ashton May 14
I didn't choose it
I didn't wake up one day and tell myself
let's be anxious
let's be depressed
let's want to die
let's start self harming
I didn't choose to be like this

slowly my problems
my monsters
became visible
they started small
skipping lunch
making a cut or two on my hand
shaking for a while in school
but I fell

I didn't choose to be this person.
We just get handed who we are.
I didn't choose this.
I never wanted to be that

I didn't want to be riddled with anxiety and insecurities,
to wallow in self-pity and sleep for hours everyday
to stay up all night with anxiety
to steal razors
to eat one-hundred calories and then barf it back up
but that's what happened.

I didn't choose this
I didn't choose
I didn't choose to tear apart my life.
it just
happened
I'm really good right now but in a reflective state currently oof
Danny Zairi Jul 23
Horses at play on green-blue days
I wanted to break one
but Papa said “No,
you’re not old enough.”

Heated like Alabama mud pie
I mounted my pony and galloped till
red moon twilight

Black silhouettes against a starry backdrop
Cy and I were famished
“Don’t worry girl--I’ll filch us some good glop.”

But her body done plopped like a bag of feed
in the arms of baby Jean
so we went to sleep.

Now howlin’ mutts harmonize with mornin’ critter’s buzz.
Under an old oak, Cy and I woke up.
I gone soaked in a brook, leavin’ Cy behind
and returned to her absence,

“Cymbeline! Cymbeline!
Why’ve you gone and done this?!”

My chest felt tight
but I refused to cry

(a baby would,
not I,
and Papa wouldn’t want me to.)

But just like that Cy returned with a basket of biscuits
she done filched from old man Johnson’s
“Aw yeah, atta girl!”
I tousle her mane
as she sings with a neigh
I put one in my belly but the stuff’s too dry
so I fed the rest to Cy.

And as I was enjoyin’ the sound of the wind through the trees
like crashin’ tides of an ocean I’ve never seen
(but Papa told me about)
I heard some feller holler, “I’m gonna kill that damn pony!”
I turn to see two heads bob up and down the slope-y path--
It’s Old Man Johnson and his no-good offspring,
Tiny Johnny,
over yonder

“I think it’s that Catholic boy, Pa!”
“Well then he better say his Hail Marys because I’m going to whip his hide raw!”

Stay or get--what to do?!
I was shakin’ in my boots
so I done get and Cy did too!

Up and over the fence of a scary old Red Skin
We scurry to the back of his barn and watch
them hollerin’, all perplexed
because they ain’t dare step in.

Old Man Johnson then turns Johnny’s head red
with a no-good  lashin’
that made him bray like an ass
all the while sayin’,
“Why’d you get fooled by a dirty little
Catholic?!”

(you know, I heard Johnny wets the bed,
but I do too.
Maybe next time I see him
I’ll compliment his boots.)

Johnny shot out a bloody spittle
and only said, “c'est la vie,”
and picked up his feet to leave
And as I watched the Old Man also make his exit
I felt the taping finger of a
tall old Red Skin
with tree-bark skin and a crinkly mouth
lookin’ down on me
beggin’,
“Be on your way, please.”
I done bowed my head and said, “We beg your pardon, Chief.”
and dashed away quickly with shiverin' tails
back on the Homecrest dirt trail

So Cy and I rode for half a day
until Papa saw us a’commin’ his way
He took off his glasses
and began to cry
I jumped in his arms
and I cried too
natasha Jul 26
trying not to let you
sabotage my heart, i was on
the ground and we were
at the park and everything
was fading, you above were
glowing dark

made my sophomore spine
your own and tore it
down, pressed my hands and
throat into the ground,
gemini you taught me
how to drown
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