Walking down the street
Looking so ugly
It can’t possibly be human
Though it is human
But only slightly

People don’t believe in it
They say it’s non existent
Though it does exist
You just don’t notice

Because you see
It walks like everyone else
It breaths like everyone else
It wears clothing like everyone else
But it’s a disguise

The zombie in today’s society
Seems human at first glance
It does the basic human things
Breath, walk, eat
But it’s hard

It can barely sleep
It lacks emotion,
The ability to feel
It’s a disturbance
But the zombie in today’s society is me

I am the disturbance
And just like the zombie
I may seem alive
But I’m already dead
So you might as well
Just shoot me in the head

Because
At the end of the day
Nobody likes
A zombie.

They say I’m
               “Just some girl”
         but they don’t know me

   They don’t know
                               what I stand for
   They don’t know
                       what I’ve been through

   They don’t know who I am.
   They don’t know anything about me
                      but neither do I.

   Maybe I am “Just some girl”

   Just some OUTSIDER girl
   Just some ASIAN girl
   Just some PRIVILEGED girl
   Just some ANNOYING girl
    
                       I AM JUST SOME GIRL

   Just some girl who CRIED IN CLASS
   Just some girl who NEVER TALKS
   Just some girl who NO ONE KNOWS
    
Just some girl that killed herself last night and leaves you wondering,
                                 maybe she wasn’t
                                  JUST SOME GIRL

I had entangled within her verses
                    that were never totally coherent
upon every verse.
               She spelt it in dyslexic
      dramatization  that I never understood.

We were meant to spell every movement,
                but we tripped over every emotion,
                and you were the thorn within me.
We never understood each others sentiment.

I am naïve skeptic
I am a bohemian capitalist
I am a sad corporatist
I am a misogynistic feminist
I am a misanthropic misandry
I am a traditional postmodernist
and a conservative liberal
I belong to someone, but mostly to myself
I am not yours, yet I am not mine either.
I am everything and I am nothing.

I am tender and cold,
I am sour and soft.
Darker than night,
Brighter than day.
Loving and spiteful
Caring and callous.

I am a poet concealed in prose
I am a writer covered in playwright
I am here, but I am also there.
I am an old novelty
and a new discovery.
I am a bit of van Gogh’s ear.

i came into this world 23 chromosomes of her and 23 of him
i came into this world for them to use me against each other
i came into this world for them to treat me like an object
THEIRS
no individuality
just...
theirs

years go by and i've started to discover myself
and as my petals open up and i bloom into the flower i'm supposed to be
i am rejected and have petals torn off one by one
"you're not gay"
"you shouldn't cut your hair"
"you look like a boy"
"you look so grungy and messy"
"your name is Kaylee"

but i was max
i was gay
i cut my hair
i looked like a boy sometimes
i wear band t-shirts and ripped jeans
but it's not enough
my individuality isn't taken into account
i am not a blooming flower
i am a mere seed
i have yet to be what they want me to be
and so therefore i am not anything
"it's all a phase"
"in 10 years you'll look back on this and feel so dumb"

i will never be enough
not for them
not even for myself now
nothing is good enough
i fight the hatred with knowledge and pride
and now i've just learned to stand to the side
as they come with their pesticide to run me back into the ground
tuning me out until i learn how to not make a sound

I close my eyes

Because it is easy.

And

I am lazy.

Memories play on cue.

Tears obey gravity.



My watch feels awfully creative

It goes tock tick.

And I do nothing differently

Except, maybe breathe a little slowly.

The beauty in our hate

I open my eyes, they're

Infected by retrospection.



I try too hard to make things look simple.

Because my wisdom

Is a string of pop songs.

So you ask me when we’ll meet.

And I tell you where, instead.

A place called Someday.

You mistake my tattered love

For intellectual ambiguity

And though I’m dying to explain,

I am painfully lazy.