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  Mar 2016 Wyvern Queen
“That's all I've ever felt”
With parents that work too much, and very few friends,
“I never got any help.”

As young siblings we hated each other,
The social gap between me and my best friend grew,
“There really wasn't much else I could do.”
                                               “Is there something wrong with me?”
               “Do they not like me?”

“But mom, we never do anything together. We don't go anywhere. And there’s nothing to do at home.”

“That's because we don't have the extra money to do anything fun, sweetie. And I’m sorry, you’ll just have to deal with what we have.”

I don't think she knew that all I would have wanted was a walk in the park together, a block from our house.
“Even then, she never had the time.”
                            “Why does she have to work so much?”
                                                                ­  “Am I really asking for a lot?”

I knew I was no normal child.
But it would have been nice if my father would not have acknowledged it,
If he would have played along like my mother,
To not signal me out so harshly when they had a perfectly good son 3 years older than me.
“Why’d they even have a second child?”
            “We all know he’s way better than me.”                                                  
       “He’ll hardly talk to me… I guess he knows it too…”
                                                                 ­      “Do I matter to them?”

As I got older, I asked my parents for more things. Simple things. They were simple.
“I swear”                                    “I swear”
                  “They were simple”        
                                                ­                             ”Am I asking too much?”

However, with these requests came harsh answers, harsher than I expected at age 10.
I eventually learned to quit asking, knowing what the answer would be.
Every time I asked I felt that I would only be an inconvenience.
I felt that I would only cause them trouble.
This was the start of a habit.
“Wait, no”
                  “That’s not it.”
                                            “It was more than that”
           ”It was life lasting”
It was the start of a whole new section of my personality.
The fear of causing trouble to others.
The fear of people going out of their way for me.

“I can give you a ride home from school if you want?”
“I can pay for your lunch today, it's no big deal”
“No, it’s fine really. I’ll figure it out. It’s fine.”

As long as I don't have to feel any guilt,
I promise I won't accept help from you.
I promise I won't accept favors from you.
I promise I wont cause trouble for you.
         ­                      “Please”
                                               “I can do this on my own”
                                                           ­ ”I don’t need help”
                             ”My only request”
         ”Is to please…..”

Don't let me be an Inconvenience to you.
No matter how much I explain, the people around me never seem to understand that I cannot take things lightly.
And I never knew how to explain this dilemma to them. Even now, I feel as if I have not explained it properly. This topic is nothing light to me. I cannot lighten up. This is how I am. I hope that people around me learn to accept this.
Wyvern Queen Feb 2016
A painted image
False happiness as people tell me I'm amazing
And a pre-written set of lines to keep me going

I wish I had their humility
That I didn't rethink myself daily
That my mind didn't relapse into hate

I don't look in the mirror because I'm afraid of what I'll see
I don't stare closely at my body or I'll point out my flaws
And I force my mind to call me beautiful until I believe it again

"I wish I had your confidence"
Do you wish you had such hard relapses of hate
And to doubt your own thoughts until you wish you were so much different
This queen didn't emerge without a crumbling castle and a dominating kingdom
  Jan 2016 Wyvern Queen
Yes, this poem has come much too late,
And I hate to say that you've already met your fate,
But it seems that your soul took the bait,
and wrought a trail of tears on its way.

I remember our days back in kindergarten,
We spent our time playing during recess,
And I remember your birthday party with a bright yellow pinata in the back yard.
I remember that small toy turtle you gave me,
I remember your gentle kindness, even for a child,
And I wished that our friendship would last forever...


That was back in kindergarten and schools separated us in elementary,
Until I had the chance to meet you again in 7th grade.
No, we never became as close as when we were kids,
But it was a past relationship that stood solid on our eyelids.
We never forgot,
We acknowledged each other,
We respected each other,
Like good friends did.
And I was fine with just that.

And then, a few years would go by and I'd finally hear the news…
(one of the last to know, might I add.)
That you had grown sick, too ill to leave the hospital bed,
And the thought of the true name brings tears to my eyes to even think of.

I made it seem like it was nothing,
I carried on just fine,
Like it was no big deal.
But I'd never told anyone how much I was truly worrying.
(But there was also a part of me that “knew” that you'd make it through.)

