She sits on empty train station platforms at night,
her dreams drifting away in the chilling night breeze,
her legs dangling over the side of the platform.

She plays her music, soft and slow, in the tree-tops at night,
humming along tunelessly with her eyes to the moon,
her hair lashing her rosy, red cheeks in the breeze.

She lies on a bench by a soft-sung lake at night,
her sparkling eyes gazing into the dark-night skies,
the water gently lapping against it's bank.

She walks through empty village streets at night,
her footsteps echoing into silence of darkness,
her arms hugging her shoulders from the crisp night air.

She sits on grey-brick walls with knees pulled up tight,
watching people push into each other, swearing loudly, thinking;
'things are so much quieter at night'

Wearing Converse ‘cause we’re All Stars,
leaping rails and busting through the knees of last year’s jeans,

Not sleeping, just dreaming for when it can all start over again.

But without the old, the exes and the oh’s,
how can we say we really knew the new?

What makes a teenager today any different?
A guitar and some cigarettes; it's all the same,
I grew up thinking we could all be magnificent;
I struggle to find someone that we can all blame,

We look towards our idols for some inspiration,
Just to see the same inadequacy we see in the mirror,
Line after line drawn; words with drugs, no imagination,
All of their issues and so much for them to consider,

I'd like to think of a day we get past our disgusting obsession,
Of picking celebrities no better than the next ******,
And voting in a man who was protested at his inauguration;

***: I think I like you.
ILY: I love you.
***: Why did you cheat on me?
KMS: I'm killing myself, bye.

We give our weight to the ancient decay of this familial brick building
the blades of our razor shoulders just barely grazing it
all as a part of our clever façade of ice cold leaned back sunglasses on our heads attitude
cool radiating off of the sparse, tattered patches in our jeans
the walls still warm from the sweltering July heat
the moon watching us quietly, red in the face
the night still simmering in seventy degrees
smelling of dust and trash cans and our extra-large cerulean slushies.
She sets down her roller skates to divulge the little treasure she had been hiding in her pocket.
Do you want to try one? My mom let me have a pack.
In this uncertain instance, I decide that cool is greater than safe,
as I chew my lip and dart my head around every corner
to ensure that disapproval isn’t lurking somewhere in the dark.
I gradually slip one out of its snug packet with a shaky embrace
twirl it between my fingers as I watch her light one on fire
uttering and stuttering: are you sure we should be doing this?
attentive to the way the tiny embers glow and dance off the tip each time she flicks it with her chipped nails
the smoke turning pink from the neon sign that flashes above our heads
and I’m not sure if I’m sick with anxiety or sick with chemical vapor
as we cough until our stomachs are empty
and the street in front of our feet become drenched in blue.

We would both end up watering our roots just to see how far they could grow
how many miles they would stretch even from the dry dirt of our little Southern street
then drown them so that they would rot and forgetting would be easier.
She would end up in Washington state
where she would wear out her bright yellow rainboots
and I would end up surfing the wind of the Midwest
and we wondered how we could have gotten here
how our miniscule seeds could have blossomed into trees big enough to cast shadows.
After adulthood had kept us apart at more than an arm’s length for a few weeks
she would call me on the phone at one a.m.:
I think I found the one
her voice fluctuating like the sound waves of a child finding their first Easter egg
I would kick my feet up choking on my laughter and letting my tears have free range like we were twelve again
when we would sing our own rendition of “Chapel of Love” in Mrs. Peters’ class everyday
our biggest worry then would be tying our satin bows in our hair just right.
We would talk until dawn
until we would drift off into the dark of sleep
the white noise of the other end of the line still breathing into our ears
dreaming of pixie sticks.

The sound of her body collapses onto the floor
as if she forgot how to fly
waking both of her parents as one treks the speed of God up the stairs
and she wishes the fall would have snapped her neck
that the flush of death washed over a face didn’t have to look so gruesome.
Before she could re-tie the noose into its perfect donut with slick and hurried fingers
her dad flings the door open and you’d think he left a hole in the wall
or a hole in her chest in the way he says
what the **** do you think you’re doing free-falling along with the thick saliva
foaming from his lips that were swollen with sleep
although he hasn’t slept since.
The first time she did it, she apologized
but this time she was only sorry for unstable ladders.  

At recess that day
I drew lilies on my hand with her sparkly pen and I realized later that I had lost it
as if it had grown shovels for arms and buried itself at the bottom of the sandbox.
I shriveled up my tiny face and spewed tears all over my dress,
I hadn’t known a greater tragedy,
but she said she liked the lilies on my hand better than her pen anyway
as the ink bled and into sweat and faded into something watered-down pink and abstract
she wrapped a medicinal arm around my shoulder and told me it was okay
that everything was going to be okay.

What they don't tell you is
it's impossible to be comfortable with yourself when you're a teenager
you're growing and changing and the world
just keeps moving faster around you and
whenever you ask it to slow down it goes
faster

What they don't tell you is
it's okay to want to fix yourself
being broken isn't a pre-req for being cool
or creative
or cared for
those songs comparing you to hurricanes
won't always be right

What they don't tell you is
it's harder to survive some days than others
Even if you don't need pills
or a therapist
or rehab
living can get too hard no matter what
and it's okay to not be okay

What they don't tell you is
its more than just easy to wake up some days
Even if you need a shrink
or meds
or to go cold turkey
and you're never gonna stop yourself from counting seconds
but instead of a countdown clock
just make them matter