Every time, I pass by an In-N-Out I remember that night we went to a show in Sacramento.
You, driving your van full of people and hopes and laughs and drugs,
pulled up in front of the school around 5 o'clock on a rainy January afternoon.
I hopped in, immediately overwhelmed by the love I took the back seat to myself.
In front of me was Jena, wearing her blue and purple sweater that I always will remember by.
Next to her was Fritz, dressed in his usual attire consisting of a hoody and jeans.
Next to him was Shelby, a girl I had not had the pleasure of spending time with before that night.
She didn't say much throughout the whole night nor has she since then.
Riding shotgun was Dylan, another person I had not hung out with before. He was busy mixing shisha and hash oil and I don't blame him for not saying hello.
And you, Tyler, you were driving. And as we drove with the windows down, your hair whipped around.

Almost as soon as we were on our way, I was packing spliff, courtesy of Shelby into a pipe, courtesy me.
We got it burning, just as we reached the highway and not long after that the hookah, courtesy Fritz, was slowly burning the hash-shisha concoction, courtesy Dylan.
I remember not saying much, except when we sang along to some rap song that I could not tell you the name of now.
And at one point, after the spliff had all been smoked and quick hooka session  had concluded Dylan turned around and asked me something I could not make out.
I replied back to him with a what and he again asked an non-understandable question, only this time I said "Sorry, I can't hear you, I'm really high."
Everybody in the van laughed and Tyler said she loved me and Fritz patted me on the back and Shelby turned around and smile at me.
Maybe a half hour after we left we stopped at In-N-Out for some beautiful Double-Doubles.
Once we got our food we began to understand that we had ordered not Double-Doubles but regular hamburgers. Albeit we were very put off by this, it did little to ruin our night.

I can only remember brief portions of that night.
I remember being dropped off at the curb of a punk rock show Shelby and I were attending.
I remember meeting our friends Lukas and Dakota, who are dating, inside.
I remember standing watching the bands, thinking of God knows what.
I remember walking two blocks to a parking lot the van was parked in.
I remember getting in, again overwhelmed by the love and this time, smoke.
I remember Lukas and I went outside to smoke a cigarette.
I remember a local coming up to us and asking us for a light.
I remember talking to him about something. The weather, perhaps.
I remember hugging Lukas good bye and getting in the van.
I remember falling asleep.
I remember waking up at a gas station where the tank was filled, courtesy Fritz.
I remember getting home.
I remember the laughs
and the smoke
and Lukas
and Fritz
and Tyler
and Jena
and Shelby
and Dakota
and Dylan.
I remember the love.

Even at this place I call home
I feel completely alone

The ones I love most
Know nothing of my troubles

I act like everything is alright
But the second someone comes near
I raise my walls
Prepared for a fight
Holding in every last tear

I can’t be myself
I can’t let them see

So I bury it all
Deeper and deeper
Within me

But hiding only brings more pain

whenever i swallowed that pill
i knew what was coming
nothing
no smile
no frown
nothing but a heavy coat
on me all day
covering everything
everything about me
i can't emphasize
NOTHING
enough
numbness
it is better to feel sadness, madness
than nothing at all
please parents, just let me free fall

i cannot be this nothingness ghost

Rap songs, television, social networks, *******,
Media always seems to connect a woman’s worth with her body.
Our culture would like us to believe that girls exist
To make boys confident in their masculinity.
According to our broken society,
Females are just objects with which man can devour in his sick and twisted fantasies.

You’re told that you are just a play piece
In some perverted creature’s phantasmagoric wonderland.
Nothing more than an image for a debauched man
To indulge in selfish desires with his filthy hand

Unless you have a ***** chest,
Can shake your *****, or move your body smoothly,
You’re completely worthless.

****. *****. *****.  
Such words have been deemed acceptable
To call girls on a regular basis
And apparently if you’re joking
It’s not only accepted but also humorous

“You are too skinny.
You’re too fat.
You’re too short, too tall,
Not pretty enough, not **** enough,
Your hair is too rough,
Too much acne and not enough make up,
Your eyelashes aren’t long enough.”

No matter how hard you try,
Somebody will find a way to tear you down
Until you cry.
They will find a way to make sure you know
That you are simply not good enough.