Six months past,
And we had good laughs,
You seemed like you'd get better, you really did…
But one day, out of the blue, you caught a cold.
Which lead to a lung infection.
And finally, it was enough to bring you down.

The next thing I know I was told the news while going to lunch that day,
Four of us were told by a friend,
We sunk down on the stairs, our appetites gone.
We were brought to a room in the back, all four of us in tears.

I remember the stark white walls reflecting cold light on a dark table, which was surrounded by my friends.
The four of us joined them, we immediately slumped down on the floor and cried.
We hunched low on the ground, never dared to show our red and puffy faces.
When I looked at the faces surrounding me, only a few were actually in tears.
The only thing I could think for the next hour was;
“How are you not crying?”

I distinctly remember one of my friends coming to sit by me and another friend,
The three of us cried together for a while,
and we could not go back to class for the rest of the day.

It's almost been 4 months since that day.
Only four months.
And it never fails for you to cross my mind at least once a day,
And every month on the 14th, I always think of you.

I know this is late,
But if i'm being honest,
I was really hoping to never create a piece about you.
However, I don’t think I can get over it if I don’t write something.
**Forgive me, my friend, for it seems that I’ve always been a little late, am I right?
For my Friend.
  Jan 2016 Wyvern Queen
"Take your crimes and medication."

Pill one.
I have come to loathe eating.
Countless days pass without a morsel of food,
typically weeks without a real full meal.
I find it remarkable, really;
that my sense of taste and hunger became living corpses
that linger within my mouth like something died on my tongue.
I have a few options at this point but here's my choice~~
~~leave the silverware clean, bare and cold---
it's purest when cold.
I don't even know why I am not hungry.
I never thought I'd see the day where I'd decline the offer on raspberries.
(They always will be my favorite...)
Now, my ribcage blooms like a garden~
~rib bones that beg to flower through
the soil that is my skin.
Skeletons don't sit at the dinning table because
starving is a special kind of beautiful.
Yet this is oddly okay to me.
And when I do dare to silence it,
the mild sting of hunger that pulls you like the moon;
It's regret that's delivered in a bullet or two.
Disgust crawls up my spine and drags nails along
the lining of my stomach.
Don't eat that, it's poison.
Rejection becomes my immediate releif.
Family and friends can't help but worry
Eyes flicker to the length of my waist,
voices question my weight when I'm lifted
the subtle stare at how my bones scream against snowy skin.
I don't blame them or the rumors;
I know I am skinny, and I know am empty.
I just don't want to eat anymore...
I am so sorry for that.
(Am I supposed to be sorry for that?)

Pill two.
Don't ask me if I got any sleep.
The answer will always be "no", or "not enough."
I was diagnosed two years ago with insomnia.
You don't know what suffering is until
you can't ******* sleep.
I didn't think it was that bad,
boy, I must've been related to ignorance.
It's torture watching the world never press pause.
My record is six nights and seven days, almost a full week
Caged myself in because my thoughts
were killers for freedom.
Why can't I sleep?
Here's the catch though;
I don't like sleep either.
No comfort calls your name,
not when you can remember every dream you've had since
the year 2009.
I don't have happy dreams, for those of you that do not know.
They call this disease hyper-realistic dreaming,
it's something my doctor hesitates to openly discuss.
(They don't have the answers to my mother's panicked questions or my father's accusing glare.)
They're terrified of the unknown too.
The concept of dreaming in such detail,
of every person place or thing
isn't exactly treatable
Fun fact:
I talk to the dead sometimes.
You know, people who have passed away.
They tell me it's the regrets that ******* you behind your back.
Hyper-realistic dreaming is absolute madness.
Pretty sure wonderland doesn't look any different than
the waking realm.
The word nightmare,
yeah, I don't like using it.
It visits whether I'm awake or not.
Doesn't make a ******* difference.
But the doctors only care about my insomnia.
Figures, I mean.
"It's just a sleeping sickness, strong medication should fix it."
Rest has become a form of torture for me.
I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve this.

