too obsessive of being
the best, number one for attention
quietly sneak backhanded comments
behind their backs
fake smiles and denial if confronted
but a "is she really wearing that?" when left alone
a snake in disguise and proud
keep up a good girl image to the teachers
keep up a narcissistic ***** image to the peers
tag an @everyone in my poetry
to get much-needed validation
scorn those with better writing and less experience
dismiss natural talent as a hypocrite
once proud of my lies; flaunting without a care
now not as proud yet
it's the only way i can win
life is a game
the end winner is the survivor

raindrops splatter on the ground
shattering into thousands of fragments
splattering on the flooded ground and drenched umbrellas
desolate gray skies surrounding a dead city
peaceful in its misery
lights shine dimmer, shrouded in a blanket of water
a muted city of monochrome colors

shaded under an overpass
hot styrofoam cups cupped in shivering hands
noodles slurped up to the rhythm of the rain
wooden chopsticks and thirsty throats chasing cheap food
slight kick of spice mixed with warmth in bottomless stomachs
excited smiles and quiet jokes
protecting the sanctity of the diluted sounds of life
teenage foolishness leading to soaking wet jackets and rosy cheeks
cigarettes inhaled under the safety of the cement above

i sit at an open window,
dreaming of those days
nostalgia filling my veins and
nothing feels as bittersweet as the
smell of an open ramen cup and the taste of nicotine on my tongue
time stays still for the rain.

long since have we left behind
peaceful naivete and tight pigtails
gradually adjusting to a harsher world
progressively preparing us for
what they call real
and what we call hell
where did our quiet trusting go?
was it left behind with the
colors of our happiness?
did it leave when our hearts got broken
or when we began to love for the first time?
i miss our understanding of life
constant curiosity and wonder
when we looked at the world and it gave us knowledge
now we look at the world and it gives us debt
with the turning of every year
new children are indoctrinated
screens used as babysitters instead of books
learning how to spell youtube on an ipad
before learning how to say "mama"
dont mistake this poem for a condemnation on electronics
rather, a condemnation on parents
unused to any method other than the age of technology
they slowly grow more attached to their computers rather than their parents
for the computers took better care of them
than the people who gave them life

bile rises to the top of my throat
nails scratching at unblemished skin
red streaks fade to white
hyperventilating,
quick and unsteady
knock back sleeping pills but still not asleep
more and more and more and more until

put me on a surgical table
you wont be able to find whats wrong until you dissect my brain
gray matter twisted and poisoned
corrupted by irrationality
fake eyes stare blankly at the bright ceiling lights
awake as you slide the scalpel
sensual as you smoothly cut me open
i wonder what it feels like
to handle a dead body with such care
your gloved fingers are gentle against my dead skin
my brain is in a jar
test subject #2999
the only thing i ever accomplish is in death

manipulated by the blue screens
illuminating slack faces in the dark
white earbuds quieting the terrifying world
dimming the sounds of reality creeping closer
numbing the terrifying prospect of
what happens after the normalcy of school ends
ignoring the manipulation
tied to their screens with red strings
hand-fed pretentious words with no substance
swallowing them whole and vomiting them back up to other screens
accepting facts at face value, no questions asked
the 21st century.

on our first date you gave me
charming smiles mixed with the scent of cologne and red wine
the embodiment of elegance in front of my eyes
wearing a classy tuxedo and holding a crystal glass
on our first date you gave me
kisses on the hand with a twinkle in your eye
jokes and easy banter exchanged over an overly expensive meal
a flower grew in my soul--
a rose, because it fit you
small and dainty, but thriving
roots planted into the soil of my heart

on our second date you gave me
authenticity and showed me how
sloppiness can be beautiful
your goofy smiles were wrapped in easy sunlight
shining even though we ate hamburgers
in the back of the abandoned lot
on our second date you gave me
sweatpants and comfort
unexpectedly and reassuringly and obviously you
unapologetic in your gray hoodie and your crooked glasses
a second flower grew in my soul--
slightly sturdier and more vibrant
color brightening up the garden of my heart

