"What beautiful flowers!"
Unaware of how much death & decay took place under the soil, right below.
Oblivious to the pain.

The speaker was a girl with long black hair, walking with another, a person with brown and golden hair, at the base of the hill with a weathered grave on top.

She smelled the fragrant jasmines & plucked off a handful to decorate her hair, now walking away down the hill.
Her companion lingers at the top, gazing at the gleaming white petals, contrasting with shiny ivory.

"Come down!" She calls. But the blonde has seen the engraved rock, secluded by growing vines. They decide to have a moment of silence.

The black haired girl looks back, then rolls her eyes before abandoning them.

The person left standing next reads the epitaph,
Their sunkissed, freckled face turning into gloom.

"Now that I've seen you, I won't let you be alone."

She gently kisses the keen flowers that are curious about her words.
Then turns to lay and nap in the grass and foliage for hours.

when she leaves for work,
i'm left in the absence of wonderful wild spirit.

i tidy up the covers we slept on together peacefully & arrange the stuffed animals.

they look happy that we no longer dominate the bed with our talking and laughter, they watched us enviously from the floor the night before.

i wipe down the counters lightly, coated with dust, & vaccum the floor. i assume my mother would be surprised at the sight of me after i proclaimed "i will never fall in love!" as a 10 yr old.

i go downstairs and wash our dishes from the dinner the night before, remembering how each cookware served us, & how goofily we waltzed in the kitchen ballroom.

the day is bright and sunny, even if it isn't.

as i take out the trash on my way out, i commute to my house
where she'll be for the rest of the week.

it didn't sneak up on me
i fell slowly
with every act of kindness where she'd go out of her way for

i could lean on her.

she loves me unashamedly.
but i was afraid and stuck in quicksand
but she pulled me up
again and again
no matter how many times i mistook the sinking death trap as ground

our mutual sacrifice for eachother
out of concern, out of care, just because;
is what love is

she grew up with a beach of sand next to lake
i grew up near a beach with jellyfish & sweet salt air; home.

so one day i will take her to where their eyes remind me of

a honeyed landscape of granual sediment,
millions and millions of years of erosion,

just to look soft & warm to the onlooker

the tide pulling in and out. the seagulls flying above, cawing, while a cool, sunny day shines upon the sparkling waters frothing with movement.

her voice is my ocean breeze.

the lights turned off & everything was black

but for that millisecond, i was not afraid of the dark

the dark moved as if it never existed
a void abyss, yet it didn't consume my vision

because i trusted that my eyes

would adjust to the darkness

And it did.

i lose my placement on the feeling as soon as it leaves

i tripped over my own words and choked on them
misspoke my truth
left out so many important details

everyone around has it somewhat figured
because they had roots.

i grew up severely unaware; didn't know the names of places, only the abstract feeling.
the feelings i can't quite place now

everyone growing up seemed to be grounded
i played into it; welcomed jokes at my expense
i knew more than i was letting on
but i wanted to blend in.
(it worked)

grounding doesn't work for me
naming a few things around can't help when nothing feels real to begin with

days pass by in seconds, i hate people as much as i love them
i wish i could just observe & yearn from a distance,
never interact or become vulnerable with people who i wrongfully trusted.

it brought me immense comfort thinking that i don't matter in the world.
that i don't effect the life of anybody.
i needed to tap into that fantasy to sink into the oblivion of sleep without regrets,
to ease my anxiety

i don't know if that's beautiful or sad

i am obsessed with dreams & make-believe, to the point that real life either seems unreal

or too real to the point it paralyzes you

held breath
the space above my eyes feel as though there are worms
eating up the words i try to understand with my eyes
forgot to breathe
flailing my hands wildly
far-sighted, unfocused, hurts to squint

turn my head,
the screen of my vision tilts & becomes shaky

what will happen in the following plot?
i used to always picture the end
when i used to give in to the crests & troughs of the static frequency

a tickling in my brain,
a strong desire to flood the mind
and let it run down my cheeks; violently
to shake out the funny feeling that grips my throat silently
& forms thoughts beyond my control.

Boldness scares
various colors magnify
fears of strangers
"who does this person think they are?"
to not be as monochrome as us
to not be as safe as us

Their eyes on you
you feel their unease
Yet they don't feel yours

and your need to express to survive

i was left alone
in the epidemic
All humans inside
Dystopian
I'm outside, seeing these horrible things

And i remember that i can't remember.

that I've probably forgotten
Where are my parents?
Where is my home?

