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Aug 2019 · 217
a note...
sorry for not really being active lately, I've just been relaxing and trying not to feel the pressures of thw=e outside world while I drink coffee and watch the office all day.
As I near the inevitable end of summer break, I am filled with excitement at a new school year..... but I also feel dread at the reminders of student life.
Although I love the poetic justices of 80's movies occupants and their school life, I cannot help but feel cheated.
Watching Molly Ringwald have rad adventures with Anthony Michael Hall, I couldn't help but think that I, too, would get to experience a magical birthday or fall in love or have a wacky adventure.

  I wished to be Andie in Pretty in Pink, or Claire in The Breakfast Club, or Sam in Sixteen Candles.
I longed for the friends who were as weird, or even more so than me.
To have the beautiful boy fall for me in that cliche way we all love.
To be a different kind of unusual beauty in a plastic world.

   I would still love all of these things, HOWEVER, I love my life.
I would not trade my current comrades for Duckie, or ******, or even Sara Baker.
I wish not to change the circumstances or a crush or a mutual liking that may never happen.
I can't, unfortunately, say that I love my natural beauty.

   Even as I long to live like Molly, I long to live like me.
How rad would it be to have Jake, Duckie, ******, and Sara though?!?!
Jul 2019 · 268
LOVE CAN BE
While I cannot say that I have experienced a "true", once in a lifetime love, I do believe that I know what love is.
Love, to me, is not just an emotion, but also a thing or a person or a memory or a place.  

Love can be a memory or moment.
Love can be the blissful lazy Sundays spent with your favorite people after a long night.
Love can be the family meal with sudden, abrupt laughter that just bubbles up from your throat.
Love can be the hugs you never knew you needed and the words you thought you'd never hear.
Love can be that favorite song that makes you want to scream its lyrics until your voice is hoarse.

Love can be a thing.
Love can be the last gift your grandmother gave you.
Love can be a picture of your best friend right after you did the flamingo challenge.
Love can be a book of poems that gave you the start you desperately wanted.

Love can be any place.
Love can be a library that gives you an endless amount of worlds to choose from.
Love can be the school cafeteria where you spend your favorite minutes of every day with the people who make you laugh and not care about how you may be perceived by others.
Love can be the small space in the back of the house where you paint and listen to the rain.

Love can be anything or everything or both.
It can be life, and it can be warmth, and it can be the good standing hand in hand with the bad, and it can be what makes you happiest.

I do not believe that you have to have a significant other to have love, I believe that you can be fulfilled by others and by the things you enjoy.

Love is just, love.
these are just my feelings, they may differ from yours
Jun 2019 · 76
SUMMER
For the sake of summer, I choose not to worry.
I choose not to have my mind obstructed by the obscenities of high school drama and/or its many stresses.
I write to those who listen now to show them that feeling this way is not, in fact, avoiding your problems like so many say.
This emotion, one in which evokes a certain sense of peace only found in little moments of solitary silence, is just us finding a true bliss and living just to live and not just survive, like we often do.
It is okay to take a moment to breathe, but when we take longer, society tells us it is procrastination and laziness.
Please, for the sake of summer, take your moment and do not let them tell you it is wrong.
sorry i havent written in a while
love you guys, take care of yourselves
May 2019 · 441
FLORESCENT LIGHTS
As I finish the final exam of the year and wait to be released, I cannot help but wonder about the peculiar fluorescent lights.
How many things have these lights seen?
I know they've seen the wondering eyes of bored students, but what else?
Spilled secrets
Notes to cheat
Teary eyes
Little doodles
A birds-eye view of our whole world.
What would it be like, always shining and looking from beyond?
Is it lonely?
( we're all wondering it, do they see down girls shirts?)
May 2019 · 398
wait a minute
i just had to tell someone, even if it doesnt matter.

