childhood memories are
speckled with the scent of summer sunsets
formed with the bonds of friendship
and late night promises with giggling faces

childhood memories are
climbing crooked trees in the spring
the smell of freshly cut grass
and sleeping in until 10

childhood memories are
snowflakes blinding the humongous ski goggles
pressed against the large frames of thick glasses
and the promise of hot chocolate by a cozy fire

childhood memories are
marred by the yelling from downstairs
tightened faces and clenched fists
shattered glass and crimson splattered on beige tiles

childhood memories are
earbuds plugged tight in small ears
books clutched in trembling hands
herding confused brothers up creaking steps

childhood memories are
sadness leaking from the soul
withdrawal into the land of silence
an unhealthy obsession with escaping into fiction

childhood memories are
nostalgic
terrifying
what shaped me to be me

mediocre and
faded
the average poem
no longer strikes chords
in the heart's harp
use extravagant vocabulary
weave your words tight
until they seem uncomfortable
the original meaning lost
between the claustrophobic corners
covered in lace and pretentious boasting
try but don't try so hard
that no one but the classic readers
would be able to understand
the words you've worked so hard to convey
do not force a poem out
or it will stick your fingers and
it will create a mess
similar to a teenage boy
it will be long and uncomfortable with itself
unknowing of how to adjust
into this thing that is supposed to be
mature now despite wanting to be simple
do not rush poetry
find quiet inspiration
in silent observations
of yourself, of nature
rushing poetry makes it fast
too many unfilled thoughts
racing around in one space
not meeting each other
despite being so close together
tell a story with imagery
with delicate words of morality
tell a story with flashbacks
with soft lips and with stained shirts
tell a story with love
make your poems with care

afternoons covered in a shroud
wasted away by
replacing days with white sheets of paper
covered in gray scratches of ink
later to be pushed into nervous hands
a letter circled in red
discouraged to find
their hard work was not enough
for the ever brutal school
childhoods wasted away
by stress and worry

bound by the sky and tied to the ocean
my soul clings to the freedom of blue
blue waves; blue heavens
i wish to soar
i wish to dive
i wish to breathe under the suffocating embrace of water
i wish to breathe above the kitten-soft clouds
my heart only loves the way my body glides through the pool
and the endless expanse of earth beneath me as i fly
i am made for something other than earth.

this deep
stabbing stake
wrenched in my chest
feels so nostalgically familiar
i welcome it with open arms
despite the hurt that comes with it
i am a self *******
and shove it even deeper
until it feels like i am choking
desperate for air
the stake turns to poison
falls into the depths of my stomach
and curls up there, forcing
the contents inside out
into a porcelain bowl
3 am and nothing but a wrecked mess
pale and shivering
cheek pressed against the cool tile
of a beige bathroom floor
shaky breaths spill out from
terrified lips
frantically wondering
if they will be my last
yet day after day
my eyes seek you out

self masochism is my only talent, i say
as i watch you kiss her
bullets riddle my chest
yet i still smile and say i am fine
self masochism is my only talent, i scream
because if i am not happy
the only thing that matters is you
even if i fall at least it was for you
self masochism is my only talent, i whisper
it feels as if i am dying
with every step i take i wonder
if you hate me for what i did for you
self masochism is my only talent,
but i cannot speak no more
for i bite my tongue and drown myself in self pity
this stake that emerges from my chest
is just another heartbreak

you're just another year
but i hope
you'll be better
than the last.

i'm a writer by nature
but that doesn't always mean my head's in the clouds
it means my mind steals bits of reality
pieces of people
and lines from others
i forget my place and
try to act as the main character
to create experiences
but wallflowers
are the best writers of all

discarded instant ramen bowls
left airing in the dark
sitting next to sprite bottles
devoid of their fizzy carbonation
clothes heaped on the floor
collecting dust with homework papers
the glowing screen of the computer the only light to be seen
a figure
matted hair, dark circles under their eyes
so used to their own scent they do not realize their stench
abandoning everything besides their computer
their fingers tap quickly on the keyboard
but their eyes are dead and void
they have lost their path
they cannot find their way.