on our third date you gave me
fairy lights and intertwined hands
tentative kisses and pastel-colored blankets
disney movies with several boxes of tissues (just in case)
relaxed bodies sprawling across large beds
on our third date you gave me
confidence and safeness
protected by your shield of popcorn and your sword of cotton candy
yet still crying hard over Up and Bambi

quietly, my garden began to grow
flourishing gently under your care
roses and their velvet-soft petals
their elegance and fierceness
they bloomed while i did not even notice
their thorns were unnoticed, overlooked
for they could do no harm while you were here
my garden was filled with light

my heart overflowed with emotion
and as i looked into your warm eyes
i knew this was where i wanted to be for the rest of my life.

happy valentines day, babe.

on our first date you gave me
charming smiles mixed with the scent of cologne and red wine
the embodiment of elegance in front of my eyes
wearing a classy tuxedo and holding a crystal glass
on our first date you gave me
kisses on the hand with a twinkle in your eye
jokes and easy banter exchanged over an overly expensive meal
a flower grew in my soul--
a rose, because it fit you
small and dainty, but thriving
roots planted into the soil of my heart

on our second date you gave me
authenticity and showed me how
sloppiness can be beautiful
your goofy smiles were wrapped in easy sunlight
shining even though we ate hamburgers
in the back of the abandoned lot
on our second date you gave me
sweatpants and comfort
unexpectedly and reassuringly and obviously you
unapologetic in your gray hoodie and your crooked glasses
a second flower grew in my soul--
slightly sturdier and more vibrant
color brightening up the garden of my heart

on our third date you gave me
fairy lights and intertwined hands
tentative kisses and pastel-colored blankets
disney movies with several boxes of tissues (just in case)
relaxed bodies sprawling across large beds
on our third date you gave me
confidence and safeness
protected by your shield of popcorn and your sword of cotton candy
yet still crying hard over Up and Bambi

quietly, my garden began to grow
flourishing gently under your care
roses and their velvet-soft petals
their elegance and fierceness
they bloomed while i did not even notice
their thorns were unnoticed, overlooked
for they could do no harm while you were here
my garden was filled with light

then you took those roses by the stalks and pulled,
ripping the roots out and creating a gaping hole in my chest
stuffed the shriveled petals down my throat so i was choking on
the dead remnants of what we had been

happy valentines day, *****.

constant contradictions
punctuate the poetry swirling from underneath my fingertips
these poems-- are they about me?
for i feel the suffering and the love of
the people whose stories form from my words
i cannot distinguish between
my past and their present
intertwining our lives with a bow on top
a poem as an incentive to stay
they reside, held in a still frame
a four-second video is all i need
to weave words into a web of imagery
to incite pity or to incite longing
sympathy or concern
i am in none of my poems
yet i am also in all of them.

you took my ***** and cluttered house of nightmares
and you cleaned and you renovated
until it became a house for us two
clean and fresh as long as you are here
you purified my soul
drove away the ache of addiction
and replaced it with a constant longing for your kisses
i have grown and flourished around you
as if you were my oxygen and i had been kept in a glass jar for so long
i can finally take a breath
thanks for staying babe
happy valentines day.

jealousy infects my mind
confusion clouds my senses
i do not know why i suddenly long
for your butterfly-light kisses
for the taste of your cherry-flavored lipbalm
why suddenly our song is playing on the radio
i yearn for your reassuring whispers
thin fingers carding through strands of my hair
i watch with rage-filled possessiveness
as you smile that special smile
and kiss your newest lover
my replacement.

lollipop pursed between plump lips
windswept purple hair against dim blue skies
billowing clouds soar ahead
sweater sleeves draped over the palms of your hands
your eyes curved upwards in a smile
round gold frames of thick glasses sparkle in the sunset
pale cheeks dusted with rosy blush
earbuds in, mouth open
song bursting from your core

it may be cheesy, but i love you.
i was banished from your heart long ago, but you still reside in mine.
happy valentines day.

