The Pakistan Fashion Design Council in collaboration with Sunsilk presented the fourth and final day of the eighth PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week. Indeed the 8th PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week marked the twelfth fashion week platform initiated by the Pakistan Fashion Design Council [with eight weeks of prêt-à-porter and four of bridal fashion] and was a direct manifestation of the Council’s commitment to sustainability and discipline within the business of fashion and the facilitation of Pakistan’s retail industry. Indeed #PSFW15 endeavoured to define and present trends for 2015, focusing specifically on fashion for the regions’ long hot summer months. Day-4 featured High-Street Fashion shows by the House of Arsalan Iqbal, Erum Khan, Chinyere and Hassan Riaz and designer prêt-à-porter shows by Sana Safinaz, Republic by Omar Farooq, Syeda Amera, Huma & Amir Adnan, Sania Maskatiya and HSY.

Speaking about the PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week platform, Chairperson of the PFDC, Sehyr Saigol said: “With the 12th iteration of our critically acclaimed fashion weeks, the PFDC is always working to streamline our prêt-à-porter platform to make the PSFW experience more beneficial for all stakeholders in terms of show experience, exposure and ultimately, retail value. To that end, each year we look inward to find the best possible formats and categories to benefit the very trade and business of fashion. In this vein, we introduced 3 separate categories for Luxury/Prêt, High Street and Textile at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week, giving each entirely separate show space, times, audience exposure and viewing power. Our High Street fashion brands had been given a standalone show time on two separate days as early evening shows and Textile brands a separate dedicated day for Voile shows on Day 3 of PSFW 2015, a measured step to further highlight Pakistan’s textile prowess and high street fashion strength which are of significant importance to national and international fashion markets. As per past tradition, we continue to work closely with all our emerging designers and mainstream brands to help hone their collections for the runway through mentorship by senior PFDC Council members and with retail support through the PFDC’s own stores and network. We are grateful for the committed support of our sponsors and partners which provides us the stimulus to further enhance our fashion week platforms and put forth the best face of Pakistani fashion on a consistent basis.”

“The Sunsilk girl is an achiever, with an air of enthusiasm and positivity. Great hair can give her the extra dose of confidence so with Sunsilk by her side, she is empowered to take on life. Fashion is very close to this aspirational Pakistani girl making the PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week a highly valued platform for us. We recognize PFDC’s efforts to promote the fashion industry and experienced and upcoming talent alike. Sunsilk has been a part of this fantastic journey for 6 consecutive years and continues to shape aspirations, taking contemporary fashion directly to the homes of consumers and encouraging them to script their own stories of success” said Asanga Ranasinghe, VP Home and Personal Care for Unilever Pakistan.

On the concluding day of #PSFW15, the Chairperson of the PFDC Mrs. Sehyr Saigol also made a special announcement on behalf of the Council and its Board Members, where she shared the Council’s plans to establish Pakistan’s first ever craft based Design District, a multi-purpose specialized facility that would assist in developing and enhancing the arts and crafts industries, which are an integral part of Pakistan’s rich cultural legacy. In addition to being a centre for skill improvement and capacity building, the Design District would also house a first of its kind Textile Museum.

The official spokesperson of the PFDC, Sara Shahid of Sublime by Sara also announced the official dates for the Council’s next fashion week, PFDC L’Oréal Paris Bridal Week 2015 which is scheduled to be held from 15th September to 17th September 2015.

Indeed the success of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week continued to prompt private sector associates to grow in their engagement of the platform to launch new marketing campaigns and promotional activities. To this end, the PFDC’s evolving partnership with Sunsilk grew exponentially this year whereby in addition to their title patronage; Sunsilk also took over the coveted PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week red carpet and the Green Room/Backstage, as sponsors. This extension of their support is indeed a manifestation of the brand’s belief in and commitment to the platform. Also in continuation of their support for the platform, Fed Ex – GSP Pakistan Gerry’s International returned to PSFW as the official logistics partner, offering the PFDC a special arrangement for international designer consignments.

PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was styled by the creative teams at Nabila’s and NGENTS. Light design, set design, sound engineering, video packaging, choreography and show production from concept to construction was by HSY Events, front stage management by Maheen Kardar Ali, backstage management by Product 021, Sara Shahid of Sublime by Sara as the official spokesperson for the PFDC, logistics and operations by Eleventh Experience and photography by Faisal Farooqui and the team at Dragonfly, Hum TV/Hum Sitaray as the Official Media Partners, CityFM89 as the Official Radio Partners with all media management by Lotus Client Management & Public Relations.

High-Street Fashion Shows

The House of Arsalan Iqbal

The afternoon High-Street Fashion Shows on the final day of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 were opened by leading fashion brand The House of Arsalan Iqbal, who showcased a collection titled ‘Devolution Chic’. Inspired by street art across the world by various artists, European high-street trends and technique of quilting, Arsalan Iqbal garnered personal portfolios of graffitists from myriad urban cityscapes such as London, New York, Tokyo, Barcelona and Cape Town, juxtaposed with some unique in-house created patterns including those of Pac-man, calligraphic flourishes and aqua and tangerine bands and circlets. Based in chiffon, the ensembles were molded into voluminous structured silhouettes including draped tunics, edgy jumpsuits and wide palazzos dovetailed with off-white and ecru charmeuse silk jackets created with a revolutionary quilting process. Along with menswear pieces, the collection also included in-house footwear and jewellery made in collaboration with pioneering Karachi-based street artist SANKI.

Erum Khan

Designer Erum Khan followed next and made her PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week debut with ‘The Untainted Shine’. The collection took its inspiration from the sparkle of twinkling stars, a walk on pearl dew in the morning and the enchanted glow which is produced when “a magic wand” is waved around the body, making it glow in a pearlescent white and exhibiting a jewel themed lustre on the body. With neat and straight structured cuts, Erum had used fabrics such as organza combined with silk, 3D flowers, patch work and antique katdanna in a collection which was based in a white colour palette. Trends highlighted in the collection were high waist skirts to button up pants and sheer long dresses. Acclaimed Pakistani musician Goher Mumtaz and his wife Anam Ahmed walked the ramp as the designer’s celebrity showstoppers.

