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Feb 13 · 117
four months
sophia Feb 13
four months ago

you told me i could get therapy

that i’ll get better

that i’ll get the help i need


four months.
Feb 5 · 50
parking lot
sophia Feb 5
the heels of my feet
stalk my stride—
i hide my face in my hair
and feel the cold cloud my hands.
every corner,
every alleyway—
twisting behind me.
faces upon faces,
terror upon my vision;
i have every right to be shaken up.
pacing behind each wall,
wide eyes
and paranoid faces—
i hope the men that smile at me
don’t have a story behind it.
being!! a girl!!!  *****!!!!!!
Jan 26 · 35
mold
sophia Jan 26
i hope you finally get it someday
                                              and until then,
i will do everything in my power
to make you understand—
                                     or at least try to.
if i really wanted to,
i could morph the air around me
                                                into clay—
i could mold and manipulate it
to form the sharp, jagged words
that are yet to leave the tip
                        of my cowardly tongue.
i could push the words down your throat
and have you regurgitate them,
only for you to be put in my place,
to understand first hand.
but that would only make me into you,
so instead of doing what i can,

i sit in silence,
                           and take in the judgement.
here’s an old one from my journal, written back in september. i hope u are all having a nice day
Jan 13 · 41
clean
sophia Jan 13
water
        trickles
                     down
                              my spine,
                      impossible fingers
                   pressing into      my skin.
i choke out
sighs of defeat,
as the
         cold    
              and  
                 sharp
        droplets        
    pierce into me
                    like tiny daggers—
knowing every
                little
                 thing,
and using the knowledge to peel me apart.
                                   my
                                  tears
                                   fall
                            with
                         the
                    sky,
and join the shower drain
forever an aching reminder:

i
  will
         never
                    be
                         clean.
i’m so sorry i haven’t been posting, school is making a machine of me. thank u for ur patience, i have a notebook full of work waiting to be posted. bless
sophia Dec 2019
i open my mouth
                            to answer,
but my tongue
remains still.
                    frozen—
like a deer in headlights.
only headlights are bright,
                   while my mouth
                        is a dark cavern,
and my lips are sealed shut.
sophia Dec 2019
don’t worry,
i’m okay.
i just have to
be sad
sometimes.
to draw myself
back into my head
and make sure
everything’s working correctly.
a simple one i wrote in my journal yesterday
Dec 2019 · 234
classroom
sophia Dec 2019
piercing eyes
burn straight through me.
i feel exposed
and peeled open,
as my last rational thoughts
drizzle through the gaps
between my fingers
and pile up on the ground
like wet sand.
i take my shaky steps
like the earth is depending on me
to prevent her from quaking.
and as the hands on the clock
reach out to strangle me,
i break a sweat
and try to choke out words.
i fail,
and the judging eyes judge.
the fragile silence is broken by whispers.
anxiety
Dec 2019 · 37
unfortunate
sophia Dec 2019
i sit frozen on the bus,
not moving a muscle.
i count my breaths
                     and tangle my fingers together.
i think over how easily the bus could crash
and i could be another
                        how unfortunate  

she was just a kid

                                               just a teenager

must be ******* the parents

                                            etcetera.    
the fact that this
unknown, twisting emptiness that is death
is my greatest fear
is truly unfortunate,
          because it surrounds my every move.
my fear of death only gets older and stronger
Nov 2019 · 113
discombobulated
sophia Nov 2019
as i get older,
i seem to be more aware of things.
the little time i have on this planet
is a tease
that drags me
by my heels.
the thought brings me along
to the familiar tastes
of my favorite foods,
to the songs i’ve cried to,
to the people i’ve laughed with,
and i realize—
this life
is nothing but discombobulated
with hints of bittersweet.
i’m not sure what i want,
but i know it isn’t to leave.
i’m sorry i’ve been slacking on poems. i’ve discovered a few things on my beliefs on life as whole, and thought i’d share them.
Nov 2019 · 385
take me to the stars
sophia Nov 2019
i want to be with the stars.
they don’t shake
when they take
a step
and curse
under their breath
because they’ll never be
lovely enough.