the people inside
control my system
meticulously leading on their own lives
and their separate personalities
create me, the host
my amnesiac heart is filled with memories
in my body but not my mind
and my fingers are unfamiliar to nostalgia
as the past is faded like an old photograph
and the future is threaded with lies
the only present i have is now
and thus, i chop off my ears
so as to not hear those cries

dear hallucinations,
i do not love you so
leave my mind and reality
before the world is interrupted by my flow
my distinct lifestyle
butchered by your presence
i turn my back away
for if i faced you,
my hold on the edge would lessen

the shadows in my vision
lurk eerily beyond the veil
a crack between life and death
their claws grabbing my heart without fail
if i could restart my life
i would do so without a doubt
as this life i am living in
is sparked with everyday trials

my limbs are lead and hell beckons
if i had the nerve to **** myself
i would do so in a second.

relationships
build twisting bridges of careful trust
weaved together through time and experience
of learning each other's movements
of understanding each other's minds
these bridges are suspended over
a dark abyss of broken hearts
and broken people
but with every new day
a bridge is built across the void
spindly and shaking
yet with every day
it becomes safer to walk across
to meet in the middle
to find comfort in the other side
but it only takes one chainsaw
for the bridges to break in half
sure, they can be rebuilt
but they will be worse for the wear
beaten and made of hesitant words
and closed off emotions

we are connected by the red string of fate
tied tight between our souls
but sometimes even fate makes mistakes
scissors slice cleanly through thread
but chainsaws have the same effect

i dreamt of a chainsaw last night
cutting methodically
the whirring soothing yet terrifying
sawing through my life
severing my body in half
yet no one around me seemed to notice

"To see a chainsaw in your dream indicates that something drastic is about to happen. Success will only come about through willpower. Alternatively, it suggests that you get right to the heart of the matter quickly."

it may be time to turn off my chainsaw.

starstruck your
galaxy enveloped my lungs
filled them with nebulas
and made my heart glow

starstruck your
hands made my eyes glimmer
as they looked through a telescope
searching through the skies
until they found you

starstruck your
quiet voice burst through my soul
your words a supernova that
made my cheeks burn
and a shy smile appear
as we watched the skies together
a comet above
and,
starstruck your
lips met mine
as we embraced under the moon.

normal humans
don't need to
take a two hour name after school
to recharge their emotions
normal humans
don't need to
stop and remember where
they had just been
five seconds after they'd left
normal humans
don't need to question what they look like
or force the strings of their puppet flesh costume
to move to remind them
that they are alive
normal humans
don't need to fake their emotions
without knowing what they actually feel like
a rough copy of what should have been real

maybe i am not
a normal human

pure white feathers
dropped by a precious angel's wings
i liked to collect them
and put them with my other things
but one day when i rose
there seemed to be another king
for the feathers had turned red
and the angels were held up by strings
thus the world had fallen
the devil himself sings
for purity exists no more
blood tinted feathers satan brings.

invasive thoughts
penetrate the solid protections
surrounding my mind
bribing the guards
with a touch of adrenaline
the only drug that fills their veins
"what if you jumped off?"
their seductive questions are appealing
i lean slightly over the edge
the fence restrains my body
"you should step over
it's okay, i've got you."
reassurances with no basis
but i continue anyway
i would've fallen that day
had someone not seen
a petite body
suspended between life and death

they say time is precious
so don't waste yours on me
not me, never me
we're all getting tired of me
so wrap your time
and fold it into a napkin
with your name and number
so at least i can hover
over your contact at 4am
pretending you would pick up
if i ever called
i'm either too close or too distant
either obsessed or disinterested
i'm rapidly switching between extremes
but for some reason
i've never grown tired of you

for once, someone left me
before i could leave them.

