i have picked up every piece of me
ever since the start
i am all i have
i will guard my heart

and slowly, slowly
i stitch it together
i take the tears i cried
and water the seeds i sow
i tend to pink tulips and tiger lilies
two flowers that sing of courage
and with time and love and care
my heart will sing again.

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

clumsily,
falling,
we tangle ourselves onto the bed

happily,
giggling,
we wrap ourselves into each other

stuttering,
blushing,
we meet somewhere in the middle.

depression comes and goes
in episodes, in waves
washing up the beach of my consciousness
leaving behind shells of memories
broken hearts and bruised ribs
sunshine laughter, turned bittersweet
and *****-stained porcelain toilets

i collect shells
hold them close to my heart
despite their broken, jagged edges
scratching thin protective layer
hang them up in the skies
to act as moons
and the tide gets rougher
heartbeat becomes irregular
as tears make way for beads of blood
steadily filling my lungs
until i am swimming in my own misery,

im trapped behind a one-way mirror. the outside can't see me; i don't exist to anyone besides myself, but i can see outside. i can see reality and look at my surroundings and the blinding white all around and wonder why i can't be like everyone else. gravity has deemed me unworthy for its grasp, and i float throughout my padded cell, fingers scrambling to grasp onto the slick glass of the mirror i long to shatter. and so, i float away, unbound by reality and life.

i'm deteriorating. my cage feels as if its shrinking. i'm running out of time, but i don't know what for. i'm running away from what i owe the world, but what i owe specifically is unclear. yet, the feeling of looming dread continues, stirring cauldrons of anxiety in my chest. where i was once a blooming flower, i am rotting, i am decomposing into a mess of hollow bones and aching tears and i can't stop my heart from shrinking until it melts away.

i feel a longing for things i cannot have, for hearts with other loves and for people i cannot touch. i romanticize ideas rather than act them out; i bring nothing but delusion to the table. the moment i have i no longer want, and thus the toxic cycle continues. i wish to be broken, to be hurt and stabbed, for i am an emotional ******* and i want nothing but for someone to throw me away while i am still reaching for their hand. pound blooming bruises into my chest with your rejection, because, dear sir, it's what i like best.

i am a robot. i am only apathetic or hurting.

i wish to power off.

heartbreak blooms
into etched sketches
on naive wrists
and gritted teeth
hasty poems
written in the shadow
of lonely tears
paint out anger
into a broken canvas.

panicked paranoid breaths convulse through my tight chest
quietly hiding underneath the frail sheets of my bed
my head aches; my body aches
yet i cannot stop
tears well up in my clenched closed eyes
is this how i'm going to die?
fragments of thoughts whisper softly
confirming my terrified beliefs
good night, good night
my vision grows dark as stuttering fingers claw at the spot where my heart was.

perhaps it was that little motion
one singular word read
perhaps it was the endless
click clack of the keys
whatever it was
my mind’s stuck
for whatever reason,
individual thought cannot sprout
for the time being,
i attempt poems with no metaphors
poems with no style
bland and unappealing,
but at least they’re poems
i wait for the return of my
creative plants
maybe they are not in season
and i must wait for them again
i read and write
but with no purpose behind them
no drive or spark
to paint the pictures that i wish to express
weeds of static have taken place
of my storytelling and imagery flowers
they sprout in the wrong places
they do not let me think
perhaps
i have trapped myself in this position
subconsciously forcing my mind back into
submissive monotony
maybe tomorrow
i will be unstuck

when i was little,
everyone told me that i could be whatever i wanted to be
and that was that
i thought that once you graduated college
you would get a job right away
and it would be the best thing in your life
but as i got older
people told me to not be an author at all
so i became a pessimistic writer
with spiteful views on overly optimistic subjects
but life is taking its toll on my soul
the worst part about being human
is the feeling of knowing your thoughts are slipping away
knowing your creativity is pouring itself down the drain
yet not being bothered enough to care
for in this day and age
we are taught that this is normal
of course it is for despite creativity being smiled upon
everyone knows there is no way you can make it in the real world
with your silly little poems and your
fantasy short stories
your words are meaningless if no one wishes to read them
get an office job if you like working alone so much
besides, you spend all day in front of your computer anyways
stop complaining!
be glad you can even read and write
you can be whatever you want to be
just as long as it's not a writer

simpering sweet words of pain
lace my muscles
with extravagant agony
don't speak to me so harshly, love
it hurts far too much

wrap blades around my heart
make me ***** blood
onto the bathroom floor
you're everything i wished for
maybe even more

curse my eyes with neverending tears
and give me a leash of thorns
**** my spirit
**** my love
with you i have become addicted
to the toxic elements of life.