i stand at my window sill
and spread my arms out wide
like i’m not afraid
of oblivion.
i whisper to the good nights
and i cry to the bad ones.
  oh, i sing to the ground  
and i scream to the air   

and though my lungs ache,
i command:
“take me to the stars”

and so the world lies flat.
about a feeling i can’t really explain
Nov 2019 · 40
beautiful
sophia Nov 2019
when you tell me
       that every single one of my flaws
                              is beautiful,    
i know there is a problem.
uncertain words
              crumble
                        on the tip
                                   of my tongue
before they reach my lips.
i find myself unable to speak,
only to wonder how you truly believe
                             that the bruises
                        on my knees are pretty,
 that the scrapes on my arms
               are lovely,
                   and that the cracks in my skull
                               are beautiful,
i hold my breath
and hope you’re being truthful.
i constantly struggle to understand that i am worthy of love, even with all of my flaws
Nov 2019 · 56
an apology
sophia Nov 2019
i hope you’re feeling better
because i think i want you to be happy.
when you took too long in the bathroom
and i thought you were slitting your wrists,
it was just the paranoia
eating at my aching lungs.
i guess it somehow was still hungry
from the nights in the frozen air ducts
and the cabinets above your window.

i’m writing this apology
not because i believe i’ve sinned
but because i’m still melted in the melancholy.
i was your ferris wheel head
and the bathroom floor—
i was the cold tiles,
and the concrete whispers,
and the wet paint on the sidewalk,

and i just really hope you’re okay.
i’m trying to be less like this,
i’m sorry.
Nov 2019 · 881
i’ve never liked goodbyes
sophia Nov 2019
“goodbye”
the words crawl from your mouth.
they sound like their on their knees,
begging to be let go.
you tell me there isn’t a point anymore,
but i cover my ears
and claim i’m not listening.
the pills you swallowed,
the calls you never answered,
“goodbye,” you croak again.
i answer no,
but goodbye isn’t a question.
my dear friend attempted suicide two years ago, thank god she’s okay
Nov 2019 · 96
coffee date
sophia Nov 2019
“how do you like your coffee?”
i try to answer in simple words,
but my tongue twists the wrong way
and my teeth suddenly feel uneven.
                   my fingers curl and uncurl,
                  as i stumble over my words
                        and i forget
                                          to breathe.
my lungs ask me, “what the hell, dude?”
while i look down and study my shoes.
           when i resume breathing,
my breaths are short
                                and quick.
and when i look up to your face,
                      your eyebrows point up
                 and your mouth points down
        and i think it means you’re concerned.
you ask me,
       “are you okay?”
and as my nerves prickle,
                      and my spine feels like wood,
    i open my mouth like a drawbridge.
                                 “milk.
          
                   i like my coffee with milk.”
sometimes i forget how to talk and breathe but i think it’s normal
Nov 2019 · 135
fall
sophia Nov 2019
peering out of my bedroom window,
i observe the golden autumn leaves
as they tumble through the air.
i watch in awe
as the wind licks them
from the honey coated trees,
and they gracefully settle into the grass.
in this moment of bliss,
i wonder how they are so unafraid to fall.
i should be at school right now, but today i couldn’t get out of bed. i stayed home and sat in my bedroom with my dog and watched the leaves fall. it’s a really pretty day, i’m glad i’m not sitting at a desk.
Nov 2019 · 255
our little antidotes
sophia Nov 2019
we all have our illnesses,
some of which we can cure.
with tylenol,
             penicillin,
                          advil,
                    ­           etcetera.
but sometimes we get sick
and the cure seems to turn to absence.
        
so lying on my floor,
           debating whether to give up or not,
i decided that decisions
are too time consuming.
          i went to an isolated grocery store,
          only lingering close to closing hours.
although empty,
my cart seemed incredibly heavy.
still, i dragged it along
to eventually find myself in the soup isle.
i studied the remaining people in the store.
i wondered if they were lost too.
                  i strolled to the check out line
                    in my beat up converse
          and an elderly woman smiled at me.
i talked to an employee about halloween
                         as he scanned my items.
                i told him thank you
                               and to have a good night.
i pushed the cart through the parking lot,
teary eyed,
and it seemed much lighter than before.
                  from that night on i knew,
            we all have our little antidotes.
this unstable internet entity begs of u, please keep fighting. you’ll find the smallest things that seem to be the cure.
Nov 2019 · 281
selfish
sophia Nov 2019
my shaking hands,
headaches,
and melatonin.
                   they fill up my vision
                     the way water fills a tank.
it slowly
               creeps
                           up,
until i start to drown.
                                “swim to the surface”
i’m trying
                              
                          “­swim to the surface”


“for the future”
                                




                                 “for your family”










but not for myself.





i let myself descend to the ocean floor.
and i am called selfish—
  
“selfish”          
                                           

­                                                 “selfish” 

