"freshman" poems
1. A burden is the depression settling in around you like a rain cloud over only your head.
Walking from place to place soaking wet from the storm.
You are cold, you are sick, you are not okay.
2. A burden is the anxiety shaking your body until you feel like you might burst at the seams.
People can see that your hands won't stay still, and they stare.
You are trembling, you are scared, you are not okay.
3. A burden is the rumors your "best friend" has spread around the whole freshman class.
Secrets exposed to people you don't even know.
You are found out, you are alone, you are not okay.
4. A burden is the thought of suicide bouncing around your head.
The thought of death so good, yet so bad.
You are confused, you are conflicted, you are not okay.
5. A burden is reaching out for help and being punished.
No longer allowed to talk to those they told you would help.
You are lost, you are unprotected, you are not okay.
6. A burden is not a student who has experienced 1-5.
A student who yearns so much to get better, and just keeps getting pushed down.
A student who is terrified, who is lonely, who is not okay
7. You called yourself a mental health professional.
But 8. would never deal with this student yourself.
and 9. called her a burden to the entire campus.
But the campus is unaffected, the campus is stable, and the campus is okay.
So did you mean the campus would be better off without me?
Or that you would?
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Mine
6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve
5E; MIT
I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.
20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.
Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Seeing.
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?
Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
_have_ asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."
An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not
but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!
~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago
Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke
2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?
Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot.
x-art.com. December 6, 2011
I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.
But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but **** you, James: it is mine!
I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!
~D.B.Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
when i was a freshman one of my friends told me that there was a girl who was talking about me
asking why i was pretending to be straight and that everyone could tell that i was gay
my friends and i laughed it off like children and i quipped “i’m not pretending anything, just ask anyone and they’ll know”
now, i think of the rainbow socks, the only thing i own with a rainbow on it, being shoved down to the bottom of my sock drawer as if it would pop out at any minute and proclaim it’s existence if it were any higher. now, i think of the rainbow highlight that i applies in the bathroom at midnight, pausing every now and again to make sure i was alone. Now, i think of the pride nail art that i scrubbed off my nails minutes after i painted it on. now, i think of the last word in a poem that i wrote and turned in, scared i was being too obvious with the word they.
now, i think of the horrible creature sitting in my chest that simultaneously begs to never tell my secrets and to also scream them from the roof tops. i think of the sludge that lives in me and climbs up my throat, whispering safety into my ear while also ripping apart everything it touches. i think of the pain i feel whenever i say that i’m gay, because it makes things easier if the works sees me as a girl who loves other girls.
before thinking of this poem i had sat back and wondered how many bottles it would take of the various prescription medicines that my parents kept in the kitchen cabinet to **** me. when i remembered the name they would put on the tombstone i stopped and walked away. i remember the time where i couldn’t walk away and i had reached in and grabbed a full bottle of ibuprofen and i took a single one, hoping that my screaming head could be sated by the feeling of a single pill crawling down my throat.
i had a dream last night about someone called addison.
they looked me in the eyes and before i even knew what they looked like their physical form flickered until they were a bright shining star in a vaguely human form.
they sat next to me as we floated in a void on a picnic blanket and they put their arm around my shoulder which felt like a hug from someone i used to know but had forgotten
i stared at their glasses that looked too much like mine as they flickered in and out of existence and they told me i was not where i was supposed to be.
i didnt ask them where but they heard it anyways as if breaking into my thoughts. they answered that they could not tell me and when i thought why they said they didn’t want to spoil the fun of a brighter future for them and me.
i woke up with the taste of lavender on my tongue and the desire to change my name.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin)
Something's wrong... you don't belong here.
I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza.
I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni.
I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf.
He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public.
Like I'm a creep. I'm a ******
What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.
You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table.
When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates.
Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion.
After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu.
So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.
Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.
They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.
They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.
They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.
They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.
They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies, if you know what I mean.
In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.
They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes!
I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.
And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.
I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!
I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay.
... except for anchovies, of course.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
freshman year
Happy, scared, young, full, and ready for whatever it is thats about to hit you.
You loose your bestfriend, and your virginity.
You gain a new clique, and a body count.
sophomore year
your freshman expertise kick in and you think youve got the feel for the highschool life.
You fail chemistry, and go to your first party.
