tears ebb their way gently out of my eyes
and trace a pattern on my cheek
leading to my lips
filling every crack that chapstick couldn't fix
the salty taste it leaves
still doesn't rid me of this bad taste in my mouth
sadness never tasted sweet anyways
my lips are still chapped
so i'll brush my teeth and rinse my mouth
desperately trying to rid of this aftertaste
i put on chapstick because one day
i'll cry and at least the cracks in my lips
will be fixed

have an oil spill of hair, eyes blacker than night, but you,

you are not like me


you with all your mattress springs for locks, rusted brown combed back

you with your mahogany irises


and if I could I would give you my calluses
something to help you hold on

I would give you my hips, though you dance pretty good for a white kid, you might need a little more wiggle room to get by on in the city

I've got a quick tongue, not made of sugar like yours, or of marmalade or melodies but you can borrow it if you need it

and maybe one day you'll leave here and never look back
maybe you'll stay away from all suburbs or small towns that remind you of this one

I hope that even once your name is incandescent, you will still remember how it was at sixteen
I hope that you do not forget that you were not alone
I hope that even after the spotlight finds you, you will be kind to those that remind you of people like me and places like this

they watch every day that she's smiling less
they witness once a week that she's leaving first,
they wonder if she's ok or so
but no one has the nerve
to slow down the step
and ask
*are you okay?

My heart’s over here
you said, lying on your back,
with my head on the hard part of your shoulder,
making circles around your chest plate
like I was trying to drill into your bones
just to find the rose nectar that swam
in your blood so I could finally taste something
that wasn’t late and sour and mustered out of pity.
You misheard me. I was just making sure
my heavy head with all these thoughts
magnetizing themselves to others weren’t causing
your arm to manifest a maze of pins and needles.
I just wanted to make sure you were okay. *My heart’s over here
you whispered as we cradled ourselves in the shadows
my comforter made when caught against
the lamppost light creeping in from my window.
But I wondered, even if I screamed it, would you be able to hear
where the knocking was coming from? You look at me
but sometimes, I swear, you think it’s just a combination
of alphabet letters that I’m not expecting you to remember.
You look at me, but here I am
cramming myself into your framework and painting myself red
so maybe I’ll stand out against all the other kaleidoscope bits
that fall around you. You look at me, but my heart’s over here.
My heart’s over here! I let it drip from my mouth when you’re asleep
so I know you won’t hear it, because even though I know
you don’t really care, I’d never ask you to leave.

Growing up is hard to do that's why when I was 12 years old I said I would never do it because it is full of heartache and hatred, trouble and lies, what is the point of leading such an unfulfilled life? Now at only 17, I am being catapulted into a world full of life long choices, where one wrong move- one stupid mistake- can ruin my existence. Yet I have so much resistance because I cling to this notion that i will never grow old. Responsibility is for grownups I would shout then...and even now... but the difference is, today I am going to take 5 standardized tests in 2 weeks and visiting a big brick building that will feed my mind and prepare me for "life"... as if I am not already alive. What is "the real world"? Is it not what I have been going through since birth? Why does reality only hit when you're 18 and starving for attention? Silly me, I was under the impression that I am a human being, going through experiences and learning lessons that will fill my soul. but that’s not true after all; I will only be useful when I have a successful career and child at my hip. **** these rules of society. I am a human, a person, an adult. But not because I chose to be one, I was forced into this role that has deteriorated my mind and thrown me into raging fits of anxiety and depression. Yes, high school has been the greatest years of my life... if by "great" you mean emotionally damaging.