Let me start by saying one thing,
That two words cannot possibly express,
Thank you.
Thank you for being my best friend.
Thank you for being there,
Thank you for coming into my life,
At just the right moment.
There has been some days,
Where everything is going wrong,
And I'm tired,
And 1000% done with life,
And ready to leave,
And then you say "hey".
My day instantly gets better,
And I dont feel so bad.
You made me promise,
Promise to not hurt myself,
And within one day,
I broke that promise.
I dont deserve to have a person like you,
To call my best friend.
But for some reason,
You stick by my side.
Thank you.
I cant say that enough times...
I love you..
BGH

To all it may concern: straight people

Dear straight parents,
Thank you,
For making us gays,
And then making us feel like **** for being created,
But hey, you created us.

Dear straight people,
Shut your **** mouth.
We don't care.
Your words aren't going to change us,
No protest signs are gonna change us,
Only God can,
And that isn't an excuse to try and pray the gay away.

Dear straight men,
If a girl likes another girl,
They are not your ****** play toy.
Remove those perverted thoughts from your head,
And learn to control your *****.

Dear straight men,
If a boy likes another boy,
And they don't like you,
Then keep your mouth shut.
If you don't like it,
Then don't be gay.
It doesn't concern you,
And it's none of your ******* business.

Dear straight women,
Just because a girl likes another girl,
Does not make her a ****,
Or a *****,
Or a *****,
But who knows she may be.
But since you're making assumptions like that,
You're probably one of the before mentioned.

Dear straight women,
Ahem "straight",
Go away.
Quit flirting with us,
Because it's annoying and confusing.
Figure out what you want
And try again later.

Dear straight ally's,
Thank you.
You need to procreate,
And make more of you,
Because the world seems to be full of
*******
And biggots.

Dear straight people,
You don't have to like us,
But hating us,
And bashing us,
Isn't gonna make us suddenly go away,
Or quit being gay.
Go back to your prayers that the gays will come to realize if you want,
But I think there are bigger problems in the world
That you need to be concerned with
More than a girl liking *****.

Sincerely,
One who is both a straight and a gay.

The fear of the mic and the lights, broke me.

Dyslexia...
You are a *****.
You are a curse that I wouldn't wish on anyone.

Why must you be the puppet master of letters,
Pick them up,
Move them around,
Make them dance,
And then drop them like an unwanted broken toy?

Why must you send a tornado ripping across the page?
When before you came the letters were perfect,
And organized,
Like they had been placed there by a child with OCD.
Then after you're done,
And you've made your destruction,
The page looks like a bowl of alphabet soup,
All jumbled up,
And almost a hopeless gesture,
To try to put them back together.

But dyslexia,
I fight against you.
I wont let you win,
And let you stop me,
From doing the things I love most.

What happened to the times,
When a ratchet was just a tool,
And a tool being something to use?
What happened to a twitter and a tweet having something to do with birds?
Facebook was the term some punk yelled when he'd smash a nerds books right into his face...
And tumblr was a person who did gymnastics.
People would never go around saying kik me,
Instead a sign said it loud and clear,
Taped to their back.
YouTube...what the Hell was a YouTube?
You had some kind of tube put in...
What?
Why is a ***** a mean and angry girl,
Instead of a female dog?
Why is that little gay boy called a ***?
Does he look like a cigarette,
Or a bundle of sticks?
What happened to calling some dude a ****,
Because that was his name, ****.
What happened to cuts being accidental,
Something that happened when we fell,
Or messed with a sharp edge?
Why is a ***** someone who is scared,
Rather than being a cat?
What the hell happened to life?

You stepped on stage,
And people ohh-ed,
And ahh-ed,
There were murmurs of,
“He’s cute.”
But something wasn’t right.
Something was off about you,
And it seemed oh so familiar.
Where have I heard of this?
Where have I heard of a person having those same…
Characteristics?
You’re charm,
How charismatic you are,
How people seemed to worship you?
Odd.
Up on that stage,
I saw you,
But you were tainted,
Something…
Messed up.
You seemed to be radiating.
But it wasn’t love,
Or charm,
Or anything like that you were radiating,
It was evil.
Pure madness.
And then you smiled,
And won over the hearts,
Of many,
Many people.
Where have I heard of these characteristics before?
They sound so familiar,
Like something I learned in school.
Oh,
I know.
History.
I learned of a person like this in History class.
His name was ******,
And all the things people are saying about you,
They said about him.
Be careful my darling,
History repeats itself.