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, *****.

a candle
lit in the background of the party
created for the ambiance, the flow
but not necessarily needed.
a candle,
scented and sweet,
filled with senses of warmth
but needs others to come
and light it up.
a candle,
stifled as its own wax
begins to creep up on the delicate flame.
a candle,
drowned in itself,
through burning itself out
goes unnoticed.

my soul is the weak flame
my ambition is the wax
as we begin to use more of ourselves
we begin to **** our souls
our hearts break but our minds stay strong
in the ideals of 'you must succeed'
until it is far too late to save
what is left of the fire.

spiders
my music somehow disappearing
heights
being abandoned by all the people i love in the world
becoming addicted to the substances that tempt me
coffee
children
the shadows that hide under my skin whispering their thoughts to the world
my stories never blooming into fruition
not taking a nap after school
being not good enough for the boy i say i love you too
looking at myself in the mirror
my hands
the song lemonade by jeremy passion
being shot at through the window
breaking down
loving.

to become a human
you must withdraw the love from your veins
and spread it on your face
to clear your skin of sins
you must hold the sorrow in your veins
let it rip your organs out
but despite the pain
hold the gore and smile

to become a human
you must abandon your soul
create a vortex of empty space
a black hole which swallows your heart
to drip ****** tears in the void below
create medals out of normality
in order to keep you sane

to become a human
you must set fire
to what you think makes you different
and laugh, for they are flaws
and while you are never perfect
you're the most normal you have ever been
and that's all that matters to you,
a human.

flat, empty pools
of common eyes
reflect my own insanity in front of me

i drown in their relativity;
watching myself as i sink lower and lower
into the well i have dug for myself

fat teardrops burst on my face
mingling in the rain as i stare
the tumultuous clouds on fire
my skin is melting in acid rain

quietly, i shrink
my soul is fragmented and scattered
and my mind is blank of ambition

if life is simply a simulation
i hope the computer breaks soon
if life is simply a projection of my mind
i hope my life ends soon.

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.

children do not care if you are gay
if you are a different race, if you're disabled
children just want to know if you want to play
children are accepting until someone tells them that they shouldn't
if the parents are homophobic, so too will the child
they are raised on beliefs,
but if you allowed children to thrive without interruption
without corruption to their accepting demeanors
they will form a much better society
than the segregated one we live in now.

perceive my kindness as you will
with the flat innocence of your heart
you interpret the small gestures
and idealize my smiles
create a reality
but don't fall in
for it is but
an optical illusion.

can i call you? i miss your voice
but when you answer i have no words
futile small talk does nothing
but make me stutter in anxiety
please pick up the phone
i know im but a hindrance
your studies are better
without me floundering
for something new to talk about
speaking to you is so hard
because i value what you think
how did we once carry conversations
for hours on end
when now
you're just a stranger
who stole my heart

force your lips upwards
show your teeth in a gray imitation of happiness
it feels natural after
years of acting practice
to just pretend
you love the people here
you love living
you love being a person
you love life
smile happily because if you don't
you won't survive.

jealousy pulls me in
tendrils of want tug at my bones
i'm watching, suffering
you don't belong to me, i know
i have no power to stop you
but still,
when i see the looks you give her
i wish to claw myself apart
i begin to fall into
the grinning maw of loneliness.

do you remember?

us and our fleeting gazes
hovering on the other
for just a second
before fleeing away?

our warm hugs and
bright smiles
matching the glory
of the sun?

the layers protecting our hearts
slowly falling away
until there was no need
for them to exist anymore?

but now your heart is locked tight
and your demeanor somber
i miss you but,
is it not my fault you aren't sober?

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.

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

it's spooky time
i'm old enough to not go out
to not dance with the witches
to not consort with the ghosts
but as fall's ****** approaches
and the cursed superstitions rage
i call upon the devil's day
i speak with satan's servants
i laugh at those who pray
my heart is filled with mischief
and as the night becomes tinted in black and purple
i light it up with flames
i becomes the night's mistress.

i don't think anyone likes to be alone
empty promises of after, after, after
after this is all done
after the world stops falling apart
after the bodies are set on fire
one lonely mourner per funeral

i mourn for the time we lose
the year of sitting
the year of watching
and waiting
and nothing
we are on pause while the world keeps turning
and it hurts
it hurts
it hurts.

fluorescent light illuminates
makeup brushes and foundation
concealer and contour
she sits in front of the mirror,
diligently applying
a youtube tutorial playing in the background
her small hands shake
her cheeks have not yet lost their baby fat
she hates her chubbiness
in her youth, she envies the skinny
the pretty, the ones with the cool moms
who let them do whatever they want
thin faces and thick layers of wavy hair
arched eyebrows and immaculate eyeliner
she wants to be like an instagram model
with a hundred-watt smile and tan skin
she wants to be a perfect person
she pats on the blush
she eats less
she becomes a shadow of a person
she loses it all to be fake
isn't that a little too much
for a girl to handle?
not yet an adult
almost a teenager
they grow up too fast
to reach what they think is perfection
to attain the life they see in movies
in snapchat stories and romcom tv shows
"beauty is pain" but
they take it too far.

