Sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me and I move more than I speak.

It's not that I don't want to talk to you, it's that I forgot how to make noise.

I'm sorry I'm moving your desk so much, my legs won't stop shaking
and when my legs don't shake, my fingers don't stop moving.

I know I'm talking really fast, but I hope you understand me because I can't slow down.

It's not that I'm in a rush, it's that I have no control over my hands and legs and I'm always jittery.

And I placed bricks on my legs to try to control the shaking, but it didn't work.

And somehow they made their way to my chest, and now my chest feels compressed and I can't breathe.

I'm sorry, it's not that I don't want to talk. It's that I get this way when I'm around people.

I feel like if I were to place my trembling hands on the floor, I could start an earthquake.

And if I do, know that the cracks forming in the ground are cracks that have already lived inside of me for years.

There's nothing wrong with me, I swear.

But if I walk away from a crowded space, please don't follow me.
I need to breathe.

If I ask you not to touch me, please don't take it personally.

What most people consider a soothing back rub, I cringe to.

If I tell you to please stop talking, understand it's because my ears hurt from the persistent pulsating in my head and I only want a moment of silence.

If you ask me if I'm okay and I do not respond, it's because I physically cannot form the words.

But the answer, the answer is no. I am not okay.

I will be, though

I'm 13 the first time a boy in my class tells a **** joke.
I'm only 13, but it's been 2 years since I learned the seriousness of the thing him and his friends are now laughing at.
2 years since I had my favorite night shirt ripped from my back.
2 years since nails carved scars in my thighs my mother still thinks are from self harm.
2 months since I started blocking it out.

I'm 13 when a girl takes my backpack while I m putting my books in my locker,
Playfully yells over her shoulder,
"***** you".
I laugh.
I don't dare tell her what it's like to remake your bed at 4 in the morning,
Or what it's like to fight back tears when you ask your grandmother for new sheets for Christmas.
To only ever associate the summer heat with what it felt like that night between your legs.

About a year ago I watched the chronicles of Narnia for the first time with my dad.
It was one of my favorites growing up.
He says, "someone should **** that *****" when the witch kills Aslan,
And I stop myself from screaming at him that he had "the talk" with me a little too late,
That I lost my virginity to a man his age when there were still stuffed animals on my bed.
I don't tell him that I still shake when i have to be alone with him even though I know he would never hurt me,
Or that sometimes I still think I deserved it.

I sweat through my shirt everytime I try to write about it.
My best friend says she doesn't care who her first time is, that she just wants to lose it already,
But I wish I could make that choice.
I have lost control of my hands from the shaking when boys have asked me if I was a ****** over text message,
And have locked myself in bathrooms to sob because my sister said boys don't love girls who aren't pure.
I have heard girls called ***** who haven't gone as far as me,
And it feels like arsenic is in my veins everytime someone asks me how I know so much about *** if I haven't had it yet.
Or how my best friend told me she wants to hear about my first time because people still assume that triggers are only on guns,
And that every ******* romance movie is the perfect depiction of what losing your virginity is like.

We don't all get the soft music and the whispered names.
Sometimes you get hands over your mouth and years of ptsd,
Sometimes the I love yous get replaced with "don't wake your parents".
Sometimes I still feel like no boy should ever have to subject themselves to touching me,
For fear they might leave with their hands tainted.

You will never understand fear until you're looking at the boy across the room and thinking about what he'd look like without his clothes on,
Never understand depression until the tile of the bathroom floor is warmer than your thoughts.

I was 13 the first time I heard a **** joke,
And 18 the first time I told someone it wasn't funny.
Because for every second you laugh, I have spent years picking up the shattered pieces of my innocence.
Because it took me 7 years to realize that 20 minutes of not having control will never destroy the 3,681,641 minutes I have spent taking care of myself since it happened.
That the only person who will ever own this body is me.
That no amount of cheap laughs can undo the progress I have made.
So keep laughing.

Happy girl
Sad girl
Pretty girl
Ugly girl
Smart girl
Dumb girl
Nice girl
Mean girl
Sweet girl
Broken girl
Laughing girl
Crying girl
Smiling girl
Damaged girl
Happy girl
Dead girl

You may not want me here
But I am here to stay
I can help you ****
Those pounds you wish away

To improve your image
And help you feel delight
To stare into your reflection
And love the beautiful sight

We'll start with just a pound
Or maybe even more
Just walk into your bathroom
And behind you shut the door

It's okay darling
Not losing weight yet?
Alright, we'll cut some meals
No need to be upset

Your shedding weight pound for pound
But still you are not pleased
Your own reflection mocks you
And in public you are teased

Even now as you look in the mirror
You still want to lose it all
Down to 60 pounds
And all of your teardrops fall

You still felt worthless,
Not good enough
And life around you
Was getting too tough

You were killing yourself
And you just wanted it to end
You still wanted more
Of what I recommend

And now your dead
Because you were a little overweight
And you never believed your friends
When they told you "you look great"

Beauty is the Beast
That creeps beneath my bed.
Weaving together nasty thoughts
To place inside my head.

Beauty is the beast
That wakes while Im asleep
Her red eyes 'ever beaming
Sharks teeth 'ever gleaming

Beauty is the beast
Burrowed in my bony chest
Cat claws scratching at my ribs
I swear beauty never rests

Beauty is the beast
That sings my soul to sleep
With the promise of her lullabies:
A little waist and perfect thighs

Beauty is the beast
Once creeping beneath my bed
'til beauty braided with the thoughts
Now waltzing in my head
-ARI

I have read too many poems
From those of you who want to die.

I read the words, I hear your voice,
Yes, I hear your desperate cry,
I am torn and heart-sick at your plight;
Yet, I have to ask you why?
For when you close your eyes forever,
The hurt and pain won’t go away,
It crawls inside all those you love,
Where it kills them every day.

Were you jilted by a lover?
Are you an addict, beaten down?
Or is it that you don’t fit in
On the ‘right’ side of the town?
Does no one understand you?
Or “It doesn’t matter anyway”,
Because when you try to tell us,
We listen not to what you say?

No, I cannot feel the pain you bear
But I understand it’s real
Is there anything that I can do,
To try and help you heal?
Do you want someone to hold your hand?
Do you want a shoulder for your tears?
Do you want someone to scream at you?
Or hold you tight and calm your fears?

Do you need a teacher?  Or a coach?
Or a banker for your debt?
Do you want a job that’s interesting,
Or any job that you can get?
Do you want to make somebody proud?
Or find someone to share your life?
Or do you only want a yes-man
To hand you the pills, give you the knife?

You may say, “Shut up old man! –
Don’t want to listen to your ****.
You’ve always had it easy,
You always won, you never had to quit.
You don’t have a ******* clue.”
And you’re right I probably don’t
But if you keep it all inside,
No one will, and I sure won’t.

Please seek some help, I beg of you
You each have talents, and a heart
There’s a remedy or cure somewhere
For the pain that’s tearing you apart
I’m not a doctor, or a shrink
But I’ve seen suicide up close,
It hurts and devastates the ones
Who loved the victim most.
Phil Lindsey  6/8/15
                     **1-800-273-8255

Lifeless as she lay
Her skin so pale
The gleam in her eyes
Had begun to fade
She lay still
Unable to move
The pain was torturous
tearing her apart
Like a thousand needles
Pricking her heart
She was left alone yet again
Blaming herself for all the pain
The agony was deeper
The affliction more severe
Everything that held her strong
Was now falling apart
Breathing her last
With the last blow
Closed her eyes
She was ready to go....