But it’s not just the media that treats ladies like they’re beneath man’s feet.

Even the church will turn you into nothing.
They conceal their objectification underneath a façade of purification,
All the while only bringing condemnation.

Put on some clothes or you’re going to go to hell.
Usually it’s not that direct.
But what the heck,
That’s what they’re saying.
Jesus’ love is obviously not what they’re portraying.

“Modest is hottest.”
I have heard that phrase hundreds of times before.
In fact, I used to say it.
But then I realized by saying it
I’m using the same approach as everyone else.
When I said it, I turned women into objects.
Maybe it was a more pleasant object, but nevertheless, an object, a piece of flesh.

They say that it’s better for you to wear a one piece and ditch the bikini.
And that you shouldn’t wear shorts above your knees.
They say by wearing extra clothes you’re just doing your duty
And helping a brother out.

But they have this expectation that it’s your obligation
to overcome their ******* for them.

Don’t get me wrong,
I love when a girl is genuinely sweet enough
To go out of her way just to keep my lustful thoughts at bay.

And I’m not saying women should run around naked either.
I appreciate a girl who wears clothing
I’m just saying the only reason a girl should cover up
Is because she has self-respect.

It isn’t her job to combat man’s wicked thoughts.

Instead of dealing with their problem,
These Christian boys decide to point fingers and say that women are to blame.
“If only she would put on more clothes I wouldn’t watch **** or *******.”
That is such a lie!
If men successfully got women to wear clothes that covered every bit of skin,
They would still find ways to imagine.

She does not need to put on more clothing so that you will stop *******.
Men need to take responsibility and stop objectifying.

When women speak this truth,
The guys say they don’t understand
Because they’re not a man.
But I am of your species.
I’ve had the same thoughts, same dreams, same fantasies.
I understand!
I have to fight lust everyday.
I have to use every ounce of strength
To turn my eyes away from that computer screen.
I know what it’s like to be a dude.
I’m one of you.
I was the boy who hid behind a mask
And tried to say it wasn’t my fault.
But we have to open our eyes and see that we are at fault.

It is not her fault that she is told day after day
That unless she reveals skin,
She will never be loved by him.

What is wrong with our society?!
Do we actually think that it’s okay to treat women like this?
You are not a piece of meat
For this animal called man to hunt during his daily heat!
You are a human being!
You are special and unique.
You are all one of kind.
You are not an object.
You are not the ***** words they call you.
You’re mothers, daughters, sisters, and lovers.
You are not a *** image.
You are a princess.
You deserve so much more than you have been given.
If you took everything this world had to offer and multiplied it by five thousand,
You would still be worth more than what we have to offer.  
Every single woman on this earth is lovely, and not in a lustful way.

A dark,
empty classroom.
Sitting here alone,
feeling no different
than when it was full.

I've never been scared like this before,
not until now,
never has someone known my secrets
Never has someone known how damaged I am.
It terrified me.
My poetry,
my true heart,
sewn together with scraps,
splayed out for strangers to see.
But that's just it,
strangers.
I'll never have to come face to face with them,
I'll never have to hide
and blatantly lie to them.
But what happens when I come face to face
with someone who knows my writing best?

I felt scared.
I was worried this past-stranger
would let something slip

The people I see daily must never know I'm hurt,
must never know
my nights of insomnia
are filled with tears,
and must never question my bitter humor.

But I was lucky,
lucky that the stranger,
like everyone else,
simply doesn't care.

I look at this empty classroom,
desks in shambles and dusty books
with plain walls,

it sends an eerie shiver up my spine
with the creeping question of
"what if?"

What if someone cared?
I can only pray
that will never happen.

Deep in the womb,
an innocent beating,
unaware of the terror outside.
Ignorant
and thrashing,
begging to move-
to be released
and learn.

Emerging only to see
darkness
in an abandoned society.
The need to thrash replaced by the need to sit still
and keep things as they were.
That need to learn diminished
by the forced ignorance
and fear of truth.

That small,
beautiful being
would grow large in size
but small in mind
while living in this corrupted world.

