Jun 2016
I don't want to be a forgotten face, plastered between the pages of a yearbook.
A name that would be so easily forgotten if it weren't for the bold, black lettering underneath my smile.
"Oh yeah... She was that weird girl"
"Theater geek"
"Sick girl"
"Such a shame..."
The list goes on.
I don't want to be remembered for my time in the hallways
Where I pretended like I was invisible just to make it easier for my stomach to hold food down
I wouldn't have eaten if I didn't have to.
But I did.
I caused tables of chatty teenage girls to fall silent because no one had to guts to tell me that I was unwanted
That the chair I pulled aside should've been saved for someone with a better attitude
Someone who would talk and smile and laugh
Everything I couldn't be
I don't want to be remembered for the times I sat outside, alone.
With my headphones in like a neon sign saying "don't talk to me" because I was too busy trying to focus on my breath between the drum riffs,
Pressing fingers to my pulse points checking to make sure I was still alive
Rarely did people ever stop to notice me
I grappled with the sounds of the breeze in my head and watched the people flow around me, through me, and I didn't make a sound.
I don't want to be remembered for those nights spent on the bedroom floor
Weaving fists through the **** rug
Tears spilling down my face and neck, filling my ears so all I could hear was the steady melancholy ache of a heart that was broken
Inhaling silence, exhaling sirens
My lungs became paper bags for a man who was hyperventilating on the 12th floor of the hospital because he just found out his wife has stage 4 cancer
And he breathed too hard into them, while someone else stepped on my chest
My ribs folded into hands to protect the stitches that threatened to pop open and pour my sorrow onto the floor
The sleepless nights when my body felt nothing like a body and I dreamt of salt shakers and the moon through the gaps in my eyes because my limbs were too weak to drag me into bed
I don't want to be remembered for the way I looked
Hollow circles under my eyes
A carefully pulled up expression that I called "I'm fine, really #1" that aimed to eliminate the crinkles in my forehead while lifting my eyes so I didn't look so tired all the time as well as pulling up the corners of my lips to avoid the inevitable question "what's wrong?"
It was fool-proof
Except when it wasn't.
Those who knew me well enough could see straight through my ruse
They were quite helpless in that regard.
I don't want to be forgotten.
A name that would be so easily forgotten if it weren't for the bold, black lettering underneath my smile.
"Oh yeah... She was that weird girl"
"Theater geek"
"Sick girl"
"Such a shame..."
The list goes on.
I don't want to be remembered for my time in the hallways
Where I pretended like I was invisible just to make it easier for my stomach to hold food down
I wouldn't have eaten if I didn't have to.
But I did.
I caused tables of chatty teenage girls to fall silent because no one had to guts to tell me that I was unwanted
That the chair I pulled aside should've been saved for someone with a better attitude
Someone who would talk and smile and laugh
Everything I couldn't be
I don't want to be remembered for the times I sat outside, alone.
With my headphones in like a neon sign saying "don't talk to me" because I was too busy trying to focus on my breath between the drum riffs,
Pressing fingers to my pulse points checking to make sure I was still alive
Rarely did people ever stop to notice me
I grappled with the sounds of the breeze in my head and watched the people flow around me, through me, and I didn't make a sound.
I don't want to be remembered for those nights spent on the bedroom floor
Weaving fists through the **** rug
Tears spilling down my face and neck, filling my ears so all I could hear was the steady melancholy ache of a heart that was broken
Inhaling silence, exhaling sirens
My lungs became paper bags for a man who was hyperventilating on the 12th floor of the hospital because he just found out his wife has stage 4 cancer
And he breathed too hard into them, while someone else stepped on my chest
My ribs folded into hands to protect the stitches that threatened to pop open and pour my sorrow onto the floor
The sleepless nights when my body felt nothing like a body and I dreamt of salt shakers and the moon through the gaps in my eyes because my limbs were too weak to drag me into bed
I don't want to be remembered for the way I looked
Hollow circles under my eyes
A carefully pulled up expression that I called "I'm fine, really #1" that aimed to eliminate the crinkles in my forehead while lifting my eyes so I didn't look so tired all the time as well as pulling up the corners of my lips to avoid the inevitable question "what's wrong?"
It was fool-proof
Except when it wasn't.
Those who knew me well enough could see straight through my ruse
They were quite helpless in that regard.
I don't want to be forgotten.