take me into your
fog-shrouded mountains
to the cabin imbued with flames
and the galaxies of snow
waddle into the open
your glass steps crunching on broken ice
hold your mittened hand in mine
we strip our hearts under the moonlight.

written pages of meaningless drabble
insignificant metaphors and
twisted backstage tension
unknowingly expectant
hoping for acknowledgement for
whispered cries for help
fantasy mixed with two drops of reality
can you find what is real?
don't worry, neither can i
within fraying leather backed journals
contain tear-stained pages and scrawled words
worthless in their naivety
wallowing in their misery
the best way to love is
to spill your heart into relentless pages
and burn the book

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.

i wonder what it feels like to be devastated
completely immersed in grief
tears falling to the floor
in a steady beat to the song of irregular hiccups and cries
weaving quietly through silence
or mixed and lost as a crowd mourns together

i wonder what it feels like to be ecstatic
drowning in warmth and
smiling so hard your cheeks hurt
giggles spilling from an upturned mouth
smiling not from necessity
but from pure joy

i wonder what it feels like to be enraged
bright red blinding previously-clear vision
fingernails digging white crescent moons into pink palms
mind clear and focused but with emotion instead of facts
reckless endangerment
needed for revenge

i wonder what it feels like
to feel something other than
these carbon copies of emotions
for i can feel
but it does not affect my soul
and the emotions feel blurry
counterfeit portraits of
what should be there

you told me to wait
but never told me how long
and so i've been waiting
patiently yearning
for something that will never come.

you give me half-hearted replies
to emotional confessions
give me an answer
no matter how harsh
for it is better to be rejected
than to be left hoping in the dark.

god
doesn't want you
to **** yourself.
/
god
wants to
**** you himself.

i'm staring at a blank screen
with the last vestiges of his voicemail
fade away in the stale air
i hear the voice of the automatic operator
more than i hear his
i've been stuck in the land of dreams
unable to face reality
but now that i've escaped
i can't find it any better
he smashed my heart
and i gathered what was left
put it in a cage, wrapped a curtain around
to remind myself to never again
i don't know how to love
i only know how to hurt
and so i hurt myself
lighting my soul aflame
and creating a wildfire of destruction.

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.

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.

in a city of skyscrapers
lies a sanctuary
for the introverted
leather binding and worn pages
thumbed out by eager readers
and patient bookworms
the smell of crisp new pages mixed with
beloved classics quietly sitting side by side
wooden tables and a kindergarten mat
spread next to comics and Clifford
haphazardly placed signs
signaling areas
outdated computers and shelves of movies
hidden corners away from librarians' prying eyes
put to questionable use by teen volunteers
whispered words and
clasped hands
library days.

do not undermine my intellect
and mistake my age for my IQ
"this is pretty good for someone of your age"
"i'm surprised someone of your age would be able to think of this"
"go play with some dolls; let the grownups handle this stuff"
do not look down on my writing
as if it is already immature
according to the number assigned to my years
i may be young
but i am not a fool
i understand that there is
still plenty room for growth in my
awkwardly placed phrases
my tilted words fit into a spot where they do not belong
my hesitant spacing
hoping that the reader will understand the meaning
behind the way that i write
however
do not view my poems as a work in progress
but rather my mind
for judging based on appearances
is undermining the importance
of my maturity

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

school ***** the life out of my brain
until there is nothing left
to write

sterile smell
permeates fluorescent hallways
hardened dividing curtains
death drills an emotional well

medicine is
the heaven of hell
neverending suffering
clasped by constant beeping

private moments
spent with futile wishing
the grim reaper visits
souls beg for release

washed out flowers
wilt with their futile wishing
cold hands shake with pained smiles
say goodbye

hospitals taste like metallic death
i hate visiting you.

even if they won't
you'll always be mine
run and run my love
your escape makes you break
glass courage shatters with your will
demolish your walls to reveal desperation
i will ruin you
until you crawl back to me.

god,
don't romanticize my scars
the crisscross reminder of my past sorry
agony and nightmares
silvery-white and healed long since
accepted but not loved
don't spout metaphors
on how you can cure me--because you can't
don't romanticize my mental illness
but be my right hand man
when i do war against it.

i can see
your eyes are
drifting
far away
and they'll never
look back
at me

hard denials and rough tears
ragged sobs and pouring pleas
refusals of callous confessions
create horrible impressions
the change that overcomes
is but the factors of time's sums
quiet submission to mankind
leads you to stay confined

denial of love
you feel you don't deserve
will lead you to be sick of
your own silent unnerve.

we accept the love we think we deserve.