my math teacher once said that the reason superheroes came about in the USA was because americans are the ones who needed the most saving
i didn't know if i should've been offended on behalf of the kids in my class
my math teacher isn't american yet i found my mind wandering throughout his lesson on polynomials
i thought about super heroes in comic books
batman, superman, ironman, wonderwoman
someone had to do the saving
but they all saved the world
maybe they saved individuals i don't know
americans are the ones who need the most saving
we're the ones who need the most saving
teenagers are the ones who need the most saving
i'm the one who needs the most saving
not from batman or superman or wonderwoman
i need to be my own hero and
save myself

i don't/can't/won't/shouldn't/ write this essay
instead i'll write poems
in procrastination
about girls that don't exist
guys that don't know i exist
unicorns i wish i was riding
holden caulfield
my brother
death and general grayness
procrastination poems
are better than my essay
writing essays are 95% procrastination and maybe 2% work
3% denial
this poem is already longer than my essay is
should i get to work or
read another article on my favourite band
or hover over the email tab
someone talk to me? no?
but music!
no good music is this a sign
minutes tick by drawing closer to midnight
my fingers have yet to fly over keys
like a reporter's with the Next Big Thing
i suppose i will sleep
and let the essay write itself

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

Someone turned off the moon
I searched high and low
Someone stole the moon out of the sky
How? is what I want to know

It was a funny feeling, to look up that night
To see the night light gone
A magic ladder that reached the heavens
The stars couldn't sing their song

Someone took the moon and ran
Snatched it without a sound
It was a very discombobulating night
Without the moon around

Dear Teacher,
I am not your "Inspiration" nor am I your "Motivation"
Do not use me as an "Example"
They hate me enough already
I do not need to talk to you after class, I am doing just fine
Bs aren't acceptable?
I'm sorry I couldn't complete your assignment
I was mentally ill that day.
No, don't give me an A when I didn't work for it
That's cheating
Me
Out of life
Yes I can handle it
I'm not as Weak as you think I am
Dear Teacher
I know I made you cry at graduation
You didn't think I'd be able to do it
I told you
I could handle it.

Airports
I never liked them
I never liked taking my shoes off to go through security
I never liked the crowded and sometimes cold atmosphere
I felt like a toy in a factory getting ready to get boxed and shipped out
Airports
But maybe I should
Like them
I'm sitting here in this terminal watching people rush past with their briefcases and screaming children
Where are you going?
Can I come too?
Where are you rushing off to and
Must you always rush?
Someone once said to try to find the quiet in an airport
I will try to find the quiet in an airport
Maybe I'll find it, maybe I won't
But quiet in an airport
What a concept
Airports
I'll find the quiet
Airports
Maybe I will like them

When the ink flows from the tip of my pen onto paper,
it really is a
Majestic sight
My thoughts come alive via
scrawled script in
Blue Ink

This morninng, I woke up to the sun shining down on my face
Like literally, shining down on my face
My bed is beneath a window and my blinds are
always open so I can see the clear blue skies or stormy grey clouds
Nature is kind to me
Today I decided I was going to live and let go
It is summer so let me be free of the papers and test grades and numbers just numbers that I let manipulate me into being a sour, depressed person who hated everything and everyone
Let me walk out in the sunshine, face up towards the sky and out of this dark hole I've been hiding in
I will breathe in the warm air
Let the heat particles dance on my skin like eyes flicker in the light of fire
Here I stand, barefoot with my arms open wide as if to say COME AT ME WORLD, THIS TIME I'M READY FOR YOU!
The wind blows my hair back and dust devils swirl up around me
I will wait for the rain and even when it pours will my heart smile
Let the monsoon storms come down and wash away the remnants of the monster I have become
I will run towards the rainbows and never will I stop
It's summer.

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

Sometimes it feels like you're walking around on tiptoe as not to disturb the glass beneath your feet
Broken edges, sharp shards of memories and the life that once was
Shoes mask the familiar feel of the ground, confuse your feet, and throw them off path
Barefoot and
Not so free
Hobble around, try to regain your balance whilst staying upright
Don't look down, feel around for the soft areas
A blind man, navigating through a minefield
What are the chances of getting through safely?
When it rains more glass you grab at your threadbare sweatshirt that is trying so hard to protect you
Your innocent, now scarred white flesh glistens against the storm of needles that ***** your skin
At what point do you decide to stop caring?
At what point do you take off the jacket that's not been doing much for you anyways and just give yourself to the battle?
Sacrificial living or
Sacrificial dying
Sacrificial being
At what point do you blow up?
I'm trying to understand this way of walking
But I stomp around on heavy feet
My feet are calloused and sore
I'm barefoot and free
I've blown off my limbs but what's a little blood to stop the war?
My scars have faded
I gave myself to the storm
Yet I'm still breathing
I've not died though I've walked many a mile on
Tiptoe back when I thought it was wise
To walk on shattered glass