my dress has pockets.....
May 2019 · 88
NEARING THE END
As the school year begins to end again, I can't help but reflect on my choices and experiences.
I lost quite a bit of friend's this year, my mentality on the subject is that we are in high school now and we shouldn't have to deal with these childish things.
That earned me the satisfaction of strengthening the relationships that I currently have.
I have as grown as a person, whether that is good or bad is still yet to be seen.
The experiences I've had, from a past boyfriend I still can't forget, to the lingering presence of old friends.
I wear the same jacket every day.
Some will find it weird, but if I wash it with the same fabric softener, I can see my grandmother and feel her again.
I'm quite upset still, even though it's been almost 4 years now. And 3 since the other.
It makes me upset knowing they'll never ask about school again, and I won't have the lazy Sunday's watching ****** Toons and eating Cheerio's.
Which leads to something else.
I have become more girly and I do care about my looks now.
The eyeliner and mascara and concealer and eyeshadow and foundation and blush and highlighter and eyebrow pencil.
I feel like I can't get away with how I really look even though I wear the makeup.
I dress more feminine and I try to be kind, but I just really want my oversized t-shirts, knee-high sock, tiny shorts, and messy bun back.
God, if only I could wear pajamas.
I make myself seem like I don't care so I can have a bit of freedom at school.
I don't care for school, but I have to do good.
As I near the end, I reflect on music.
In the beginning, I listened to heavy metal all the way up, the emo quartet a favorite.
Now, I serenade my ears in the wonderful vocals of Freddy Mercury.
Among these include the following: The Beetles, Elton John, The Police, And The Romantics.
This calmer version helps me feel true serenity.
I love it.
I write poetry now,
at first I hated the whole genre, not giving it a chance.
Until I had to write a poetry anthology of my experiences.
Giving way to a whole new style.
Poetry doesn't have to be strict and make complete sense, it can be free-flowing and mad.
As I near the end, I think of the past beginnings and the new ones.
I am nearing the end of my yearly narrative.
May 2019 · 138
DOODLES
Little doodles on the sides of essays.
Tiny drawings on the cufflinks of jeans.
Light sketches on the soles of shoes.
Limited drafts on the insides of wrists and the ankles of many.

Flowers, crosses, words, names, dates, so many pretty designs.
All unique to its canvas of an owner.
Perfect ways to pass time in this boredom.
My favorite ways to express myself, with things drawn in my own style.

I love little doodles.
Aesthetic, harsh, bold, offensive, all of them.
Just doodles.
May 2019 · 81
FALLING STARS PT.2
As the stars get closer, I realize something.
They are not stars, but little memories of the times of childhood.
They glow like that due to the innocence surrounding them.
When they hit the rough earth,
they are torn apart by the expectations of our teenage years.
The blissful, sweet moments shared in close quarters are lost to the harmful hallways of high school.
Tears cascade across my cheeks as if running from the unknown.
Or worse, the ignored.
I want to reach out and touch them,
to hold the blinding beauty and never let it slip from my fingertips.
But I can't.
And it hurts, so bad that I can't breathe.
However, I don't fight the dark this time,
I let it take me slowly,
staring up at the memories,
and I float.
May 2019 · 343
FALLING STARS
The stars began to fall as I spoke to you.
They shattered and sprinkled downward, taking light from the world.
The aftermath of the forsaken far more beautiful than the solidarity of the perfect.

I want to forever capture this beautiful moment,
but I know I can only do so in my brain,
forever singular in this beauty.
This lovely little piece of the sky will be mine,
and mine alone.

But now I give it to you, dear reader.
To take from this slip of infinity to make your own,
to help inspire you and to let you wonderful poets see all the beauty there is to behold.
Here's my present to you,
to hold, forevermore.
I know it doesn't make sense.
May 2019 · 147
IV'E GOT NOTHING ELSE
My brain used to explode with ideas at the thought of writing,
but now they come slow and take so much time to fully develop.
I have no more ideas, and those I do have,
I execute poorly.
The creative energy that used to come forth so easily and spilled over the top of my heart,
is just gone.
I just want to feel that fire inside reignite.
I want to feel like I can be great.
It's just,
I've got nothing else.
Apr 2019 · 275
BECAUSE I WANT TO BE A POET
Because I want to be a poet,
  I constantly look for beautiful things in the world.
  Whether it's a moment or a song or a person or even a moonlit scene.
  
Because I want to be a poet,
   I let my emotions flow freely through my work,
   anger, melancholy, wonderment, peace, true bliss.
  
