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 Jan 2019 Iska
Alex
Friendship
 Jan 2019 Iska
Alex
At this point, my only friends are the ghosts inside my head.
The ones that remind me of every time I have messed up in my life,
That tell me, every time I hear a song from a musical I’ve been in,
Or a line from a show I’ve helped with,
Or something an old friend used to say.
Every time I hear one of those it reminds me how much of a ***** up I am.
How I’m talentless.
How I’ll never be one of the choir kids to go to a contest anymore.

I’m nothing more than a mistake.
I’ve searched, for a long time, for one thing I’m good at.
I enjoy things like theatre, until someone gives me that look.
The look that says they’re shocked that I could be that bad at something.

Both of my teachers have given me that look.
My best friends have given me that look.
The boy I fell in love with my freshman year has given me that look more times than I can count.

So.. I quit.
I quit choir.
I quit band.
I quit drama,
And musicals,
And plays,
And being stagehand.

I quit drawing.
I quit writing.
I only write anymore to throw my emotions out on a page like it’ll help-
It never does.
I just end up taking it out on myself either way.

My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they are the only ones honest with me.

I know that they are right when they say I am pudgy,
And too short, or too feminine.
I know that they are right when they say I will never achieve my dreams of living in Washington Heights,
Working at small time theatres-
Because that would mean someone would have to love my audition enough to actually cast me.

I’ve only ever gotten into shows where they accept everyone.

My only friends are the ones inside my head,
Because they see things the way I see things.
That the red scars decorating my thighs make me a little more beautiful.
Or that people will only love me when I am skin and bones.

I know that I will never dance or sing again,
But that will not stop me from trying to win the beauty pageant that is life.
I want to be the skinniest.
I want to be nothing but skin and bones and muscle.

I want to be beautiful.

And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to pursue that dream.

And the voices, like true friends,
Want me to die.
Because that is my dream.
And true friends support your dreams,
And wishes,
And the like.

These voices in my head want me as gone as I want me gone,
As much as everyone else wants me gone but won’t admit it-
But they admit it. They say it loudly.
 Jan 2019 Iska
krm
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
 Jan 2019 Iska
girasol
facts
 Jan 2019 Iska
girasol
i hope she knows
someone else loves you
more than she ever will
 Jan 2019 Iska
Wanderer
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
Life
                                                            ­    has
            a
                       funny
     way
                                           of
                                  
                                ruining

      
                                                      Lives.
In the End, It will all fit together.
 Dec 2018 Iska
Alex
Us, the world
 Dec 2018 Iska
Alex
Since when did I have to do this
Since when did I have to write
To keep me from going insane
And crying every night.

Once I was happy,
A joyful little girl
But ever since I grew up
I seem to see way more

I can see now, the terrifying world
And I can hear now, the voices knocking at my door
I can feel the sadness, as I walk through the air
And I can sense that I am no little girl no more.

I miss believing I'd be happy forever
I miss running around playing house
I miss not being sad with every breath and more
And I miss most of all trusting in us
O' heart, I wonder how
you can store
so many different
emotions of ours
in just thy four puny
chambers
while pumping away the
liquid of life

O' heart in you we
discover love
but side by side you can
harbour hate
In you we find the
emotion of happiness
but side by side you
simmer rage!

When you cease to beat
many plans you thwart
May God protect the
young human heart.

And while some O' heart
you hold dear
some make you skip a
beat in fear!

O' heart but we find in
you as well
the vile emotion of
jealousy
Such a potpourri of
emotions in you dwell
Help filter out any wrong
ones for you and me!

A mere four chambers
indeed, but spacious are
they
Invite therein
whomsoever in the
world you may

But in the end forget not
to reserve
atleast a single chamber
for its Creator, to
preserve
The creator of hearts
More than that deserves.
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