What happened a week ago
I’m still recovering
Some have told me I’m in mourning
when you lose something that was a part of you for so long
I feel like I’ve lost a limb or
a big chunk of my heart
what happened a week ago
friendships severed, felt like an amputation without the anesthesia
sawing and gnawing
whittle by whittle
the pain, never less than searing
what happened a week ago
I feel the phantom limb
I think it’s still there
I go to my inbox, check the chats, click one and
BOOM
shouting matches and f-bombs being dropped like the a-bomb on Hiroshima
my words, arrows dipped in poison
I flung everything I had
poured my chopped up heart onto a silver platter and let the blood drip drop for all to see
what happened a week ago
I said some things I shouldn’t have
I let my heart speak instead of my head
letting my anger and red flurries get the best of me
what happened a week ago
is an awful lot like what happened 11 years ago
I’m six years old
piecing together a puzzle of forgiveness
walking back to my room after a yelling match with my sister
I scribble I’m so sorry I got mad at you on the back of my homework
slide it under her door
and wait

i am a walking cliche
teenage girl
depressed
rarely smiles
long sleeves to cover my wrists
i have a secret
-roll of eyes-
don't we all...
i wear toms in the spring and
chuck taylors in the fall
my shoes match my moods
when the sun shines brightly and i'm wearing dresses for days
i'm weightless
and then the sun sets and the trees rattle fiercely in the wind and my shoes,
they bind my feet to the ground
i crawl into my hole and start piling on sweaters and blankets it's dark
i'm alone
the sun won't rise for another 6 months
until then i'll shuffle around until i can find the nearest exit
i'm a walking cliche

little sister did you do your homework?
little sister don't make me ask you again
little sister why haven't you done it yet?
little sister i swear if you don't

little sister stop following us
little sister- no not now
little sister you'll understand when you're older
little sister go away

little sister i don't know the answers to everything
little sister ask mom
little sister stop bugging me
little sister i don't have time

little sister let me tell you this
little sister life is hard
little sister i'm not going to hold your hand but
little sister i'll always be here for you

little sister stop relying on other people
little sister you're stronger than you know
little sister you can do it
little sister i believe in you

i'll make a wish on every dead dandelion i find
blowing my dreams away on every seed
hoping that they'll flutter away in the wind so far away from me and i'll hope that life may sprout from the ghosts of my past
why do we wish on dead dandelions?
why do i find them so hauntingly beautiful
i wish on dead dandelions
and their magic
i pluck them gently out of the ground and
****** my wishes upon them
i whisper
godspeed, dandelion
i'm relying
on you

Fruit pizza
I’m eight years old
Running around the house with a cape tied around my neck
Ingredients:
Sugar cookie dough
Strawberry cream cheese frosting
Sliced fruit of choice
My teddy bear’s name is Kate, after baby Kate from Arthur
We had to stop watching that show because my sister started acting like D.W
I told Kate everything because she was the best at keeping secrets
I didn’t realise she couldn’t talk back to me
Preheat oven to 350
Eat cookie dough because no matter what mom says, it’s not really going to **** you
Spread cookie dough evenly on a pizza pan
As the youngest of seven loud siblings of various ages, I had to learn at a young age how to be heard
I can yell with the best of them, but you would never know given my quiet tendencies today
I still haven’t completely grown up yet
In my mind, I’m still that little girl who read picture books and made up games like hurricane and the tripping machine
Let cookie cool
Wash fruit and slice it neatly
In my mind, I am still the little girl who did things because she wanted to and therefore got put in time out a lot
Spread strawberry cream cheese frosting on cookie
In my mind, I am still protected by the shelter of my parents
In my mind, Kate can still talk
Place fruit in a circular pattern on the frosted cookie
Cut into even pieces
I’m eight years old
Fruit pizza.

he drank his morning coffee with a drop of the sunrise mixed in
always one drop, never one more nor one less
just enough to hear the steam whisper
*good morning

“It is time to write,” she says
I open a new Word Document.
A blank sheet.
My mind does not want to write an essay.
I write in verse and
chopped lines
not straight paragraphs that drone on and on about William Faulkner and his acceptance speech.
My mind, it drifts off and thinks in flowery words, much too flowery for an essay.
My fingers start typing and words appear on the screen.