Because I want to be a poet,
    I want to be truly genuine,
    to show that I am not just the ambivert girl who seems to always be
    smiling.

Because I want to be a poet,
    I encourage writing,
    the pouring of your soul spun into gentle words of compassion.

Because I want to be a poet,
    I only put my favorite writings out here,
    to show I might have some spark of Edgar or Abraham or Shel.

Because I want to be a poet,
    I continue to write,
    even though I sometimes don't even want to try and get up.

Because I want to be a poet,
    I thank you all for your kind words,
     they keep me writing.
❤thank you for all you all do for me❤
What music do you like?
Artist?
Song?
sorry, i just wanna know
Apr 2019 · 203
OH GOD
I say that I don't want you back in my life, but I really do.
I miss your hugs,
I miss your hands, so soft and warm in comparison to mine.
I miss the sweet little words and the flirtatious glances.
But most of all, I miss how it was being with someone.
Oh, God.
When did I get to be another stereotypical teenage girl?
Why did I have to like you?
You of all people?
Who I knew would leave, but I chose you anyway.
One stupid text was all it took to see you that way.
But now you're coming back, and it's supposed to be today.
I'll see you in the halls again, fleeting glances.
I asked you, even though I knew I shouldn't have,
"Do you think we can date again?"
But I did, and you just said
"Maybe."
Even through the phone, I felt your disinterest in us.
But here I am, dressing up in hopes you notice me when you get here.
Oh, God.
why am i like this?
Apr 2019 · 55
WELL THEN
Here you are again, after leaving
you come back and expect to pick up where we left off.
I don't know if we should, I loved dating you,
but it was hard to let you go
and be friends 2 1/2 hours away.
Just friends because it was too hard to be with you.
But here you are again,
popping up in my life with the promise of forever.
Just like before,
and I let you.
The problem is not that you're here,
but that I let you be.
I want you to hold me and call me beautiful again.
But why?
I hate and love you.
Is it the first?
Or the latter?
And why do I think it's the second?
Apr 2019 · 290
CONTRADICTIONS PT.2
I do not know where I am going,
for I have no clue where I've truly been.
I  would like to see the world in its entirety,
but I am so scared of the unknown.
I want to be lost in the sea of people I know,
but I want to be exceptional.
I think of you,
but I know I will never have you.
I need security,
but I ruin what I have.
I write fickle things,
but I yearn to weave beautiful words about important issues.
I hate myself,
but I love being different.
Apr 2019 · 267
COLLEGE
I often think about college
and the leering sense of doom I feel as I get closer and closer.
I am so scared
about failing
about disappointing further
of not having the true "college experience".
I often think about college.
i had no more ideas, sorry
Apr 2019 · 101
I'VE WRITTEN SO MUCH
I've written so much just for the sake of writing something meaningful.
HOWEVER,
I still feel as if it isn't truly deep, just a mirage of what true, genuine feelings are.
I still feel like I'm playing pretend and that all the hurt I feel is just a child's game where your favorite character dies.
I just want to make something real, something worth remembering, something that I truly feel has impacted someone and stayed with them.
I am proud of my writing, yes, but I want it to be more.
    I want my writing to envoke so many emotions from the reader, but not your mainstream emotions of happy or sad or scared, but one that makes them feel like they're not alone in the world.
I want them to think "they're like me, they feel like me and they think like me."
Oh, how wonderful it would be. To make someone think something like that.
I feel like it would be something so substantial that they would repost it or just save it.
Maybe even take a picture of it.
That is my secret wish in a poetic world.
Apr 2019 · 57
UNTITLED #1
I don't know what this will be about.