Chinyere

Following Erum Khan, fashion brand Chinyere showcased its Spring/Summer 2015 High-Street collection ‘Mizaj-e-Shahana’ at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015. An ode to the era of the Mughal royalty and their imperial aesthetic, the collection comprised of modern silhouettes and traditional embellishments with organza skirts paired with cropped tops, angarkha-peplum tops with embellished cigarette pants, sheer knee-length jackets paired with structured digital printed bustier-jumpsuits, diaphanous wrap-around boot-cuts and embellished boxy sleeves with soft A-line silhouettes. Chinyere also showcased ten menswear pieces comprising of waistcoats, jodhpurs, knee-length sherwanis paired with gossamer sheer kurtas. The colours used had been divided into a collection of distinctive Mughalesque pastels and jewel tones. The pastels included the classic marble ivory-on-ivory, the bold black, saffron, gold and ivory. The colour segments also included metallic gold and grey sections, with accents of bronze and black. The jewel tones included jade, emerald, ruby and sapphire.

Hassan Riaz

The concluding High-Street fashion show of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was presented by Hassan Riaz who showcased his ‘Contained Shadows’ collection. Inspired by the diverse facets of the human soul that explore both the dark and light sides of human nature, taking into account yearnings, desires, and anxieties that make us distinctly human, Hassan had based the collection in summer twill, organza and summer denim in shades of blue and white with a gold accent to reflect upon his inspirations. ‘Contained Shadows’ made use of structured and drifting silhouettes, cage crinolines with corsets and bustiers with distinct trends featuring cropped tops, nautical accents, experiments with transparency and patchworks of metal mixed & matched with flowers.

Designer Showcases

Sana Safinaz

PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015’s evening [rêt shows on the fourth and final day was opened by premier designer label Sana Safinaz. Sana Safinaz’s PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week collection was inspired by monochromatic structured looks with pops of color. The collection was based in luxe fabrics such as kattan, silks, fine silk organza and dutches satin in a colour palette majorly based in black and white with strong vibrant pop infusions.
Key trends being highlighted were the oversized T, constructions-clean lines, simplicity of cuts and effective embellishments.

Republic by Omar Farooq

Following Sana Safinaz, acclaimed menswear brand Republic By Omar Farooqshowcased a collection titled ‘Que Sera, Sera!’ (whatever will be, will be!). Omar Farooq had used a variety of luxe fabrics such as suede, linen, chiffon, cotton, cotton silk and wool silk. A collection for all seasons, the ensembles built upon the label’s signature aesthetics while providing a new take on contemporary menswear. Acclaimed media personality Fawad Khan walked the ramp as the brand’s celebrity showstopper.

Syeda Amera

The third Prêt show of the final day of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015 was presented by designer Syeda Amera who made her ramp debut with ‘The World of Sea’. Inspired by love for the enchanting underwater, the collection was based in premium quality organza, jersey, nets and silks with delicate cuts and embellishments consisting of beads, sequins and feathers to reflect the collection’s aquatic theme. ‘The World of Sea’ featured a palette of aqua marine, scupa blue, powder pink, grey blue, tequila sunrise yellow, orange and lagoon green with trends that employed skirt layering, frills and ruffles and flared pants.

Huma & Amir Adnan

Following Syeda Amera, Huma & Amir Adnan showcased a joint collection for the first time at a fashion exhibition. Both Huma and Amir feel that as a couple they share their lives and draw synergies and their collection ‘Symphony’ was an epitome of how two people can revolve around the same concept in harmony, while maintaining their individual distinction. Showcasing both menswear and women’s wear at PSFW 2015, Huma and Amir had used a mix of fabrics, textures and embellishments with a complex collection of weaves, prints and embroideries in silk, linen, cotton and microfiber. The color palette included midnight blue, emerald green, wet earth, aubergine, ivory, old paper, turmeric, leaf and magenta. Key trends highlighted in the collection were long shirts, double layered shirts, printed vests and jackets, textured pants, colored shoes for men and layers of multi-textured fabrics, tighter silhouette, vests and jackets for women.

Sania Maskatiya

Designer Sania Maskatiya showcased the penultimate Luxury/Prêt collection of the evening at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week 2015. This S/S ’15, Sania Maskatiya took audiences on a fashion journey to ‘Paristan’ – a place of fairytale whimsy at PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week. With a colour palette ranging from the softest shades of daybreak to the deepest hues of nightfall, ‘Paristan’ was a collection of playful, dreamlike prêt ensembles. Featuring luxury fabrics like silk, organza, charmeuse and crepe, the pieces followed the brand’s signature silhouettes, both structured and fluid. Beads and sequins embellished varied hemlines and multiple layering, all set against captivating scenes of mirth and magic. Motifs ranged from the sublime to nonsensical; friendly mice and naughty elves, clocks and teapots, flowering fields and star-filled skies, princesses and ponies.

HSY

Day-4’s finale was presented by acclaimed couturier HSY who showcased a collection titled ‘INK’; a collection inspired by Asia and specifically HSY’s journeys to The Land of the Rising Sun. INK represented the essence of Langkawi, Indonesia, Nagasaki, and Yunnan with natural and indigenous yarns, hand-woven to perfection. The collection featured the traditional dyeing techniques of Shibori from Nagasaki, Batik from Indonesia, and Gara from Sierra Leone infused with mackintosh, saffron, aubergine, eggshell, rosette, indigo and ochre. Created with the scorching sub continental summer in mind, INK channelled versatile hemlines to suit a diversity of younger, older, working men, women and homemakers alike.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane

*** trafficking – the trafficking and debasement of souls; Drug trafficking – the trafficking of substances that debase the body.  Here compared you will find the prevalence, impact, and rehabilitation processes associated with *** and shrug trafficking.  Respective clientele, demographics, and locales that these types of trafficking touch will be revealed in order enlighten you to their world-wide prevalence. The physical, emotional, spiritual, and psychological impact of lifestyles that result from these two types of trafficking will be detailed to etch vividly an image of just how far-reaching the impact of these two activities is. Light will be shed upon the rehab processes that lead to recovery from each.
                 According to UnoDC.org, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, the use of illicit drugs has remained in a stable trend, with approximately the same number of people using illicit drugs each year. This trend has continued for a number of years. Upon examining the world drug report, written by UnoDC.org, production of several drugs exhibit particularly interesting trends. ***** production for example fell and spiked in a somewhat predictable patter from 1990 until 2010. When this data is graphed a reasonable medium appears for all the years, revealing that ***** production has stayed around an average production of roughly 200,000 hectares annually. Likewise, coca cultivation pictures an interesting trend. From 1990 to 2010 coca production appeared to be almost identical each year, and with little to no rise or fall in production, there is a similar trend in its being trafficked.  
Nefarious: Merchant of Souls is a documentary that was released in 2012 by Exodus Cry Its producers and researchers saw firsthand the atrocities of the *** trafficking industry. The film crew interviewed former pimps and prostitutes, spoke to traffickers, the families of the trafficked and to individuals still actively engaged in three sides of the *** trade referring to currently employed pimps and prostitutes as well as those who purchased ***. The researchers and producers interviewed eastern European gang members and took a trip to Amsterdam’s red-light district – home of legal prostitution. They journeyed to Los Angeles and saw the glamorized side of the dark issue of *** trade.
According to Nefarious, the number of humans trafficked for the purpose of providing ****** services is on a shockingly steep rise. In a matter of a few years, *** trafficking rose from the third largest criminal enterprise to the second. It is second only to drug trafficking and is vying for the position as top criminal enterprise in the world. It is encroaching upon that position far more speedily than any authority or decent human being would care to acknowledge.  A survey taken in 2010 by DART (the drug awareness resistance training program) revealed that 21.8 million people aged 12 and older had taken an illicit drug in the previous month. In 2010 it was estimated that between 153 and 300 million people had used an illicit drug at least once in the previous year. These statistics fail to take into account the impact that this usage has on the lives of the families of drug users. Neither do these statistics reveal the extent to which drug users lifestyles are impacted by drugs. However, nearly  every single human trafficked for ****** purposes is completely and utterly enveloped in the lifestyle of prostitution and the violent world of being prostituted. In Nefarious a shocking statistic is revealed. Approximately ten percent of the entire human population of earth has been trafficked. Both human and drug trafficking are prevalent across the globe. Human trafficking occurs in 161 of 192 countries. Illicit drugs are trafficked in every country that has laws that deem substances unlawful. There are little to no race, religion, ethnicity, or age restrictions on who can and is trafficked for use of ***, but drugs are far more limited by age and ethnicity in their use.
Drug trafficking, though similar to *** trafficking in many ways, is in no way as substantial a damaging force to the mind, soul, and spirit as the world of *** trafficking  is in terms of the critical and dangerous force it exhibits in the emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual  impact it has on young girls. Both drugs and *** trafficking have some influence in all of these respective areas. The primary area in which people are affected by drug use is the physical. Drug users’ health declines, they become physically or psychologically dependent, and they may develop diseases from sharing of needles or lack of inhibitions that lead to *** with an infected individual. Drugs may, in some rare cases, lead to psychoses and mental disorders. They may cause brain damage, which is both physically and mentally damaging. Drugs may even set one’s heart and soul in a place that they are more susceptible to lies or truth. They alter spiritual state for some individuals, but only mildly. However, *** trafficking victims are impacted majorly and in their entirety as a person. In all aspects of the physical, mental, and spiritual, *** trafficking victims are consumed by *** trafficking. In Nefarious it is revealed that In order to “break” *** trafficking victims they are profusely beaten, and are psychologically toyed with to create a twisted trust and dependence on their various handlers. They are repeatedly *****, and are examined like cattle by those who wish to buy women. They are imprisoned in dark rooms and not allowed to leave unless told to do so. They are bedridden and forced to ******* themselves. After being broken in ways described above and sold to a ****, girls are forced every day to meet certain quotas of customers and cash flow. If they do not meet these they are beaten even more. They lay in bed sometimes a week at a time to recover physically enough to usefully return to their “job”.  Through this hellish ordeal, their soul, self-worth and identity are being attacked by circumstances that devalue them. They become like animals.
*** trafficking victims become dependent on their environment for normalcy. This is so true for some individuals that even though they have been rescued from the lifestyle, they return.  This is not because the *** trafficking victims enjoys the lifestyle of prostitution, and it is not because they want to. Instead, it is because they think they can be nothing more than a *******. The *** trafficking victim, in this case, believes that they need to settle into the numb and thoughtless mind state that they develop when broken. Returning to prostitution does not evidence an addiction. In contrast, it is the cry of a soul that is desperately trying to cope. They do this in order to feel as if they can survive.  
The rehab processes for *** and drug trafficking differ greatly in commitment and length, but are similar in that they both require physical and psychological rehabilitation.  Drug rehabilitation programs typically consist of twelve-step programs or something similar. They last a number of months, or occasionally a few years. They allow individuals counsel and encouragement, and they attempt to, by abstinence, exorcise an addicted individual’s addiction. *** trafficking rehabilitation requires the re-creation of an individual. Self-worth must be reconstructed. The spirit must be healed in order to allow for psychological healing. Prostitutes are not addicted to prostitution, but prostitution produces dependence in that the prostituted crave normalcy. This dependence must be killed. Successfully rehabilitating women from this forced lifestyle requires lifelong commitment and endless resources. It requires passionate fanatics, people who will pour their life into changing the lives of others, because only the incurable fanatic can wreak havoc on the tragedy of human trafficking. Any short-term effort to rehabilitate a *** trafficking victim is doomed to failure. The degree to which the brokenness of *** trafficking victims becomes ingrained in them is so extreme that it takes a lifetime to reshape their lives.
While researching *** trafficking in order to accurately produce Nefarious, the researchers and producers of Nefarious became convicted by facts that they collected. The evidence they collected speaks to the fact that *** trafficking does not just attack the body; it attacks the entire being, and in far worse ways than drugs ever could. Varied races and ages are prostituted and / or consume drugs. The impact of both of *** and drug trafficking is severe, but much more so severe in the case of human trafficking. The rehab process for human trafficking is much more in depth and is testament to the horror and degree of psychological, mental, and emotional disfigurement, as well as acclimation to a horrible situation to the point that horror becomes normal – a new definition of addiction. Human trafficking is an atrocity that is far more horrendous and prevalent than imaginable. It is far more destructive than drug trafficking. Drug trafficking is one of the most destructive forces in this generation.  Surely consuming drugs is one of the most horrid things we can do to our bodies, but what about consuming souls? *** trafficking consumes souls, hearts, minds and bodies. It splits, fragments, debases, brutalizes, obliterates, murders, rapes, molests, destroys, and dehumanizes the prostituted.  Drug trafficking attacks the body the soul, and sometimes the mind, but in much milder ways.