Enter.
Type, type, type.
Enter. Type, type, type. Enter.

My thoughts appear in verse and William Faulkner goes unnoticed.

How many times have I written about the whirlwind of a storm inside my mind instead of
whether or not cohabitation is a good thing or
speeches about equal access and the themes in Harper Lee’s To **** a Mockingbird?
How many times have I given into my urge to write and relieve my brain of the pressure that gets built up instead of writing things that will earn me a grade?
The answer is often.
The grade,
Just a number
The conceptions?
Just words

What I write in procrastination?
Everything that bleeds from my heart.
The low grade I received on my speech because I couldn’t be bothered to write about horrid subjects when my soul yearned for something greater?
Worth it.

She was a hurricane
a tempest so true
so strong and indestructible
blowing through existence
and soaking everyone
in her way
day by day
more fell wounded
from her rage
but ignorant
to the truth
inside
too big for the small town box she’s locked inside
she wants to matter
she dreamed of gettin’ out
for herself
yet she worries
what
if…
she was fighting a war within herself
endless heart wrenching vindictive battles
she lost
every
one
she’s drowning
she doesn’t care
she’s had enough
of the paper towns
the paper people
the paper lies
sooner or later
the paper will
tear
and
so
will
she

Dear Wish Granting Factory
I know you said you are not the world
But for a minute,
Can you be?

Dear Wish Granting Factory
You asked me what I would wish for
If you existed
Right now, in this moment, I believe
You exist

What do I wish for?
Oh, Wish Granting Factory
I wish to know the sensation of feet slapping against pavement and lungs burning so bad that you feel you are going to faint
I wish to know that the muscles in my fingers will not fail me when I spread them and cross my arms over to make the Nerdfighter gang sign
I wish to know what it is like to look at myself in the mirror and think
I like the way I look

Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to see myself clearly through the eyes of someone
That Someone Who will one day look at me like I am the most beautiful thing in existence
I wish to know that that love exists and it is not just a figment of my imagination
Dear Wish Granting Factory
Do William Darcys really exist?
If so, please point me in that direction so I can find him

Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to make a difference in this society in which I am the minority
That my voice may be heard loudly and clearly even though it trembles
That my story be told truthfully and I, a person, a human being with feelings and emotions and thoughts that are not invalid because I have a disability and are therefore “inept” am represented as I see myself
A strong, confident, young girl who is living her life the way she wants to see it and nothing will hold me back.
Disabilities do not define me now, nor will they ever

Dear Wish Granting Factory
I wish to live to see the day when I meet my birth mother and face her
As a stranger, though her daughter
And tell her these words
I love you
I forgive you
I missed knowing you

Dear Wish Granting Factory
Sincerely,
Z

i-iii-i
i-i-iii can't
let me catch my breath
and get back to you

she whispered a secret into my hair
ruffled it like she does
my skin burned beneath her touch
ccc-c-can you not?

sshhhh she said
it's okay
no it's not
if i could only say the words

sss--sst--
what was that, honey?
ss--ssto*
you're a snake?*
no

stop.

“I need to write a poem”
Were the first words out of my mouth when my mother told me about
The Letters

One letter arrived one day, postmarked July 1st, 2014
I don’t know when it arrived, but that day
I guess that day her soul earned it’s wings
That day, that one day
My soul crumbled as hers rose to the heavens, with that piece of paper
that had Apology scrawled all over it in that handwriting of hers that
Didn’t change one bit

I was watching my family extra closely as my mother read the letter out loud
I didn’t want to see any of us hurt anymore even though I knew in my heart
We would get through this
We’re Zelinskis, strong and forgiving
We open our hearts to perfect strangers and welcome them into our home with hugs and laughter and game nights that don’t end at midnight
We are one in suffering and one in rejoicing
We wear the teachings of the bible on our shirtsleeves and kindness drip drops from our eyes
My dad says
We’re all children of christ

But Children still get hurt
My sister, she chose Laughter
My brother, his face was a blank canvas as I rubbed and rubbed, trying to see through the white blanket of paint that masked his emotions
My sister in law told me the Truth
My brother, I don’t know, I just hope he listens to his heart this time
My sister, she has a wedding to plan
Me,
Maybe I’m the only one who wanted to be angry
Maybe I’m the only one who sees their pain even though they can’t
Or maybe I’m delusional and no one’s really affected by the Letter