I don't know specifically why I'm mad at you.
I think it may be a combination of a tiny thousand needless prickling me right where they know it hurts.
I have no clue what I am to do about this emptiness I feel now that you're gone.
I know now that there is truth in old lovers words.
That when they say they can still hear them
When they say they still remember things at the most random of times.
God, why can't I just be so mad at you that I don't care anymore!
I hate feeling this way.
Why do I have to be the one you left and have her be the one you chose?
Why do I have to see you everyday smiling and laughing and not being upset like I am?
WHY?
Why?
why?


w
h
y
?
Apr 2019 · 259
BIOLOGY
The biological makeup of all things fascinates me.
How can everyone look so different?
How can we judge people for that?
Is it not in our genes, something which we ourselves cannot control?
Our minds forged in the fires of societies views.
Why do our genes affect our different outcomes based solely on specific situations molded by other organisms?
Why do we get one thing from a parent or grandparent or aunt or uncle or whoever, but not the other?
Different genetic traits plucked from DNA strands so complex.
Is this why people are some complicated?
Biology is defined as the study of all living things.
Isn't this what we, as humans, do to others?
We study other people hoping to attain just some illusion of what we think they may contain within their pretty faces and perfect bodies.
We classify and organize and break down and try to understand those around us.
How fickle we are to think one thing is pretty and one is ugly.
It's like a dark day, a heavy weightlessness, a bright smoke, and blackened windows.
Biology is not as scientific as we might think at first glance.
How lovely the world can be.
It is full of surprises.
Tiny little wonderful moments oh happy.

Only we don't see what's underneath.
Real people don't hide behind fake smiles.

Malicious words bite hard and fast.
Interesting choices make our worlds clash together chaotically.
Stupid little mistakes add up to make heart-wrenching catastrophes.
Somebody should really expose all of this hate for what it is.









what am I doing?!?!?!?!
I just got bored and started rambling.
Apr 2019 · 71
FILLED
I write about feeling empty a lot.
                  But I never write about happy days.

Days of depth-defying conversations trailing on the edges of unknown.
                  Days of wanderlust and the need to explore.
Days of beauty and grace and everything right with this industrialized world.
                  Days of all of these horrendous emotions cascaded into an oblivion so deep in my soul that I can no longer see nor feel it.
Days of happy tears and sad laughter.
                   The best days full of painting in the breeze with music floating endlessly above and around me.
My favorite lazy days bursting at the seams with ****** Toons re-runs, hot chocolate, comfy pants and soft light seeping through windows.
                    Those were the days.
Mar 2019 · 138
WAS
WAS
It was beautiful.
It was maical.
It was enchanting and breathtaking and stunning.
However, it was fake.
Mar 2019 · 152
LOVELY
How lovely you are,
in your isolated state,
away from differing opinions,
of judging eyes and prideful flaunting.

How lovely we were,
only us,
only laughter and happy midnight tears,
only the truth we let each other see, no lies.

How lovely the way we fell apart.
Mar 2019 · 113
OH DON'T YOU....
Oh, don't you just love me?
the sound or my voice,
my laughter,
my sparkling eyes,
my beautiful smile,
my pretty meaningless words,
my ever-full heart,
the make-up that appears to be picture-perfect.
How conceited I must sound.
Oh, don't you hate it?
It' s a reverse poem too.
(read it backward)
Mar 2019 · 225
STEPS
I have to keep taking steps forward,
  for if I don't,
    I will surely fall backward.

If I take a step back,
  I will shatter,
    from the weight of expectations,
      of judging eyes
        and of false pretenses.

If I take too many steps forward,
  I might just fall into a chaotic beauty
    of problematic situations.

I must not take a single wrong step.
  Not one backward.
    Not one too many forward.
      Not the wrong step, just the absolute right step.


Steps.
Steps.
Steps.
Mar 2019 · 281
NUMB
I feel numb.
I don't know what mad is,
what sad is,
what happy is,
what anything is.
I'm just not feeling,
it's worse than anything else
I'm numb.
Just numb, nothing else.
I see my old friends in the hallways and I get nervous,
but confident.
I think of you,
and say I don't care.
I don't even really miss you anymore,
just how we felt.
I think of too many things,
but I still feel my mind being blank.
Can't I just feel and be done with it?
I feel numb,
and I hate it,
but I love it.

Nothing, just numb
I'm just wanting to feel something.
Mar 2019 · 209
THE GREATEST THINGS
The greatest things are not holy, nor are they evil.
    They are not real, nor are they fake.
        
The greatest things do not hurt us, yet they crack us into billions of fragments and fractures.
    They do not define us, yet they are us.