"I can only imagine..."
The second that hit my heart felt like it hit the floor,
And I burst out into tears.
Then there was the signal,
To release the balloons,
And let go.
Say goodbye.
"Will I stand in your presence, or to my knees will I fall?"
We watched 450 balloons drift away until only 3 were left.
3 blue ones seemed to line up,
And float into the clouds late,
After everyone else's did.
Time to say goodbye.

Go ahead,
Call me gay,
You have fun with that.
Its not an insult to me.
Why should it be?
Its an obvious fact,
Yeah I'm happy,
And gay.
Wait...
Which gay were you talking about?
Oh yeah,
I'm that too.

She kissed me,
And I kissed back.
And then we fell,
Fell into the deep abyss,
That I call love.

What happened to the love I used to show?
To that one girl,
or boy,
that I used to like?
What happened to my love for them?
Now I just flirt.
And its not a loving flirt,
its an empty,
and soul less flirt.
I've turned into a *****.

I love you.
I really love you.
You're one of my bestfriends.
I've known you for 5 years now.
You've always been beautiful,
Funny,
Smart,
And charming.
But something about you,
The way you are,
It drives me insane.
You're 10 times more amazing now.
I love you,
And I know you love me.
When our lips first touched...
It was...
Wow.
I love you.

Jealousy can be a *****,
The biggest ***** of them all,
But this feeling proves one thing that I've been scared to admit...
I love her.

I love you,
Oh so much.
But our love is forbidden,
Its a secret we must hide.
It tears me apart,
That I can only see you,
Kiss you,
Love you,
In secret.
I miss you.

"Hey mom",
I say.
"Can you go get me another pencil sharpener?
Mine...
Umm,
It broke."
"Sure thing."
She says.
She comes back with a set of 12 small ones.
"You break yours all the time,"
She says,
"Will this do?"
"Thats perfect."
I say,
And I walk away to my room.
All this time,
I've been using led pencils.

I have replaced my liquor with hot herbal tea,
the lines on my skin with lines on the paper,
my razor blade with a pencil,
and this time I'm not using the sharp metal end as something destructive.

Laughs and screams,
Smiles and tears
A newly found love,
And "the boy I was gonna marry heartbreak".

You yell at your parents,
Hit your little brother,
And for what?
Because your mad at some high school boy,
Who couldn't keep it in his pants?

You should be yelling at him...
But ohh no...
You could never do that.
"It was a mistake."
He says,
"I love you, and I promise I'll never,
Ever, ever, ever do it again."
And then tops it off with a dazzling smile,
And runs his fingers through your hair,
Kisses your cheek,
And says,
"I gotta run, love ya babe."

Yeah...
He's gotta run...
Run to your bestfriends house,
Because he's bangin' her tonight.

Liar.

Ooops...
He did it again.
It was an accident..
Again.

But you forgive him,
Because you love him,
And he "loves" you.

You throw your friend to the side and proclaim,
"Its all her fault!"

But then one night when yall are hanging out,
He goes to the bathroom,
And leaves his phone sitting on the bed.

BUUUZZZZ

New text message,
From some girl named Brittany?
"Who the hell is Brittany?"

Not thinking,
You open the text.
It says,
"We gotta talk, now."

"Why is this chick wanting to talk to MY man?",
You think to yourself.

"What's going on."
"It broke..."

"What broke?"
"The ****** you idiot."

"What do you mean?"
"I'm pregnant."

There it is.
He did it once again,
And ******* up big time.

Can you forgive him?
There's physical,
Living,
Evidence this time.

You do what any rational teenage girl would do...
You throw a tantrum,
Scream "I hate you.",
And run home to daddy.

You tell daddy...
Daddys mad.
He runs out of the house,
Gets in the truck,
And races down the road,
Without a word.

You go up to your room,
Because what else can you do?

You go to your desk,
And see your drawings,
A beautiful art,
Thats always been your outlet.
But hows it gonna work for you this time?
What are you gonna do?
Draw him on top of the name Brittany,
With his **** in the middle of the A?

You sling everything off your desk.
The pencil sharpener hits the wall,
And breaks,
Leaving the metal blades exposed.

