one day someone will love you

he will remove your shirt
his hands will move over your skin
soft, fragile fingertips, safe, warm touch
you will sigh and he will enjoy the sound and sight of you
unfurling before him

my mistakes that clog my skin
my anger a bitter, pulsing monster
my love a ****** ****,
but shouldn't it be me to rip the buttons of your shirt
let it fly to the floor
breathe in your skin
admire the view of your eyes closing as i
trailed red kisses over you

shouldn’t it be me who knew you better than he could?
and yes, i am not your typical lover
but i cannot imagine you’d want him
to be intimate with someone who could barely love you,
a tepid version of the love i would make you feel,
i’d let smiles overwhelm our intimacy,
but it will be him, not me, touching your skin like it's golden
you’ll never know that my love is heaven and skies,
and his is merely a shiny fracture of the sunlight i could give you

yet despite my desperate tries of declaring this all
you turn your head away from the sun, me, too bright
and crawl to your comfort, when you could stride to my sunlight
you will shiver in the shadows of his love
instead of basking in the heat of mine

oh how to be a suburban teen
fake money big houses taco bell
nights out and lights out at 10

running through the streets in a flurry of
frostbite and cold hands

first kisses in the shopping mall,
which (by the way) i always said to be
the rotten palaces of capitalism

calling boys who wear the same thing everyday.
cute shirts and skirts with big boots

downloading vintage camera apps on our
iphone 11 pro max

how to be a suburban teen

Have you ever heard the story of the young girl?
Who ventured into the hospital after a life-changing mistake.
The girl who spends her days hiding the red lines on her arms and legs.
The young girl who proclaimed the perfect life.
Have you?
I bet you haven’t.
Nobody heard mine
Not a single soul.

My name is Aya
And it’s been 1,460 days since I’ve been alone.
It’s been 1,095 days since I’ve been hurt.
And It’s been 730 days since I’ve been broken

And this is my story.
The one nobody cared to listen to, and nobody cared to write.

A story of a young girl with brown hair up in a bun.
With the only worry being next week’s math test.
A story of a young girl who seemed she’d forever be in her awkward phase
of the early teenage years.

The story of a girl with an annoying brother
And worrisome parents.
The story of a girl with a poodle named Cocoa
And a cat named Mushu.

The story of a young girl with a great life
But made one stupid, fast, misjudged decision.
That felt she had to prove to someone that she was grown up.
That she could handle the big stuff.

The story of a young girl who at just 12
Became with child.
The story of a young girl who at just 12
Was told to get married.

The story of a young girl
Who would become a single parent.
The story of a young girl
Who at 12 became without a home.

The story of a young girl
Who at the age of 13 experienced the loss of her child.
The story of a young girl who ended up alone
Without her newborn child.

The story of a young girl
Who spent her days looking for edible berries in the forest.
The girl who spent her nights
Lurking in the shadows at the home she once had that vaguely smelled of strawberries.

The girl who at the age of 14
Diagnosed herself with depression.
The girl who at the age of 14
Diagnosed herself with anxiety.

The girl who ventured back to her home
To only be scolded by her Mother.
The girl who learned of the second loss in her family
Her dear brother Evan.

The girl who watched the funeral in a distance
So that nobody could hear her wailing cries.
So, nobody could feel the pressuring guilt that radiated off her, as her soul broke.
When she found out her brother had taken his life when she never came back home.

The story of a girl who forced herself into foster care
Going house to house.
The girl who marked red lines on her arms
To try and cope with the pain.

The story of a girl who
Ran to the lake once the clock struck two.
And jumped in not bothering or wanting to come up.
And not hearing the deafening cries of a young detective.

The story of a girl
who at the age of 16
was wheeled into the hospital doors.
with injures beyond repair
and a slim will to live.

The story of Aya
a 12-year-old girl
who made one decision
that caused years of suffering for many.

oh, how the boys try to impress the girls
with their kickflips and the slam of the wheels

oh, how they skate and the noise that they make
the teenagers at the bus stop — a public mistake

oh, how they'll shout at the top of their lungs
on this public transport — i am the alpha

testosterone takes charge, oh how the confidence of boys
creates the environment of irritated discomfort

oh, how the ridiculousness of teen boys provides
entertainment when we forgive their misogynist vibes

and bad behaviour — we will say boys will be boys
"i'll have *** with your sister" — the conversation they employ

and oh, how they will fare evade — but hey, so will i
i wish i had their confidence at certain times

and how i wish my teen years were filled with much more fun
if i was less dysphoric and more proud of myself

and when they leave the bus a peace is then regained
the energy they took with them; a calm it creates

you’re sweet
But don't expect me to write love poetry

The kids are high;
Their Liquored lips lifting
To swell with holes in their eyes;
Like black jewels they shine;
Deep pools to let in extra light;
Extra love;
They are hot with an extra warmth
And how it shows;
Glows from within skins
flushed slick and salty.

The kids are high;
And they are sitting in a circle;
They hug one another and stroke each others hair;
They retell their favourite stories;
And confess their kindest compliments with their softest smile
All the while they would swear;
They have never felt so happy;
Or so humanly connected.

The kids are high;
So I guess you should call the police.
Tell them about the risks of delinquents on drugs.
The kids are high;
And they have never been more at peace.
The kids are high;
So they must be a danger.
The kids are high;
And they are truly happy.
The kids are high;
And you hate them for it -
How dare they take pills you didn't prescribe?
The kids are high of their accord.
Do you think they are troubled?
Or do you think they are bored?
The kids are high;
And they are dancing
Dancing with a devil you waltzed with once,
When you too were young,
The kids are high;
And for each step tread
Down your footprint path
You hate them.
The kids are high
And they love you.
The kids are high
Mind the irony.

I'm a teenager with depression
And I'm starting to have a **** ton of aggression
People tell me to shut up
And then they wonder why we don't consult

Look, I hate myself
And you likely hate yourself
And that's the joy of being in a world
Where we all get burned

I got crinks in my neck
And a back that is a wreck
Working too hard
So colleges see me as being "smart"

I have a noose on my fan
And a gun I got from a man
I've started to fantasize about death
But I know all the paperwork will be a mess

People see a breakup
And say "oh just wake up"
When adults get into a breakup
They become vacant

Why is my pain any less
Just cause I don't have any debts yet
I'm a teenager with depression
And I'm starting to have a **** ton of aggression

Breathe in, Breathe out
You can do this
Breathe in, Breathe out
You are stronger than this
Breathe in, Breathe out
You can still fight
Breathe in, Breathe out
You  have one chance

Breathe in, Breathe out
Please let go of that blade.....