I felt empty where ever I went there were not footsteps left behind I felt as if I didn't even exist and I didn't then... I was walking around soulless drowning in my sorrows, drowning in despair. life was as it was! A ghost had a better chance of living. I was alive but dead inside. The drugs made me feel. Sometimes I'd numb that out too I wished for a hangover since I could never get one. I would go clubbing and lose myself in the music I love dancing, but swinging left and right Id just stop find a corner and just pretend that I cared drowned me in some patron. I'd go to weddings with friends and during that cute moment ( slow dancing). I'd be smiling whiling crying on the inside ( truly was a beautiful moment). Im just too heartbroken.
I see family's in parks Their smiles so bright I wish we could have those sparks I've never seen my parents together I was only three Why does it have to be this way Makes me feel empty Didn't have a mom til I was 7 Now i don't have a dad Don't know what's its like And I never will and its sad But I'm OK I mean i don't seem sad But does that really mean anything When I really feel so bad
my parents divorced when i was 3, I mean most the story is in the poem
"Action!" My director calls. As I rehearse for my school play, "Dear Evan Hansen, We've been way to out of touch!" I sing. "CUT! CUT! CUT!" I know that sound to well. "Non-satisfactory" "More Enthusiasm!" "Act knowing your experiences" All statements stab me, Like a knife. I try, I really do! But my experiences, Are the things holding me back. My friend's suicide attempt. My parent's divorce. My sister's depression. And my non-acceptance, only because of my presence!!!!! So don't judge me if I can't act, When I'm only taking your advice.
I do act at my school. And I am judged by my director. That line is from a song called "Sincerely Me" from the musical, "Dear Evan Hanson". It's my favorite musical!!!!
I was praying for you not to have a change of heart but maybe my prayers were not loud enough to be granted Nonetheless, I liked it better when you would always pull my hand to tuck it on on your coat and let your warmth cover the coldness of mine rather than the attempts of shunning the prospect of our hands to simply touch I liked it better when you would always greet me with flowers after our petty quarrels rather than welcoming me with your unshaven face, disheveled coat and the reeking of alcohol in you I liked it better when you would plan out our happy ending in a sheet of old tattered paper with your untidy handwriting rather than signing the new printed paper which crumbled the possibility of the life I've been trying to build with you
I open the front door to a blizzard; Welcome - bone aching air- into my (now your) warm home! You've expelled the warmth. I had spent so long accumulating that.
The chill came in Slight as a spider's silk Effortlessly tieing down my limbs Pneumonia induced coma Ground bound fly That is I We're going nowhere
Strength withers and erodes, Like long forgotten cobwebs beneath porcelain bathtubs and I know you take showers but the point still stands I'm rendered useless below the surface But abandoned in whole
I'm faucets rusted shut, Realeasing but a useless slither of Thick brick Orange Sedimented liquid Your negligence made using me a disappointment But we've been in this house forever And all our broken faucets are staying here.
Your breathless whisper was a hurricane, And my door would tear from the hinges before I could try to run from the damage that I foresaw
A conscious paralysis, Being only somewhat entirely aware Of your needfulness And my helplessness And our restlessness In all that we could never control
"Come in," I say "I'm sorry" you reply As you enter
I met someone... well, not really ‘met’ But I’m talking to a girl that I met on one of those dating apps. Everyday for the past week we’ve talked And everyday my heart has smiled. I think I might like her. I don’t know, it’s been a while. I’ll probably mess it up anyhow.
I was very very Inebriated when I wrote this. But it’s true, I like this girl, and I’ll probably mess it up.
Custody, first a checkerboard of red and white squares trapped between thick black bars. Days of the week, prisons, and I was wrongly convicted. My fingers reach for help through my metal cage, yet only receive paper cuts on the corners of divorce letters. Letters drowned in blood bleed off the page and stain my Saturdays and Sundays. Custody, now neatly separated into red and white columns, walls dividing weeks and weekends. National borders barricade one house from the other. Two countries clash in a war waged with two atomic blasts burning my culture into ash white as paper. Custody, the absence of red and the erasure of my father from the calendar taped to my mother’s refrigerator, and I’m frozen in place. Custody, a vast snow-white plane: One step forward, nothing in my future. One step backward, blizzards in my past. Custody, ground made of paper so thin, with every step, life crumples under my feet.