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?

fast hearts beat
with the rhythm of taiko drums
urgent yet peaceful
reassured in their consistency
every touch flattering
and flirting with danger
of the possibility of us
whispering longing dreams
through the haze of sleep

i wish for the future
of when we no longer need
to dance around one another
when we finally embrace
with no fear for the future
when i can hold your hand in mine
and peacefully drift off to sleep
with only dreams of happiness
and your heart beating close to mine

wait for me,
just a little longer
my dreams lie with you
and my future as well

panicked heartbeats banging like a drum against my porcelain ribcage
nerves running through electric veins, painful in their persistence and irregularity
soft tears whisper down flushed cheeks in helplessness as
i shake, alone and in the dark
waiting for someone else's name to appear on my screen.

you said you'd be here
forever, until the end
where are you right now?

- a haiku.

i function but cannot process
achieving normality at the price of memory
going through the fluid motions of life's challenges
separating my thoughts from my flawed actions
unbothered and apathetic;
my eyes are blurred and my mouth silent
if only the skies smiled
the veil over my eyes would lift
i could be animate once more
until the clouds frown again.

accept your defeat
the defeat of your sanity,
your love,
your individualism.
say goodbye to your dreams
succumb to nostalgia: the only thing
that makes you feel some sort of accomplishment
congrats for growing up
congrats for molding yourself into a repetitive world
congrats on lowering yourself to become normal
congrats! you’ve made it
you have everything you’ve ever wanted besides
the future you’d aspired to gain
lose yourself to a mindless future
let your consciousness be caught in the river of societal expectations
doubt any free thought that you might have
parrot the words of those smarter than yourself
there you go
now you’re the perfect citizen
well done
on your way out,
be sure to grab a pamphlet on how to beat down
those who are different!
thank you, and have a nice day

at night i tend to toss and turn
and tangle up my sheets
my dreams are filled with broken glass
shards littering my feet
it kills my heart to see the stars
when im so down and beat
if the moon could tell me secrets
those secrets would not be sweet
and my heart understands that the love
we have is bittersweet
goodnight, my dear lover
i will miss you well
for my soul has become
obsolete.

despite
a corrupt system
despite
a corrupt society
despite
being controlled by the media
despite
our lack of questioning
our lack of creativity
our lack of thought
despite
our lives
we live them like sheep
content with what we have
and terrified of change

despite
the people we have become
we cannot overthrow those who have
controlled us for so long
we are so unused to
thinking for ourselves
that no one is able
to rule their minds

a reset button would be handy
but we will continue to make the same mistakes
over and over again
do not be content with what you have
always strive for more
question everything
your life will become
immensely more difficult
but at least you are learning
at least you are forming your own thoughts

the pack system is great for survival
but we no longer need to rely on each other
it is not a matter of life and death to think
relieve yourself of the pack mindset
and set your thoughts free
you have constricted them for so long
they no longer know how to function properly

in my use of words
i hope that someone will stop and listen
despite the crazy, almost radical mindset
that is portrayed as terrifyingly dangerous to society
i am but a child
with thoughts still roaming free

don't
spend so much time
taking things at face value
brash and decisive
rather
spend more time
delving deeper and standing by the sidelines
silent and deadly.

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

heartfelt notes springing out
from tough strings beneath the pads of my fingers
gently holding a wooden bow
that sways to the sound it produces
creating sounds of somber joy
and terraced tones creating
a magnificent cacophony
that makes my heart soar
chin resting on glowing wood
my violin creates a secret world.

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

these fries are too salty
they dry out my mouth
but i still eat them
despite their detriment to my health

these fries are too salty
but they remind me of you
back when we came to this place
together, just us two

these fries are too salty
and so are my tears
i miss you my love
but it's been years

these fries are too salty
they're the opposite of your voice
it used to be sweet
and became my comfort noise

these fries are too salty
and i'll continue thinking
but because of you i'll keep eating
it's because of you i keep sinking.

sometimes Depression
is the wingman for my evergrowing crush
on Death, of course
he tells me what to do
in order for him to love me back
slit your wrist
let the blood spill
stare at the half-full
orange pill bottle in the medicine cabinet
some days
Depression makes me a better person
he tells me that Death will like me better if
i dont get out of bed
if i become skinnier
because he likes being the big spoon
he likes to swallow me up in his arms
and never let me leave
Depression whispers the secrets
the keys to unlock Death's heart
and when i finally gain the courage
i confess to Death
with a noose around my neck

to consume is to live
the simple rule of nature
you must **** to survive
whether it be plant or animal

the intricacies of such
matter not
for it boils down
to eat or be eaten

and such the humans reign
in their self-glorified manger
of sparkling cities
and flashing lights

but carnage appears
creates gorey rumors
and speculations
tend to run amok

ambitious chunks of flesh
torn from fragile bodies
the teeth of a human
but the spirit of a monster

death rattles through the streets
on the bones of the fallen
self-preservation
tugs its followers behind

putrid stench
rotting antlers
skin and bones
and blood

the wendigo has arrived.

