She's looking into the glass again, getting real up close and personal
What about this image looks disgusting, wrong, or out of place?
I think it's my lips or my eyes or the landscape of my face
She moves down
Collarbone jutting out, shoulders that form a 30 60 90 triangle from slouching too much
A concave ribcage, ribs protruding through incandescent skin that scars too easily
A back curved by lordotic lords that make her arms dangle like a dead baby doll's
Too thin thighs that she can wrap her too small hands around and a gap between her legs a mile wide but **** those curves are shy
Knees that wobble and knock when she walks, they say she could've been a dancer by her gait, so awkward yet poised ******* she says I know I walk funny stop rubbing more salt into this ****** wound
She takes a step back from the shattered glass
and whispers I never liked you
*******
-
-z.z

some nights, i dream in technicolor
holographic three dimensional, i'm looking through shards of a broken mirror
my dreams are hallucinogenic memory strips of my day, played over and over
some nights, i dream in wet paint on a black canvas
on these nights, fear shakes me
my heartbeat pounds and i lay paralysed
everything is so blurry
other nights, i don't dream
those nights, my mind is endlessly the grey textured walls in my bedroom
they've seen my past but say nothing
because some nights, there's not much to say.
-
-z.z

Time slows down as you grow older
yet for whatever reason, I don’t remember waking up this morning
Age is a number determined by how many rotations around the sun you’ve made it and a year
is a ******* long time
yet by the time I’ve blown out my candles and finished last year’s cake,
I find myself in front of another, being serenaded by family, encouraged to make a wish
my days consist of waking up, going to class, coming home, doing schoolwork, eating, and then going back to sleep
I’m stuck in this routine to further my life whilst stopping it to some extent
I’m walking in place, the same scenery passing me by
until suddenly, I’m at my destination
I’ll look up, look behind, and marvel at how I seemed to get to where I was when it seemed only moments ago I was miles away
Headlines flood the news, one after the other, describing some world tragedy, some natural disaster, some marker that humanity is here
and then time will pass, the headlines will float to the bottom of the pool with hundreds of thousands of other headlines as if nothing had ever happened
days later, new headlines will wash up in their places
but they’ll be the same headlines, on the same televisions, being reflected back on the same screens to the same aging faces
after a while, they stop mattering
it becomes news again to the young but the same old to the elderly
after a while,
Time becomes your greatest nemesis
joints ache, hair turns to grey
complacency settles in like dust
all gradually, day after day after ******* day after day after day
almost coming to a complete stop
so you don’t realise it’s happening until you wake up
and you’ve been here a hundred rotations around the sun
and you wonder when the hell did Time **** me
-z.z

warning: i am mentally unstable, proceed with caution
warning: i am 18 years old, proceed with caution
warning: i am prone to falling, proceed with caution around me
warning: i talk to myself, proceed with caution
warning: my triggers are older men, proceed with caution
warning: i'm queer, proceed with caution
warning: i'm ballsy as ****, proceed with caution
warning: i'm passionate, proceed with caution
warning: i'm a fuckng unicorn and my horn is made of poison, proceed with caution
warning: sometimes i say things, proceed with caution
warning: words come out of my mouth uncensored, proceed with caution
warning: i really don't like condescending authoritative figures, proceed with caution
warning: i like arguing, proceed with caution
warning: i have a tendency to be redundant, proceed with caution
warning: i don't know what i'm ******* doing, proceed with caution
-z.z

every once in a while, i forget things. i forget that smiles are meant to last longer than a couple seconds. i forget that depression is my monster i must fight. i forget that i must fight. i'm tired. i forget that i'm supposed to be going to class, that a C- isn't the end of the world, i forget to tell my professors i'm not okay. i forget to hide behind a smile and sometimes words come out that you weren't supposed to hear. or maybe i know all of this. maybe i know all of this and i'm hiding. maybe i'm hiding.
-z.z

My alter ego has pixie short, electrifying purple hair
she is unafraid of being bold
she's got tattoos on her wrists, doc martins on her feet, ebony black talons, and a voice that booms to declare her presence
my alter ego is a sass master and snark shark
she can call you out on your b.s. faster than you can bat an eye
she will swing that bat at your eye, she's not afraid of using her words as defense weapons
but she knows when to stop speaking
one night I was speaking to my alter ego, asking her how in the world did she get to be so brave?
she laughed and said
darling, it's always been in us, you just haven't unsheathed the sword yet
you've been too busy hiding behind the shield, you forgot you know how to wield
you fight with gentleness, not bite
and that's okay
I shrunk further back into my bed, while she, larger than life, thunked me on the head, said you'll get there, kiddo
and suddenly she vanished, with a mischievous glint in her eye, disappeared to cause change.
-
-z.z

The thing about being disabled is that people seem to think you can't do anything. That the wheelchair I'm sitting in or hearing aids in my ears mean that I am not mentally capable enough to form sentences
I'm a quiet person
but that doesn't mean I can't speak
I just choose not to waste words

The thing about being disabled is that people always stare at you
Trying to figure out what my disability is when I get out of my car parked in the handicapped spot
She looks okay, so why? shouldn't she give that spot to someone who is actually handicapped?
Appearances, my dear, can be deceiving

The thing about being disabled is that it's a label designed by people who needed an explanation for why other people are different
Disabled is not synonymous with strong, at least, not in their books
though it always is in mine.

The thing about being disabled is that you gotta train your voice to screech
be loud when you feel like being quiet
because this label, these hearing aids, this chair, this lack of able-bodied-ness, does not define me
and I need to let you know that