stretch out my arms
look back at my life:
mistake "I'm sorry"
scared "I don't love you"
death "yes please"
life "**** me now"

it's just a
phase. phase. phase. phase.

always:     the same.
                  changing.
a                   mess.

best friends become enemies when they know too much about you.

you're making me crazy without doing anything.
I wish you weren't. I wish we learnt
                                                         "how to learn?"
how to love how to breathe how to think
"it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter"

it should come naturally.
                                        it does come naturally.
stopthinkingyou'renotthinkingnowI'mthinking
but it's all about you. it's not about you.

forget the past like you'd commit suicide
                                                         ­       like you really meant it.
forgive the past like you'd be here tomorrow
                                                        ­        like you really meant it.
my face in front of your face
screaming everything I want to scream
without saying a thing.
my face looking forward
my voice shaking toward
                                           you.
I'mnotokayI'mnotokayI'mnotokay
"I forgive you" I'mnotokay
slam my head into the wall
"I forgive you" I'm not okay
rip my hair out
"I forgive you!" I'm not okay
                "you need therapy" I'm not okay
"you're not okay"

the room got heavy when I told you exactly how I felt about you.
I'm so glad I was alone. I'm so glad I'm alone.
"I feel so lonely"
                           "I can't take this"
the next morning: "[things you said that I won't repeat]"
"Are we friends?" TRUTH: ATTACKATTACKATTACKATTACK.

attack me again: it's my fault because I asked for it.
                           I still do.
too much fun. toomuchfun. STOP.
I'm bored.

boredom. consumption of boredom. consumption.

This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

I feel you like
                        slamming
                                doors.
I see you in
                    the same
                                shifting focus as
when I take off my glasses
                  too quick.
I hold you like I make
fifty                               dollars
                  a week.
                                                          "I miss you"
I scream into my pillow.
                                            "I miss you too" you whisper back
        in prayers
in dreams
                   in your arms wrapped around me
as I cry into your neck.

I want you here: you
                            tell me: I'm beautiful.
these slow steps that I'm taking (toward you)
(away from you) I'm learning your name
easier than cleaning a fish bowl
harder than saying it out loud
easier than writing it down
harder than taking birth control
or wanting to,
because I'm not interested in ***
at this age:
in this age I'm younger than those actions
older than those thoughts,
lost in a limbo, found swinging from a bar,
skipping down a street, turning down what I can't see
"no thank you"

I can hear you.
                              "I'm listening"
     I can't hear you.
"you're screaming"

your face,
                 in the mirror: "you're beautiful"
your face,
                    in the street: "I'm disgusting"

sincerely,
                because I know you're quiet when you're unhappy
because you're trying to tie knots with broken fingers
          because your eyes reflect blue in the shadows of your smile
because you're more than any fabric, soaked in any chemical thought
                                                                                                                    (or feeling)
because the islands of you create an escape better than the moon.

Sincerely, because you're you.

I'm writing right now.
I'm writing to write, now.
I'm writing to write for me now.

No one reads here,
without wanting something,
(besides what we give them)
in return.

And no one else reads what is here.

So, instead of not writing now,
Or writing in hopes of enlightening others,
I will be honest.
I will write for myself.

And I will read it, too.

Your hair was longer.
That's the one thing about you that is sticking in my mind.
That, and the fact that I've seen those jeans a million times.
But I still can't breathe when I think about it.

I dropped my eyes so quickly I went blind for a moment.
No words were said between us, the talking from the others filled the room far better.
I couldn't even look at you past the initial one when you waltzed right into my profusely damaged psyche.
Your voice in my ears was an angry grater to my nerves.
Your reaction to me there mirrored mine:
Nonchalant indifference.
We no longer exist to each other.

I finally got what I've wanted for seven months.
I finally know you still exist, that you're still alive.
I have some solace in that, but mostly just stunned disbelief.
I was in the Twilight zone, my life for the past seven months flashing before my eyes and going right down the drain.
The effect you had on me was a **** poor excuse for the one you used to have on me.
But my heart still ricocheted against my core and my torso was enveloped in horrendously painful flames.

I couldn't utter a single word to you, my thoughts ping-ponging around my head.
Or maybe the reason is because I have nothing left to say to you.
My words have dried up just like your affection long ago.
I have no words for you.
No words would justify your actions, nor mine.
No words would even come close to actually portraying what I've felt because of you.
The pain, the guilt, the betrayal, the pure, agonizing rage, the exhaustion, the inability to eat.
Truth be told, I'd rather experience all that than bow down at your feet anyway.