*you are now a ****
You think youre cooler than your ex
bestfriend because you have ten bucks saying that shes never had a boy see her underwear or that shes never been as drunk at you.
junior year
You spent your summer in therapy, in
and out of mental hospitals because your eating disorder became deadly, and all of the friends you partied with cut you off because your newest bestfriend convinced you to sleep with one of their exs.
You come back to school as dead as
you have ever been and you spend every lunch period in the art room painting your sorrows away and you spend every night at home doing the same only this time your wrist becomes the canvas.
seinor year
Your down to one medication a day now and you have commited social suicide all summer by staying in to gaurd yourself from turning to drugs and alcohol again to hide the pain. Graduation is arround the corner and you realize you could finally be happy once this is all over.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
i've never been
to any other
highschool
in my life.
therefore,
i cannot speak
for all schools.
but, i can speak
for my school.
about every other
student here is
a druggie.
which means
you have your choice
of two crowds.
but once you choose,
at the beginning
of your freshman year,
you can't change your mind.
and the teachers here
rarely teach.
they throw slideshows up
and blame you for not
paying attention
if you actually get
the nerve
to go up
and ask for help.
our principal
promotes
mental health,
but doesn't give any
resources for
mental breakdowns,
anxiety, or
depression.
sitting in classrooms
for eight hours,
with people you
can't stand,
with nowhere to go
will completely
destroy someone
especially someone
already
suffering.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:33 AM UTC
He's a freshman.
Does that make me a pervert?
A junior would be fine,
A sophomore isn't too bad;
But he's a freshman.
If I was a guy and he were a girl,
Would I feel less weird?
Am I a cougar?
Because I'm a senior, and
He's a freshman.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Her face, flawless and filtered, flows over
my chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fitting the curved
mounds of my body, and even within simplicity
of thread and dye, I sense her presence as her face
hangs from my frame, a statement louder than pillow-lips,
Nancy Sinatra-hair and a glamorous 60’s ***** face.
When paired with leggings and an artfully-distressed denim jacket,
I become a member of the “freshman generation of degenerate
beauty queens,” a hipster fallen to the circumstance of youth,
but I wear her face and the romance of it all reminds me:
we are not defined as Lolitas lost in the hood, or distant,
airy voices in a sea of crude jokes and half-baked skits
meant to highlight shortcomings of a person who doesn’t give
two ***** Lana fits me better than my ribbed, red
sweater and even amidst gods and monsters,
this T-shirt makes pretty last, and I am just as cool.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
Sixth grade was the first time I remember feeling out of place in my own body. I tried on a shirt from the year before and realized I wasn't the same size anymore. I felt strange for a moment, then brushed it off. I threw away the shirt the next day. By the end of middle school I knew I was bigger than my friends, but I tried to avoid thinking about it. I just wanted to fit in like the rest of them.
Freshman year I got called fat and decided to make myself invisible. Treated every food as if it an allergy. Lost 30 pounds in 60 days. Told my parents I already ate. Told my friends I was eliminating junk food. Told no one my secret for years.
Gained my weight back then lost it just as quickly. The never ending cycle of starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Starving, binging, purging.
Nobody notices when I fall off track because disordered eating is only cared about when the victim is skinny enough that you can see the evidence. I have been terrified for four years to speak out for fear nobody would believe me when I told them.
No one expects a bigger girl to not know how to feed herself.
There is something to say about a culture so warped that I get upset by the fact I don't have a stereotypical eating disorder body.
Sometimes I wish it was more obvious, so at least that way they could see how hard I'm trying to be perfect... To fit in.
America, am I not sick enough for you already?
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
As a college freshman
I find myself time traveling.
I close my eyes and
I appear
in the classroom where a group
of over-confident, lazy, too smart
for their own **** good
students stood on the precipice
between leaving and staying
regretting and dreaming.
Leaving would give us freedom
Leaving would fill the creases of
our palms with sweat
We kept our palms outstretched and empty
not daring to grasp anymore of home
because the weight would only
anchor us to the vines
we spent 13 years unraveling from
our ankles.
Maybe we should not have been
so eager to leave, maybe this is a mistake.
The girl with the mermaid hair
The boy with books stacked in
a corner of his desk
They both, we all, sat dreaming
about the same thing while
Ophelia drowned herself in the river
Shores of the ocean and city skylines
Classrooms that did not feel like cages
and eyes that did not reflect a memory
every time you glanced into them
In a high school English class,
a group of over-confident, lazy, too smart
for their own **** good students,
stood terrified and mystified
stood united in there persistence to become
something more than test scores and
the ability to memorize facts.