The greatest things are nothing, but also everything.
   They are the winter and summer and fall and spring, yet they don't move.

The greatest things are beautiful, both in horrifying and angelic ways.
    They are breathtaking, but insignificant.

The greatest things are best experienced half-drunk on wanderlust, but also sober in a rooted reality.
     They are satisfying, but they also leave you feeling empty and lost.

The greatest things are the worst things.
This is just my opinion, don't get mad
Mar 2019 · 333
GOOD RIDDANCE
Good riddance,
to two people who hurt,
and hurt,
and hurt.
You were my best friend, and because you called my mom a 'stupid ***',
I got mad.
Then you got mad.
And you decided you were done.
You gave a letter to our friend stating "I'm just done with her ****."
Oh, alrighty then.
The next day you came to school.
You had a bag,
one which you handed to me.
One that contained everything I've ever made and/or given you.
Funny though, how it didn't contain items that I bought.
I cried and wrote you a letter.
Saying I was sorry when I did nothing wrong.
Our other friend, Ariana,
told our friend Hailey to "be there for me so I can be there for her."
I asked her about it, she said it was true and with her "condition", she couldn't be there for two people at once.
Yet she can do it any other day.
She moved her seat in class so she wouldn't sit with me, funny I thought best friends were supposed to be there forever.
Alright then, I won't cry over them anymore, seeing as they won't do so for me.
Good riddance then.
This is about my best friends.
The other friend is R-ee fyi.
Mar 2019 · 220
WATER
I wish I was as fluid as water.
Just drip, drip, dripping.
I wish I could just mold to fit anything.
I wish I was as fluid as water.

I want to be as fluid as water.
Just crashing beautifully.
But also flowing freely.
I want to be as fluid as water.

I will be as fluid as water.
I will flow and bend and crash all at once.
I will love in abundance, but make sure not to stretch too thin.
I will be as fluid as water.

I wish
and want
and will
be as fluid as water.
Mar 2019 · 218
BROKEN BONDS
What is "happy"?
                                                     Is it love?
                                                                                            Is it material things?
No.
Love cannot be defined.
It is as fluid as water, but as solid as stone.

I thought I loved you.
Secretly, I still do.
If anyone asks, I will always say no.
Always.

I know you don't love me.
I wish you did.
                                                                      But I'm also happy that you don't.

Your "love", is not a genuine love.
                                                  It is a corrupt love.
                                                                                                       A toxic love.

A love that I
don't
need.
Mar 2019 · 122
CONTRADICTIONS
I am a contradiction.
I hate and love myself.
I want to die but I love living.
I say I hate you, but I really love you.
Everything is too fast but also way too slow.
I hate eating healthy but wonder why I'm not thin.
I want to run away but I am so afraid.

I am a contradiction.
I want to be happy, yet I do things that make me so incredibly sad.
I hate popular people, but I want to be one.
I want to see better but I don't ever wear my glasses.
I say I'm pretty but also that I'm ugly.
I want you but I tell you I don't know hat you're talking about.
I love being weird but I also want to be just normal.

I am a contradiction
of the most unusual kind.
just a glimpse into my mind.
Feb 2019 · 68
IDEK
I don't even know how to explain this.
It's most frustrating how you can do this,
how you can continue to make me blush and daydream of you,
even though you aren't even here.

I know it will never be,
but the young 13-year-old girl in me is positively excited by your presence.
And you alone make me happy.
Feb 2019 · 80
just how i write my poems
My poem's are greatly inspired by my experiences with family and friends. My intended effect of the poem's is to show people that the ones who smile the brightest, cry the hardest. I like to show the true nature of humanity in its raw forms. How I design my poem's is complicated, as is the process. First, I pick a topic that has impacted me in a substantial way. Next, I write a paragraph from raw emotions I experience. After that, I put it into a poetic structure and add pretty words and metaphors, similes, and other figurative language and devices. My process of writing doesn't take long at all. When I write, thoughts come fast and hit hard. I like writing, I especially love poetry, the genre allows you to be outlandish and mysterious. Another reason I love poems is the emotions that are evoked within each piece. They are expressions of beliefs and feelings, ones that we don't allow others to see. It is hard to imagine the people who are popular and "happy", often are depressed so they try to make others happier than they are themselves. My favorite pieces included "I Hate the Vanity", "Auditory Communication" and "My Incomparable Comrades". These pieces show the things that make me who I am in the biggest of ways. In "Auditory Communication", I spoke about music and it's beautiful aspects. In "I Hate the Vanity", I wrote about how I felt when my grandmother, the only person I truly opened up to, passed away. Also, in "My Incomparable Comrades", I showed the way my friends and I are connected. My style is dark and chock full of emotion. It is different because I am not afraid to open up to people, because I know everyone is struggling and hurting inside. I love poetry, and I want others to love its simplicity and its alluring qualities like I do.
it's stupid but whatever
Feb 2019 · 68
MY BEST FRIEND
I gained a new best friend when you were born.