We’re still children
I’m still bouncing around the house, following the older kids around like a lost puppy
My sisters are still my heroes and my brothers
Are still my knights, my Protectors, the ones I could sass and make fun of because they
Did the same to me but with much more force than my small voice could carry
We’re still children
I know nothing of The Letters
Instead, I’m welcoming Her into our home again with a tray full of Grandma’s famous chocolate chip cookies and the goofy grin of a six year old
I’m meeting Her eyes again
Only this time
I know she’ll leave
This time, I know how much time I have

So I’ll write my letter now
And instead of remorse and anger
I’ll fill it with good times and Remember Whens
I’ll put it in the mailbox, swipe the red flag up
And wish on the mailman that you’ll get it

By the way she opens herself up to others,
You would never know how much she's gone through
Selflessness and a desire that turned into an urge

By the way she's always making sure everyone else is okay first,
You would never know she's struggling to keep herself above water
Maybe she's helping herself by helping others

She's always telling me
To take care of myself first before I worry about others
I am top priority

I wonder if she takes her own advice

i'm not proud to say
i'm 85 lbs
that's not much of a girl
but i remember
when being 85 lbs
was all i ever wanted
when i craved a flat stomach
thin wrists
a gap between my thighs so wide
when i spent my days
filling my belly with water and air
taking lunches to school
but not eating them
instead tossing them in the trash because the smell of fresh fruit
made me sick
when i look in the mirror
i see the ghost and skeleton of a girl
who's in recovery
and i'm disgusted
85 lbs
is not much of a girl
i remember when all i wanted
was to be smaller, smaller
when i was 80 i wanted to be 75
75 wasn't enough so i kept purging til i hit 70
70 wasn't enough
65 wasn't enough
nothing would ever be enough
0 would never be enough
-10 would never be enough
i remember when they forced needles into my papery skin
i remember when 80 was enough for me to keep my life
and i remember
when i decided
i would always be enough

familiar faces
roadside challenges
laughter that never stops
we're following the stars around the world to the soundtrack of our childhoods in phrases of
remember when...?
remember when we were fearless?
remember when we didn't know who sang that song about the girl who would be loved but sang along at the top of our lungs because it didn't matter?
remember when we could fix broken friendships with rootbeer flavoured dum-dum lollipops?
remember when we were 14 and i made you call your crush?
remember how you cried into my arms when he didn't say "i love you" back and it felt like the world was spinning too quickly?
remember that summer when we jumped off that cliff?
remember that summer...
remember when
one day soon
we'll all have jobs
husbands
wives
children to look after
we'll say
Remember in college how we took that roadtrip right before graduation?
remember how we almost didn't make it back in time?
How many of us will remember in old age?
carpe
Carpe
Carpe diem,
he said to us
and we did
we seized the hell out of that day
CARPE DIEM!
we ran into the night, high on life, shouting
all for one and one for all!
CARPE DIEM, FOREVER!

what happens when i no longer like your pink, sweet, version of me you’ve curated?
what would happen if i erased all colour completely?

no, i’m not talking about choosing blue over pink or yellow or green
“gender neutral” clothing isn’t any shade on the colour wheel

i’m talking about if i never associated the colour pink with femininity
and blue with masculinity

and yellow and green with “gender neutrality”

what if my life was just void of colour?

like if i were to say i didn’t feel like a girl nor a boy
nor the brief possibility of both

i just feel
like that grey space in between the most diluted shades on the colour wheel

would you still force me to call myself “daughter”?

She was
A word artist, delicately stringing letters together on a long beaded necklace of a poem
She was
An escape artist, writing to numb herself of the pain that incessantly stabbed her in places that should not feel,
Her heart, her mind, her body was corrupted...
She was
an Artist
Who felt more than the World should have allowed her to Feel
She carried the weight of the World on her shoulders, every day becoming weaker instead of Stronger
She was
an Artist
Who couldn't put the pen down