the word "special"
can be used to mean
incredibly different things

when she was called special
after her first performance
while being handed a giant bouquet
of vibrant flowers and candy
her smile stretched from end to end
cheeks pink and blushing
and stood proud as the audience called for an encore

when he was called special
after fumbling the ball for ---
what, the fourth time in a row?---
his chest felt hollow
and he chuckled along anxiously
with the rest of his team
who were laughing raucously

when she was called special
after releasing her first album
the world was announcing her name
'The Next Big Thing'
she was used to it
flipped her hair
and wondered what
normal people were like
and pitied them

when he was called special
after being called in by his counselor
who added that
he wouldn't be able to graduate
his face fell
even though he was used to being
called special
as he walked out of the school
letter to his mother in hand
he wondered what normal people were like
and envied them

my name is ace
i am seven years old
i want to be a writer one day!
i really don’t have many friends,
but i love books and that’s enough for me
bzzt
my name is ace
i am ten years old
i’ve written my first narrative!
even though i stayed up past my bedtime
i got an a+ and got to read it in front of my class
they kinda laughed at me,
but my teacher was proud so that’s all that matters
it kind of hurt that they didn’t like it though
bzzt
my name is ace
i am twelve years old
maybe i don’t want to be a writer?
everyone else wants to be
a doctor, or a veterinarian
we’re not allowed to write narratives in class anymore
the school told us to write essays about the american revolution instead
bzzt
my name is ace
i am fourteen years old
i laugh when people mention writing
what an impractical dream!
to be a writer is to sacrifice your heart and soul
for no profit
writing?
i vaguely remember doing that
i still do want to become an author
but i am so scared of reaching for my dream
that i have boxed it away
stored it in a closet
and now it lies abandoned
bzzt
my name is…?
i am…?
i have lost my sense of identity
in refusing myself
my dreams have left me
my eyes are blank
bzzt
my name is 203948
i am 45 years old
i lost myself to society long ago
i sacrificed my individualism
for becoming “normal”
my personality is programmed into
my actions and brain through
how others think of me
i do not resist
i cannot write any longer

Depression and Anxiety are Death's wingmen
together, they appeal to my heart
with promises of how good he is
how he could make everything better
how i would be much better off with him
he could hold me forever
and i would be safe in his arms
i must admit
i've tried to run away to him before
the promises were so beautiful
and it seemed that everything would be fixed
once i met him
but i didnt realize that
Death was a player
and Depression and Anxiety were his
******* comrades
wanting to see how many
he could get through
seducing them with empty promises
and not let them think of anyone else
forget the easy ones
force the way through the tough ones
conquering people has become a game
how many will meet with Death?
although i know the truth now
sometimes i still long for him
and i stare at the knives in the kitchen
but i've rejected Death once
i can do it again

i burn myself down in order to maintain the single bit of control i have
for in a world with unpredictable factors, what am i to do besides destroy?
creation leads only to death
to keep my sanity i tear it to shreds
to keep my feelings i torture my thoughts
to keep my love i separate myself from it
to keep my heart i throw it away
i surround myself in barbed wire and run while it pierces through the skin
it tears through the flesh, but pain is a form of pleasure to the human brain

as my ribs intertwine with sickly sweet flowers, my frail form gives into wracking coughs
as my body is overtaken with the wills of the world, i smile with crimson-stained teeth
as i stare out at those i love, i clutch at the bars keeping me from them
my own consciousness cages me in within my head

unwanted and useless
unwanted because i'm an abomination
useless because i've already been used
a stepping stool for life's favored players

after my prince left,
my story became backwards
riches to rags is the way my mind went
and the final kiss forced me into a never-ending dream

to keep myself from spilling more blood into the clean white of the bathroom
i sit here instead
and tap out my sorrows into a glowing box
in hopes of relieving my teenage angst in a way that will contain the pain in my chest
and for it to not spread to my arms or my neck or my legs or my stomach

i am starved for happiness
and deprived of care
i am dreaming this life

2am thoughts.