You pick it up,
And begin to draw.
But this time,
There isnt any pencils,
And there isnt any paper,
Just metal and skin.

You hack away at your teenage soul,
Going through your "emo" phase,
Wanting to feel normal,
And trying to make a time machine,
With your blood as the key,
To get rid of all the hurt he had caused.

"How did you handle the pain of all that?"
People at school ask when the word gets around.
"Drawing is my outlet."
You say,
And then walk away,
Pulling down your sleeves,
So your broken teenage soul is encased in last years sweater.

A teenage soul.
At 13,
So alive,
So new.
By 18,
Its dead.

Its an amazing thing,
Recovery is.
It's inspiring,
And strengthening,
But at the same time,
It tears you apart and you go through withdrawals.
But recovery is great,
Because it gets you away from the thing that's been hurting you.
Although,
The hardest,
And most terrible thing about recovery,
Is when you're not sure if you want to recover.

I can't tell you what it's like to feel like dying.
I can't tell you how I'm so afraid of death but I play with it like its a childhood friend.
I can't tell you what it's like to cry yourself to sleep for the 47th night in a row.
I can't tell you how I feel when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
I can't tell you, but I can show you.
I can show you what it's like to feel like dying in my playful smile and dull eyes.
I can show you what it's like to be afraid of death but play with it because I have scars on my body but I refuse to go to a funeral.
I can show you what it's like to cry yourself to sleep for 47 nights in a row by my blood shot eyes and bags underneath with tear stains covering my pillow.
And I can show you how It feels to wake up in the middle of the night screaming by the empty Xanax bottle in the bottom of my purse.
I can't always tell you the things that are going through my mind, but you can't say that I never showed you.

If only I could go back in time,
And tell that little 5 year old girl,
To take the other path.
To turn away from that girl,
And walk away.
Be normal.
Force herself to do what every other girl did.
Take the path of an easy and ok life,
Not the hard and happy one.

I'd tell that girl to run,
Run as far as she could,
Into the arms of the little neighbor boy who liked her,
Instead of making googly eyes at the cute blonde girl.

But I cant,
And I didn't.

I took the path of rainbows,
Punches,
*****,
And protest signs.

I feel pretty,
Sometimes.
Only when my mask is on,
My hair is fixed,
And everything is in place.
But underneath all that,
There is no natural beauty.
Just an ugly,
Fat,
Frizzy haired girl.

Alcohol calls me like a siren to the sea.

Dear Future Me,
I hope things get better. I know they wont get any easier, but I pray that they get better. I pray that theres someone out there in the future thats a version of me to receive this letter. That will mean that I have made it...something that I truly doubt with the way things stand currently.

To 2016:
I'd love to say that I hated you, but to be honest, you made me grow.
You gave me direction. You pulled me out of a 4 month long rock bottom depression, showed me what I wanted to do in my life and sent me on my way.
You gave me two semesters of college, and a decision.
You gave me my first teaching experience, and you taught me the true value of patience.
You brought some new friends into my life and reunited me with old ones. You also got rid of a few, but I trust that's for the best.
You explained to me how easily I can be used.
You showed me that relationships don't define me, and that even if I think I am in love, life goes on and that I am an independent woman.
You blessed me with a baby, and then you took it away. But within that you gave me hope.
You sent me through hookups, drunken texts, hospital trips, gallons of tears and two D&Cs.;
You helped me on my wavering journey in my walk with God. You led me to being Baptized and you gave me the one chance in my life to feel that I was my family's priority.  
You taught me that it's okay to not always have the answer to everything, including the question of "who are you?".
You taught me to accept the word queer and make it my own. Like a beautiful pair of glasses, this is how I see the world.
You taught me the value of family after my dads accident, and then again after the baby.
And even after all the drama, fights, murders, and injustices, 2016, you taught me that a bad year isn't always a bad as we make it seem, and that even on our darkest days, there is a lesson to be learned.
And to 2016: Thank you.

I still have that Blackhawks hoodie you gave me back in February.
Sometimes I still wear it.
Sometimes I sleep in it because it smells like you.

