeup in a long time,
it's only for today
tomorrow i'll go back
to minimal face
and long sleeves
but your head turned
for me.
just don't tell me the reason.
let me dream.

i've gone from sad to angry
i'm no longer recieving **** today
and i'll re-stamp
"return to sender"
throw it into your face
don't you dare treat me this way.

i know my body language reads
closed.
the neon sign is shut off.
the sign flipped over.
lights off in my eyes.
discourage to see that
"closed sign."
but can someone just
come in
to this abandoned store
and flip the lights on again?
it may be difficult,
but with an air of hope
and a helping hand and once again
flip over that sign
the long wait of a re-opening
it's been so long.

we walked down the hall
laughing
honestly i couldn't of been
more happier
or more content
if being with you
causes this much happiness
let happiness ensue
i want to be with you.

i wished on 11:11 today
i haven't in a while,
i forget to catch it
in the small numbers
that light up clocks
or the hands that align.
i wished for happiness,
i wished for our happiness
as friends, joking and sitting together
like we've had beforehand.

i can...
what can i do?
there is little amount of doubt
in everything
but that doubt can be encasing
bringing more than one down with it
the doubt we have is natural
an instinct if you will,
that helps us survive.
but that encasing on some people
can paralyze them.
doubt can be eliminated
because people do make mistakes
just learn from them
i wish i could follow
my own advice.

i have school tomorrow
and i planned on closing my eyes
thirty minutes ago.
but the time continues passing
and i'm either crying,
or it's the ceiling fan above me.
and the most i can say
is: "i'm trying."
i'm trying to fall asleep
but my mind keeps swirling
it keeps churning
and the truth of the matter is:
i may just be giving up.

i may just be giving up small parts of myself.
here and there, everywhere
leaving little signs of my struggle
a trail for those to follow;
an example to those who go down the same path
of existential crises and depression, etc.
a final heap at my defeat.
i wish i could of been turned on to the idea of help
or taking medication
a long time ago
the early stages,
before it all started.
because getting help now screams of weakness
something i don't want to show
in this state even though it's true.
i am weak.
taking medication makes me think i'll lose myself
the state of mind i have that's so clear to me.
and everything will get fuzzy around the edges.
i'll be the one always smiling.
instead of staring blankly at the floor,
or at other people's shoes
or out windows.
the one people talk about
behind my back
"crazy happy-pill girl."
like my seventh grade family and consumer science teacher
that we all used to make fun of behind her back.
depression came at her like a leech.
the rumor was, that her son had committed suicide.
and in eighth grade is when i started
finally seeing all the signs
of no jack, just jill starting to go downhill.
when suicide and harming myself
sparked some kind of appeal.
how wrong, i see that is now.
there is nothing glamorous of cuts
or feeling sad all the time.
or killing yourself.
when i turned in someone for cutting
and bringing blades to school;
after a suicide that sent our school for a spin.
i was shocked.
i had math class with that kid.
kids, that's what we were
we were too young to be dealing with death
with such misery and pain,
mental and physical.
i didn't know it then however,
i didn't know i was too young
i still don't really know,
that i shouldn't be feeling this way.
i should of said something then.
but now three years later
and struggling to hold onto myself
i understand
medication may have made my teacher weird,
but she was much happier
than constantly stewing the *** to her depression
her thoughts constantly on her son's death.
if that was the truth, anyway.
she retired at the end of that year
and i wonder what happened to her.
maybe if i hadn't developed
this feeling of independence
or superiority
to getting help
or taking medication
i'd be better now.
perhaps all this emotion
is because i'm going through my teenage years.
what if it is all chemistry
sorting itself into place
like a puzzle.
what if it's a test to see how far
i'll manage
like making it out of a maze.
and suddenly, i'll be ok one morning
waking up and i'll finally
be at peace with myself.
perhaps this sadness,
is just the universe's way of telling me
that i take up space.
and the thoughts of ending myself
are trying to make room for another
human being who has better potential...
like curing cancer...
i'm sure my best friend would love to save her mom.
or solving world hunger,
thomas malthus would turn over in his grave.
perhaps this is just an illness
that i don't want to believe i have:
depression, bipolar-ism, the occasional suicidal thoughts...
perhaps it's denial.
that because i'm in a low period for a day or a week or two and then it gets better.
perhaps.
perhaps i'm on my way to getting better.
i don't really know.

how silly of me
to think that i know how to do math.
when my current grade
is a C-.
becasue apparently
we have an equation error.
and i've tried simple math
to put one and one together
to make two
1 +1 = 2
to make us.
but you seem to be
some problem
that no one can solve.
not even the smartest.
and i've tried.
but a C-
only reflects
how i did on the test
not how hard i tried.
and it seems to me
i shouldn't try anymore.