Pill three.
Speaking of torture,
I own 19 scars that I never asked for.
My father is responsible for 18 of these scars.
Abuse is just a 5 letter word.
Funny how death sits lightly in 5 letters.
Pain is just a 4 letter word.
Oh look, so does life.
I've been waiting for salvation but I know I'm not worthy.
My father is the root of my depression.
I am his flawed design and greatest disappointment.
"YOU *******----"
hands crash into my lungs
nails engrave wounds like some sick reminder
you don't need to remind me
I already know what I've done wrong
please dad, don't hit me

Yet instantly I hit the floor harder than any stone does.
I cry quietly, forcing the sobs to talk the language of silence.
If he knows I'm suffering it'll only make it worse.
Praise is something that does not pass his lips.
"You're ******* worthless, you ugly girl."
Insults act like vultures that never quite leave our house.
"You stupid blonde *****, DO IT RIGHT."
My grades weren't high enough to please his highness.
(I had a 3.975 GPA this semester.)
"I can't wait to watch you fail."
A disgusting disgrace of a daughter that's never going to fill the shoes of "enough."
There are so many times where I have been punished for
my "crimes",
kicked, beaten, scratched, sliced, man-handled, hit, and bruised..
I don't think it's fair to name the rest.
It's all an act of order to obtain my obedience.
The secrets within these walls sneer at me~~
~~how unfortunate that our walls are white.
You see blood is a hard stain to remove and red likes
to leave the ghost of orange upon the white paint.
I don't think you understand,
that this has been happening ever since I was his little 7 year old.
Or, you know, maybe longer.
Oblivion flew south and reality crawled in long ago.
You can't just chase reality out,
she's a force of nature that takes the life out of all of us.
I have been a victim to my father for as long as I can remember.
An example of the cycle of abuse continues tonight;
Tonight my father told me,
"I wish you were dead."
That can be arranged, dad.
You don't know pathetic until you've seen me lying there
after the aftermath that was my most recent "mistake",
clutching the ground like maybe if I pretended enough
it would hold me.
They tell me it's just the alcohol talking.
That all of this was his own father's doing.
My dad had it "so much worse."
I'm sorry your father hurt you, dad
I'm sorry you feel like you have to hurt me.

Pill four.
My wounds make their homes beneath my heart,
six inches to left, furrowing downwards.
This is the nerve that throbs in death's long fingers.
False strength will save those who you love.
Good thing I "believed" I was strong.
It's a ******* joke.
I'm not strong.
I am a white angel dressed in lies.
Yet there I was;
Standing with perfect posture as the universe
and my friends stacked their troubles
up my trembling shoulders and back.
Nicknames spilled off their tongues,
I was proud of these titles that I don't actually deserve.
I am the psychiatrist.
The Healer.
The Caretaker.
The Mother
The Saint
The Kind Maiden
The Helper
The Keeper of the Dragons
The Poet of the Wolves
The Moon Warrior
The moonlight weeping through the willow branches;
The Person Who Fixes Everything
The Wise Guardian Angel.
How couldn't they notice I was nothing divine.
Plucking them from the coffins of depression and despair
that they laid themselves to rest in.
It is no easy task.
And sometimes this means their words are
the gashes to glide down my arms and sides,
blood making the puddles at my feet.
Physical pain is bearable when it's for them.
Again we revisit the word
As they are humans and they practice this sin
upon me.
I accept the harm with no self-defense.
Because I was cursed to love them.
Even the ones,
that reek desolation upon my soul.
They have all gone for the **** before.
You can take it out on me,
I will balance your burdens.
"Let me help you..."
I'm sorry you're hurting, I'm here for you
I'm sorry I became like this?
(I definitely am not supposed to apologize for that.)

Pill Five.
I have a past lover, she is my Wolf Girl.
I have learned to love her like ambrosia in a bottle.
It doesn't matter that I am no longer her lover...
She is and always will be my best friend.
We once talked about our friendship like a legend.
One man that went off to war,
and how he left his loyal dog behind.
The loyal dog waited for his master until the man returned from service and suffering;
the dog's love never swayed.
For many years they remained apart and alone
paths refusing to entertwine,
but once reunited they picked their relationship up and continued like nothing had ever separated them to begin with.
We never decided who the dog or the man was.
But we both have always known.