Fact:
Some mornings I walk to class
and I can feel the girl with the mermaid hair in Los Angeles
walking beside me and when I sit down
I can see books stacked on a corner of a desk somewhere in Berkeley.
I wonder if they wake in their bed and hear airplane engines roaring
somewhere above a valley.
The engines roar with warning.
sometimes it sounds like hope.
Baby, something is coming, we promise
We all began at the start,
dreaming as one and fearing as one
Today, she is five spaces forward
He is ten spaces forward
The others are halfway down the **** board
and I find myself back at the start
every few weeks.
Four spaces forward then three spaces back--
I don't know where I am going.
But I know where I have been.
I open my eyes.
A college freshman.
I hear the engines roar above me.
Something is coming.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
But that's not true!
Look at Trostky and Lenin,
Michael Myers and Lennon,
The other Lennon.
It's hard to differentiate in name and legacy,
Because both Lennon's were revolutionaries,
Marching around like the freshman from heaven.
But neither believed they were the result of divine intervention in the affairs of man,
Because this convention would threaten their worldview and beckon away their sanity...
In the same way that the Pope or ****** let their divine vanity commit greater blasphemy and bring them future agony.
Now neither Lennon nor Lenin came anywhere close to being men from Galilee,
In fact they were more the men of the galaxy,
Or at least, John was, with his peach fuzz beard and his belief that love is greater than fear.
The other Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, to starve the proletariat and start his revolution on an already hypocritical trend that would continue quite the same until the very end.
And it proves something, does it not?
Violence sends a message to no one but the instigator,
Changing them to justify, and claim is wasn't misbehavior;
But that's a lie, no idea of mine is worth the death of a human mind,
And to pretend otherwise makes one delude themselves that they aren't an instigator, but an illustrator,
Painting in the blood as if ****** makes an innovator.
And for ****** there is no vindicator,
Violence is an image breaker,
Indulged in by poor imitators who think they're right, and the world is wrong.
Unaware this makes them weak, not strong.
Now John Lennon was the true revolutionary;
Although he succumbed to violence, he veered away from it, even when it was necessary.
He fought the war, and yes, the war did win,
But at least he didn't cover his scars with artificial skin,
Or deny his implicit wrongs as a result of all original sin.
John Lennon used the word 'nigger' to the opposite effect.
He used the word to trigger something bigger and correct,
The wrong that seemed so propagated by the last colonial tide,
Of which the other Lenin defected and took colonialism's side.
John Lennon was Utopian and told us of a better world;
He interjected definition, and caused old thoughts to curl away in fright,
And bite the dust despite their might and past dominion of industrialism,
It was a schism, and it still plagues us to this day.
John Lennon understood we over-complicate way
To
Often.
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
"Some body" is something,
And some body can change the world.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
1.MY MOTHER WOULD STAND IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND PAINT HER LIPS RED FOR A MAN WHO WASNT MY FATHER.
2.MY BEST FRIEND STOLE HER MOTHERS LIPSTICK TO IMPRESS A BOY AT SCHOOL AND THE NEXT DAY SHE CAME INTO CLASS WITH A FAT LIP.
3.THE BEAUTIFUL BOY FROM MY FIRST PERIOD CLASS FRESHMAN YEAR BROKE MY HEART WITH LIPSTICK STAINS CRAWLING UP HIS JAW.
4.THE INSULTS ON THE BATHROOM STALLS WERE WRITTEN IN BLOOD RED LIPSTICK.
5.MY GEOMETRY TEACHER USE TO SNEER AT ME WITH SCARLET LIPSTICK ON HER YELLOW TEETH.
6.THE GIRLS IN MY FAVORITE BOOKS ALWAYS MADE ME CRY. THIER RED LIPS STILL HAUNT ME.
7.WHENEVER I’D TAKE IT OFF MY LIPS WOULD STILL LOOK PINK AS IF YOU’D SPENT HOURS KISSING THEM.