From,
your bittersweet ex who still dreams of your kisses.

please help my
eyes focus once again
please help pull
my brain out of the well it's dug for itself
because it dug itself too deep
and now it's drowning in a lethargic gray
you cant be saved unless you want to be saved
i didnt know how much i missed
listening without a heavy buzz over the underwater sounds
seeing without lights magnified thanks to diluted pupils
tasting without tongue feeling like a weight and all food the same, ugly flavor
talking without the mumbled incoherence that comes with having too much
smelling without the numbed scent of faint perfumes and then nothing
i want to listen to your mellifluous laughter
i want to see your bright eyes sparkle with excitement
i want to taste milkshakes with shared straws
i want to talk like a human, make jokes and laugh
i want to smell your perfume and hold your hand
won't you help me sober up?
i was in love with my addiction but now im in love with you.

ugly crying at 4am
choking the liquid out of ugly glass beer bottles
inhale lines of snowy bliss
only to come down an hour later with a pounding headache
inject euphoria into pale arms
polka dotted with needle marks and marred by mottled bruises
take the heart filled with tiny seams and split it in two
laugh because yeah, that's what i deserve
line after line, day after day
when my luck runs out i'll finally be free
i wouldn't **** myself but i wouldn't save myself if i was dying
**** all day and all night because on crack it feels like heaven
wake up from od'ing with a seizure and with the broken streetlight flickering above my head
cracked sobs and tearing at hair because
i dont deserve to live

START GAME?
>yes
.the scene opens up to the main character typing away on their computer.
READ?
>yes
        .pixelated world
        .terrifyingly bland
        .if i reach my hand through the veil,
        .will i finally break free of reality?
        .i feel like a video game character
        .filled with predestined routes
        .numbers make my existence possible
        .my world is l-la%#gGi)ng
        .my brain cannot keep up with
        .the prospect of li@Vi$#nG(
        .free will is impossible in a
        .V(IdE@)!O G#*$AM(#"E
THIS PROGRAM HAS SHUT DOWN.
RESTART?
>yes
.the character is speaking.
        [why can't you just leave me to die?]
.the character is staring straight at you.
EXIT GAME?
>no
.the character is clawing at their skin.
       [i need to escape. please let me escape.]
EXIT GAME?
>no
.the character's skin is melting off.
      [when will it be the end? when will my soul leave this game? i'm sick and
        tired of playing! it hurts! it hurts! everything hurts!]
EXIT GAME?
>no
.the character is dying. their mouth continues to move.
     [when it says THE END, don't restart.]
.their hands claw at the other side of the screen.
.their hands fall on the floor.
.there is nothing left.
EXIT GAME?
>no
.the screen resets.
.the character is sitting on their bed, facing the screen.
.their eyes are blank.
.it's time for school.
GET UP?
>yes
.the character stands.
.the character smiles.
.the character shoots themselves.
THE END
RESTART?
>...
>yes

[is this nothing but a game to you?
stop playing with me.
i am done with suffering.]

.the character is done with living in a predestined world.

X YOUR COMPUTER HAS CRASHED.


        .

i smell like ***
a lingering aftertaste of pleasure
your cologne and your love
mixed on my skin
panting breaths ghosting over my stomach
hands tangled in short hair
i smell like gentle touches
guiding my hips in a furious dance
unbridled pleasure sparking through my veins
fueling my desperate desire
hit ******-- hit the top of the atmosphere
euphoric fireworks create a messy picture
intimacy is the best way of expressing affection
i smell like ***
i smell like you

frantic shaking,
reaching for one more
death stick, held tight in pale fingers
frantic and muttering
sallow cheeks and sunken eyes
flick, swish, light
inhale, exhale
the shaking slows
calm spreads, tendrils seeping through a husk of a body
smoke unfurls through the air

im addicted.