My beautiful and loving brother.

When you get hurt by people, my heart gets torn.

I don’t think I could ever love another.



Your contagious smile and laughter blooms,

But you cry silent tears inside the night.

Even when you disappear, your shadow looms.

But then I come to you and bring the light.



Always there for me through the end forevermore,

Even though we fight like we don’t even care,

But being your sister can’t be a chore.

I will never leave and I will stay here.



My incredibly funny world of high hopes.

We will always make it through these big slopes.
about my beautiful brother
Feb 2019 · 104
AUDITORY COMMUNICATION
It’s beautiful. The rhythm. The instruments

blending to construct a uniform of posse-

ssing noises. The voices cascading

   together to create a melody, one

     quite similar to sweet dew on

       flowers in the bright, early

        morning. It fills you until

           you feel the wonde-

             rful notes within

             your very being.

           The tones dance a-

          round you until you

        are nothing but that. T-

      he different feels of each

   individual song are incredible.

They can either make you feel as

if anything is possible, as if there is

no greater sadness than your own,

as if you are the best thing in the w-

orld to someone, as if you are not

  who you are but who you alwa-

   ys wish to be, or as if even th-

     e most substantial disadva-

      ntages can never lift the

       brilliant veil of the warm,

          fuzzy happy you are

                  drunk on.

                   It’s as if

                    in that

                   one mi-

                 niscule m-

              oment, you a-

           re free of everyth-

       ing and nothing could

   possibly be anything oth-

  er than jubilant. These chor-

ds remain in your head and you

can change them on will like a radio.

They give you a needed distraction, a

relief from the pressure, an ungodly am-

ount of confidence, or even just something

to center yourself around. The patterns make that overbearing uncertainty

melt from your mind to puddles of woe on the ground. The alluring collections of each portion make

an enchanting thing that will forever be commemorated

in the minds of others.
it's a structure poem
Feb 2019 · 279
Not a poem-a thank you
This isn't a poem, it's a thank you to a couple of people who reposted my poem "WORK IN PROGRESS". Thank you Perry and thank you to FallenAngel33. This makes me want to keep writing my poems and keep sharing.


❤♥
I love you guys.
Feb 2019 · 151
WORK IN PROGRESS
I am a work in progress.
A half-baked pie and a runny omelet.
A party-shaded masterpiece and a book waiting to be resumed.
5 nails painted and 1 earring put in.
A marathon half-ran and a bearly put together bed.

I am a work in progress.
A page colored outside the lines.
The only remembered lines of a song.
A site without a link and a cut cake.
A sunset on a cloudy day.

I am a work in progress.
I am not a bad thing.
I am not a good thing.
I am not pretty.
I am not ugly.

I am a work in progress.
I am not tall.
I am not short.
I am not stupid.
I am not dumb.

I am a work in progress.
I am me and you are you and we are perfect.
4th line-that's what she said
Feb 2019 · 365
MY OWN WORDS
this is where i write my words,
words of angst,
words of depression,
words of imagination,
words of me,
words of you,
words of what i wish,  
words of what is,
words,
words,
words,
words.
Feb 2019 · 166
MY INCOMPARABLE COMRADES
My friends who keep me sane,

the ones with laughter that chimes louder than any church bells

The people with amber, ombre, raven, ruby, teal, and sandy hair.

