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

brittle bones cracked but not broken
bruised battered bloke but not dead yet

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

because i needed to write something though i had no idea how i was going to say it so i just started writing
and i am unsure of what ink will be spilled here and i apologise in advance if a picture comes out of it that is
too much for you to handle
sometimes poison bleeds out of my veins instead of blood
and it's a wonder that i've survived so long with blood so toxic
yet i found a way to live without living
the other day
my friend asked me if i was afraid of ghosts
i said i wasn't because ghosts are just spirits that are looking for a body to inhabit
i told her this and
she looked at me like i was deranged or on drugs
she then asked me if i was okay
//no//
my lips said yes
and my mind screeched no!
so she walked away thinking i really was okay
leaving me with thoughts that would strangle me to the ground
i hate thinking
and being alone
that's when the monsters come out and play
like this monster that apparated from her "are you afraid of ghosts" question
spawned the most evil creatures of thought
and i can't fight it
no i am not afraid of ghosts because
i am just a spirit looking for the body that once sheltered my existence

Last night I fell asleep to the sound of rain beating against my windowpanes
I felt safe in the storm's embrace
I knew I would be okay

Free the man who lived a life behind bars of silence
Words will be his key to salvation and a life of peace
Let him know he carries a heavy burden when they are by his side
For words are arrows,
Sharpened by cruelty and a rotting mind
Dulled by misuse
Can you really hide?
Words can crumble
To reveal the face behind
The lips that spoke the verses of lies
The mouth that roared when it could no longer cry
What about the hands that trembled through all
Anger, sorrow, new life, not loss
The teeth that sparkled in malicious grins
Slowly slid behind ashen cracked curtains

when they look at you with a smirk on their face
slap it off

My soul is weary yet I still march on
I'm the tearstained pages of my favorite book
I'm the gentle whispers in the morning that remind you
Today you are alive
I'm the calluses on the bottoms of my feet from running on hot pavement and gravel in the summer
I'm the pen that wrote the words that make my heart ache
I'm not done here
The calluses on my feet weren't always there
It used to burn when I walked outside
But nothing felt so good as the mix of sand and concrete beneath my feet so I ran and became stronger
Immune to the heat
I'm battered and worn but the best books are
I will march on
And I will become
Everything I haven't yet

I don’t want to write this poem
because I’m afraid of misinterpretation
but I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately I’m willing to risk that humiliation
if it means I’ll get some feeling of peace or
something
i’m i I guess just i mean gr no i mean oh can we just not talk for a moment?
My throat closes up, my tongue goes dry
I’m sorry I can’t I
am too tired to try
My mind is a canvas and I’ve only got black paint on hand and no clean paintbrushes available
like i’ve used all the colours that there’s no new ones to mix
there’s no more room
no new space
just
painting over it is too much work ******
I’m sorry
-z.z

hello, you
please stop
i can't
anymore
why aren't
you leaving
yet?
i don't
understand
i keep
pushing, pushing
you're a
boomerang

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"

Can you stop this heart from bleeding
Staunch the flow of my being
My tourniquets are fire engine red
Turning to shades darker than crimson—she’s dead

And on the night her life changed before her eyes
She wept
Cheers broke out around her, congratulations and kudos were given
And she
Put up her forcefields and closed her doors once again
To mourn

In the trembling ground she planted a seed
And watered it with a concoction of part--saline-part-hopes-and-dreams drawn from the wells of her eyes
They never quite understood why her knee **** reaction was sadness
Nor did they know of the depths her heart could sink to
They didn't understand that she was different than the rest of them in that to her, happiness was a forced facade of what lie beyond cracked smiles

She mourned her relationships and any attempts to mend broken ones
She wept for the lives she'd never know
She mourned for her mother
She wept for the young woman who gave her up
She mourned the loss of her mountains
And her clear open skies
She wept so that she could no longer tell
Where the monsoon rains started
And where her tears ended

She felt her soul breaking
And she laughed
Isn't it funny
I find it hilarious
How I've shattered myself so frequently
That the shrapnel no longer hurts