you said you would never
hurt me
but you did
but i know now
what happened
and i cried
but i won't tell you.
just laugh jokingly when i declare
"i thought you were mad!"
"i thought i did something wrong!"
both understatements
i looked into worse case scenarios
harvesting ideas in my thoughts
and let it plague me.
you responded of course not
and you put your arm around me
and held me close
and indeed
i felt safe.
just like you
want me to be.

i see
blue
doom and gloom
i wanted to remain
sleeping.
today
i see somber sober versions
of my life
when yesterday
life was colourful until
somehow you were gone.
i saw your sister in the halls,
and the hue increased
today i usher the clock to go slower.
do i want to talk to you?

pretty smile,

glue it in place.

tears for later, fall upon the tile.

let's cut to the chase,

you run a mile

only to race

to the end of said smile.

there's some
sick twisted pleasure
i get at the thought
of you knowing
i like someone else.
and it slightly sickens me
but also that
sick twisted pleasure
in knowing
is elating.

i guess this next week
won't be spring break
but winter break part two
and this next week
i won't see you.
and part of me aches
to see you in the morning
with wet hair
and sleepy eyes
attempting to finish the homework
you didn't the night before.
and part of me aches
to see you at lunch
with dry hair
and awake eyes
eating apple after apple
your friends and i give you.
so this next week
i will be apart from you
i'll still see you in the morning
but at lunch is a different story
i won't be bringing you apples.

are you ready to start
world war three?
an unending battle
of how could you's
and shock
ridicule on my part
there would be explosions
of anger
and sadness
i would seek refuge in your arms
away from the gunfire,
but how could i return?
there is a battle zone.

are you ready to start
world war three?
all you have to do
is kiss me.

i tread on spikes
whenever you're near.
the memories of you and me
i don't care to remember.
if i were honest
i would tell you:
my memories of
us
makes me cringe.
to put it out of my mind
i imagine the memory of you in a box
and then light it up.
i imagine shooting you to outer space
never to be seen again.
but they come back.
i'm treading on spikes.
stop
plaguing me.
please.
i'm sorry.

i asked you today
about a scar i had seen on you in the past
and you looked to where my finger had pointed
and shrugged.
"i don't remember."
was your reply.
so i pointed to another one,
on the other arm
and you looked there as well
"i don't remember."
was again your reply.

i paused, and withdrew my hand.
then you made the mistake to ask me
"where did you get yours?"
to which i replied,
"you already know."

for some people
some things
will never truly go away
and they will be more than scars
on the surface
they will be equivalent
to the craters in the moons
untouchable and there
standing in space
for an almost eternity.

i make a wish to hope
you are safe and sound
in chicago.
i make a wish to hope
you had a good time
in chicago.
i make a wish to hope
you maybe thought of me
in chicago.
i make a wish to hope
you and me, something--
nevermind--chicago.

i stumbled through
the door
of the grey area
and i feel shoved back through
and you added a lock
this time
you told me you pushed
people who care away.
i told you i'd be here.
but to not have
"permission"
to talk to you?
says the yellow exclamation mark
when i tried to say
"hello sir fancy"
broke me and instead of
reaching for the lock
i backed up, and turned my head.

no.

|m.s.

loneliness is consuming me
and i'm reduced to tears
at two in the morning
and i'm doing all i can
not to cave in on myself
like a star finally collapsing
occurring in: supernova.
if i could prevent
this sadness i would.
but it seems that i am
getting closer and closer
to a collapse.
but there's one difference
between me and a star.
a star gets brighter
before it collapses.
and the brightest
i will ever be
before collapse
is the reflection
of the light in my eyes
and in my tears.

i feel like
people are going to say
you shouldn't post your poems online
because it's giving people an open door
into your personal life.
so what if i post my poems online?
i think they need to be heard.
this is one time where i won't conform to
other ideas because this is me.
i feel this is where i can truly post where i'm feeling
behind a scene of black and white
and words on a screen
where it matches mirror images of each poem
etched into my soul.

i'm angry
and i have no reason why
and being angry without a reason
is like grabbing a hot coal to throw
but burning myself.
and under the anger
i think there is pain.
this anger
has no explainable
cause
although
i feel it has
something do due
with loneliness.
as i said i think under
this anger
there is pain hidden away.

this morning i couldn't look at you
i'm not sure why
the reason being that
maybe
i was ashamed
or shy
easily either.
and i don't know why

you realize
that in three months
you taught me
that the colour orange
is more than a colour
and that the candy m&m;'s
are more than a candy
so whenever i eat m&m;'s
i think of you,
i save the orange for last
and sigh
where are you
to take the orange ones?
not here.
i bet you don't even think about it
i do.