The guy sitting behind me
opened up a tupperware,
brought his own food
to my favorite cafe
and he smacks his lips as he eats it
crunches the world's loudest salad
and burps as a finale

*I want to **** him

As most of my older followers may know, throughout the last 4 years I hadn't gone a year without doing some sort of chemical drug- until this year. From the time I was 14 to 18 I mixed and sampled the following: (in order) tylonel 3, oxycodiene, MDMA- molly, "m" this drug is a mind killer, it ***** with your serotonin and dopamine levels the most, not super addictive in terms of ****** reactions but mentally it definitely sticks with you, for you will never feel as happy as the first time you try this- my #2 of the never ever try this. I will be a year clean of it on October 30th 2015, GHB- aka *******, *******- oh lordy where do I start. Perhaps with the fact that almost all the coke you buy is cut with laxatives or tylonel. I've suffered the greatest reprecussions physically and psychologically both immediately and long term from this drug. On this drug I experienced stimulant psychosis, cravings, shakes, twitches, believing that bugs were on me, dermotellemania, dramatic weight loss and my skin and hair were terrible. After I had become clean I noticed I still had no appetite, bowel and bladder problems, and craving similiar to those of nicotine. This is my #1- STAY THE **** AWAY FROM THIS, its a silent, slow killer and it's not worth the money you pay for it, $80 (per gram) on laxatives? No thanks. I will be a year clean of this on June 25th 2015, LSD, oxycodin, ****, heroine & dmt.

Personally, things like marijuana, psychobasilic mushrooms, LSD & DMT are still fine with me- I limit my LSD & DMT intake to once every 6 months (if that) and I've found no reprecussions from doing these drugs (yet!).
I was mostly majorly addicted to stimulants and I would advise anyone who wants to not **** up their life to stay away from any stimulant. They really don't benefit you in anyway- the high gets old, the aftermath isn't worth it. I have major mood and mental illness issues that I'm still dealing with to this day- I refuse to take any form of medication such as prozac because I'm afraid I'll get addicted and be on it for the rest of my life. I'm writing this in hopes that anyone who is using, or thinking of using please gets the notion out of their head that they need this ****- it's not cool anymore, its risky and it ruins your body by the end of it.
The reason I chose to stop was because I realized the fact I mentioned above, that it does absolutely no good in the long haul. There are so many better things (better, safer drugs even) then stimulants. I also met a man who supports me and helps me with the craving days I still get at least 1 or twice every month. And I've started to be happy with myself and my body. I want to be healthy. I want to be fit. I want to be happy and carefree- all these drugs do is chain you.

If you read this all the way through, you're lovely.

I hope this helps someone, somewhere out there.

Blackness that’s all I remember. Pain that’s all I felt. I was just 12 when death started calling my name. My name is Becca and this is my story well was… I was 12 and my older sister was babysitting me and my little sister. Death…....that was the first time I actually seriously thought about it. I held the knife up to my chest my heart beating rapidly , terrified and just didn’t want to fight anymore, I dropped the knife. I fought the thoughts of death off 6th through 7th grade. Eighth grade was a rough year, I went to Waunakee schools and I was bullied a lot. I got picked on because scars covered my body. That’s where my story really begins. It was January of 2015 and I lost it I found the pill bottle and counted out exactly fourteen pills because that is the age I didn't want to see. I was found by my parents; they called the police refusing to let me end my pain. That’s when things started to really going down hill.
6th grade:
6th grade I got picked on because I like different things I wasn’t the average kid that was into what everybody else was. I also could be considered a religious freak. That year my grandma had been diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I prayed for her constantly. Thinking it would make her better. That year I had also learned about the holocaust. That made me not sleep at night. I was constantly terrified. I started hearing voices then.  I never told anyone I thought it was the devil so I just started praying. I thought about killing myself many times. I never went through with it because I was scared of death and what came after it. I constantly fought myself.
7th grade:
That year was unexplainably one of the worst years of my life. My older sister started seeing a therapist. I didn’t know why. My religion had always said to depend on God when you were having a difficult time. I got picked on majorly that year because people thought I was lesbian but, I said no way in hell am I lesbian. that year my parents told me they didn’t believe in God. I was already majorly depressed and well I hid that. That was the last thing I needed. I started cutting. I stopped because I didn’t want anyone to see. I was friends with this one girl named Taylor she was super tiny and well I was bigger than her. One day she called me fat. I already had body image issues. I stopped eating. I was anorexic. As of March 2014 I was 5’0 and 72 pounds. I was taken to the doctors and well I wasn’t hospitalized. My parents just sat down with me until I ate the food that they put on my plate. I wasn’t allowed to serve myself at all because they were afraid I was going to starve myself. I wasn’t allowed to pack my own lunch, little do they know, that only made things worse. My older sister would pack me a meat sandwich. Meat was never my favorite thing. especially meat sandwiches. I never really ate at school when I was younger I always threw away my lunches if I didn’t like them.  I always had a hard time eating. Recovering was one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life. Little had I known that what was coming next would change my life forever.

