jeans and a cardigan
sipping her lemonade
she’s never learning
but she’s still somehow passing
a slight headache and she misses
(a hug would be nice)
and life just seems to be beating her
(melancholy-aftertaste sweetened with lemonade)
no one ever approves,
everyone shakes their head, and gives their reasons,
never listens to yours, doesn’t validate your feelings,
too young. too dumb. too naïve.
blind girl, with your head in the clouds,
snap out of it.
to hell with you, i love the clouds.
and, i swear i will touch the sky one day.
i don’t need your approval.
i have my own.
it took me seventeen years to learn that,
it took me years of fighting for it, and never receiving it,
to realize, i am my own human being. i am not owned.
the girl on the inside,
the girl in the reflection of the mirror
is bloody, bruised.
the girl here smiles, says,”I’m fine.”
the girl in the mirror cries until her tears
flood this room and drown her.
the girl here swallows the pain
and the girl in the mirror screams
but I keep throwing her punches
and keep thinking she can take it.
but lately the girl in mirror…
has been punching back,
and the scars are outwards.
she’s been screaming at me,
and my ears are ringing.
the water is spilling out of her room
into my eyes,
and I’m drowning in it.
People say when I was younger, I was happy.
I cried over a lost stuffed animal, but then Mom would give me teddy bear, and I would be alright. I’d name him, play with him, and move on.
People say a lot of things. Now they say sad, depressed, queer.
She seems to cry all the time.
We’re giving her new friends to replace the old ones. But, she’s still upset that the old ones got lost. Why can’t she just play with what’s she’s given?
Because, deep down. I still think of that purple overall clad lamb, with the pink flower in her hair. I wonder if she found another kid, who loved her as much as I did. I remember taking her everywhere, and holding her close at night.
But–you can wish for something your entire life, and look in trash bins at supermarkets hoping the lamb comes back, and it won’t.
the lights are dimming
the water is simmering,
under the heat of summer twilight
the stars are shining brightly tonight.
I hold tightly onto your wrist.
the sun draws us with stencils
with thick lines and dark pencils
as we run down the burning sidewalks
from our parents and their ever-long talks
our tears drip on the concrete, making a mysterious dye.
the pain with bandages and a pill
someone told us we were ill
sick in the head
pieces of unwinding thread
at least, we have each other.
about the beach and sand dunes
car rides and training wheels
California and the feels
in the back of my mind, your voice rings
about who we are truly are
I know your deepest scars
and I’ll never judge you
you know that to be true
so just wait, we’ll run away in a little while.
a life far, far away
I know you’ll stay
two girls, the world on their fingertips
the taste of freedom on their lips
they can’t catch us here, no woman or man.
I wrote this poem, for my best friend.
Have you ever had a question for someone, but they’re so out-of-reach you don’t know how to ask it? I do. I think the answer wouldn’t make me feel better, but the question is weighing my soul down.
It’s a simple, “Why did you say that?”
In my mind, I’m screaming it, or approaching them in a crowd and they don’t know how to respond.
“Why did you lie?”
“Why did you assume?”
“Why did you gossip?”
“Why did you–when I was your friend?”
The “WHYS” are killing me. The betrayal, because you thought something was pure and beautiful, and you could remember it that way. Yet–after learning of the rumors, it’s tainted and it makes you crazily bitter.
I never thought I’d be a bitter person. After forgiving and forgiving people, and they just keep burning you, you get tired of forgiving.
I finally understand the characters I made fun of when I was little. I finally understand the Disney villains, and the ‘insane’ friends.
And trust me, I never wanted to.
I saw the sun set
will it ever rise again?
the blackness is a plague
it takes victims
I wonder when it will grab me…
sometimes the phone rings
I let it ring and ring and ring
afraid someone might hold me responsible
on the other line
someone might confront my problems
the boy said he loved me
and I sat in a state of panic
he said he was leaving
and I was in state of confusion
my emotions are muddled
I wake up confident
who I see is a masterpiece
at the end of the day
art is propaganda
slash her to pieces
how did this happen?
is seen through dirty puddles
no one appreciates how much heart
I’ve given each of them
what’s left for me?
I wonder at times
is it selfish? Is it?
to wonder if you are worn too thin?
if these chalky bones have been ground into dust?
is it alright?
that I cry in the shower
so no one can see
is it alright?
that when left alone
my mind turns against me.
is it healthy?
that happy people
drive me insane
is it healthy?
that my trust issues
influence my decisions?
just me I guess.
this is a delicate sadness, a haunting madness.
Whenever you’re sad, imagine a field.
But…then imagine everything good in your life–your friends, your family, the small things that make you tingle with excitement, the memories that make you smile–are flowers.
I find that I can’t stop finding flowers. I find that empty field is not so empty, and that I could walk through it for an eternity.
That even though, I’m going through a tough time at that moment, doesn’t mean I’m not blessed. There will be more happy memories.