If you comment on one of my poems.
thank you.
If I don't reply to your comment,
I'm not snide
or ignoring it.
Sometimes,
certain comments are just too kind.
I don't know if you've noticed,
but I just don't know how to deal with that.

I appreciate any and all comments,
but sometimes, if I don't reply,
It's not that I don't want too,
I just.
can't.
I don't know how to respond to things like that.
So,
thank you.
and I apologize.

I look at you and I see perfection.
that kind face
and kind words.
So many people love you,
and I've fallen in love.
But perhaps, not with you.
The you I see behind your eyes.
I look and see pain
Inside those perfect,
happy eyes
I see sadness
and memories you've tried to forget.
Underneath your tan skin
I see the quick ripples
of what's underneath
I see what beats true in your heart,
I see the monster you hold within.
All your sins
and demons,
I see them all.
And I love them.

What kind of society do we live in that makes people feel this way?

I told myself I would never succumb,
I pace back and forth with tears streaming down my face
telling myself again and again
"I'm strong I'm strong"

I look in the mirror
and I beg to see something beautiful.
I beg to find pretty,
but I have yet to see it.
"You're beautiful You're beautiful"
I tell myself again and again
But I never believe it.

I collapse to the ground, sobbing
because I've failed.
six water bottles
and feeling sick
as that hopeless feeling takes over me.

I look in the mirror
and beg for a sign that I'm okay
something to tell me I don't have to do this.

But there I end up,
crippled over the toilet
vomiting my insecurities.

What else can you do.
You starve yourself but nothing changes,
You exercise none stop
but you stay the same.

You've thrown away the food in the house
to keep the bare, healthy minimum.

Nothing changes.
Nothing but shivers
and a voice
that knows you'll do anything for a touch;
Maybe if I'm skinny,
I won't be alone.
Maybe,
Someone will find me pretty enough to ask if I'm okay.
I wouldn't have to sit here sobbing
feeling hopeless.

But nothing changes.
Nothing changes and I can't stop the tears.
Looking into that horrific mirror,
Looking back at that red,
pudgy,
unpleasant face
mocking me.

A broken body

with a  broken mind

what else can I do,

when nothing changes?

It’s on nights like these
You feel like it isn’t worth
Going on another day
It hurts too bad
When you try to stay
It feels like your only options
Are the razor blade
Or leaving this place

But before you give up
Let me tell you a story

This isn’t an ordinary story
It’s a true story
But at the same time
I’m making it up right now

There was this girl
Her name was Abigail
Abigail was a caterpillar

She was born with many siblings
Lots of brothers and lots of sisters
They were a pretty happy family

But when they were still young
All of her siblings were murdered
As were her parents
Abigail was left completely alone

It took her a little while to get the
Hang of surviving on her own
But eventually she did

It was just after she got used to living on her own
That it seemed like things when downhill again

Abigail liked food. A lot.
She couldn’t control herself
She tried eating healthy things
Like salad and fruit
But she ate so much that even
The healthy food made her gain weight

She ate food
She dreamed food
She lived food
Abigail became obsessed with food

As if being overweight
Wasn’t bad enough
She was constantly made fun of
Because of her eating habits

Abigail’s biggest dream
Was to fall in love
But it seemed impossible
Because she was always torn down

She used to think that
If someone would just give her a chance
They would maybe possibly like her
And someday they might even
Fall in love with her
She was sure that true beauty
Was stored in her heart
Not in how thin her body was

But as the bullying continued
She decided she wasn’t beautiful
Not even on the inside

It was at this point
Abigail decided to commit suicide

She didn’t have pills
She didn’t have a knife
She didn’t have anything that kills
Or anything to take her life

She was sitting in her room
When she decided to die
And the only thing near
Was a silk blanket

She decided that she would suffocate
Herself with the blanket
Slowly, she wrapped herself in silk
She took one deep breath
And she squeezed her eyes tight
As she released that last breath
Her eyes relaxed

But she didn’t die
She opened her eyes
When she awoke
She felt like she was in a new life
She looked in the mirror
Abigail was a butterfly

She had to endure the trials of life
In order to become the beauty
That is a butterfly

In the deepest pain
Abigail found life

Just when the caterpillar
Thought her world was over
She became a butterfly