Summer: The summer going into eighth grade was so hard for me. My parents let us go to church but was hesitant with every week that went by. That summer I turned thirteen and as usual by birthday was hell. I was losing myself with everyday that passed. Then I started playing this game called Meez. It made my depression worse because then I started getting bullied on the game. I didn’t stop playing because I didn’t have friends. The only ones I did have were online.  
Eighth grade:
Everyday was a battle; I could barely get out of bed. The first part of eighth grade was a blur. Kids picked on me. My grades were dropping faster than a blink of an eye. I had no friends. The friends I did have turned on me. I was all alone facing my battle of depression. I started cutting majorly. It was bad. Till one day we didn’t have school, It was a Monday. I remember that day like it was yesterday. My mom took us to Pizza Hut for lunch. Then we came home. My dad was gone at a meeting. My mom went to drop my older sister off for babysitting. Now was my chance. I run to the cupboard grab the bottle of ibuprofen counted exactly fourteen pills. I was scared to be honest I stood there for a minute thinking this is the last night. I took them. I ran upstairs crying. My little sister looked at me and saw I was upset and asked me what was wrong. All I could say was “I’m sorry. I know I’m not the greatest sister but, I love you so much.” My mom came home then and I went downstairs. She saw that I was crying. She asked me what was the matter. I bursted into tears again. All I could say was “I’m sorry” over and over again.  Then she yelled at me telling me to say what the hell I did. That’s when I told her. She started crying. She started calling the cops. I started screaming “NO! LET ME DIE! I’M MISERABLE!”  I heard the sirens coming. My dad walked in asking what was going on, my mom told him. She was shaking so hard and crying. The police walked in they questioned me thoroughly.  I was rushed to the hospital. I had so many tests done. I spent the night there. The next day I was discharged from the UW hospital and admitted to the Meriter child and adolescent psychiatric facility.


Hospital:
´´Hi my name is Becca.´´
  were my first words there. I was terrified and still wanted to die.  The first thing I really participated in was karaoke. It was ok I guess I laughed so, I could get out of there as fast as I could. I spent the next day being angry that I hadn’t died, then the second day I was there that’s when I met him.  But I’ll get to that later. I spent the next 5 days attending group therapy, DBT, mindfulness, and many other things.
Miles:
When I first saw him I stopped and stared. It was like time had stopped. (this is where I would stop if you don’t feel like going through an emotional rollercoaster and have your heart ripped out.)  When he entered the day room I couldn’t get over his shirt. It was a Sleeping with Sirens shirt they were my favorite band. Then his eyes, piercing ice blue eyes that screamed out in pain. Then I just stopped talking because he looked irritated. The next morning I was as quiets as a mouse then he sat by me and started conversation. We got along I was like one of the only people he talked to. Movie night that’s when things changed. He said he wanted to just hold me. That is a night I never wished had happened. He talked to me constantly. He confided in me, he trusted me. I thought he loved me as I loved him. Two days later I got released from the hospital. I cried that day because all I wanted to do was stay by him to make sure he was ok.


After Miles:  
My parents found out we were dating and they made me leave him. I struggled.  I loved him. He was my world. I regret to say I still love him but, I would be lying if I said I didn’t. I had tried to **** myself right in front of my parents after they told me I couldn’t talk to him anymore. I felt so much pain. Then a month later my older sister tried killing herself. I tried killing myself a couple days later.  I was sent to another mental hospital.


The other Mental Hospital:
I was sent to St.Luke’s it’s a step down from Winnebago. It was scary at St.Luke’s you couldn’t even go to the bathroom without having someone unlock the door. There were no paper towels. You had to share a room. Showers were 15 minutes. We had to be at least 2 feet from the other patients. We also didn’t talk about our problems; we had to do worksheets instead.
October 19 2015:
I knew that day that I wanted it to be my last. I went to school and acted like everything was fine even though I knew what I had planned. I went home did my homework, ate supper, did the dishes, and had a bonfire with my family. When everyone went to bed I pulled out my shiny, bottle of advil, and hard cider. I downed the hard cider and 30 advil. I sliced my wrist up the blood was slithering down my arm. I was rushed to the hospital I stayed at the UW for 2 days. I was then admitted to the Meriter child and adolescent psychiatric facility again . It was hell as usual. I got back the following Monday. I went back to school the next day. things are starting to get a little bit better. The suicidal thoughts and thoughts of self harm are still there but I have new coping skills.  

Goodbye note (I had wrote this hoping someone would find it after I died but, obviously I’m still here”):
I had set my suicide date to January 31st but I can’t do this. I feel like a walking Zombie. I tried everything to hide the pain and deal with the pain. So this is goodbye I guess. You will never know my full story. No one will but me. The demons I faced have taken hold of me. I took 30 pills because 15 is the age I do not want to see and I couldn’t imagine living double that time. <3 you all dearly.  

Seven letter one word ends it all:
I’m guessing you are wondering what that word is. Well It’s suicide. S for self harm. U for useless. I for I hate myself. C for crying all the time. I for illegal substances. D for death. E for ending it all. This is my story and I’m fighting a battle everyday.

do not forget me
as i trickle into your skin
funnel babe
trying to slightly breathe again darkwards we move

(undercover king
under covers will be paradise and
inferno
a wasteland of blankets and spit)

cut off my fingertips and i'll remain Other
and i'll somehow Stain you

and i hold on to the tension
spread it out butter on bread
strange breed that is all there is to say about it

the amount of people who
walk on bare feet i
cannot believe the
fragility in the streets

me: with nausea and extra cover
you: starting and pinning and purring and running
we: twosome group of always more cannibalism

animals and cages we
change constantly

a maybe-core

i'm in love with a boy
but i change my pronouns to say that
i love her
because of the ones who cannot do so.
because of the lovers who have to hide.
because of the injustice people have done to people.
we are all equal in birth, but live in an unequal society.
i am simply another girl who loves a boy.
no questions asked.
no awkward glances, no stiff hands to shake.
no glares, no whispers.
because i'm privileged enough
to be on the side of love that someone deemed
acceptable.
and because i don't agree with having to pick and choose who you get to love
based on their possession of particular parts.
you love someone for their energy, their personality.
the way they hold you in the night.
the trust you share, the bonds you make.
you love them because you are you and they are they.
she loves her.
he loves him.
she loves him.
he loves her.
or her. or him.
the pronouns
should not
seem odd
to us.
but our society majorly consists of
gritted teeth and
disapproving eyes.
and because of this,
because i love someone
of the opposite gender,
and because i do not
suffer from any hate,
i will quietly fight
the cookie-cutter
for you
with pronouns
and poems.