8.WHENEVER I THINK OF RED LIPS I THINK OF THE SCENE IN ****** WHERE HUMBERT IS ******* HIS LITTLE NYMPHET IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT FOR HER TO STAY AND HER RED LIPSTICK IS SMEARED ON HER MOUTH AS SHE STARES UP GLASSILY AT THE CEILING
8.WHEN YOU FINALLY GOT OFF MY BROKEN BODY THAT NIGHT MY RED LIPSTICK WAS SMEARED ACROSS YOUR CHEEK. YOU PULLED ON YOUR PANTS AND ZIPPED YOURSELF UP . YOU THUMBED THE RED MESS ON YOUR CHEEK AND SMIRKED AT ME AND SAID. “GOD I LOVE THOSE RED LIPS"
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Less than a month
I'll be 18 years old
Maybe I'll be able to grasp
The escape rope of life
Stop breast feeding on the ******* of my parents wealth
Drink the sweet vitamin enrich milk of freedom
No longer the outcast of school hallways
***** looks of freshman
As they all say they want to **** me
Knowing all to well I'm not risking life in jail
Can you believe it
I'm almost 18
Nothings changed
I've been 23 since my parents forced me to be the mature one
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
I hate labels.
so you may ask me why do you compulsively put words and purposes and dates and times on everything you have.
I hate labels but I love organization.
The problem with labels is they rarely tell the whole story.
Labels are short, just a snapshot of the essence that the thing or person boils down to
but I don’t believe anything can really be that simple.
Labels can make everything easier.
You get the main point, the thing that stands out, FAST.
but that’s like starting a story at it’s ****** you get no previous information and that high point that holds so much meaning if you've read the entire story turns flat.
A flat character doesn’t grow or change or feel all that much but they usually have a label.
Labels turn real multidimensional, complicated, interesting people into flat characters.
He is not gay.
She is not a cutter.
and He is not transgender.
They are real people and you cannot possibly fit a person into a single worded description of the thing that stands out about them or makes them different.
That is not enough for me!
The gay guy likes ice cream and romantic comedies, he's afraid of commitment, that scar is from his own blade and he volunteers on Wednesdays.
The cutter is seventeen and she lives with her grandparents. Almost everybody shes loved has walked away.
She has hair the color of sand at the beach and she wants to work in security at the airport so she can finally have control over who leaves and who stays.
The transgender man never felt trapped in the wrong body, the world just told him that his body was wrong. He’s a freshman in college and nobody ever told him how hard it would be. He calls his mom every night because he knows she worries and he cares. He has skin the color of caramel and he desperately wants to get married.
I hope you now understand that a label is never never enough.
You could argue that I’m afraid of being defined and of defining others with just a word,
but if you ask me a fear of labels is a very legitimate, considerate, and justifiable fear to have.
Labels are simply not enough.
And that's why I hate labels.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Memories can become blurry, over time,
like underdeveloped photographs,
or incomplete, like sunlight through blinds.
Our lives move ever forward,
like the inflexible patterns of stars.
Once fevered and immediate events
recede, with frightening, doppler effect,
as remembered yesterdays,
become forgotten yesterdays.
New Haven was abuzz. The hotels were booked and moving trucks had taken every free parking space for miles. Last Sunday was freshmen move-in day and 1,554 freshmen moved into their Yale residences. It’s one of our favorite days of the year. The hubbub of freshmen moving, lunching, shopping and later, seeing off their departing parents, created a delicious emotional chaos that we watched unfold, like a Greek chorus.
The movie ‘Love Actually’ begins and ends with montages of people greeting friends, family and loved ones at Heathrow airport - it’s emotional and heartwarming. Move-in days are a lot like that - with their gordian knots of beginnings and endings. My parents were nervous and emotional on my freshman move-in day - as was I - but we all tried, desperately, not to show it.
Welcome to New Haven freshmen, everything’s beautiful, but you’ll get too busy to enjoy it much.
We upperclassmen move in tomorrow.
Aug 24, 2023
Aug 24, 2023 at 1:20 PM UTC
As a mere freshman in high school
I was cursed with the miracle of life
Or an angel of death
That was wrapped in a pink blanket.
She was mine
After nine months of developing
She was here
But on unwelcomed sircumstances
****
An unwanted word
That's the way she came
When I was a mere freshman in high school.
Lucelia Marie
As I decided to name her
Was small and fragile
Something I couldn't take care of
As a mere freshamn in high school
Adoption, they called it
For the best, they told me
As a mere freshman in high school
So now she is four months old
With the woman she will know as 'Mom'
Not me...But a stranger
That picked her up in the night
When I was a mere freshman in high school
So my little girl is gone...