Did anyone ever stop to think that maybe mother earth has anxiety?
We say that nature can be cruel and work in mysterious ways, but she is mute. A language is always mysterious to a foreign tongue.
Perhaps my dear mother earth has anxiety.
The earthquakes are outbursts like an autistic child’s, she is begging to be heard.
She screams with thunder and any words she can muster up are nothing but whispers in the wind.
Tsunamis are angry fists slamming down on the dining room table, but no one cares to listen.
She grasps towards the heavens in attempts for everything to stop spinning, so that maybe the chaos within her will depart in one single blow.
No one cared to listen to the mute child in the corner or the room, who has always been in the corner of the room, who has been ignored and forgotten, only acknowledged when something is needed from her.

We were the voices in her head.
Each individual person chipping away at her sanity, and leaving tire tracks in her down trodden forests.
Maybe mother earth had anxiety,
maybe mother earth is dead.

If I could turn back time,
And tell the 10 year old me,
To ignore the cute girl with the sandy blonde hair,
If I had the chance to do the impossible,
Would I?

And in that moment I wished for nothing more
Than my lips on yours
And you didnt have a clue.

Your kisses used to taste like love,
But now kisses taste a lot like leaving.
When the past calls,
I will not answer.
I cannot let myself be toiled with delusions of grandeur,  
Sighing at a wilted garden once called Eden.
This garden, being the same one we built together,
Belonging to us both,
Has long been abandoned.  
I will let the wilting red roses die,
Just like the memory of the way your kisses taste,
Just like the way you let our love die.

I have no more inspiration.
A forced line...
Trying to describe my love for you...I come to a blank.
And that's when you know a poet it truly in love. They take your words away as well as your breath. You love them unconditionally to the point you cant romanticize it down on paper anymore because the magic you feel and see when you're with them cant be described.
The words you force for them are sub-par and inadequate.
The poems are an unwritten scripture to the one you worship in the bedroom.

I am truly lucky,
To have the mother I do.
I have one who accepts me,
And loves me,
Unconditionally,
No matter what.
I should be glad,
To have the mother that I do,
Because some kids my age,
They just want their mother to acknowledge them,
And say their name.
Thanks mom.
Thank you for loving me,
No matter how ******* up I may be.

I am not black,
white,
hispanic,
or asian,
or anything else.
I am human.
My hair is not blonde,
or red,
or brown,
or white,
or gray.
It is just hair.
I am not male,
nor am I female,
gender has no meaning.
The cause of this thinking,
is simple and harsh.
You are a product of the 21st century,
who must label,
and name things.
Judge them,
then put them neatly away,
or dispose of them.
Am I wrong?
Dont be a product of the 21st century.
Be the factory that changes what it means,
to be  a product,
of the 21st century.

I dream of you every moment of every day.
I think of you when I look in the mirror and I think of your arms around my waist.
I miss you with every breath I draw and I miss us with every breath that leaves my body.
I remember your smooth voice the second I wake up and its the last thing I hear when I fall asleep.
You are all I can think about.
The perfect drug within the perfect woman.

To the ******* a diet, temptation is a cupcake.
To the recovering alcoholic, temptation is a cold one.
To the gay girl trying not to be gay, temptation comes in the form of a red head with freckles.
To the red head with freckles, temptation is the girl with the Jesus tattoo and piercings.


I am no cupcake. I am the devil personified. Perhaps a demon in her eyes.
I am her temptation and its a nasty place to be.

I think I'd just rather be a cupcake.

After that night the bags under my eyes never went away and streams of white hair made their appearance.
My insides felt like they were planning a revolt and every bit of humanity I had left vanished with a siren like shriek.
My tears felt like acid and the carpet still looks bleached where they fell from the waterfall on my face.
My breath had been stolen by the two ton weight on my chest and I didn't want it back.
My heart had proclaimed its demise because surely nothing can strive after being torn in two.
My eyes wept, my mind wept, even the hands that you used to hold so dear have wept.
After that night my fear has never went away, and even with death, my love never will.

*Some broken hearts just cannot mend.

The question as humans we frequently ask,
Is where do our thoughts and memories,
Our energy,
That we've labeled as our soul,
Where do they go when our body is still,
Mute and lifeless?

Very few contemplate with much dedication on the religious viewpoint the question of,
Where did we come from?

Sure.
Someone might say that we evolved from single celled microorganisms.
Another might say that we came from the dust and that our soul is Gods breath thriving inside.