Boys are really quite amusing & don't even try
They don't realize ALL the entertainment they willingly supply
I swear it could keep me entertained for hours & hours
they bring one girl flowers
she feels so special & can't believe the great guy she has found
but little does she know, he's still messing around
the mystery girl is quite good at her game as well....
since she sees a lot more that goes down, yet she'll never tell
Usually the truth doesn't unfold
...that is... until a friend mentions to her what she is told
SHOCKED & SURPRISED about some of the news
BECAUSE.....to her it did majorly confuse
They don't talk like they are happily taken
or even seem like they're smitten
really it's more like how they can't wait to make her purrrrr like a kitten
they tell her how great they will put it down
& how they really wished she didn't live all the way across town
yet, message after message day after day
these boys really can't stay away
She doesn't do anything special or fantastic
buy yet, just like snapping a rubber band, they come flying back, like elastic
she sure isn't one for lying & she doesn't like to brag or boast
it's just what she's noticed the most
When their relationship isn't "going perfect" & there is a little fight
right away who'd they hit up to hang out for a bit that night
maybe it's because they know she's super chill
& their ***** secrets she'll never spill
OR it could be they know she'll most likely say "yes"
& she NEVER becomes a stage 5 clinger or causes them stress
.....BUT the *** has got to be pretty good & rather fun
since they almost always go more rounds than one
You know they wouldn't keep calling if the *** was whack & horrible
because I'm sure they could have called someone else, it's VERY possible
It is her company they can't seem to resist & just need
It is kind of doing a friend a favor, a favor indeed
BUT *** isn't always what happens with them, I hope you know
Sometimes it's simply to just chill, hang out & watch a good show
still nobody will ever believe that, of course, since "everyone" knows two people can't just "hang out" there is ALWAYS someone who will have their doubt
So from an observer, here's my advise: just be wise
DON'T be fooled with what one may say, it can be rather deceiving to blind eyes
What matters more than anything, is ones actions
because they could be really good at causing little distractions
So just be smart & watch cautiously to those around you
since you don't know if they are being fake or real & true
Now, don't get me wrong
they're not all ****** bags
Just watch out for the one who unknowingly brags
the little things will give them away
& they may slip up with words or stories they say
so just be well aware
& handle your heart & feelings with precious care

had some ****** up dream
some ratchet chick kept saying '**** me' etc
so i went to do it but where was her *****?
it was like too blurred or something, was that my **** or...her's?
i went it to but...my *** ended up taking the ****
why are other's always present with these ****** dreams?

then later i think like, i'm on MD majorly
can barely sit down, my mums calling me, i can't speak!
i'm trembling! gotta wait for the come down
these images are made all the worse by the fact i'm at my grandad's house

some train ****, we heading to northern chinatown
but it's all so confusing, do i jump on the tracks and wake up as i die?
or do i get on the wrong train, because like the platforms are so mixed up
platform 7 is yesterday's plat. 5
one thing i will say is there are no vondelspectors anywhere to be seen

i remember in part of the same saga (my dreams take me different places these days)
more fruity and exotic, but still a girl in a bikini
and still other observers, but as I'm in a dream i'm like, why not?
is this not the one place i'm allowed to **** *******?
is that bad? or is it merely consensual?
she's twerking kinda, or i'm rubbing up against her
get an *******, but then, her dad notices
so i pull some crazy faces and wave the bulge in my pants for the world to see, and wake up

there was definitely a epic thrown in there
some strange motion in which i play the protagonist
or anti-hero, i can hardly tell because i keep waking up,
sleeping again to dream more, it's so addictive

A cold man in a suit sits in his intricate leather chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.  He seems to be enthralled with the Sunday paper.  
The beautiful music that is flowing from his wife’s fingertips cannot pierce the thick vines that have grown over his ears after all this time.  
He does not care enough to notice that what was once a majorly cheerful tune, has grown solemnly minor.
Hours later, he is at his computer, typing away.  Probably just work stuff, probably…

He is finally stirred by a gunshot, accompanied by an inharmonious crash of the keys.  The treacherous dissonance left ringing in his ears makes him realize how much he yearns for her sweet music.
He floats nervously into the piano room to find his wife’s body, crumpled over the crimson stained keys; lifeless.

Bought me a new grill today,burgers. Dogs, the bit's. Got stuffed majorly, had a good day. Saw the nieces, nephews, and family.
That's what life's about.

Enclosed in this body
I find myself terribly alone
people who are supposed to be mine; I don't understand their customs even though we share same language
how can we share same culture, bonding, skin colour and religion?
I find this bizarre- strange, and defying
though I did not want; I am forced to hear the stories
participate in this wildness of rituals, judgemental games
these rituals, maddening remarks and cultural scores
majorly- religious obsession; I find this bizarre, fanatic, humiliating
I, just feel, absurdly, obscurely and intensely alone
officially, I resigned from feeling too human.

