With every cycle the clock ticks
I escape the world from the back of the room
Through letters shaped as thoughts
Staring at where once was the moon

Seems pretty okay, right?
But you can’t write your sorrows on exams.
I would need the entire alphabet.
But I’m left with four bold letters at my hands

I began writing "I’m sorry" beside my name.
Answering questions with just because
I started leaving pages empty
I truly believed that’s what i’d become

When things came to an end,
I passed, but I failed to get better.
*- At least if i had actually failed, I would have gotten a second chance.

When I was a little girl,
Mama always put my hair in two pigtail braids.
She'd separate it so one was on each shoulder,
and then gave me a finishing twirl.

Never have I ever thought of what the hair felt like.
From day one in science class, I was taught it was dead cells,
nothing more, nothing less.
Never have I ever thought of how it felt to be pulled so tight.

It's taken a few years, and I've long since grown out of the pigtail braids.
Now, I make them more fancy, a french braid or a fancy one to the side.
Maybe this is a lesson, that things only get pulled tighter and tighter with hidden rage and growing age.
Never have I ever known how fast a stressed and pulled heart fades.

I'm in a vulnerable state of mind
Static screams in heavy machinery
A screen of the world in a room of thousands of sounds and lights
It's black and white
It's silent and noisy
It's dark and light
I'm in a vulnerable state of mind
But all of it is white noise

Still struggling to tell myself how fine I was
Remembering I was one without flaws
I had a life before you,but why's it hard after?
Is it cause you left tears where you found laughter?
Is it cause I can't even eat?
Is it?

I can't take this anymore
I can't stay
Watch me walk out the door
Cuz my heart's not something you play

happy birthday

anticipated this feeling for as long as I could remember
the rule breaking rebel infested mystical theory of the coming of age, age.
and surprisingly I am affected
I am content
I am satisfied
I am not as disappointed or rather unbothered by the hyped societal numbers that defined your teenage years
and now I wonder if this makes me just like everyone else based on my feelings or based on my new found character limit
I can, however, admit that it feels good
it feels fulfilling to know that through everything you've made it this far no matter how many times you woke up wishing you hadn't
it's a reassuring simple gesture that maybe life is hope or hope is life or that maybe there is something I haven't experienced quite to the fullest extent as to keep me alive for every 12 months after the next.
no, I am not happy
no, I am not overjoyed
but I can honestly say that I don't feel as bad as I thought I would.