I met my younger self for dinner today,
Her pupils were large and dilated,
She felt that she will never be sober again.
I noticed that she carried something with her,
It was substance just in case her high goes away.
I ordered some Caesar salad,
She couldn't think about food,
Because she would purge.
Then she spoke:
"Are my scars visible"
I couldn't reply,
I didn't want to make her feel bad.
And again she spoke:
"Are we finally sober?"
"Of course we are!"
-I replied.
If she only knew we have so much goals ahead of our life.

I find myself saying "I wanna go home" a lot. But what do I mean by that? Cause I'm not talking about the home where I mix my flowing tears with the flowing water from the shower, or where I pray my headphones are charged so I can block out the loud arguments.

I'm talking about the home where I run into my dad's arms again when he gets home from work, where I can beg my mom to read me a story as I fall asleep, where I can laugh and not worry about how I'm gonna make it through tomorrow.

But that's impossible. I can't go back to where times were okay. I can't go back to where I felt okay. Because im here now. I'm here with the loud voices telling me to quit. I'm here with the laughter after I take the wrong step. I'm here where I would rather do anything but look at my dad.

I'm not home, I'm nowhere near it. But instead of saying that, I'll just tell myself one more time that I want to go home.

Even though I will never make it back home.

For
My Brother,
My Lover,
My Enemy,
My Friend.
For Someone I’ll Never Forget














I should’ve known. How time changes things. But I’m not talking about how my hair looks different from when I was running around in the school playground, Or how I was playing with dolls and dressing up, and now I keep my eyes glued on my phone. I’m talking about how I used to laugh with you in the back of the class, now I watch you across the classroom laughing with someone I don’t even know the name of.

We used to plan how we would set up our rooms in our future 2 bedroom apartment together, or how we get our first job together, how we would never leave each other no matter the situation. But instead I watch you walk past me without even waving.

I should've known. You would find someone that treated you like a person, they would stay on the phone with you through bad Facebook messenger calls because you never got a phone with service, you would follow them around the school at lunch break because you claimed to have no friends, and you would see a small smile form on their face because that same smile formed on mine when you told me you would rather be with me anyway.

Because I laughed on how your face was all distorted and blurry because we both had bad Wi-Fi, because I walked with you to the teacher to ask if we could sit together, because I buried my face in my hands when you were doing everything to embarrass me while trick-or-treating on Halloween, because I made you sign a contract swearing you would be my friend for the rest of eternity, because I treated you like someone, a person, a friend, my friend.

I should’ve known. That when you called me that night for the first time in months, it wasn’t because you wanted to talk to me about your show or because you were bored. But it was about how you and her broke up. It was about how you loved her. That you couldn’t find anybody because they all just leave. Yet, I still stayed. Listening to you sob and talk about you and her together. The next day instead of seeing you across the school cafeteria, I saw you next to me. And for a moment, I thought I could laugh with you again. But still, I should've known.

Because a week later you were gone again. With her. I should’ve known. All of that laughter and smiles would turn into jealousy and tears.

I should’ve known. You would find someone and get away from the groups of people looking at us in the hallways.

I should’ve known. You would grow up after saying you never would.

I should’ve known. You would walk with someone else to a class.

I should’ve known. I would get a new friend group with you not in it.

I should’ve known. I would call a friend and it wouldn’t be you.

I should’ve known. that the promise we made with each other to always be by each other's side was just another thing

I should’ve known from the start.

you speak in flames,
your words a fire that burns everything i've ever been
each syllable is sharp,
a knife against the soft parts of me
the parts you never cared to see
you twist the truth
fists hidden in your voice,
each insult a stone
throwing me into a pit
of shame and doubt
i stand in your storm
a broken tree with roots to deep to leave
but each word you spit
feels like thunder clashing against my skin
i cant escape
the echoes of your rage
you tear me apart
but still, i ache for something
ill never get;
a whisper of love
a touch without hate
but instead i drown in your fury
and yet you never see the weight
of your own cruelty
the marks you leave with every breathe

but im learning to breathe without you,
to let your venom slip off my skin,
no longer clinging to the scars.
The scars you carved into my heart.

I'm just another kid with pills and a wish to be killed.

I'm gonna do it I keep telling myself.
I'll swallow unspoken words,
Taking shots of pills like it's natural.
Maybe it would be better with only my face upon a bookshelf.

Should I leave a note?
Risk leaving the bathroom floor and everyone see me?
Maybe it would be easier to let these pills but free me.

The pills are in my hands right now,
Light as a feather usually, but now it's like holding a boulder,
Like a bullet I'd wanna shoot through my head to stop the thoughts.
I have but no one to lay my head upon their shoulder.

The hopes I wouldn't feel this way today,
shattered like glass, sharp as a knife that pierced through porcelain skin.
Like I have to **** myself to prove a point no one cares for.
Like I have a chance of being a boy instead of hoping only in my core.

I got her mad so she wouldn't care,
Send my ****** dead body but a glare.
But what would mom think?
Seeing her "daughter" dead on the floor by the sink.
The thought of it being her fault, the pills stain her brain like ink.

Everyone's neutral, it's the perfect time.
Maybe they'd think of my guts as but slime.
But if I were to die it would be selfish,
As my dad would've already cried and became less sheepish.
Would his kid with pills cause him to be squeamish?

