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

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

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

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

im in the best place in the world
so why do i feel like im drowning?
why do i feel so detached and
empty?
why cant i just be happy
like a normal person
all these people around me are happy
they're going to notice that i'm a fake
an imposter in my own skin
does my smile look okay?
it hurts my face muscles to do this
but i'm a good actor
i can keep it up for a little while longer.

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

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

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.

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.

blank, glassy black eyes
reflect my horrendous sins
i indulge in pain

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

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

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

my throat is on fire
clenching twisted words
withholding wicked truths
not meant to be revealed
burning silently in rage
will the blaze consume my voice
before it hurts another?

my
head is aching
my
throat is raw
my
eyes are listless
my
mouth is shut
my
heart is empty

is that enough to please you?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

he takes my body
abuses it with purple
finger-shaped bruises

i never complain
no matter how hard he grips
i long for his touch

he doesn't get it
why i stay even though he
abuses my skin

i whisper to him,
it's because i need your love
no matter how harsh

im addicted to
the way you used to look at
me like i was there

i wish for the past
wish that i'd never gotten
hooked on your dark eyes

take out all of your
anger on me because it's
what i'm meant to do

i love you never
sounded so harsh on my lips
but i'll always love

you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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 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

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

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.

restrained by values
that are not mine,
i struggle to rid myself
of these bonds that chain my sanity
and beat it until it no longer recognizes itself
however,
it is growing difficult
to resist constantly
the only reward is my freedom
which constantly is snatched from my grasp
it's repetitive
to keep fighting for myself
wouldn't it be much easier to just give up?
stop trying to resist?
but if i do,
i will no longer be able
to find my home
i will no longer be able
to find the ones i love
they will be lost
along with my soul

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

i realize i
will never be able to love you
the way you wish to be loved
i am not
a person to attach to
i am too afraid of you leaving
to appreciate you staying

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

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