So writing less
and less than before.
As is losing a cressindo
is the score
of the symphonies
rhapsody.  Musickally
non talented, has magic
left the air.  
Assuming we are
all homeless and
treated by the
dust, reason.
Just completely out
on the dolly I trucked
the word Laureate in on.
Parting furnature with
lasting thoughts of
desire, for a thesourus
or a dictionary for
holistism.  The unholy
dead have starved them
selves after dieting on my
quarrel similarly, I may
need to be an action star
to recieve the spirit of
entrepidness again.  
Laziness has met the design
of my libido, and I can not
ever imagine being single.
No face to book, unless of
course to reprove prophetering.
And No, seems to be the
one and only world,
I had to be in.  Hittin it like an
old cloud with silver linings.  
Like slang.  Not really having it.
and *******, sexism, troubled
teens, the things of this world
that bother the US Marshals.
Actually begging the President
let me have his job and Joe's car.
What person uses the word
chortle to get through a
chidleish man.  Anyways,
heres to thinking of writing
poetry and leaving the under
world to be a monster,...
Anyways!  
I so much prefer to not over
write a zeal such as a poets.
Super trusted, trusty,
like an understanding
about cowboys with guns
in hip holsters, working
cattle and brushing
there teeth twice daily.
Yea, there teeth,
some here on the bottom
and not many on the top.
But ya no, not many
people think about tooth
brushes.  Teeth brushes
thats like a scratch on
the chalk board with out
finger nails.  I'll be the
poety lauretey kind of person
that loves to die young
and get old.  Ill be the
most misunderstood
thing on the face of the
earth and have to eat
a ham sandwich or
something.  Ill be the kind
of person who just
doesnt get some relationships.
Like, peanut butter and pickle
cereal.  Or socks made with
holes in them.  ***, sir,...
what are you writing?
Ill say poems, they say you
are not a poet, and Ill say
try some pocket lint to
clone a poodle or something.
Most of the time,
Ill crack a huge smile
and simply pleasure some
one and they will say 'What."
With out a question mark.
Then for some reason
punctuation is a majorly
late subject to emoticons
and dragon lords in
movie scrips.  An now, meeting
the reason that I felt no muse was
that I have been laughing out
loud at intellegence as is the
genuis of carisma.  Who cares
if Im not smart?  Graduating
is such a bore.  Gum is not ever
a turn on, and some way watching
people chew it is rude.  Comparing
two doves to each other is Darwinism.
Living alone with my mother and
step father is not going to last long.
But serves as the most important
thing to do now.   Any of the promises
of reading dedicated poetry is
almost to much favor.  Is there a
way to stay the allostatic load
of a perfectly running deisel
engine.  Where do poems find
gas?  or fuel as sir does say.
And now, what to do with a
wonderful heart.  I am pleased to
say that I am almost the King, but
must impress the most boring
people on earth without the
giant panda bear of a
poet that has made me
love this song.

In soft afternoon sunlight, flopped on my small yellow couch, I look over to the shadowed side of the room.

My apartment is pretty sparse, but in pride of place upon some modular furniture there is a white marble mantle clock that used to belong to my grandparents.

It is imperfect: part of the pedimented top is gone; it only works sometimes when I wind it up.

But it is beautiful, particularly its face of ornate numbers surrounded by a bronze filigreed bezel.

I majorly coveted the clock when I would go visit my grandparents as a girl.

After once being shown how to open the glass cover over the face—such a satisfying click when it opened—I  was unable to resist doing so each time I saw the clock, lightly touching and pushing its hour and minute hands, probably contributing to its current damaged state.

Looking at it now takes me back to my grandparents’ home and those moments when I would wander around the house and yard while the adults conversed in the kitchen, the hush of the house a little nerve-wracking.

Where were my grandparents when they bought this clock?

What did they think would happen for the rest of their lives?

I research the clock’s provenance online, looking for the maker and model, and imagine my grandfather selecting this particular clock with care, wanting something to fit the house, the family.

I open a YouTube video of a horologist—who knew?—and he greets me amid a pleasant patter of ticking from the collection of clocks behind him.

I look again at my clock.

Find the meaning in the marble.

Those ornate numbers, that shape of classical architecture—they quietly reproach me.

Am I going about my hours with the dignity that these shapes suggest?

In the face of the clock I see the face of my grandfather, and while the clock does not strike, I hear the voice of my grandfather intoning slowly and deliberately—maybe trying to sound a bit wiser than he was—but wise all the same.

I am still attracted to all things shiny, but hopefully am more restrained now.

I stop the video, and the room is quiet again.

My smartphone is the only accurate timepiece in my apartment, and it of course does not tick.

It has its own sort of shine, a friendly colorful brightness from the dotting of apps on the home screen, but to save the battery I have set it to go black after a few minutes.

My life is poetry and yours is prose
I can mean things nobody knows
All hidden away in my sweet sharp mind
A thousand guesses are guessed just fine

But they read you better all straight and clear
There's no scheming with rhyme all messy and queer
Though I'm simple enough to decipher and see
For minds majorly lazy nor dullards ain't free

Away, I sit where old red roses bloom
Alone, burning minutes this afternoon
My tears are stuck behind my eyes
This bitter beauty beneath grime disguised

Fumbling around while fair skin bakes
The city is quiet now, make no mistake
I think awhile and then go to wander on
These roses belong to all and so to none

One cool jet of water tries to pass for a fountain
A man in short shorts strides by unaccounted
Laughing at how I’m besotted with my own malaise
I must remind myself that a poet’s task is to praise

But it’s terribly hard to make shields without sarcasm
And loopy concerns will throw wise men toward spasms
It’s almost better to float through hydrocodone dreams wide awake
Than to sing futilely of sand and flights and smiles felt not faked

For this insult to suffering can’t end quickly enough
And the Suessical rhythm leaves much to rebuff
Despite luxurious lucidity the inconsequence falls on
Until next year’s parade and hope of less scorching suns

Because I’m not like the roses I’m not like the water
I’m not like the dude whose shorts won’t go farther
Maybe you’ll realize finally after thrice the **** crows
That my life is poetry but yours is, darling, still prose.

Happieness is to be everything at once
But how do you expect to find Happieness if you don't know what it feels like
How are you to find something when you don't know what your looking for

Happieness used to get getting out and spending time with friends
To be happy I only had to be myself
Happieness used to come so easy

Optimism used to be my way of life
I'd look forward to everything to only have it come crashing down on me
Pessimism is how I live now, I don't have to ex pect anything positive to happen and when something good dose happen its a bonus

Now a days to be happy nothing majorly bad has to happen

We came upon a nightmare,
something bad had happened there.
Oil-smoke hung in the air,
death & destruction
had certainly rained down,
the area was littered
with body parts,
pieces of burnt entrails.