I feel disgusting,
I feel like ****.
I don't want to, but I do as I sit.
I hate people like a man lusting.

I can't love, It doesn't fit like a glove.
Maybe one day I can stop it,
Fly free of these thoughts as if a dove.
I wish I didn't hate or love,
Wish I didn't think of these pills as if a gift from above.

I like my friends though,  they're cool.
They only but sometimes leave me sitting on a stool.
They're not necessarily cruel,
Someone I yern to become.

Yern to not be so nervous,
To be less skittish.
Maybe I yern to be anyone but me,
Yern to be what people see as me.

I'm not all of what one might think,
I cry after each blink.
Cause at the end of the day I'm not "mature" or "cool",
I'm just another kid with pills in reach.

Nos cris perdus dans le vent
qui comme le temps file ;
Nos ripostes dissipées dans la brume
des souvenirs évanouis ;

L’histoire se répète malgré les présages ;
Nul n’a su faire marche en pas chassés.

La jeunesse dans l’élan de son ignorance,
La sagesse dans la mollesse de ses membres;
Nos leçons sont diffuses et égarées -
Nous n’apprenons pas même à la dure
cette notion des cycles trop répétés.
Même de cette vue depuis la cime,
Les doigts de nos poings demeurent liés.

Et comme nos cris perdus dans le vent
qui comme le temps file,
Nous dirons que nous vécûmes alors
Ce qu’aujourd’hui ne saurait décrire.
Que nous regardons le monde désormais
D'un regard que l'on n'aurait pas su nous prédire.

Nous ne sommes pas les mêmes;
Ces cris furent un murmure hélas perdu à jamais,
Qui nous revient en langage des signes,
Qui nous étourdit comme un reflet,
Mais qui trouve écho et retentira
Dans l'innocence que l'on précède.

I stand beneath the rotted cherry tree,
Its branches barren and weak,
A reminder of all that was lost,
Of all the sweet cherries that once bloomed.

This tree was once a symbol of life,
Of love and happiness,
But now it stands, a hollow shell,
A testament to all that has passed.

The sweet scent of the cherries that once were,
Is now replaced by a smell of decay,
A constant reminder of the past.

The silence echoes, deep and wide,
Where once your presence used to hide.
A shadow now, where love never lived,
A hollow place, no warmth to give.

In every room, your absence cries,
A thousand questions fill my mind.
Why did you leave? Why can't you stay?
I waited for you, but you’ve turned away.

Your absence leaves a mark so deep,
A longing that I cannot keep.

7:08 halloween night
"its time to go"
"ok"
the car
the moon
then,
nothing
(that i can remember)
3rd floor bedroom
the moon
through the window
suddenly
its too loud
curtains close
the sharpener
cuts
then

i don't remember

The voice that’s rarely heard,
Not outspoken,
Or outgoing enough.
The one who watches the clock,
To see the seconds turn to minutes,
To hours, to days,
Before you know it a year’s gone by.

I have a few things to get off my chest,
Perhaps it would be best.

There are people whose voice is loud,
You can tell them out of the crowd.
Some commanding, others obnoxious,
Others are demanding, and some are boisterous.
I never understood the appeal.
But if one thing is clear,
It’s that they’re confident,
For better or worse,
I just hope they aren’t full of themselves.
As per most things,
Advantageous in moderation.
Too much noise can drive one insane.
But there are highlights too,
Most leaders tend to be loud,
And I think they should.

Then there are people like me,
Quiet, but not dead silent.
Some call us mysteries,
Others find an opportunity to batter someone,
Who they know won’t talk back.
The quiet ones can be seen as arrogant,
Some think we say we’re better in every way,
Far from the truth.
Most of the time when I’m quiet,
It’s because I have nothing to say.
Or I have but I don’t think it’s important.
Don’t understand,
How some say whatever crosses their minds.
Mine bounces off the walls,
Filled with dashing, flashing thoughts.
“Are they judging me?”
“Do they even care at all?”
“What are they thinking about?”
“Am I making a fool of myself?”
“Can I connect with anyone else?”
These thoughts and more,
Rattle on despite no encore.

Apathy’s a dangerous thing,
Not caring or feeling anything.
Sometimes that’s why I don’t speak.
Wandering,
In endless wondering…
Wanderlust,
But where to go?

While most, state their opinions aloud.
I don’t.
Why risk the chance of mockery,
If you don’t have to?
People can be cruel,
Crueler than they realize,
At the time.
I keep my opinions in my head,
Where they fit best.

Sometimes I wonder:
Do people think about what they say,
Before they say it?
Sometimes it feels like,
They just preach what’s on their mind,
Without a thought behind their eyes.
They want to be seen,
To shine,
They want to be heard,
In the Broadway spotlights.
And those two desires,
Trump mostly everything else,
And add fuel to their fire,
Causing them to burn even brighter.

I take my thoughts,
To the page,
Where it’s quiet,
And all my thoughts can flow freely,
Without any pesky blockages.
How freeing,
Yet, how fleeting.

I’ve said what I wanted to say.
Shouted as loud as I could,
Through the noisy maelstrom.
I hope you heard,
What this silent voice had,
Bouncing in his brain…