Dear Z
Oh Z, oh sweet Z
I’m supposed to be giving you advice, tell you what not to do, et cetera, et cetera
But I know the words written here
Won’t matter to you
Z, you were always such a strong minded girl
Do it your own way, don’t let anyone tell you what to do, keep pushing the boundaries if you can
You were never angry when you got grounded
Instead, a small part of you felt satisfied
Maybe it was the devil speaking, but you actually laughed when you got in trouble
I know, this is only one side of you, but I hope you gave the other sides a chance
I know how hard it is to let go of that stubborn, don’t give a **** about what people say attitude
Facade
Remember the girl you said you wanted to be?
The one who you were working on getting closer to?
She lit up rooms with the way she talked about poetry
She was so full of life
Z, be that girl, okay?
Let people get close to you, please don’t keep pushing them away
You know you need them and they’re always going to be there for you
I know it’s hard, so hard to ask for help
You’ll want to do it on your own
But Z, you know where that got you last time
So many “last times”
“next times”
How about Now?
Z,
Do you remember the nights when you got in your own head, trying to convince yourself you weren’t worth it?
Do you remember feeling so numb afterwards from reading the journal entries you wrote while sitting at the bottom of your man-made ocean of tears?
I want you to know that you’ve always been beautiful, but you’re the only one that has yet to realise that
I want you to know that you’ve got so much potential left in you
You’re always telling others
“Your fire’s only begun to burn brighter”
Z, YOUR fire’s only begun to burn brighter
Don’t stop, I hope you never stop trying to make peoples’ days better
I also hope you realise
How important you are
Dear Z
I want you to remember
Your past may have made you who you are today
I want you to remember
Your future is going to be great
Dear Z
I love who you are
Who you were
And who you have yet to be

he told me the secret to life
was faking it
he said that no one will be able to see the cracks in your skin beneath
the makeup i'll put on you
look in the mirror, he said
your reflection is flawless
and that girl is absolutely
100%
you
no scratches were visible
from the night i tried to claw my eyes out
he trimmed my nails short and said
they looked prettier that way
my formerly bloodshot eyes
and ratchet hair
had been replaced with contacts
the mane, tamed down into a tight little bun
i wasn't a girl who hated herself
i wasn't the girl who tried to hang herself
i was the girl who loved herself and thought life was just grand
i was the girl who was afraid of death
the screaming voices in my head were replaced
with condescending mama hen clucks
he spun me around once more and said
darling
look at your beautiful face
look at
you
yeah
look at me

It seems like Distractions
Are all I've been breathing lately
I'm not alive anymore
I died the day I traded in Oxygen for Pain
Now, I'd give anything to have my old life back
When the only decision I had to make was deciding whether or not I should invite my cousin over to play with my new toys
When I could stand out in the rain and feel nothing else but euphoria
I'd love so much
To smile and not have my Smile act as a Facade
To take these Distractions, hold them in the palm of my hand and blow them away in the wind with a wish
I'd love so much
To have Oxygen fill my lungs with air
Then I'd exhale a sigh of relief because that would mean everything is right again
But things are not right
And so I'll go back to
Watching the World Cup, but not really pay attention
Planning for my trip next month
Reading the book that isn't so interesting
Conversing with my family though I'm
Not present
I'm drowning
in Distractions.

what do you say in a traditional wedding toast?
I’m not a traditionalist
I’m a poet
I’m not too good at structured, sentimental texts
i speak in chopped verses so
here’s my non-traditional, non-structured, sentimental wedding toast
in verse

my memories
flash and fade quickly like lights flicker on and off
i'm toddling around the house right behind you
where are you going?
can i come too?

i'm barefoot in the driveway washing your car
you took pictures, no doubt laughing at the streaks we left on the windows because, shortness

i'm sitting on the bus rifling through your purse like the nosy little kid I am
you're chaperoning one of my school field trips
one of the aids asks if you're my mother
you chuckle and say "nope, i'm her sister"
i roll my eyes because isn't it obvious we're sisters?
okay, it wasn't obvious we're sisters

i'm bouncing down the hallway to your room
stopping suddenly at the sight of packing boxes
college
you're leaving me
"we'll be okay" you said
i believed you even though i could have sworn
i was losing my sister to the big city for good
we wrote letters
we skyped
we emailed
and i called you
so many times
we were okay

fifth grade, you bring a guy home
but not just any guy
i think we all knew this one was different
i saw it in your eyes
i was only 11 but i knew what love looked like

b, you always told me i was the wind beneath your wings
you can't break the bond of sisterhood
you just can't
but maybe the bonds will loosen
i thank you for the memories
they were fantastic and i'm looking forward to seeing what the future has in store for us
i'm thinking
babies would be nice
In time...

so my dear sister,
tell me how married life is
i hope this night was everything you always dreamed of

nick, you've got to be
the happiest guy in the world right now

i'm only 16 but i know what love looks like
it looks like his gaze on her glowing beauty
it looks like a promise of forevers proclaimed in front of loved ones
it looks like my sister
finding her other half
and my brother in law
finding his.