    ­      
             “selfish”

    but isn’t it my life?
Nov 2019 · 58
in my dreams
sophia Nov 2019
i woke up, aghast,
        at 3am last night.
i had been running for my life
in an alley near my house.
                         i tripped—
         and heard the voice behind me,
            it sounded like a dear friend.
i felt the cuspate knife
pierce through my lower back.
            i sit in the comfort of my bed
           and stare blankly at the ceiling.
why do the dreams
in which i’m being killed
      seem so vivid?
i keep having dreams where i die at the end
Oct 2019 · 43
the sky
sophia Oct 2019
the sky is a surface of flesh
         with clouds like bruises
                      spread throughout.
             at night, her freckles of stars
form constellations
                       that only
                                  she
                                     ever sees,
for she hides them like silver secrets  
that spike up from tongues unknowingly.
                               she wishes
                                    to be beautiful,
but the clouds cover her body
         and she’s drowning in the rain.
Oct 2019 · 160
temporary
sophia Oct 2019
the woman stood in the kitchen
swaying, knife in hand.

                     it clatters to the floor.

she unsteadily sits up on the counter.
she a tucks an unlit cigarette into her mouth,
which is now twisted into an unrecognizable expression.
  
         she drags a match along its box,
               and a flame rises.

the flame dances upon the match, proving it’s alive.
she lights the cigarette,
along with a stack of photos she had been keeping in the cabinet.

the woman then climbed off of the counter
as the photographs burned,
and washed the blood from her hands
at the kitchen sink.

                         this is only temporary,

she continues to promise herself.
Oct 2019 · 212
mother earth & her greenery
sophia Oct 2019
in our bucolic setting,
today’s weather is more of the same.
the only wonder or shock of our years here
will be when the sun suddenly falls.
but for the time being,
there’s no oblivion to worry about,
just a soft smile brewing when we touch.
and when mother earth’s trees sway,
and when her grass gets so incredibly tall,
she and her greenery seem to grin back at us.
Oct 2019 · 147
the art of ventriloquism
sophia Oct 2019
i feel like a puppet
a ventriloquist taking control—
i move hopelessly as their fingers
tangle with the strings,

making me dance,

                                    
                    ­                      dance,

      
           dance.
i fear that i’m not in control anymore
Oct 2019 · 313
tired
sophia Oct 2019
sitting in class,
a kid writes a note
in their journal.

“to be a living person
or to simply have a heart
are two completely different things.”

the paint on the walls,
the eyes from behind,
the report card with nothing but A’s.

“conscious or foolish,
human or not,
everything’s watching me fail.”

the concrete, the ceiling,
the people, all breathing.
the dull morning light from the windows.

“i’m incredibly tired
and ready to burn,
but of course, i have to be hesitant.”

they take a long breath,
pack up their things,
and wait patiently for the next bell.
sophia Oct 2019
i wrote letters to you because i cared.

you wrote letters back to be polite.
Oct 2019 · 1.2k
a lamb to the slaughter
sophia Oct 2019
i inhale the things you say.
the frozen words burn my lungs
as my knees reach the ground.
i’m incredibly tired.
                                        still,
i act as a servant,
a lamb to the slaughter.
but this time,
i, the lamb, know what i’m in for.

despite everything i’ve been told to think,
your words are simply more than sound.
words hurt me far more than they should
Oct 2019 · 50
again
sophia Oct 2019
thinking back to my days
of endless waiting—
time was a straight line
with jagged edges,
sharp and slender crowding images
made my head go
                  in my hands
and my arm reach over
     the bathroom cupboard.

blood peeking out cautiously
in a fragile line trapped on my skin.
looking down
           at what i had done
truly stung like the blur surrounding me.
relapse
Sep 2019 · 106
apologetic agony
sophia Sep 2019
all
i
can
ever
say
is
sorry.
Aug 2019 · 331
breathe
sophia Aug 2019
i am painfully aware of you
as neon colors
flash into my vision
                      i know
                                 why you feel
                 discomfort.

your bones are made of tinfoil.
and they fold
beneath your skin
when you try          to breathe.

and  ever so triumphantly,
as your collar bones
                             fold inward
                                        and
                                            stab
                                        your lungs,
you stretch your crooked teeth
into a bent and twisted grin

forever at the side of the imprinted pain.
Aug 2019 · 258
sophia
sophia Aug 2019
thank you
for your
            support.
i am
        my
           real name
    now.




<3
Aug 2019 · 89
crayons
sophia Aug 2019
i sat at the front of the bus
with my fingers moving about
             like the clouds
                   and how i convinced myself
that they were always completely still.

i turned over a notecard
and strenuously scribbled
with every crayon
             i had with me.

i drew my head back
as the colors wound together
                    like viscid cobwebs
                              in dad’s toolbox
and they made a new color
that i named after myself.

i felt so grown up
even though i knew
i was almost exactly like a child.
Aug 2019 · 81
cut
sophia Aug 2019
cut
the first time i questioned
if mom
            and dad
                           and teachers
really didn’t know everything  

was when
i watched the man
cut
the long purple flowers

that had just been
stretching out of the grass
with the 
                  loud
                  buzz
of his lawn mower.

