When I die
No one will mourn
There will be a funeral
Many will attend
mourning someone
That died when I was 10
The gravestone will be mistaken
About who I am
The people will weep
And mourn for long
But not for me
For they have it wrong
They will mourn the girl in the casket
A shell of who I once was
No one will mourn me
That is no lie
When I die they will mourn the shell
of a girl i once was
But the little boy inside
who’s always wanted to come out
No one will mourn him
Ace will be forgotten
He will be erased.

That boy from Virginia
The one I once knew
We never met in person
But I wish that we had
You knew more about me
Then I knew myself
You’re 2 years older
God you’re almost 17
I remember when we first met
You were 13
You’ve ghosted me twice
But sometimes you return
I’m not sure you will this time
But I hope that you do
We wanted to live in Germany
With horses and cats
We talked about band
And how I wanted a cat
We’ve seen each other in our highs
As well as our lows
We grew up together
But now you’ve gone on
You’ve grown up more
And left me back
If you happen to see this
Please come reach out
Oh Kass from Virginia
I miss you

I only knew you for a week
But it felt like years
We shared much in common
Especially our tears
It been 2 years
I wonder where you’ve gone
Did you get into theater school?
Or is that dream gone?
I remember giving you my book
Because you wanted to read
It left a impact on you
I remember the poems you taught me to write
So I’m here writing this one
The last words you said to me were
“Take care of the hive”
It was our inside joke
From that book of mine
Oh dear Cameron C.
I hope you’re ok
I think of you often
A little to much
I hope you’re okay
Sincerely your psych ward bf, Ace

When you try to **** yourself
They lock you up
You’re a danger to yourself and others
“We’re here to help”
By helping they meant giving me medication
Till I am a zombie
No longer myself
But a shell of who I used to be
Why didn’t they notice all I needed was a hug
Not to be stuck
In these padded walls
“They are only here to help you”
But by helping they make me feel broken
I am not normal
I’ll never be normal
I am broken so bad
“Only we can fix you”
They says that they’ll fix me
But every time I feel
Less and less of whom I used to be
No worries in the world
Just dirt on our knees
But now we’re grown up
And there is no turning back to the way I used to be.

The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive  X-rays know
Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery

Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?

I’ve never felt
More luxurious
Than when
I was on a newly
Prescribed drug
With a total body high,
Coming down from mania,
Still exuberant,
But in a private space,
In my bathroom
In the ward,
In a bathtub
That does not fill up.
So I put on the shower
And I let the water hit my skin
And I took bite after bite
Of crisp and juicy apple slices.
I was at the mental hospital
Marilyn Monroe stayed in.
I imagined her here in the same bath
Also feeling luxurious and all sorts
Of ****** up like me.

Into this world world will come,
A few,
Very precious souls.
Who  will not fit
Into your cookie cutter molds.
Yet,
To your ideals,
You try to make them hold.
And never realize,
They may be,
The purest form of gold

I remember the supervised showers
The crushed ice
The cries at night
The feeling of losing control
The idea that earbuds with the right twist and ties could make me die
The sewn on pillowcases
The weapon in scissors, mirrors, handles, sheets, bedposts, bags, shampoo, straps, glass, pens
The misdemeanor
The boy who’s anorexia was his slow suicide
The girl with two siblings that killed themselves
How everyone wanted to **** themself
The 7-year-old that only cried
The lime green hallways that haunt my mind