With sparkling eyes and warm hearts,

comforting hugs and lighthearted remarks.

Accompanied by the giving of equal parts and the openness of our hearts.

We go through each day together merrily.

But at night, we battle with our minds over common ground.

Tomorrow, however, we start anew.

From the tap…tap...tap of our feet down the empty hallways after eighth,

to the face times that relieve us of our worries and daily stresses.

We glide through the woeful emotions and dramatic labyrinths,

these of which are caused by high schools many intricate obstacles.

They are the people with whom I share my deepest secrets and greatest happiness.

Unique people that say “what’s poppin’”, “this is true”, “meeee”,

Peculiar people that will howl song lyrics in hallways bursting with people,

but cannot, however, say how they truly feel sometimes.

The people with the brightest of smiles, but the darkest of hearts.

We break us down only to put on a Broadway standard performance for everyone but us.  

We don’t have to be cheery around us.

We each have our many emotional support items.

From rings, to sweaters, to jackets, to blankets, to pillows, to pictures.

They are the people who are mine,

while I am theirs.

These are not my friends,

But my family.

They are the ones that make sure I will not let the mask of a perfectly sound mind slip.

Wonderful people who know how to make me white and not gray,

They are the memories and inside jokes and photographs and films and most importantly,

they do not care what race, sexuality or gender, or anything I may identify as.

They keep me being me.

My favorite people who keep me right in the head.
Feb 2019 · 138
CRAFTING A MASTERPIECE
Acrylic, watercolor, oil, pigment, ink, fresco.

The brushes gliding across the paper like Goblin King Jareth in the ballroom.

The colors are beautifully radiant, even more so than the sun.

The water blends with the paints, invoking a visually appealing swatch of color.

A shade placed with a tint, bringing forth a new and equally unique hue.

The colors spiral like Edgar’s mind.

Laying colors down to make a masterpiece,

leaving me at peace.

When the piece dries, it creates a whole new world.

If you’re lucky, your piece is presented to the world.

You feel like Picasso showing off how talented you are.

Then you start over fresh.

The new sketches that you hate,

you feel like a four-year-old scribbling.

The gestures, the movement, the eraser marks that are so prominent.

The marks stand out like the Berlin wall.  

You will try and try and try until you start over.

You give up for now,

until you start anew again.

A million blank pages pile over with your failures.

The failures are endless, so you give up.

Until tomorrow,

when you start again,

     and again,

            and again.
Feb 2019 · 207
I HATE THE VANITY
I stand, but she doesn’t speak. It isn’t because she doesn’t want to, she just can’t.

She's “asleep”,

but I know that isn't it.

I know we came to this hospital because they couldn't “fix” her at the other one.

This is the fifth time her heart has seized, I know this is the last time I’ll see her “alive”, but I can't speak myself.

I'm embarrassed and awkward;

    And I hate myself for it.

I don't tell her I love her, I don't tell her it's okay if she leaves, I don't say goodbye.

    And I hate myself for it.

Mama says she can hear us, but I know she's trying to make it better. Jayden accepts her statement indifferently. I look at him and plead for him to say something first.

To say goodbye, to say anything because I don't want to be the first.

Mama asks if I don't speak because I'm heartbroken. I tell her that's it,

because if I do tell her, I will accept and acknowledge the fact that I hate myself for it.

I want to say something,

     I want her to hear me,

          I want to hear her laugh,

                I want to say something,

                     I want her to hug me and say it will be better tomorrow,

                           I want to say something.

But I can’t. And I hate myself for it.

Because I know her soul has left and this is an empty shell that is only “alive” because of that stupid machine that keeps talking.

That stupid machine that beeps.

     And beeps.

           And beeps.

It will forever be imprinted within me, with the smell of that bleak room, along with that hate and bitterness. That doesn’t even measure to that stupid soulless self-love of me.

That stupid hatred that bubbles like a bathtub overflowing if I even think of her and how brutally big-headed I was.

The problem is that I don’t hate her, I hate me and my elite mindset that is egotistical and so incredibly egocentric.

So vain, so incredibly vain I am.

I’m horrible.

      And I hate myself for it.

Then we leave and I didn’t even say goodbye!

— The End —