For four months ago today.
I will miss her always
Even as a mere freshman in high school
The pain of a last kiss
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
in the beginning of my first
year of high school, i was
the girl with messy hair
who tried to off herself
in summer's past, the one
with tired eyes who skipped
lunch despite empty stomachs
feeling heavier, the freshman
with open wounds grazing
the veins in her arms who
sprinted out of classrooms
due to the sporadic nature
of panic attacks.
i'd like to say that i've
transitioned out of the cocoon
of panic disorders and ptsd and
depression, but somehow,
the butterfly wings haven't grown in yet.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
spartan kick the fat *****
with their freshman album
hallucinogenic state of paranoia
a ******** screamo band
I will be the lead vocalist
I will take a hit of acid before each show and scream poetry while guitarist etc. play brutal ******* downtuned music behind it.
throw rager ******* shows
be like a cult band
get ******* famous
live ******* life
do drugs and be successful
stay classy kids
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Soccer season arrives, you’re excited until you start waking up at 6:30 a.m. every day during the summer. As the first game is on, you arrive expecting to play just to realize you’re warming up the bench. It’s not a big deal, it’s still August and it’s easier to tan while sitting down. It isn’t until you’re laying there camouflaging between the soccer bags; laying like a lizard taking the sun in that your coach yells for you to jump in. You scramble up and trip between bags and ***** making your way to the sideline. You do the final stretches and make your way in awkwardly lifting your hand to high-five your teammate coming out who misses it completely. Then it’s game on, it is time to start playing. But that is not how it goes. 15 minutes into the game you realize you have roamed the same 15 square foot area all this time. I got the ball once, I controlled it on my feet. Yeah, I know. Unfortunately when I turned the ball found it’s way between my legs and fell into the opposite player. ****** I’m getting a good tan though; I think I was supposed to get that pass, I slowly jog towards it. Should I? Well now the ball is gone. Let’s go back to my 15 square foot area; my legs are tired. I see the ball coming from up in the air, I’ve never done this. I’m running, just keep running. No, that’s the sun not the ball. There’s the ball, jump, jump. jump. I jump and a 200 pound guy crashes with me, I’m on the floor. Done.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
four years ago
my freshman year
i met a boy with dark blue eyes
who added me on myspace
and chatted with me on aim
he didn't really speak to me
or ask me any questions
he only knew what he did
because i talk so much
and somehow
we started dating
which i still don't understand why
because after the first week
i had a feeling in my gut
that i would regret this
in the long run.
we felt the high
and the ecstasy of first love
along with first everything else
including betrayal and agony
the only kind you can feel
when someone you thought
you love does something so
so awful to you.
the first winter we were happy
i think and we made plans for next year
that we broke the majority of
and in the summer we made promises
some that i shouldn't have
a year had passed
and i thought i would
be spending a few more with him
but that winter
i learned that love can grow cold
and freeze over
maybe i had changed too much
or it was him belittling me
telling me that everything i liked
was childish
and a waste of time.
the next year
i had decided that
that would be all i would put up with
i did not deserve this grief
or to be told that
i was too easy.
a friend that morning
had spoken with me and him
and walked with us through the halls
of the beginning of our junior year
and when we were alone
the friend said to me
'your eyes look so dead'
and i will never
forget those words
or forget
his cries on the phone
that night
when i finally
set myself
free
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
I walked into a high school,
with one friend,
the only friend I made in elementary school,
who stayed my friend.
My mommy Doesn't like her,
I walked into a high school,
and my only friends older sister,
who felt like my sister too,
Passed away,
the school didn't care that we all cried,
I walked into a high school,
and I tried to make other friends,
and a kid got ******
and he stole my phone,
the police did nothing to him like the school and he later ***** a girl,
I walked into a high school,
going into a program with high hopes,
only for them to get shattered by those who didn't wanna deal with me,
because people didn't get things related to ADHD,
and I wanted to drop out,
I walked into high school,
and skipped the class,
after the one where the teacher and students all harrassed,
me,
because when I reported it, it was their word against mine,
I walked into high school,
and I talked to the teacher who would harass me,
and tried to make him understand me,
understand how I can't do things like everyone else can,
and he made me head banana masher and then I puked,
I walked into high school,
and Skipped that class for the first time ever,
because the teacher made me *****
be he was absent that day,
and I got in trouble for skipping and "lying about the incidence"
I walked into high school,
and skipped my classes,
and cried in the bathroom,
and cut myself,
because I couldn't handle my panic attacks,
I walked into high school,
trying so hard to make some sort of friends,
and they yelled at me every time I ******* smiled,
because they didn't want to allow me to be happy,
The school wouldn't let me have friends,
I walked into high school,
and tried to hangout with people after school,
and they just yelled at me,
made up lie about where I was supposed to be,
They tried to get more mom mad at me,
I walked into high school,
oblivious to what love,
***
or abuse was,
and the boy I was seeing ***** me,
I walked into high school,
on the final day of freshman year,
to take my final so i could get the **** out of there,
and they harassed me the entire exam period.
