i walk to my bus stop. it is 5am and school is no longer in session since it's the middle of june. a plane passes overhead and i wonder if they're close enough to watch my eyes well up. before i dismiss that idea for being so irrational, i throw up two middle fingers, as if to say "******* for making me feel this way" even though i know it's not their fault.

it takes me until the sun rises to realize i am standing by a stop sign in just a t-shirt, underwear, and my yellow rain boots...but it's not raining. and for a second, i can't remember the last time it rained, but the puddles that fill the potholes tell me that it was probably yesterday.

i run to my house in a hurry, as if i would no longer feel the embarrassment of  being half naked in public once i was inside. the door is unlocked and i am thankful because the last time i saw my keys was three days ago, and i can't even remember where i saw them. wait, i don't have keys. i'm too young to have keys, so whose keys did i see three days ago?

my house looks different, like maybe this isn't my house, but i know it is because the twilight zone is on, and i'm the only person in their teens who still watches that show. the volume is turned all the way down. was i watching it in secret? maybe i didn't want to wake my mother.

i sit down on my couch and close my eyes. it 6:30am and i should be asleep right now, but i've come to find myself lighting a cigarette and smoking it, but i don't smoke. i've never smoked. i go to put it out, but i somehow miss my mom's marbled ashtray and get my arm. my mind is  screaming "take it off! get it away!" but it's also screaming "is it weird that i'm barely feeling anything?" and then the pain hits me all at once, and i toss it into the ashtray. my arm is throbbing and i wish i could pass out and deal with this later, but the truth is there is no later and this is all happening now.

and i have no idea how to deal with it.

tell the world she's the girl who looks happy
and the girl who is secretly lonely

i killed myself.
my old self.
sometimes she likes to sneak back into the cracks in my bones,
but she's never there for long.
she knows she is not welcome there.

i killed myself.
my old self.
then i bloomed like a dandelion,
fierce and ready to conquer all.
sometimes people like to pluck me
because i'm a ****.
but weeds can be flowers too if you get to know them.

m.a.l.

What are you thinking?
What are you thinking,
You kid
Who shakes between breath and rifle?

Answer with
Your disgust
In the this order:
Bullied,
Outcast,
Solace in the dark.

Let's rephrase the question
To help me understand:
Between your breath and the rifle
Are you even thinking,
Thinking while you tremble
Within 50 yards of more youth
Buried in your darkness
Remembering what was taken
From your youth,
emotionally charged
And confused more so
Than your family,
Your family whom loves
Could have ever dreamed of?