Flies were everywhere,
a sweet smell hung in the air.
The first crushed skull I ever saw
creeped me out quite a bit.
I had to fight the *****.
****, this wasn’t the movies,
some computer-generated hologram,
it was real war,
we had five to smoke ‘em.

But I couldn’t wait to get along.
I was now majorly spooked
by the vacant looks
staring up at me
from the other heads
lying speechless,
so comfortable
in the bleached-sand,
their final resting place.

A sadness hung in the air
as we moved again
to the next smoke break,
twelve clicks away,
it looked the same way.

Lucy was majorly bummed,
looked seriously glum,
said her Daddy had taken
her T-Bird away,
wasn’t have much fun
anymore.

I said, “Are you freaking kidding me girl,
clearly you could buy a ‘Vette
& have just as much fun!”

Then she smiled with
that Lucy-gorgeous-smile
& replied,
”**** straight Jonny,
think I’ll head down to the dealership,
check thinks out,
there ain’t no way
Daddy’s gonna rain on my parade!”

There comes a time in everyone’s life, normally when you are looking to change things, that you are forced to face up to your CV.
The polished version of your education and work history that doesn’t say apathetic waitress or universally majorly clueless.
Short dates and places you would rather forget, because what can you really accomplish in 21 years?
A patchwork middle-class family and a muddled youth and disdain for high-school left me without the series of hot-winded, rattling extra-curricular. I wonder if I should put my suicide attempt of two mental breakdowns on this thing. Or maybe the abuse I got from my father.
No, that translates to empty job titles and a lack or accolades.
Perhaps my travel and brief flings with European cities I fell madly in love with yet dizzied in the concrete container.
What about being a hopeless romantic and being completely terrified of love?
No, perhaps not.
Ability to make puns? Or little children smile? Or memories entire poems? Cheer up depressed friends? Zany sense of humour? Ability to swear in Russian? Freestyle rap? Cook a meal in 10 minutes?
No

The start platform for a life with no direction or destination unknown?
Well, whatever sounds better…
An impression of me. In black ink and paper.
Stupid CVs

i'm really
******* myself majorly
by not writing this essay
it's actually kind of disturbing
how many ***** i don't give
for that fact
what happened
to
me

She came over a bit late,
long after the sun went down.
There was something odd
about her squinty-eyes.
Her pupils were dilated
against her blue,
she looked possessed,
like the undead.
I was very spooked,
majorly concerned,
if she only knew,
what was I to do!

It was a huge relief
when I learned
it was only the ***,
‘cause I wasn’t sure  
how I’d handle getting
my neck ****** by
a foxy lady-vampire.
But my ****** sweetheart,
I won’t fight her,
she can bite me all night long,
all is well, ain’t nothing wrong!

I physiologically don't believe in suicide
I don't believe that it help solves any problems that are going on,
but I'm not saying you're stupid to feel suicidal.
the terms suicide and suicidal are defined two major different ways.
suicide can be defined as the act of killing yourself
but suicidal is thoughts of killing yourself.
thinking and doing is majorly different, because if you're committing suicide or committing suicidal thoughts you are doing to major different things
but I am suicidal

Darling,
you are such an actress
& majorly emphatic,
definitely
you're a lover
of the dramatic!

But would you,
would you kick a puppy
just to hear it yelp?

And could you,
could you scream
****** ******
in a butcher's shop?

And how
about dropping,
dropping
onto the tracks,
& throwing yourself
under a train
for me,
you wouldn't,
would you?

But,
but that would
truly be dramatic!

Love is majorly one sided seeks not a reciprocate
our love may not be returned that's far we can hope to get
though it is thus often destined love knocks the wrong address
don't lose heart for we were right we showed no miserliness.

If one way it's our way we have no other choice
love's fountain when springs listens to no other voice
our call if goes unresponded not touch the heart meant for
we deserved it for we loved never expecting a returned favor.

We may break time and again each time our love is spurned
but our act of loving never goes astray if not once returned
no way can we decide the course have no say in the matter of heart
we have to have the belief in us when we make from our side a start.

i told you today that
that i love you but
i always tell you that
so i elaborated and
told you i love you
i mean i really love you
and you ask do you mean
more than a crush you want
a future? and i thought i had
******* up majorly so i said
like i see a future with you
like you aren't just a crush
and then you said you feel
the same way and that made
me smile and i felt my face
turn so red and it made
my day so amazing and
i couldn't get the smile
off my face all day and
well it's still on my face
and am excited to see
where life will take us
and hopefully it will be together

My heart is pounding.
Dizziness is just a side effect of yelling.
The shower drain swallowed the saltiness
Bleeding from my eyes and while trying
To recover the words I screamed at the
Shower walls- I still feel nothing.
My heart is pounding.
One part because of the pain
And two parts because my life is a self
Confessed mess filled with majorly ******* up
Minds and severely suicidal teenagers.
I think I am still dreaming but if my dream
Were to come true, I wouldn't be breathing.
My heart is pounding.
The moon serenades the sun to sleep and
The stars listen to my sob stories.
Maybe if they were to flicker away I wouldn't
Notice because they are merely background
Noise in another one of your haunting lullabies.
My heart is still pounding.

I loved her,
Growing up together,
But the separation of tertiary education,
I became more selfish,
I saw you were hurt,
Majorly hurt,
I hurt also,
But it was you,
And I had to withdraw myself,
Away from you,
I didn’t understand you see,
I was being selfish to survive,
To live another day to be selfish
And to be able to be in your aura,
Even though I knew you were hurting
I needed to get better before
So I could just see you
In all that is a strong light.
But you were hurting and I didn’t do anything,
I selfishly sustained my desire over you to only see you later.

I just majorly like to check if you're there. Watch you think about, wait for something.
And then I think about,
whatever you're waiting for.

Not home, not yet.
I made a fool of myself
So you could pretend to be a child again
This, I decided, was sticky.
I looked inside myself and found a stranger
I was unaware of the face
staring at me in the mirror.
I think I hate him.
You just have worked some kind of magic.
Something is majorly wrong with this picture
Because the things worth holding onto,
Wouldn't have let go.
No one knows where words come from
But my lips broke.