maybe there is hope
for the mindless
for the masses
for the apathetic losers
quietly making their way through
passing by with not a dent to the world
normal and expendable
casual onlookers to the big parade of extraordinary
they do not make
they buy
they consume
they digest
and they do not question
however,
if one idea managed to spark
to catch hold of a mind
and spread it
furiously ignite the dynamite
the world will explode
for if all of its normals
its casuals and its expendables
suddenly rose up and took charge
as a whole, yes
but finally thinking
finally breathing freedom
the world will become theirs.

so,
this is the end?
have i finally snapped the tightrope string
swung a chainsaw to my consciousness
has my brain reached the end of its tether?

will my heart stop beating
or will my mind become dead
the latter would hurt more than the former
living like a mindless zombie
is worse than dying fresh and alive
i feel my grip on reality
loosening gradually

i am drowning in responsibilities
i didnt sign up to take
i am reeling in impossibilities
that are my own mistake
i feel myself escaping
quietly erasing
what used to be me
and replacing
with thoughts not my own
thoughts made for me
and a predetermined future
with no hope residing inside

my poems have been
put on pause
suspended in the air of unfinished writing
stuck until i return,
rustier than before
yet hopefully
with a brand new story in hand

the internet allows for a shred of anonymity
buttons can be pressed to easily
enter and exit a person's life
no commitment, unless you make connections
if you grow attached
the internet allows for an entire fake identity
this is what i like, this is what im like,
this is who i wish i could be
this is me but better

do you want to know the truth?
do you want to listen to my whining
constant complaining about minor trivialities
do you want to learn about my thoughts
my selfishness and my secrets
do you really want to dive deep into the
excruciatingly painful rabbit hole with me?

welcome to my home--
misery loves company
now that you're here, feel free to look around
the wretched possessions; the broken furniture
the shattered portrait on the wall
spiderweb-thin cracks in the glass
reflecting a distorted version of a once-happy family
be careful of the broken beer bottles
shards glitter against the floor
dust floats through the air, revealed by the bare amount of sunshine
slivers of warmth filtered through the smallest of cracks

it's dark here
shadows lurk in the darkness, terrifying and menacing
their anonymity and grotesque features off-putting
oh look, you found my emotion box!
there they are, the faded gray things
they are worth nothing
but yet i still hide my apathy
this is the theater corner
i practice my smiles in the vintage mirror
manufacture fake emotions from full-face rubber masks
easily interchangeable and draining to maintain

here are my problems, listed plain as day and stuck up on a corkboard
no use hiding them
some of the paper is crumbling, insignificant problems that don't mean a thing
take note when you find a worn pink paper
edges crinkled and growing yellow with time
enticing childlike handwriting speckled with tear marks and blood
im fond of it
it represents vulnerability and emotions
it represents the end of me

that concludes the tour
will you stay and help clean,
or will you flee in terror?
i wouldn't blame you for doing either
make your decision wisely.

restricted by form
i shall not be, not today
not while the wind blows

unrestrained in mind
bound by society in
body and my will

however i still
fight to keep my thoughts all mine
and allow new worlds

head pounds
overwhelming nausea
music does little but
make my head pulse with pain
cant think
fragmented sentences
need to write but
cant think of anything but head
hurts
want to sleep
head feels like
its going to explode

the trapeze artist balances
delicately stepping
assured and practiced
upon the thin string of chance
luck and skill allows
a fortunate man to walk steadily
but a single fallout with fate
could leave his body dashed to shreds
destiny's temper is fickle
impatient for new amusements
it lets the poorest child walk across
gifts them with fame and intelligence
it lets the wealthiest man fall
despite his endowed presents of fortune and shrewdness
he is not enough for the ruthless eye of the future
the world walks upon their own strings of fate
luck pushes them from all sides
for some, keeping them balanced
and for other,
forcing them to death