fetch me out the garbage
easy catch, easy prey
take me home with you
so you can get your way

you make me hungry
i want more
your touch makes me ecstatic
but then you closed the door

litter my body with disgust
you may throw me away
i love you too much
to see you another day

infect me with your disease
til it rots me to the core
abandon my corpse until
you take the punishment i bore.

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

shame holds no place
in the void of heartbreak
give me something
to distract from my emotions

disgust may shine in your eyes
for i have gone astray
stain my purity with your affection
until it has finally gone away

give me money, give me love
ask me to do things just for fun
keep my eyes away from him
i won't let my mistakes happen again.

you left me fumbling
uncomfortably attempting to adjust my ideas
as you carefully slipped yourself out of the
home you had made in my heart,
you left no note
although you owed me nothing
i still felt betrayed

god, i've written so many poems about you
despite the fact that you'll never read them
thinking about you tears my chest in half
and i keep reopening the wound
you were never mine to begin with
but when i see you with others
i grow irrationally jealous
it's been so long
but time cannot heal all wounds

selfishly i wonder
what if you had been mine?

she posts pictures
of words she echoes
for everything she feels
has already been said

she invests her feelings
into a quiet site
to repeat the phrases she finds
with fake deep meanings
but genuine emotions.

1, 2, 3, 4
count the ridges my thumb brushes over
as it runs over the hills of my bony knuckles
tanned and rough
"these are mine"
stress the mine
as the mantra parades
through my head
it does not click
i am still floating
far away from this fleshy costume
i pick up the strings
of the puppet that is supposed to be me
and walk out the door

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

it's a gray day
and i'm stuck on the loading screen of life
a wheel of circling dots taunting my eyes
buffering, buffering
slowly working
i wish i could stay here forever

it's a day stuck between the past and the future
quiet and boring and utterly joyful
if only i did not have to move from my bed
if only i did not have to escape my mind
or distract my brain from the hollowness of my bones
if only i could move
i could get my life together on this gray, boring day
but alas,
my bones are feather light and my skin is floating away
my brain is discombobulated and my heart is not okay
unfortunately i am sick
in the mind, in the head
and the me-that-isn't-me
tumbles into space again.

my heart is leaking crimson tears
from where you made your mark

the world would've been so much better
if you'd just taken me apart.

for right now my heart is achy,
breaky,
painful
as i am pulled
onto whatever path you see fit
it's become a tug of war
between pathos and logos
but i was overpowered long ago

is there a right way to love?
if there is, this isn't it
i'm filling my lungs with toxic gas
and my heart is melting slowly
but i've convinced my brain
to let it be
and tell myself
this poison is all for you

is there a right way to love?
i jumped into the sky
wings made of soft touches
and midnight calls
but you stopped supplying
what made me fly
and im hurtling to
the ground of harsh reality

is there a right way to love?
we crossed paths,
too early, too late
or maybe we were never
meant to reach a crossroad.

you tell me
i do not know what real pain is
you do not know me
despite my age being
a significant part of what my identity is
i do not feel as if i
am what it represents
i have grown up too quick
learned life lessons too soon
as if somewhere along the line
my brain was fast-forwarded
while the rest of the world
stayed still

she bent the common objects
into fractures of musical light
of joy and sadness intertwined
she created a place for all things right.

let me offer
my twisting words
looping phrases
natural rhyming

i appeal with my poems
my validation
determined by reactions
hearts and grinning faces
my words are a pretty show
but don't take my character
for my personality

my acting gives you entertainment
but nothing of myself
i keep pieces of my heart
locked in a box beneath the stage
the set is reality
a new 3d play
the mic amplifies my thoughts
to an empty theater

hello audience.

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

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