They take one of those answers or neither and go with it.

I see our bodies as a mathematical equation.
God being X
All things living being equal to Y.

The equation doesn't line up with X being the only factor to equal Y,
If so humans would be equal to God,
Which we are not.

The question is, what's the other variable?
The part that somehow takes energy jumping between the organic wiring in our brains,
To make a single human being.

Love is delicate and beautiful. Think of it as a flower. If you dont treat it right it will wilt and die. And sometimes even when you do everything perfectly,  it still dies. But thats okay. You take a petal from the dead flower and press it into your scrap book. You move on and plant another flower. You will love romantically but only if you open up. You are a very closed off person.  You cant expect others to love you when you dont show them anything to love. You are loveable and I love you. You will **** a lot of relationships and thats okay but one day you will find one that you would rather die yourself than to watch that flower wilt.

You are the bags under my eyes
The bruises on my arms
And the cuts on my leg.

You are hour 50 of sleepless torture
8 cups of coffee a day
And another regretted bite.

You are the "I'm fine"
The little fibs that leave my lips
As part of my daily routine.

You are the tornado of thoughts
The flood of blood
And my beautiful nightmare.

This is who you are to me.

August 30th 2017
I woke up missing you today.
I could feel your hand on my hip and your breath on my neck.
I could hear your lullabies of sweet seduction whispering in the background.
I woke up missing the way you made me feel.
Waking up beside you was like waking up in Heaven.
I felt nothing but bliss and all the happiness in the world was held in your eyes.
Those galaxies of wonder.
You held the sun in your smile and I always enjoyed how I could stare at the sun without getting burnt.
But one day came where I got burnt.
I would give anything for just one more day to wake up beside you and for all to be okay.
But alas, your mouth no longer holds the sun, only empty promises.
Your hands haven't touched my body in almost 3 months. I can still feel them as if I was being taunted by a ghost.
But your eyes are still the keeper of the galaxies.
And somewhere out there floating among the stars is my broken heart.
If you find her, treat her well. I don't want her back. She was always yours after all.

August 30th 2017
I woke up missing you today.
I wiped away my tears and just as the sun rose, I let it wash away.
Because the sun is the sun. And you are not the sun.

Even at nearly 19 years old I have a hard time grasping at the reality of death.
Yes it happens to everyone, the thief in the night who claims the old and the sick as easy prey.
But when it comes to the death of a young person, my mind can't process it. They weren't old, or sick. They were healthy and laughing, and now they cease to exist.
I still have moments where I'll pick up my phone and go to text that young person.
The one that I feel like moved across country or just doesn't come around anymore.
It's hard to believe that it's been 3 years...
And even at almost 19 I still have a hard time grasping at the reality of your death.

I crave you,
And everything you are.
I miss you,
More than anyone, by far.
I love you.

Such irony.
I still wear that ring,
But its a ring with no meaning.
Purity.
What does that mean anymore,
To me?

That girls more like a drug
Not the good kind that cures disease
But the kind that is a disease
That causes the disease
That girl is addictive
And I'm attached
Send me to rehab
Cause I can't stay away
From her nor the blade.

"Those kids are a bad influence on you,
They'll only drag you down."
That may be true,
But I don't have much of an option in this town.

"You're getting a bad rep: people are saying you're a *****,
You stay with those kids you're gonna burn in hell."
What makes you so sure?
Do you have my life put together better than I do in a perfect little nut shell?

Why must you be so quick to judge,
My friends, and me guilty by association,
When we are only but a nudge,
Away from self annihilation.

The facts are the facts,
And the truth is the truth,
But the fact is I can give then something they lack,
Love and hope without the ruth...
Less...ness...

**** it. Yall will never understand.
Consider me guilty by association.

You actually like my poetry?
Why?
Its just the words of a broken nobody.
Its ****.

"I just like bracelets."
She says.
That's not true.
She just likes to cover up the marks of her pain and sorrow,
And hide the true part of her,
The side she never wishes to see the light of day.
As far as people are concerned,
That part of her doesn't exist,
And never has.
Its the part of her,
Thats her demons,
Behind her teeth that slip through her smile,
And behind her emerald green eyes,
That are the gateway to her miserable,
And ever-suffering soul,
Of a teenage girl,
A teenage cutter,
A teenage disaster.