-rgp

When I’m really nervous, I start picking at the skin on my lips and hope it will heal over before--
Before nothing
Nothing will happen
When I’m really nervous, I play with the ends of my hair and wonder if--
If I’ll ever wake up from this nightmare where someone lo--
Looks at me like I’m an actual person
When I’m really nervous--
I take a deep breath and whisper get over yourself

I believe
I believe I'm hesitant to believe in anything because
Life is always changing, sometimes faster than you can bat an eye
I believe that you can never be alone because your thoughts will always be with you
I try to believe that good will overcome evil but it is a concept I can't wrap my mind around
I believe that the world will never stop spinning and I will never stop dancing to the subtle sway of Earth's forces
I believe that the sun still rises even on cloudy days
That after the worst storms, rainbows linger
I believe that everything is indefinite
And I believe that words have more power than actions do
I believe that I will always be looking for something else because I am a searcher
A wanderer
A creator
But not quite a believer

rainbows are
so freaking amazing
not in a sappy literature
way but in the way of simplicity
that something so beautiful can come from something so violent it
gives me hope and hope is such a delicate thing to also come
from something so big why do i hope something more can become of me from a rainbow
excuse me, i got off track we were talking about simplicity rainbows and simplicity rainbows and simplicity rainbows and---
rainbows every time i hear that word i think hope and there's no way i can change my thinking
nor will i ever change my thinking because maybe hope from rainbows i don't know maybe hope from rainbows is better than
nothing
rainbows are pretty freaking amazing in the sappy literature way in which i have been referencing throughout the majority of this failed attempt at simplicity poem

the good poems
are constructed from fragments
of painful experiences
times when i felt numb and nothing
there's thought,
structure
or lack of anything entirely
the good poems
remind me of a time
that i can't really remember
i'm going back to this pain
because it's familiar
i remember what desolation looks like
i remember what silent screams ripped air in two and
my skin apart
the good poems tell of a time
where i was mentally so far gone
when i had a concrete concept of the darkness enfolding me but no concept of what scary was
the good poems aren't really good poems
there's just emotion there
i felt so much
and it hurt to touch
if i can somehow make sense of it all
rewrite my scars into fresh cuts again
remember the nullity i fell into
maybe i'll learn how to feel again
leave the past in the past and bury it with a hatchet
no need to dig up all the skeletons you once hid in your closet
you let chaos rest, why disturb it?
it never escapes you
i talk about past pains
like it's something i crave
what a foolish thing to want, to need
to thirst for to feel whole again
this pain
i think they call it growing pain
like the pain of physically shaking off an old skin that no longer fits
the skin i felt comfortable in and the skin i abused
so a new skin can grow
i miss the familiarity
and my limits
the good poems
weren't good at all
but in my head
they're good because
if i can fathom images of what trembling nights felt like
out of shaky breaths
that's better than when i can't
and if the only thing i ever write about for as long as i live is pain
then so be it
they say that you spend your whole life
rewriting the first poem you ever loved
perhaps
my definition of love
is synonymous with pain
perhaps pain
is synonymous with life
if that's true
then the good poems remind me of a time
when i was so so alive that i was on the brink
of death
-
-rgp

I’m the kind of person who will stand up to you if you get in my face.
it has taken me years to get to this point
on a platform where I can voice my opinions freely
I’m careful with my words
though so not
if you cross me,
I will let you know
I’m the kind of person who can run a mile with blood on her knees, ignoring the sting
I’ll get to where I’m going
I will fall a million times and get up every single time
blood has got nothing on me
it’s not a race to the finish line, you know
I’m the kind of person who has double edged sword of sass and snark hidden in a sheath you can’t see
I’m pleasant and kind, always smiling
don’t let this aura deceive you
I can fight a battle with my words, always make it sound like I’m winning
I know when to back down
gracefully
when I lose, I’ll say so
take my pride and leave
I’m the kind of person who will fight for you
I’m a kind person for me.