pity me!
i want attention and pain
i go sideways instead of longways
i divulge my deepest secrets to the sketchiest of strangers
i leave myself vulnerable to every anonymous name on a screen
i spill my desperation out in the form of hastily written poems
i pretend that everything is alright from behind a spiderwebbed cracked mask, my mock imitation of pain easily visible
i wear long sleeved sweaters in the summer, but leave the sleeves rolled up
i make self-deprecating jokes at regular intervals
i force anxiety into my throat when around crowds, pretending to be nervous and jittery
i listen to slam poetry and absorb what it feels like to be actually depressed, how it feels to be actually anxious
i take their words and i bring it to my therapist and i spit them back out
i am a compulsive liar and will say whatever it takes to keep my lies running smoothly
i become an actor to fake my illness
i am a plastic model of a mental hospital's legitimate patient
i am a textbook case of what a depressed person should look like
i pretend to be sick so the white padded walls will become my only friends
i pretend to be sick so my mother will finally pay attention to me
i pretend to be sick so i will have a reason to stop existing
i pretend to be sick but i've lied so much i can't tell if i'm faking it anymore

everyone's heard the phrase
"it'll get better with time"
"it'll get worse before it gets better"
i ask you
how much time?
sure, time will stitch up past scars
but it's not worth much when
those scars reopen with even more pressing wounds
growing gorier with every new year
every happy birthday to you, here's your present
another year of depression and broken hearts
don't delude yourself with hopes for the future
nothing will happen unless you let it
happiness may be temporary
but it's a welcome respite from the constant dreariness of life

you accept compliments for the sake of courtesy
throw them in the trash when they leave
like a plate filled with food, face down because you
dont want to feel rude
you take the insults and
hold them close to your heart
embrace the liquid pain that comes from their cores
and infects your veins with poison
hurt flows through your body, desperation escaping in the form of
tear-blurred eyes and bitten nails scratching at scarred wrists
until you look over at the trash can
i urge you,
draw out a crumpled compliment
for despite being worn
it is no less genuine

i've never thought of myself as a poet
maybe it's because i don't view my forced out words
on the same level of light, rhythm, and desperation
that i have grown to view poetry with
these words do not rhyme
they are not eloquent, they are not loving
they are not warm with happiness
nor sick with depression
they are empty husks and they resemble their author
they speak of things they have not experienced
they long for things they will never attain
they flounder through the darkness with no guide
for these words are lost
in the blank expanse of my mind
i've never thought of myself as a poet
because i can never get the words just right
to bare my soul in front of the world
and say "this is mine."

if you starved all the hope from a body
if you deprived a soul of love
if you stole the sun away from a blooming rose
you would be left with a husk
a dried thing that keeps living for the sake of monotony
and will die soon without sustenance
substitute solutions have been provided
drugs, forced relationships, a light
but none have given the authentic heart
needed for the thing to survive
and so it will die
tortured by its prolonged lifespan
with the wrong substances for it to
gain what it had lost

i'd always been jealous of you
with your slicked back hair
sunglasses and cigarettes
how you could command
how you knew everything
was a battle
rebellion vs monotony
life vs death
i would follow you blindly
for you were a leader
and i was a sheep
accepting your twisted truths as fact
using pain as an aphrodisiac
the nectar to my masochistic soul
you were perfectly violent
an artistic achievement of anarchy
everything i wanted to be
compressed into a single person
controlling over masses
indoctrinating them through
brainwashing their will out of their minds
take your humanity back
before you become a percentage
you did everything i wish i could do
you were perfect so
was it really a surprise when
i found out you weren't real?

i really hope you
flourish beneath life's touch
i hope she is gentle with your heart
for with someone so unfortunate,
she must reserve a special spot for you
alongside the others
she treats your soul carelessly now,
but someday everything you have worked for
will be rewarded

commitment feels like
drowning, attached to the ankle to a person
who you had once known so well but
now it's starting to feel
boring.
it's not a wild trip anymore
excitedly going day through day with
this singular person
who you had found so much joy in
you no longer experience that rush
of exhilaration with every touch
now you are handcuffed
attached forever
to this...
burden.
although you feel guilty
for thinking in such a way
about a person you are supposed to
care, and love
you feel stuck
unable to move any longer
thanks to a foolish decision
called commitment.

