When I space out
I’m not in lala land.

I’m in the depths of hell
Drowning alone.

I’m not skipping amongst flowers
With a lover holding my hand.

I’m alone suffering my self inflicted pain.
Even if I’m surrounded by my people.

So don’t wave your hand in front of my face.
And make me pretend to be happy with you.

Just let me suffer alone.

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.

Nearly midway through April,
Time doesn’t intend to move any slower.
A new chapter will soon begin,
When I’ve just gotten used to the one that I’m in.

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same.
Can you even notice,
By my face?
I’m going through changes,
And it’s draining me.
I just hope that the mirror,
Doesn’t show someone I’ve never seen.

Life is building up,
Responsibilities are growing.
I am on the cusp,
And the exertion’s showing.

I don’t know where I’m going,
I feel like I’m lost.
I know that I’m growing,
But at what cost?
Childhood is dying,
Yet, I remain.
Am I really myself,
If everything’s changed?


Whether it be death,
Of family or a platonic friendship.
Never any rest,
Leaving behind relationships.

I hear change is normal,
But does that make it okay?
Constantly counting,
The fading days.
Ticking and ringing,
All around the clock,
Constantly begging,
For it to stop.

The discontement and resentment,
The words people misuse,
The friends people forget,
The love they abuse.

If I could press a button,
And pause it all.
I’d keep the world frozen,
Stop the spinning ball.
I’d enjoy the moment,
Forever slowed.
Perhaps then I’d get it,
And learn to cope.

If changes weren’t so scary,
Maybe I’d be less frantic,
Perhaps the soldier and the poet,
Would love more than they’d ever know.
The wolf and the sheep,
Bound eternally.
Perhaps the old cat lady,
Would’ve been seen more fondly.
The demons we often hide,
And my paradigm.
What happened,
With time?

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same,
I just need some patience,
If that’s okay.
Let me catch my bearings,
And hold them close,
They’re all I remember,
From the times I love most.

It’s the crisis of connection,
Why the beggars feel forced to beg.
Why the little tree was hydrophobic,
And the alien searches for a suitable planet.

Pictures are all we,
Can do to protect,
The precious memories,
Our brain forgets.
As we look at the fragments,
Of the past,
Oh, how we long,
For those times to come back.

If I could change the world,
It’d be different, that’s for sure.
Perhaps these changes,
Wouldn’t feel so absurd.

I know hundreds have done this before,
Lived through life,
And walked through all the open doors,
Dodging the strife.
However, one thing,
I’m not sure you see,
Is that none of those millions of people,
Were me.

Fear starts to peak,
As routines reach their endings.
All too quickly,
Is this how it has to be?

I know growing older,
Is just part of the deal.
I just need a shoulder,
Someone to heal.
To let me take a break,
To pause,
But we can’t,
Perhaps peace is just a facade.

Am I worth hearing,
My biggest critic keeps asking,
Pieces of my mind fracturing,
As he just starts laughing.

I’m going through changes,
Yet, I still feel the same.
Can you help me?
Can you point the way?
There’s no need to worry,
Cause I guess I’m doing okay,
The sky’s the limit,
I just have to be brave,
And face these changes…

“Is that a girl?”
“I must be mistaken”
“His voice is what gives him away.”
“I can see that his stubble is just growing in”
“And his shoulders are broad”
“Keep that **** pervert away.”