I hold her responsible for saving me, and uncovering
the remains of a silver child.
She ripped my heart open to expose the stitches and raw emotion;
below my feet sung the wolves,
along my collarbone perched the stars.
The moon basked in my skin when she told me,
You are beautiful.
I knew she was lying but I still forced those words down my throat,
swallowing the growing flame of black lies.
To this day I will never forget,
even if she has forgotten.
I don't see a reason to hurt, I knew I was unworthy to begin with.
Sifting through a jar of ashes I found our memories,
the day we first met, first became best friends...
She was the wolf and wasn't afraid to bite the hand that fed her.
That was how she taught me to survive,
Trust me when I say I learned more than just survival.
Casting a glance at the past 5 years I recall
what the value of strength was.
She lent me her own,
~so I bargained my way to the heavens~
a prayer for the day I would become a goddess of divinity-------
---- I found out Naïve was my middle name.
The demons found me and I had no fangs to sharpen,
so they tied me to a willow tree.
There I was possessed, and hung by my wrists,
humiliation and weakling branded into my ankles.
"This is how we put dreamers in their place!"
Is what the shadows screamed in octaves of smoke.
And that was how my wolf girl found me,
hanging and half-alive in my favorite crying tree.
She laughed with sunlight flashing in crystal teeth.
Before plunging vicious knives into my stomach.
Until the  words gouged at places hidden beneath tender poetic flesh...
My screams never reached another living soul.
Dragging open my belly to reveal what innocence I had left,
I watched as poison caught fire to her words;
I was annoying
I was clingy
I was loud, unaware, and
I loved the same she had loved
stolen the moon from her nightless sky without realization
and caused heartbreak and spread disease in her wake
she knew what the demons did~~~

"And yet you loved every second of it, didn't you Lycan?"
I know, I know
all of that was so long ago, yet I cannot help myself.
I don't hang from trees anymore,
and I don't talk to wolves in sheep skins any longer.
That doesn't stop me though;
The questions slither into my palms and onto the page
where navy ink scratches letters
into rotten white paper;
Like snakes in the tomb of my heart.
"Why did you save me?"
"Why didn't you save me when I needed you most?"
"Oh wait, right, you never had to..."
"What love could you possibly harbor
for me?"
"Did you ever love me?"
"No, probably not."
"Will it ever be okay again?"
"Why didn't you let me in when you needed me?"
"Was it worth it?  Jack I mean...was he worth it?"
"Was it worth those seven months?"
"You're more than lust."
"Did your sins finally catch you, Lycan?"
Wolves find glory in preying upon the weaker species.
You knew I was weak from day one.
"Why didn't you **** me when you had the chance?"
I'm sorry I defiled you.
Apologies that you went to the trouble of teaching me the hard way.

And finally,
I'm sorry that I dared to love you, Allie.

Pill six.
Let me put it in simple terms;
I hate myself.
I have come back from the brink of death for the thousandth time,
and I'm so sick of it.
My mind is a battlefield of depression and
I am no match for the darkness that borderline feasts on my soul.
They never left after they hung me pretty in that tree.
Thoughts that take my life piece by piece like casualties in war.
No, you don't understand.
I am beyond saving.
I have been,

for a very long time.
No matter how long I look into a mirror
I cannot find a trace of beautiful.
The glass doesn't bother lying to me, not anymore...
That's how I know all of you are lying to me.
I have let the insanity slide a dagger into my spine
ripping a **** upwards to my neck.
This is where bone touches the air and I don't recover.
R e l l a p s e
I hate everything about myself,
what I have become,
wallowing in the pity because I am far too tired;
to swim, to try, to leave.
I descend into the black sea of ink that
I bathe myself in every hour to keep from feeling agony.
As a poet, it's the only title I hold onto with an ounce of pride.
Among the fields of grief I lay in my oaken coffin
pathetic words snaking into my mind
betrayal chewing at my insides,
memories play hide and seek between lost and broken treasures.
There is nothing left.
Not anymore.
And never again.
What more can I give when the nightfall erases me?
How much longer must I endure
my punishment for being human?
I was never mighty but
my how I've fallen.