-z.z

i write
because i have this stuff--i don't know what
inside of me
and it doesn't belong there
rotting away at my bones making them weak and my vision blurry
i'm a volcano spewing pain
trying to make sense of what i'm feeling
a tennis match between myself, a weakling
and twenty foot tall beasts of my imagination
i'm losing
and then
i'm winning
i'm turning my monsters into flowers that thrive best in volcanic ash
and i write
because i love seeing the flowers bloom

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

my heart is full yet empty
teeming with love for places i’ve never seen and
people i’ve never met
wanderlust, they call it
an intense desire to see the world
one day
i'm going to get out of this small town
get in my car
and drive and drive
and drive until i reach
the end of every sentence I left unspoken
I'm going to see the places that would be
if I had said what I felt in the first place
I'm going to see the parts of you that you kept hidden for so long
I'm going to see what will be
when I finally listen to my instinct
maybe my heart will stop hurting and my brain will finally shut up
and let me enjoy the ride
because i have a feeling it will be a fast one
and something i won't ever forget

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

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

I've been told I'm a great writer
That I am talented
I've been told "never stop writing" and "Don't forget about me when you're famous"
I laughed at that last part
Me? Famous? I'll be lucky if anyone reads this.
I'm not ungrateful for the kind words
I just have a hard time believing them
I know the words I've written have been seen, read, cried over, even
I know how much power words have
I just have a hard time believing myself
A poem is never finished, even long after the poet has set down his pen
I believe that
I believe the voices in my head that tell me to go back and edit that one part in that one poem that I wrote ages ago
I guess I don't believe in leaving the past alone
I know that you'll forget about this poem within a matter of hours,
Days if it is good
I know that poetry brings feelings into your heart that will inevitably leave
Feelings that are, well
Temporary
I'm hesitant to believe certain things
But when I believe in something
I don't forget it
It's taken me quite some time
But I believe I am a poet
And to acknowledge my existence as a poet
Might have been the best feeling in the world
It wasn't temporary, either.

i wanted to write a poem that would make me feel something
alleviate this pressure like a tourniquet,
Words, be bandages to my ****** wounds!
i pounded out poem after poem spilling heartache on the pages
i wanted to write something that would silence the monsters laughing at me inside my head
frida kahlo is known for saying
i don't paint dreams or nightmares
i paint my own reality
i write my dreams and nightmares

into my own reality
i write my monsters to sleep with sweet lullabies
i write my life into my feelings
and my feelings into my life
i wanted to create something that would stand on it's head
to make people awe and wonder
how is that girl surviving
with all those monsters hanging onto her?
i write to give my friends a voice
and find mine in the process
-z.z

if you’ve ever gone through withdrawal,
you know that the awful part is not in the obvious shakes and pains
but in the facts that state how it was so that you got to this point
and the fact that your once saviour can’t save you anymore

the awful part is in the shame that follows—-
don’t ******* shame me for medicating my mind
or making decisions that provide me some temporary bliss,
some temporary ease,
some temporary it-doesn’t-*******-hurt-so-much
i know what i “got myself into”
i also “got myself out”
and i’d willingly go back

it’s silent at night
and then it’s not
it’s like someone is having a house party two feet away and the thermostat has been repossessed by a pixie and one second you’re fine but then the next it feels like you are quite literally shedding your skin

but that’s not the awful part.

you’re right in that the come down is just absolutely awful
but if i had the chance to do it over,
i’d still pick this.

-rgp

i was in denial, okay?
kept saying "oh no i'm fine"
"i'm on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend"
the number of times i've quoted augustus waters
makes me sick and embarassed
i'm not fine
the laws of physics state what goes up must come down
augustus waters was arrogant and scared
i lost, okay?
i used up all my adhesives
taping, gluing, buttoning, sealing,
then
painting a fresh coat of paint over my face every time picture-perfect image was blurred so you never knew
that i wasn't fine
so that when i looked in the mirror
i fooled myself, claiming the lines were just as unevenly drawn as always
i don't know if i'm ready to peel back all ninety-eight layers of paint
i don't know if i'd recognise the face beneath the plastic
but i know you will
so be careful
please
you win, okay?
you've won.