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raingirlpoet Feb 2015
this poem is for you
remember all those nights
no
remember all those days
that you spent with your head towards the sky?
when you met the mailman at the door
knowing it would just be junkmail
with an eager grin on your face anyways?
every day
is a reason to make the best of the small things because
remember when the small things kept you alive and
out of the hospital?
you can’t say no
to a lover who keeps persisting
so i’m calling you out of your darkness
the light is always on
this one is for you
raingirlpoet Feb 2015
my super power
is getting into my own head
i can bring on the rain
faster than flashfloods

my super power
is disappearing
not invisibility
disappearing
like in bad situations
i close my eyes and f          a         d      e       a          w         a         y

my super power
is smiling
because even on the worst days
i can pretend i am okay

my super power
is

-z.z
raingirlpoet Jan 2015
I don’t know who I am, to be honest. I’ve always thought I was a shell housing a…something

I used to think I was invincible. One day, I cut through my skin to see if I would bleed. I was still convinced that I was invincible. Another day, I lit a candle and wove my hands in and out to see if I would burn. I was still convinced that I was invincible. Another day, I approached my sister asking her what happens to us when we die. I don’t remember her answer but I know that was the day I stopped believing in invincibility. I bled harder than I ever will. My skin still remembers the sizzle of the bite.

I remember peering through a mirror. For once, I wasn’t scrutinizing my face, nor was I fascinated by the specks on the ceiling. I saw a girl, about five foot high, dark hair and a face. What was up with that face? Those eyes….see things? Those hands…don’t make things. Those hands crush things. Those hands wipe away droplets of the rain from the face with the eyes that see things. Those hands…aren’t for holding. Those wrists are too thin. Too veiny. Too green. Those arms double as chopping boards. Her shoulders turn in too much but her posture? She could have been a dancer. She should have been a dancer. The girl staring me down. Wasn’t me.

I remember thinking I knew who I was. I thought I was slightly insane. I thought I had been bruised too many times by the dull tips of arrows of words aimed at me. I thought I’d never see the light of day again. I thought I was depressed. I was. I thought my ideas of who I was were *******. They weren’t.

I know of a girl who wants to make people happy. A girl who talks to unicorns and a girl who walks around her house waiting for a person to appear so she can make them happy. This girl is trapped within me. I hear her polite knocks, yet I’ve locked her away and thrown away the key. This girl is determined. She’ll find a way out. I know she will. And when she does, the old me will slip away, like a snake shedding its skin, I’ll know who I am. She will know who I am. And together, we’ll set the world on fire. This time, we’ll watch it go up in flames.
raingirlpoet Dec 2014
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"fight my disability"
we were never at war with one another
like me, it just wants to exist
and so i let it
to some extent
i’ll never “become my disability”
yet i don’t believe it’s a bad thing either
i’ve come to realise that he’s become a part of me
as he’s helped shape my thinking
and maybe even my personality a little bit
i owe all my stubbornness to him
nah
i don’t fight my disability
we’re bffs

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
"get up every day"
though for a while, i thought it was
getting up is easy
facing the world?
getting easier
i used to blush at the thought of getting a wheelchair
i’d bury my face in my knees and cover my ears with my hands, thinking that if i couldn’t see it or hear it, i wouldn’t need it
i cared too much of what society would see me as
not “normal teenage girl”
"sad confined possibly a teenage girl?"
normal is overrated
and to be honest?
so is society

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is not
pretending i’m okay with mainstreaming
dear teachers, “mainstreaming” was never in my vocabulary
pretending?
pfft dear teachers, this is 100% real contentment
IEPs got some getting used to but after 16 years of endless doctors appointments, people in white sterile coats, plastic latex gloves poking, prodding demanding things of me
"mainstreaming"
won’t ever exist in my vocabulary
i know i’m smart
and i know i can do it
so don’t you DARE cry at my graduation
it’d be pretty pathetic if i believed in myself more than you do

the hardest thing i do as a disabled person
is
accepting the realities
i don’t know when i’ll take my last step
i don’t know when my muscles will give out for good
i know that every day i won’t know what’s right in front of me
i know that i’ll never be able to run another mile in my life
and i know that i won’t ever stop dreaming about the things i wish i could do
would love to do
won’t ever do
might do

one day
raingirlpoet Dec 2014
she told me to stop crying
i kind of said no
because the dams i had built were breaking
and i had to release the h2o
raingirlpoet Dec 2014
i promise to always be true to myself
and when i don't know who "myself" is
i'll find her before i act
as someone who isn't "herself"
because actions speak louder than my words ever will
i remember when i acted like i knew what was up
when i changed my clothes and my hair for someone
who wasn't worth changing for
i remember how lost i felt
finding myself took longer that time
still i find traces of the wannabe never-gonna-be girl that i tried to be
in my closet
in my mind
i will never completely rid myself of her
maybe she's become part of me
slipped into my body when i wasn't paying attention
maybe i liked it
i promise to know what i like
before i let it mutate
into something i genuinely hate
i promise to know who i am
before i try to get to know others
how can they know me
if i don't know me?
raingirlpoet Dec 2014
peeling off labels is like peeling off skin of a 3rd degree sunburn
i hate how it looks
and it's gonna hurt like hell
but i don't want the evidence there
why do i even care so much?

dear society
rip
i am not "anorexic"
tear
i have metabolism issues

the stickiness gums up
i didn't ask for this
shred
i'm not "antisocial"
strip
but i like being alone

stab
i'm not teen angst
hack
i'm growing up
stop telling me
i have problems
scratch
i know i have problems

i'm not canned vegetables
why do you need to know my contents?
pick
i'm not yours to scrutinize
stop staring at my body
stop trying to get into my head

stop slapping **** on me
and expecting me to fit into the little labeled box
i'm not
your labels
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