they said things of confidentiality,
I walked into high school,
and everyday I left in tear,
with a scarred body,
and nothing but fear,
and they expect me to wanna come back the following year?
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
To the freshman sitting alone on the bus
Counting the scars on your wrists like train tracks
Creating a laundry list of the socially acceptable ways
To **** yourself.
Wondering if you'll jump off a bridge this year
Or bleed out in your bathtub next summer,
They'll be watching you.
You wish you could tell them they're wrong
You're different than all the depressed emo kids in the bad movies
Plastered to the television set like gum on the bottoms of desks
You're popular
But you're not pretty
Or happy.
To the freshman can I just tell you
In four years, you'll be happy.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You are pretty, you are beautiful, they all love you.
To the freshman can I just tell you
That the amount of likes you have on your profile picture
Equates to dust dissipating in the distance
To the freshman can I just tell you
The earth's curved wall will keep you grounded as you go through Hell
To the freshman can I just tell you
You don't know what *** feels like right now
But it is both amazing, like birthday balloons racing through your stomach
And overrated.
To the freshman can I just tell you
That a friend's overdose, two grandfathers' deaths, and one suicide later
You're still here.
To the freshman can I just tell you
Losing friends is the only way you know you can rely on yourself
It hurts like crazy, but the bleeding heals
And you find your own skin was the agent.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You'll go through horrific fashion trends
(Though none worse than the skeletons of middle school)
And still come out looking ****
To the freshman can I just tell you
Graduation is not far away.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You're going to be ******* fantastic.
To the freshman can I just tell you
How ******* fantastic it is
To grow up to be me.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
I think you should know that when I say something stupid I do it because it makes you laugh
Sometimes I think that maybe, if not during, but maybe in between those moments where your chest shakes at my clumsiness, you'll think I'm cute again.
The first time you broke my heart I tried to ignore it, like maybe if you never happened, if I never even stopped to think about it, I wouldn't ever feel empty.
So picked up speed barely stopping to breathe
I didn't want to feel what it was to be broken
And I felt myself too young to make an mantra of you just yet
It was nine days before freshman year and I couldn't afford to look weak, but the wind beneath my wings teased the open wounds with a bad taste and you told me you missed me before I fell out of the sky.
Sometimes I wonder if we would have started differently would you still be by my side
The second time you broke my heart, I knew it was coming from the way it sat on my chest
And I tried to love myself back together but ****** kid, its like you knew exactly how to undo me
And I wanted to burn every song that made me think of you but they kept on playing new ones the radio until every love song made me want to cry. And I thought the wind would come for me again.
The second time you broke my heart, I wasn't nearly naive enough to try to pretend it wasn't happening. I let myself feel every vibration from each word that said I never made you happy
And I didn't understand how you got to be such a good liar.
I still turn off the radio when love songs come on sometimes but I've stopped waking up empty from thinking of you
so I think thats fair
When you kissed me, I almost couldn't help but kiss you back, but I couldn't sell my soul to cheap teenage instinct like that. So if being friends with you means you calling me stunning, Ill take it but I don't trust it.
Yesterday you said I made you happy, and I still have hard time trying not to believe you
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
When we have our late night talks
We seem to forget what's written on the clocks
We get consumed with the stories that we say
And we anticipate another talk later on some other day
At the peak of night when everyone is in a slumber
We pretend our problems seized to exist like an imaginary number
We talk about life and the lack of genuine souls
And how we live with people that are monsters and trolls
So life moves forward as we shift our gear
But never forget the late night talks we had our freshman year
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:27 AM UTC