our first photo was taken
sometime in nineteen ninety-three.
two toddlers in nappies,
neighbours, before we had a word
for what we’d grow to be.

inseparable.

weekend mornings started
at six a.m. beneath blankets.
eyes heavy, pyjamas warm
with your brothers half-asleep,
watching cartoons in the dark –
argai, the lion prince
and some other world
that promised we’d never grow up.

half a life was spent
with football, martial arts,
scavenging, and video games.
but a universe opened between us
when you moved away –
only a few streets down,
where the brink of manhood
said, no girls allowed –
unless.

so i went on
carrying your absence.

years later, our parents
arranged a movie afternoon.
it was a hundred minutes of silence
and small flickers of a conversation
that mirrored who we used to be.
i thought, maybe.
i thought, still.

but the closure i sought
was a door shut in my face.
as if fifteen years
of childhood were a secret shame.

it still hurts
to dream you colder
than you already were,
and carry a reminder
that you don’t have a say
in when and how things end.

Warning- This poem is about suicide and may be triggering to some.

I hope you'll miss me when I'm gone.
I don't know if you will,
or if you even care about me at all,
but if you do,
I hope you'll miss me when I'm gone.

I hope you'll come to my funeral.
Maybe you'll bring me flowers,
or cry while I lay lifeless in my casket.
I hope you'll miss me when I'm gone.

If I survive I hope you'll visit me in the hospital.
Even though you've really hurt me,
it would be nice to see your face again,
so I know that you care.
I hope you'll miss me when I'm gone.

writing these are dumb.

stupid even.

no one my age writes!
i feel so out of place.
alone,
drowning in my feelings almost.

i cant breathe.
being the odd one out
is already enough.
not this dumb nerdy trait too.

"she writes whenever she feels"

"uh oh! be careful she might write about you"

so what?
i can't exist now?

fine.

ill stop.
on the account of my anxiety
getting worse --
my attendance too.
my friends leave me slowly.

i grow distant from the world
when i get anxious
and my writing helps me with that.

yeah, let's stop writing
and let that happen.

When I was in sixth grade my crowd of friends was bigger than I could count,
When I moved up to seventh,
I could fill a city with them.
Now that I’m going into tenth,
It seems I have very little left.
Now’s the time to choose who I run with for the next decade,
And stick with it.

a war rages on inside my brain
two voices dominate the rest,
as one call for more guns and bombs
it's only aim to cause damage,
the other whispers for peace
with a soft voice thats not fit for combat,
all it can do is silently gain support
of innocent onlookers

inside your head do fatalities also rise
at the hands of bullets that strangle soft voices,
does your heart wish for peace
wailing against the sound of warfare

I look deep into your eyes
for any clues for the victor,
wondering if my words did help
or get drowned out by screams

These 4 walls, the only friends
The hours tick away, but swelling
Winter, hurry — freeze my blood.
Sweating through these supine steps,
           I'll stumble on.

A/C buzz, electric hum.
The room lit yellow, bathing jaundice.
          Fante & Hamsun.
     Folding pages, scratching dog ears.
          furrow brows.
     "**** this color paint."

     "**** the Summer."
         I say it, always.

4 new walls, my only friends.
The seconds boil away, but slowly.
Solitude, please freeze my blood.
Snowfall in my reptile dreams,
               all serpentine

Heater hum, alone again
Wish they wanted my chanting voice, now.
Footfalls hustle. Frozen, crunching.
Clothed in funerary coat
          The wine explodes.

Shake this thrumming midnight buzz,
and rooms lit dimly, sweating blizzards.
          Trudge & debate Blake —
     —use my degree for ******* something.
                    Shoulders hunch.
           "Just me. In falling snow."

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright—"
    
                      Here I stand, a dwindling flicker—

"In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fires of thine eyes?—"

        —I can barely see tonight. And thicker lines
                            have failed to lead me home.

Alone.
And kindred with the cold.

Do you remember?
The way I stood to the side?
The way you looked to her first?
Do you remember?
The way I never was a part of your joke?
The way you ignored me?
Do you remember?
The way I held back tears around you?
The way you never asked about me?
Do you remember?
The way I wanted to die around you two?
The way you ruined me?
Do you remember?
No.
Because I was never more to you,
Then a second thought.

i don’t want us
to be anything.
but sometimes i wonder
if i crossed your mind
the way you drift through mine.

why else would you give me
your plushie crocodile —
just in case
i miss you
while you’re away?

we’ve been spending
so much time together.
you keep finding ways
back into my head.

we’re not going to be a thing.
you told me.
i told you.
we shouldn’t work.

but baby —
we do.