I have no where to go
when I'm lonely and sad.
Even my mind has no escape.
Go to your "happy place".
I imagine;
big beautiful beaches,
boats at the bay,
star skies in the dessert,
waterfalls and rainbows
and the sun setting then rising.
No, no, no!
They are imaginations,
they don't work.
I get nothing out of this
so called "happy place".
They don't make me happy
and from now on
I want it all to be real.
No imagining, my happy place
should be as real as
slavery, homophobia,
climate change and racism.

We are told to be different.
While we despise different.
This is what I call hypocritical.

Different has big round curves
or slim bone waists.
Different has curly black beautiful hair
or nice strawberry red locks.
Different is expressing everything
or nothing at all.
We don't decide our different
but we can learn to love it.

We makeup by caring kisses.
They never lead anywhere
and they are not meant to be.
We used our time without care,
I cried like it was spilt milk.
Our kisses slowly lead to a break
followed by more careless kisses.
What was supposed to fix the broken
broke it more without thinking twice.
And we lived happily ever after.

I don't want to sound silly,
but these poems are therapy.
Silly words written down
seems better than a human
made of flesh and blood.
I don't want to talk it out
and I don't want to explain why.
But these poems are better
than any therapist you can buy.

Crazy chaos going on in my mind,
I promise one day I will leave it behind.

Slimy, sticky sea monster.
I would never use those
harmful words against you.
I love you too much to do so.
But you live underwater,
so you don't hear me say that.
You start listening to others
and you expelled me from your waters.
I beg for you to pop your head up
use you pearl eyes,
look into mine.
All you see is a dessert,
even though tears are dripping
down, down, down, my gown.
I dressed up just for you.
Now please let me back into the water,
for I am you daughter.

I hop on and off,
just like my mood does.
It's quite empty in sound,
only the hissing of the wheels
is present in my ears.
I observe the flash of lights
count them one by one.
Making me realise
that's not all I count.
Life has been traced
from number to number.
But it's the countdown
for a vacation, paradise,
freedom with no walls.
I wish the count would end
because, my dear friend,
my wish is to die
even if I don't know why.

I hate the empty feeling
I sometimes get
when I hear your voice.
I see you waiting for an answer
that I don't want to give.
I get angry at myself
and then at you.
How could you let me
leave without saying goodbye.
How could you let yourself
let me be in this mood.
Why won't you insist on me
staying and talking to you.
Will you please tell me to stop
and love you.
I need you to tell me what to do
for otherwise I'm just going to be cruel.
I don't want you to act
like it doesn't bother you.
For I see it does
and I know it's because
it's not normal to be like this.
So hopeless, angry and empty