Holden Caulfield
A boy
Not yet a man
Stuck in the middle
Of two worlds
Ambivalence
Holden Caulfield
Calls up Sunny
The depressing
*******
Holden is nothing
But a boy
Not yet a man
Still stuck in the middle
Of two worlds
His virginity
Remains intact
Holden Caulfield
Thinks you’re a phony
A fake
Not who you really are
Old Stradlater
Old Ackley
Old Sally
Old Holden
Is a phony
Holden Caulfield
Isn’t who he really is
either

new year's eve
trying to forget
trying to erase
music was blaring
or maybe it was the laughter
yes, this year will be different
the clock stroke 12
flakes began to fall
in a land where snow is rare
some made snowballs
others watched while i
stood in the middle of the road
waiting for a new
beginning

"The world? So confusing"
"Complicated."
"Messed up"
"Deceiving"
"Ever-changing"
"Not enough"
"Ridiculous"
"Black and white"
"Boring"
"Ugly"
"Mysterious"
"Disappointing"
"A page of out of a book of lies"
"I think the world is beautiful"

the moon
is a testament
to the idea that
something so heavy
and encircled by darkness
can still
bring
light.
-rgp

i don’t know why they keep telling me
broken wings cannot fly
because i’ve seen more brokenness fill the skies
than wholeness every occupied
when feathers float tear soaked
feet push off of the ground
gravity has got nothing on me
i may be broken but i’m ******* free

they asked me
what did YOU do today to make the world a better place?
i looked down at my feet
embarassed
"i woke up"
i said
"i got out of bed"
they looked at me, puzzled
"i didn't let depression win"
a small smile crept across my face
no, my dear, the world the world
what did you do to make  the world  a better place
i took a deep breath
"i told the girl in the bathroom mirror she was beautiful"
"i told the boys to stop bullying the girl in the hallways though i wonder if they heard me"
"i told the empty hallways i'd be okay"
i told depression i'd bury it
i woke up
i got up
i stood up
and i hit "play"

when will they stop watching
gawking
laughing
poking
prodding
shoving

when will they start caring
speaking
changing
helping
encouraging

when will she stop crying

when he stops dying

when they stop lying

they will start trying

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

I have a secret
That I can't tell anyone
Because I let Fear
****** me
Fear swallowed me whole as the What If's became louder and louder in my ears
Fear looked so charming in that sweat-stained t-shirt
Fear had eyes that I'll never forget
Fear closed my eyes and whispered in that husky voice that made me weak in the knees
"They will judge you"
I have a secret
That I will never tell anyone
Because my secret
Belongs to Fear now.

i’m lost
my legs are tired
and the concrete looks like a trampoline
if you throw something hard at an even harder surface, the something does not bounce
it breaks
if i throw my body to the concrete that looks like a trampoline
my bones will shatter
but my soul will only bruise
and that annoys me

because i thought death was easy
it’s this life that’s hard
what happens when escaping life becomes so difficult that death disappears from sight
when i thought death was easy but there’s no more fight left in me
when did trying to die become so difficult?

they tell me i’m not alone
which i find to be pretty funny because when my thoughts are falling out of my head too quickly for me to catch i’ll look around
and all i see is fragmented thoughts splintered on the ground

you have commitments
appointments
social obligations that consist of lifting others up
you have a job
and friends
and school
and papers to write
i know it’s hard for you sometimes, too

i know i drag you down
you say you won’t entertain the thought that my existence is a show put on by lucifer’s angels because i’m just
dramatic
you say
my idleness is the reason why my brain is wasting away
i’m the reason i’m wasting away
if it’s all in my head,
will the pain get better as i get worse?

they tell me
i’m here
and they’ll miss me if i go but when i tell them i’ve been trying to leave for years
they tell me no
i’ve been trying to stay for years
i laugh

they tell me
there’s so much more to live for
smiles and hugs and really dumb jokes
art and literature and art and art and art
and art

one thing art has taught me?
everything dies
everything ends
and humanity’s soul takes a beating every time we try
to erase the existence they’ve worked so hard to create
we could be frail
and throw ourselves to the pavement
the headlines the next morning would read Another one Bites the Dust or something

it’s really hard to be positive when you don’t want to be
or remember how to be
when stats of suicide are so frequently reported you wonder if that’s what you’ll become, another statistic
“the percentage of suicides of queer, korean adoptee, catholic, females has now risen to 1% this is Fox News reporting”
or something

i’ve heard that.

when did trying to die become so difficult?

-rgp

The colours of a mirror are foggy, but lucid
I don’t see my reflection,
But colours of a girl I remember being

Dark purples and greys, she’s bruised and scarred
Shards of glass line her hollowed out, bloodshot eyes
Ghostly pale, she’s barely alive

I watch as she transforms before me
Her colours are metamorphosis and she’s the revitalized butterfly
The greys and purples swirl into blues and whites

She’s stepping out of the shadow of who she was
The colours of the mirror are brighter, more vivid
I recognize this girl

The colours are clearly defined
I see shades of blues of sensibility and confidence
She’s stronger and exuding life

The colours of a mirror are the colours of honesty
I see my reflection
Not the girl I was

But the girl I am.