"Are you okay?"
Don't think, just lie.
"How are you feeling?"
Lie faster.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
Lie for their sake.
"How are you?"
Whatever you do
"What's wrong?"
Just lie
"You seem kinda off today..."
If you tell them it's all over.
"Kira, are you alright?"
Lie until the truth becomes one.
"Seriously, you''re sure you're alright?"
You can't let that monster out, she'll destroy whatever you love left.
"Are you lying?"
"I'm sorry everyone.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

I forgot to mention I have pills to take now.
For my insomnia, way back up in pill two up there...
Special pills that play roulette with the grim reaper.

"Kira, take only one pill at a time.  Please make sure to count if you swallow several at once.  These pills are very dangerous, potentially deadly if not consumed correctly."
"Take one pill, and if you can't fall asleep in an hour wait til tomorrow night to take two.  If that doesn't work, then the next night take three, and then four.  Do you understand?"
"Kira, please be cautious if you take five. I cannot stress enough how much I want you to be careful, it could damage your internal organs. It's like asking for a light coma, for 20 hours you'll be asleep."
"And Kira...whatever you do... NEVER take six pills.   You won't wake up after that.    Promise me you'll never take six...
"I promise Dr. Cline."
Well, I lied.  Shocker, right?
I am so terribly sorry that I cannot keep my promise...

that's all it takes.

I'm sorry is the only signature I leave on my suicide note.

I couldn't keep this in,
it's not poetry it's a rant.
Apologies for my confession....

But it's over now.
Wyvern Queen Jan 2016
It's darker than usual behind these eyelids tonight
There's a burning sensation behind every blink
And a heartache of loss with every beat

You used to tell me happy new year
Greet me with enthusiasm not even I had
And say goodbye to a year of great memories

But this time you didn't

There was no text with hidden glee
I won't get a greeting with a smile
Or a goodbye to the worst year of our life

Instead you said goodbye to me

You said goodbye to everything

And in your words you left or shattered hearts,
And a bowl of unintentionally broken promises
But at least you aren't in pain anymore
  Dec 2015 Wyvern Queen
Why am I even here?
“Why are we even here?”
It’s not something I’m asked if I’d like to do...
“It's because we’re forced to!”
Teachers that no longer care,
Assignments I can hardly bare,
Anxiety that I wish not to share...
Every whirl of motivation I had sloshing around in my brain,
It all seems to flow down the drain!
Students. Always.
Climbing their way to the top of the social food chain
In any way possible.
While I sit here on the side slide lines,
Contemplating why they try,
So hard for something that'll end in 4 years!
None of this means anything.
"It's all a test!"
"A meaningless game!"
That most students misunderstand
All the teachers complain now a days
It doesn't even matter they say
So long as they get paid
"Am I right?"
They care not for kids that sit in the back of the class
Their hands trembling at the thought of getting called on to speak
Or the kids whose bodies are shaking because they will have to present their project next,
"Oh, how meek!
School is harder for some people than it is others,
And sadly I am not the latter.
I'm bored in class
Because everything they teach is the same
Every year, the only difference is that there's more details, there's never any aim,
For what they try to teach.
This has driven me to an immense amount of boredom
I no longer have the ambition to learn something new
Because I'll already learn what I already knew!
Top that off with speeches, presentations, and reading in front of the class
"There, now you've made a girl as fragile as glass..."
Copywrite Ashrah
Just some thoughts on school
Wyvern Queen Dec 2015
Your final battle was cut short by fate's last attack
The combination of cancer and infections dealing you your final blow before you could be mended by your sweet Nurse Joy

You better protect your precious Pikachu with your wandering soul
Not even your pokeball can protect it from a fatal fall
As there's no more trainer to rush it to your favorite Pokecenter once more

Worry not about your precious Pokémon, the best rival I could ask for is watching them over
Keeping thunder bolt in perfect form as you watch from your reserved seat up high

Worry not about your friends, or the Pokémon you raised from their eggs
This broken Nurse Joy shall keep them aligned
For she'll send them back to you when they're ready
They'll be safe in her hands
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