with elegance and charisma
he sweeps into the room
consciously making heads turn in awe
he smiles, a gentle lilt to his lips
he is a gentleman of the past
bringing with him swoons of dainty women
his eyes are sharp and his heart sharper
he bats away confessions as easily as dismissing a thought
he pursues none
for he needs none
to give him amusement or pleasure
he immerses himself in history
and wonders why he was born
in a time and place where he feels as if he does not belong

emotions are pushed
behind a wall of glass
where they yell,
pounding at the barrier
but they are muffled
hardly interfering
with my apathetic mind.

the mirror reflects my
fake, plastic skin
with my
fake, plastic eyes
there's no luster in them
no life behind the eyes of a doll
of a puppet with
no knowledge of the world
unable to learn through
the human method of trial and error
and so it keeps repeating
the same mistakes
until it ruins its plastic skin
and breaks its plastic eyes
and destroys its plastic heart

get
up             the stair  s
      t he   y
're com     in g pre tned
                         to be  asle e  p
                                                            i       'm
                                   s       c ar e         d


  they stumble up the stairs, alcohol on their breath and a sway to their steps

                             the real monsters are my parents

she calls herself
"damaged goods"
as if the past stains her future with ***** fingers
marking thoughtless insults on her forehead
for all to see and judge
as if her gaze is shrouded in darkness
only able to comprehend pessimism and bleakness
never able to find love
for she is broken beyond compare
as if her lips will never be able to find another's
for she is so repulsive none will touch her

she fears that strangers can see through her
thinly veiled paranoia
and her vision turns their bored gazes into accusing glares
silently judging her with every blink
she wants to crawl away
and pull her knees to her chest and cry
she wonders if her smiles,
stretched thin across her cheeks
are obviously fake
she wonders when her acting career will be up
and then she will be tossed onto the streets
her defectiveness obviously revealed
to an invisible crowd, watching and waiting
for her time to be up

she calls herself
"damaged goods"
because she cannot comprehend
how valuable she really is
the same way a sunflower brightens a desolate field
she brings laughter to the heavy hearted
she brings admiration from the shy
she brings comfort from the ones
just like her,
who are afraid to be themselves

falling in love
is the most beautiful thing you could ever do
wrap yourself in the tendrils of
affection and bask in the pools of intimacy
cheeks alight with faint blushes and
eager eyes stealing glimpses from across a classroom
happily obliging to foolish requests
exaggerated laughter and embarrassed whimpers
let your heart plunge deeper and deeper until you finally realize
oh **** i'm in love
and with a shock you absorb this information slowly
attempting to process your feelings
fear of rejection creeps behind your back
lurking ominously while optimism fights it off
taking smiles as wonderous gifts
giggles as marvelous music
and every brush of skin contact as
electrifying
indeed,
falling in love is a phenomenon
that humans take for granted

a single movement can cause
ripples throughout the world
an inspiration can
take temporary control
of the fluid human mind
inspire uprising and
fight for what is yours
take possession of the world
and make it into what you think
it should be
instead of complaining about
what you would do if
you could do something
use the public to your advantage
and become the ruler of a
corrupted society

nostalgia fills my veins
like a drug, i am addicted
to reliving the past
and ignoring the present
until, it too,
becomes old enough for me to look back fondly
at this memory that has been touched
with the bittersweet filter
nostalgia puts on my memories

old, gloomy bridges
sway over bottomless abysses
their length unknown
as the ends are shrouded in mist
splintering from lack of care
quiet contemplation leads to
slight deliberation
on whether or not to
repair or let them self-destruct
worn down by Nature's tough love
they will break eventually
after centuries of neglect
but are they worth temporary preservation?

at five years old
they attached a machine to my brain
they said it would help my future
and i would grow from having it
they activated it,
Monday through Friday
8 to 3
and i ended up despising it
it made me lose control
slip into a character that lived to impress others
and i couldn't think for myself
it leeched off of my body's energy for its battery
and drained it quickly
they said it'll be over eventually
be glad you have it,
at least you don't have to go into
the "real world" yet
the machine never gave rewards
only punishments
they called the machine

school.