At first,  
I am every story you’ve ever loved:  
the girl with wild eyes and a crooked smile,  
the glitterbomb dropped into your heavy life.  
I am the Manic Pixie Dream,  
softened and sharpened just right,  
scripted to be the key you didn’t know you lost.  

I love it, too.  
I love playing her.  
I love the way I can become  
everything I thought I couldn't be—  
light, brave, impossible.  
I fall in love with the girl they see,  
the one who spins in the rain,  
who kisses like it’s a dare,  
who never stays still long enough  
for anyone to notice the cracks.

For a while,  
I even forget the weight of myself.  
For a while,  
the mirror throws back someone I almost recognize,  
someone almost worth keeping.

But the days grow teeth.  
The seams split.  
My clinginess stops being "cute,"  
my mess stops being "quirky,"  
my fear starts leaking through the paint.  

Then I remember:
I'm not magic.  
I'm work.  
I'm a maze with no ending.  
I'm a mouthful of needs no one knows how to swallow.

And they start seeing it too.  
The way I flinch when they look too long.  
The way my laugh gets hollow.  
The way I start pleading through my eyes,
"Please, please don't look closer."

I know how this ends.  
The Dream Girl dies the moment she becomes real.  
Nobody writes sequels for the ones who stay.

So I run.  
I tear the script from my hands,  
I rip the costume at the seams.  
I run before they can stop loving the idea of me,  
before they have to face the weight of who I am  
beneath the glitter and noise.

I find a new stage,  
a new pair of arms,  
a new chance to believe in the girl I invented—
if only for a little while longer,
If only to live in someone else's dreams,
If only to forget the weight of waking up.

A constant craving
The laundry just sits and sits
The itch that won’t scratch

Eyes glued to my unlaced shoes,
Fingers picking at the skin I lose.
Friendly chatter pierces and flows,
Through the walls where my silence grows.

I think to myself — why couldn’t I be normal?

As I step out, a thousand glares pierce through me,
Seeping into my soul, my mind, my very being.
Screeching rejection and denial of my existence,
All too familiar, yet I shiver in unwilling perseverance.

I think to myself — why couldn’t I be normal?

My feet tap on the linoleum floor,
Eyes adjusting to lights that roar.
Fists clench tight at sudden sounds,
Hair ripped out as overstimulation surrounds.

People think to themselves — why couldn’t she just be normal?

A shift in routine rewires my brain,
Lingering fears of my portrayal as disdain.
Just another “quirk” to break a beloved bond,
Maybe I’ll hide who I am so we can move on.

I think to myself — maybe I’ll try to be normal

The longer I mask, the more I ache,
From every movement I dread to fake.
It doesn’t matter how I feel,
I work, I serve, to turn the wheel.

I think to myself — how do I even be normal?

Struggling in school everyday,
Feeling like I'm behind.
Struggling with basic math,
teachers making fun of me.
Hurting deep,
Not receiving any support I need.
Why does my brain work differently?
Teachers, students bullying me,
Is it my fault?

The pain runs deep,
With no one to understand.
Why does my brain work in ways they can't see?
Am I broken? Am I stupid?

Laughter echoes when I stumble,
Words like knives, they cut me thin.
I wonder, is this my fault?

Students, teachers bullying me,
How long will it last?

i am screaming
screaming out to you

why can't you hear me?
just listen.

you say you can't hear me
because i am screaming in silence

and i cant expect people to hear me
if i'm not saying anything at all.

how is it that, inside me
its so **** loud,

and yet i can't manage to get it outside.
i can't get people to hear.

i guess its sad if people are so limited by their senses
while i am able to experience all the infinite forms of communication.

or, maybe its sad for me.
because even if i can communicate in all these infinite ways,

it makes it hard to find the one in which
they can hear me

screaming
in silence.

but will you like me
prolly not

my looks tend not to make up for my existence

I dance in rooms on fire
forget to extinguish all the flames I set ablaze

that is- if memory is a pair of glasses
foresight is 20/20
and I'm legally blind to the rules of society
can see the shapes but they make no rhyme
why bother when its not a crime

I'll tell you I'm not fine when you ask me
I'll change the subject if discussing weather is not what we should discuss

my heart lines my throat when I think about
the fact that I turn off people when I open my mouth

Im a 180 from my appearance to my personality

don't like me for my looks alone
they're not set in stone
my character though- seems all want to chip away

I wish I could lie besides you
And make the world okay
That I could chase off all the demons
And make a better day
I wish I could take your struggles
And clear them all away
I wish to show you a better future
To make you want to stay

I know the world has beat you down
I can see it in your eyes
The hidden truths and mental ails
Some things you can't disguise
And I know the world looks bleak as hell
And your future seems filled with lies
I wish I could give you a way out
With plans and words wise

But I know that I am only a single soul
Alone I can not give you aid
And I too struggle to stay alive with all
The demons my mind made
And the prejudices of this world brought both us down
Sharper than razor's blade
But through all the hell of our apocalypse
I will make you glad you stayed

portal space is open,
in a purple swirl,
and I'm
****** back into a world

on the brink of an advent
toward some higher mind,
with a blessed perspective,
this recollection's wretched.

Levity was a given,
for mortality ignored.
What to do with levity,
with mortality accepted,
and endings implored.

last laugh always wins
(where are your friends?)
have been deemed unnecessary
everlasting grin
(how off have you been?)
have i?

no. have i?

what's it gonna take to get this bad brain
back on the right of the left hand black?
nothing will. nothing will.

what's it gonna take to get this bad brain
back on the right track to get connected
with the rest of them?

nothing will. bad brain bad.