as my heart sank,
i still remember looking down
at my purple sweater
that my mom had bought for me.

and then realizing that i hate sweaters.
Aug 2019 · 178
end
sophia Aug 2019
end
if you open any old dictionary
and search for the word “end”
you may find so many definitions
for three letters in the thin yellowing paper
sitting still as they have been for so long.
three letters that will always remain
stained forever as an encumbrance,
forcing me to believe
that everything is but a straight line
that at some point is cut off
and usually gets lost along the way
long before then.
Aug 2019 · 96
pov
sophia Aug 2019
pov
what i see
is a completely separate being
moving in the mirror.
i watch you spit toothpaste
into the sink
and cry off your makeup
that i saw you spend hours on
this morning.
i’m stuck
in a two-dimensional buzz
and i watch my body do the things
i should be doing every day.
Aug 2019 · 152
my teeth
sophia Aug 2019
my teeth
              are thick blocks
                                         of white.
that only seem to find pleasure in
interrupting my speech
and my smile.
they chatter while broken
      words
          and phrases
crawl hesitantly out of my mouth.
i carefully mold the definitions
and the
wrenching metaphors
into clay that’ll dry up in the sun, and
      drop
              like a pin.
and i feel my bones come together
in my state that i call my own
                  plucking
           my eyelashes off
clipping the idea of being full grown.
i ignore the fact that some things are inevitable, always cautious not to be too aware
sophia Jul 2019
your F major eyes
are a color only i can see
for that reason i am fully convinced
you only made them just for me.

the ghost of your fingers
still lingers on my guitar strings today
the ones i still strum
with the things i’m scared to say

i no longer hear your F major eyes
nor can i listen to your G minor hands
your E major skin
i’m doing what i can

but now under all the harmonies
the only melody i hear makes me sad
i’m only playing loudly because
silence drives me mad
Jul 2019 · 50
something
sophia Jul 2019
i’m standing here
with my own body
i am inside, or rather, i am
a dome of bacteria and flesh.
is there even a difference
between being something
and being within it
that i, a dome of bacteria and flesh,
may understand?
my thoughts correlate with my
sentences upon sentences
thriving in the same state

that i am something.
i feel like i am a machine, a ball of bacteria and flesh only made to survive. am i myself or an organism?
Jul 2019 · 183
clouds
sophia Jul 2019
the clouds continue to amaze me
edges of silk and cream
i used to want to lie down on a cloud
fall asleep, and dream.

now that i’m older i know
that i’m unable to nap on clouds
to float in the smooth luxury
is to fall on the cold, hard ground.
when i was younger, i could easily expect things to work out well. now that i’m older i feel the need to worry about every result possible.
Jul 2019 · 147
7-13-19
sophia Jul 2019
summer nights in july
make me feel like i’m high
although i solemnly swear
i’ve never smoked in my life
Jul 2019 · 214
human
sophia Jul 2019
isn’t it odd
that any human
could be laughing one second—
and then gone the next?
Jul 2019 · 56
absent
sophia Jul 2019
i’m not fond of being absent
i am actually quite tired
of saving a spot for my past self
in hopes that i’ve changed for the better
Jul 2019 · 811
emilie
sophia Jul 2019
my name isn’t emilie
and i would like to say
nor is it anything else.
but whatever is covering you up
eventually melts.

sweat off your walls,
a simple choice
between hidden or exposed.
the wind gets louder
carefully absorbing my every move.

change your facts
every single one.
no one will know
it’s really you bleeding
beneath all the snow

block out the sounds
the colors are white
the search is out
i’m fading at midnight.
you act like you wouldn’t like to know.

my name isn’t emilie.
or mary or june.
under six feet of ice
no one knows it’s you.
a confession
Jul 2019 · 85
a dream
sophia Jul 2019
a dream is mixing colors
at the surface of bath water.
ballet shoes pointed painfully,
directions i never thought to follow.

liquid lullaby’s and memories
of things yet to happen,
blurring lines of reality,
things that seem to be only visible to me.

fade in
fade out
the show is over
switch the color
make it snow
glaze it over.

the world was made of wishes
that never seemed to happen.
a girl stood on her tiptoes
waiting for a cue.

a cue to leave
to leave is to wait
wash me out
rip the seams

and wake.
Jul 2019 · 408
lily
sophia Jul 2019
sometimes, at night—
my brain wonders to the other side of the room.
the corner of which misunderstandings and blatant lies
i choose not to think about.

as if you may choose your own thoughts
the way you decide who’s body to walk all over.
i know you may do better,
but your name flashes a thousand pictures

of things i dare not say.
abt a friend who made me very sad

— The End —