No humans on sight, i think they're all dead
oh no, they're all inside it turns out,
I'm the one who's considered dead

Perhaps i am dead
because feeling alive is so distant and far away

And i can't remember.

What does life have in store for me?
Everything is coming together at last
At this point, I would be afraid,
but somehow I'm not,
Future is approaching
My personality changing
And I'm almost seventeen.
Wow
Almost seventeen?
I'm almost an adult and it's hard to realize this.
I've been taking life in the perspective of an adult for some time now,
but to become an adult to match my thoughts?
I might finally act my age.

I've got standardized tests to do
I can't falter
So many testings of different importances and knowledge levels are approaching
and I've been so lucky to have been able to take a chemistry course of my caliber.

But will I achieve my goal?

I'm content and feeling full.
a fullness that filled up the emptiness and anxiety pit inside me not more than eight months ago
Wow
Eight months ago?
I've been living in my childhood city for about seven months.
seven months.
these months made me somewhat more than my usual okay
they made me feel
normal
And that
Love is for me
And will be there for me
True.
My work ethic isn't how it used to be.
True.
My lack of influence and social acceptance aren't easy to avoid anymore.
Perhaps,
This is some kind of lesson?

a... twisted lesson that involves the backstabbing of new "friends"

they are
Funny,
Yet not.
Accepting,
Yet not.
Envy and stupidity
Ignorance
I'm not any better in their eyes
But I do not care
I've been humiliated all too many times
I feel
Anger,
Yet I shouldn't.

This very school was chosen according to my research.
So sometimes
I feel like I've made a big mistake
and that is all my fault.
But it's like there weren't any other options either

A family,
that is short on money and barely afforded their children to go to school.
Their story,
repeats of every year that a new grade level comes into the picture.

For as long as I've been in the 7th grade, I've remembered the struggle and the worry.

I'm so sick of this infinite loop.
So I will be the terminating condition

stopping it at its roots.
to destroy any chance of plant seed deciding to latch on to soil.

the world doesn't need any more dead flowers.

Knowing I'll be feeling hopeless and could use the direction
the distraction.
What is the use?
I need to feel like I am being significant

But I am significant

But why bother?
there is no deadline
there is no action.

i find that time runs slow in the morning
eight skips later then it's 8 pm
three nights in a row

but what is happening?
Where is my will
my willingness
to REALLY live?

Everything
is always the same
same thoughts
same drive
but a drive to nowhere but dreams on broken foundations
monotonous.

I have to push myself, I know I must.
to be able to OPEN my eyes and SEE
because all I see is fog.

I am aware?
I do not feel aware.

i am trapped in a misty humid fog, waving my arms gasping.
trying to breathe
dying to breathe
i cannot breathe.

I want to experience life in all its glories
And I would have
Or do I just think I would have?

if circumstances weren't so hilariously unfunny
Why?
why do i get the thing i have wanted most,
At the cost of another?
I don't even get a say in the decision-making,
I am merely just the puppet in this simulation
Playing out the scenes after the act.
Why?
That's because the forces of the universe have a sense of humor.

I very dislike change, and so it finds me a perfect match.
But others who wish they can leave their hometowns, have to stay stagnant until adulthood.
Where is my right to a less stressful childhood?
Why.

why am i being forced to grow up?
Being forced to mature or else i cannot keep up

being organized is the only thing that keeps me sane
It is the only thing that I have control over

One of the only things I have control over.

I am the physical manifestation of anxiety
Screaming
to be heard
to be n o t i c e d


to be mistaken for art


It was
a way of rebellion in a circumstance where i was forced to mature quick
robbed of non-persistent
non-insistent thoughts

So i hope fate is happy now.
For through the course you have run,
you have molded this puppet,
exactly how you have planned.

you can check me off your list

What happened with me and poetry?
I haven't written in so long.
I feel a little dead inside let's say,
when I have to be opening up.

Do I have trust issues?
I do sometimes trust and have faith.

It's the intimate thoughts and emotions that I'm scared to uncover.

"Control".

I talk a lot about it, yet I don't have any.