I can’t count all the stars in the sky
because every time I try I stop to see if I can connect the dots to form something bigger that might have more meaning than
the number I stopped counting on
twenty seven
fourty two
seventy nine
eight
three
two
one
zero
When I was a little girl, my momma would sing me this rhyme
I see the moon and the moon sees me,
God bless the moon and God bless me
we’d look for the big dipper and think up a soup to serve to the man in the moon
I’d serve it to him and look for his smile
he’d tell me he loved it and as I fell asleep
I’d count the stars until Mr. Sandman took me away
Tonight, when I started counting
I thought I could see your face
And what a funny thought to think
because lately I’ve only seen you in dreams
you were sitting on the floor, playing with my clothes like you used to
Remember that?
you’d go through my closet and pull the pieces that I’ve kept around for ages
though they had their time long ago
you pranced around the room with every item on like you were the faerie godmother of the worst dressed
you topped the outfit off with the tutu I wore in my 3rd grade ballet recital
it didn’t matter that I loved that tutu more than anything in the world
or that you looked better in it than I ever did
it didn’t matter that the tutu was the brightest neon orange your eyes ever squinted at
you wore it with pride while I wore it because you told me to
it didn’t matter that at your funeral when everyone else placed their favorite baseball cards and caps in your casket, I plopped the tutu down at your waist
where it belonged
it didn’t matter that I had a fit when your mother said I couldn’t give you my tutu because it wasn’t who you were
it didn’t matter that you couldn’t be buried with it
it didn’t matter then
it won’t matter later
and it still doesn’t matter
because it wasn’t “who you were”
I didn’t care
I never cared because
when you love someone unconditionally
the little things, the big things like
skin colour
face shape
income
hair colour
****** orientation
height
personality
tutu preference
become irrelevant
Twenty seven
the number of times you drunk texted me
Fourty two
the number of times you were forced to watch the Sunday game
Fourty two
the number of times you called me crying about being forced to watch the Sunday game
Seventy nine
the number of times you said
i would be better off dead, yes
Seventy nine
it would be better if I were dead
Eight
the number of hours I spent videochatting with you on Skype trying to convince you not to do it
Three
the number of words in the last text you sent
“I’m done here”
Two
the number of times you said you wished you were straight
Two
the number of times I said I didn’t care that you weren’t
One
the number of tears that slid down your dad’s face at your funeral
Zero
beats missed

when it comes right down to it
peace speaks a language the deaf can hear
the blind can feel
and compels you, me, all of us
to feel something

we are not broken

i'm reaching my hand out to the pages on my computer screen
touching the profile pictures and updates
emma has marked herself safe during the paris attacks
i watched the colours of the paris flag flood my screen
like a ripple across the vast waters

we are one
who knows what the future holds for tomorrow
for today
we will be strong in unity

i like the chill that races up my spine
when my voice projects too loudly
it reminds me that my voice is mine
and so i'll shout from the rooftops proudly

my voice is most often soft
people rarely hear me speak
they look around, did someone squawk?
nope, it was more like a tinny squeak

i'm not the bravest person
yet my opinions urge me to speak my mind
every blue moon i'll gather the courage
and my definition of brave is redefined

my voice may be small but when it rains it pours
my mouth grew wings and away it will soar
bringing me to heights i never knew
speaking is only worth it if the words are true

today my barbaric yawp will be heard
both in written and spoken word
i will not hide behind the veil of silence
silence may be golden but being loud is preferred

16
What's so great about growing up?
I want to live in Neverland forever
Forget about the stresses of every day life and college talk just stop
I'm counting down the hours til midnight and
The last hours I have of 15
Was it a good year?
Will 16 going on 17 Z be proud of this Z?
Memories flash and fade
15
Freshman in high school
I know who I am
Writing poetry day in and day out and
Finding solace in a community called Nerdfighteria
15
No friends in real life
But that's fine
Figuring out it is okay to be a listener in public instead of the talker
15
Reading books, breathing words
Content with life
and filling journals, too many to count
15
The fireworks boom
Smoke fills the air
Smiles on every face, lit up by the moon and colours radiating from the night sky
15
A blanket is wrapped around my shoulders
I'm trying to stay awake for the last minutes of
15
but my eyelids are heavy
Time glides swifter than the boats on Lake Washington
Cheers go up
16 will be great