I want to be a superhero. I want to shoot heats beams from my eyes like I shoot...spit, from my uh, mouth. I want to save people in the burning building. Lift girders with a finger and hope with my words. I'd give food to the poor and teach respect to the rich.
   I want to show the kid on the ledge that the bully is the loser and not him. That he has a life to live and what an ******* says is just a bunch of ****. And no matter how many times he jumps I'll pull him back on the ledge, show him that the hero he looks up to was just like him. Show him miracles happen and if he's lucky he'll become the hero in his eyes. Show him scars are scars and they're just out battle wounds, that even his hero gets hurt sometimes.
   I want to be like Tony Stark. Have an ark reactor in my chest powering a suit of armor. Knowing that any second my heart will be torn apart. Be like the Hulk cause I have such anger inside that sometimes I want to turn green and break things.
   I want to have the power of Thor, and show others that despite their expectations that deep down I have something they won't ever have: Compassion.
   I want to be a superhero. Because despite my expectations I am a hero in someone else's eyes. In another world, place, dimension I am the hero I want to be. And I know that eventually I will be a hero. I may not have powers but I have enough hope that maybe one day: I will.  
   But this isn't the future. I am in the present. And right now I am not the hero. Maybe I'm the villain.

I don't acknowledge you as my father. "Dad" has become a meaningless title, given to a hollow shell of a man. I remember the days you looked at me. Each second better than the last. I was the stone temple to a monk. I remember the last time you looked near me. Not wanting to know that I am part of your creation. Not wanting to see my mom. Not wanting to acknowledge a mistake.

(Insert other parts of the group here).

The days I counted, the days I felt, like nothing more than a mistake. I can count on my arm tally marks cut into my skin, I can hear your hollow words, see that face in my reflection. If I knew how this life would turn out maybe I could've cut the rope, made a difference, let love in, Be. Happy. Maybe if I forget about you long ago I could have become who I should have been. And not what you turned me into.

My life ran full of poke ***** and if mom got ice cream or not.
It wasn't when will my next cut be or will this be the day I starve again.
Life used to be climbing castle walls in my head and rolling down *****, brown green hills.
Life changes in the blink of an eye, though you don't quite…see it, till it's too late.

When I was 10 I had my first pokemon game, I leveled up my charmander with love and affection cause I didn't own a real animal.

When I was 14 I made my first cut.

15 I fell in love and didn't let her know till I was ready to die three years later.

You see I let time slip me by, like a friend who smoked too much *** or a lover gone wrong.
I hid away my scars till they were distant memories but man did I dig them up.
My past has been sour, like the milk my uncle drank.
Curled were the relationships I'd made.
The thoughts made me want to puke.
White buzzing was what went through my head.

I'm 18. I have a stable relationship. I'm getting married. Pokemon are my other friends when the real one's aren't there. I won't let time slip me by now, despite how wrong my past went.

There is a boy who has grown into a man. A boy whose a boy and has room to grow.
He's hurting. He stands up around the lunchroom to throw away what he made himself eat, hearing voices everywhere knowing none will remember him. Only but a small few will know his legacy and maybe they'll tell tales about him.
   The boy looks at his friends yearningly, knowing that only a couple truly accepts him. Truly…loves him. The boy looks at his arms, covered in scars they reflect the war going on in his mind. A war of voices, screaming. Insane. Deranged. The boy wants to cry, wants to embrace his friends. He wants to be accepted and told it'll be okay.
   Will it be okay? Will he come back from the war? He shakes, both his head and body. Craving what destroys him, he sits back. Will it be okay? Will it be okay? It'll be okay. It'll be okay.

I'm tired of men thinking that what a girl does or dresses as defines her. That what she does in bed reflects what's going on in her head. I have friends who call girls ***** because they decided to give the time to more than one guy over the span of several years or months. That how girls dress is cause to say how much they would "destroy that". **** shaming doesn't go far in my books, I have far less tolerance for that than I do hearing you idiots talk.
   Hearing this gives me more thoughts about changing the *** on the outside to what reflects myself on the inside. I live under the patriarchy of America just to hear in school idiots blabble on about things they think they know. Like they've lived their lives in glory when really their glory is now. It goes downhill from here so while you're living the high school life I want you think, just think for once that what you say really reflects the ignorance of America. That you are the Idiot America, the reason men have such a bad reputation.

The time it'll take you to realize I'm gone is enough time for me to run away, slowly taking myself apart, like a jigsaw puzzle. I'll be in a hundred pieces and before you can even find all of them I will have already been gone. Disappeared into the wind, like leaves falling in Maine autumn.
   I hope you cry the hardest you ever did, and realize that it wasn't myself in the end who killed me. It was you. You talking behind my back, you making me feel so incompetent, you thinking I wanted it to be about myself.
   I hope you realize that I cared more about you and the other than myself or getting better. I relapsed again and again cause I was dealing with your problems, I never said not to talk to me. I let you in, and in the end I just got hurt.
   I'm sorry about your mom. I'm sorry that I'm not the best son. I'm sorry that I'm never good enough. I'm sorry when this finally ends.

The day you left I curled my hands into fists, unravelling them into fingers that just barely hanged on. As if on hinges they swung and transformed into claws that I used to pull out my heart.

   Still pulsating in my hands I watched the pain leak out slowly, like water seeping into the ground. I watched my hurt and my greed fight for the light of living while I glanced out at you walking away. I don't know why but I'm sure you had your reasons. And that's fine. Everyone needs an escape plan, but I wish that plan included me.

   I wish you were closer I wish so many more were closer. So many faces I call family are farther away than I ever wanted. They live their lives without me so where's the ******* point? Where's my happy ending if the only ending is me being stranded in the dust?

   I'm selfish for wanting you. Not in a way that a man desires a woman, in a way that the loneliest person desires a friend. If I could I'd do anything in my power to keep you in my life. Cause when I love something I love it harder than I should. Lovers, friends, it's the same for both. I'm equally heartbroken and wish to have their names carved into my skin. I know best when I say that scars are there forever so if I could I'd have your name cut into me.

   The pain would hurt the same but it wouldn't be so bad if it meant I could keep a piece of you. I'd give up all I had if it meant for once I'd keep a friend.