So I strive to carry it out on myself.
It's not such a terrible thing in my eyes.
But to others,
I'm a ticking time bomb, primed to explode.

Although I don't have that explosive self-hatred gunpowder anymore.

Everybody's a critic.
And I guess I'm just scared of the judgment?

And I do to an extent!

I leave for one year and come back,
Completely different in all body and mind.

To be fair, it might be a little overwhelming
but. Why should I care?

and pick up the pieces for those who have fragile incentives?

It isn't my problem.
This is who I am, albeit being primed to destroy.


nobody can fix me but myself.

He's broken.
So broken.
He hadn't lost a parent.
But he is further from her than he was before.
The other is transparent.
Unhealthy habits.

Transparency has unhealthy habits.

Him.
A spitting image of his father.
Unhealthy ways of dealing with negative emotions.
He's throwing a tantrum now.
He can't handle it.
His rage filling up, consuming him.
He has justified it; not hearing nor seeing the logic others use to rationalize his feelings.
On the outside, he is definitely a toxic person.

One of those types of kids you should never befriend.

Toxic, indeed.
But not only to others, making fun of them and being bitter.
But to himself.
So young,
yet he thinks his intellect outmatches societies',
his maturity cannot be matched,
he is misunderstood,
he is one in a million.
He is not.

He is among the many regular people who carry a facade.
Shifting into somebody else whenever he cannot get what he wants

Perhaps,
this is because he can't handle his new life?
He was never like this before.
Perhaps,
his brain created personalities for him, for whatever each situation requires it.

So fragile, so sensitive.
Been through so much anguish.
So much pain.

And his mind could not withstand the transparency's abuse.
That same transparency that cannot understand him.
Made him hate the world and believe he was hated back.

He is a lost soul.
Underneath his manipulative, two-faced facade, there is a small child.
An underdeveloped mind.
That lacks power to process emotions correctly.
Numb, unfeeling of empathy.

At a time where puberty arises,
and the stress of a mistreating new life,
he has no freedom.
He feels as trapped as his sister.
She has people to confide in.
He does not.

He is alone.

Alone in his head.

His mother, he needs her. In so many ways.
His mental state is unstable.

He needs her.

Every time the cruel transparency strikes its manipulation,
nowhere to run.

Not allowed to process, not allowed to act,
if the little boy cries in retaliation, he will be awarded a slap.

Showing emotion means being dealt with more abuse.

Endless
Endless
It is endless
he wants it to stop.

unanswered cries for help.

but circumstances show that he'll be in it for a long time.
His gender,
is causing his anguish.
His age,
is causing his anguish.
His family,
is causing his anguish.
His existence,

is the bane of his anguish.

Maybe he's right, he is not a normal person.
He isn't allowed to be.

he is broken.
So broken.





and our family doesn't believe in therapy.

One word,
one action,
can change the running of a whole day,
you might think that it is normalcy; to be treated this way,
harsh enough to change the chemical balance in your brain,
many exclaim; "Do not complain!"
but the world tests, and tests it will to the profane,
do not obey, believing their feign,
do not stray from your scruples,
the morally intact thing that keeps you from being insane,
I know that they have greatly wronged you,
misguided you,
but do not dismay,
Whatever they say,

It's not them talking; you can say it's the *******,
It's not them talking; you can say it's the drunk mistakes,
It's not them talking; you can say it's the losses addressed in tainted bloodstains,

police sirens, and hand grenades,
school lobby back door, waiting with a full case,
past then, present now,
ringing in your ears; you're just another cash cow,
knocked out by your posse and left with a syringe,
a small dosage of ******, a reason to imprisonment,
do not believe that you're just a particle of dust in a **** ashtray,
don't listen,
don't carry their burden that they've handed over in hopes of you falling,
the impact would be small on them, but to you appalling,
but do not express insult in spite for revenge,
this way this war will never back-end,
to imagine a world where you take after them in this game of pretend,
would make you have the most tragic end

your life is not over; ignore what your parents claim,
your life is not over; ignore what old friends say,

because everyone now has an aim to shame,
a loved personality from sunny months ago,
long before the discovery of substances abused along with coke,

Be the bigger person,
move on from what is in the past,

a tomorrow will arrive to swept up yesterday's bad ending;
so believe in the future impending,
believe it or not,
that way your cracked, damaged soul would be mending