It’s fine. I feel the tears fall run down my face and my heart aching a little bit. I try not to make a sound or sniff too hard. I don’t want anyone to hear me or know that I’m upset. If someone were to ask me what’s wrong, I’d smile or give them an exasperated look and just tell them things have been stressful and bitches have been trying me – which things have and bitches are. The part that I don’t tell you is exactly what happened or how I feel about it, and that’s because I know you won’t care. In fact, I’ve tried to tell you before. I told you that I was talking to my family again, people that I can’t stand. I told you I had been in a bad place for a couple weeks and that I was thinking of hurting myself. I told you that I was talking to my sister about why I shouldn’t commit suicide. And what did you do each time? It’s like it went in one ear and out the other because you just said “oh” and then right back into talking about yourself. You left me. When I was in my darkest and loneliest place. I was terrified to call you my best friend because all of my other best friends before you have left. It’s a curse and I will forever have no one and you just fucking confirmed that the moment I told you I was upset about something and you couldn’t handle that it had to do with you so you fucking left. You told me its for your mental health and that I was causing it but I was the one craving the kiss of a razor, the taste of alcohol. I did not want to be awake or be here and you were the one person I felt I could talk to and you did not want to accept it or hear me. So when you told me you wanted to stop being friends, I was alone. It was dark outside and no one was awake. I couldn’t ask someone to make sure I was okay. I messaged some people out of the blue, asked about their day. I had no one else to talk to or turn to. When I tell people I have these thoughts, they say “imagine all of the people who would be with you if they could and knew you were feeling that way” and each time, I can’t think of anyone. I didn’t think of you. I dare not. You are not a real friend, not to me. You’re too self-absorbed to give a damn.


To all my readers, ask how people are doing and mean it. You never know when they’re in a dark place and really need someone.


At the risk of seeming incapable of sane mind, I would like to interject my capacity for feelings. Let it be known now that I am not one to forbear my emotions, however, I have a hard time with expression. No matter how capable of love that I may seem, prolonged affection is difficult for me because I have never received it myself. Thus, whenever a lovely soul comes along to briefly interact with me (a hug, a kiss), I am compliant and do it well, but afterwards, I am a shell, insecure and unknowing. The prospect mistakes this as rejection, little do they know that I am at my most vulnerable with them. There has yet to be a person who doesn’t leave me after seeing me in this state. I guess it’s unattractive to be confused about how to move forward with someone. Everyone wants someone who knows what they’re doing. I just want someone with patience, someone to grow with.


Now I beckon to the stars,

Another lovely sight.

Give me strength.

Help me Fight.

I cannot grasp for air.

There is no room to breath.

Lovely little light,

Please don’t let go of me.


This is not another love story, because there is no love, and no story to tell. The reason I am writing is to organize my thoughts and help me figure out what’s wrong with me. I am tired and I am alone. Far too many nights have I receded into a lonely shell with no one to call or go to. If you were to ask me if I truly believe that I am alone, I will say no, smile, grab your hand, and say that I have you, I have everyone. I will say I am okay. But every time that I am alone with my thoughts, my insecurities eat away at my self-sustainability. I don’t want to feel like this forever. Everything is so heavy. There’s a part of me that does not need anyone else to complete me, but that is the exact thing that is driving others away. My tendency to not want to ever rely on someone else restricts me from reaching out. There is a side to me that no one has ever seen, a dark side, and as “emo” as that may sound, the fact that I feel this way just feeds into my insecurities. Even now as I write and know that no one will ever read this, I cannot say my innermost thoughts out of fear of judgement and the risk of melodramatic over-reacting. This is merely a conversation with myself, a metacognitive writing exercise. But I am not able to let go, and I want to know what I am so afraid of that makes me unable to bring anyone close to me.


Through shielded eyes,

She peaks through the screen.

And then she wonders why

The view isn’t so great.

Moonlit sadness shines through her eyes

She does not see the sky.

The world shakes a little as she tries to look away.

Spinning, it does not let her hold steady.

As she clutches for the grass she falls back,

Inhaling, the air does not quite reach her lungs.

The night is quiet, no sudden sounds or stirs.

Echoes of the evening become a pond,

She’s drowning

Tears escape her eyes, no noise escapes her lips.

She’s used to this, silent whimpers and gasps.

Nevertheless, the night continues.

The nocturnal creatures persist their nocturnal songs.

Wind rocks the tree limbs so that it sounds like the ocean.

The grass she lays on is damp from the evening mist.

The field’s meadow is full, no stomps or flatness.

Yet as the world is peaceful, there is turmoil within it.

On her side she rolls.

She doesn’t see the grass or smell the night air.

There’s nothing.

There’s no one.

And as she lays in a pool of her silent tears,

She wonders, with an ache in her chest,

Does anyone even care?

Helpless Denile

So blue is the world I see in a haze
Eyes squinted,
Lips pursed,
I dismiss my dismay.
Why should I worry with what’s out of my control?
But deep down
I know
This helplessness will take its tole.

So red is the punishment that will come one day
Knuckled white,
Knees locked,
I shudder at the craze.
Why should I fight for something that does not effect me?
But deep down
I know
One day it’ll catch up to me.


I saw my demon today.
Damn thing had nerve.
In my house?
Bloody bastard has no right here!
It belongs on the streets,
At public places.
Not in my bedroom,
The one place I feel safe in.
I paced back and forth.
Tears running down my face,
Drowning my eyes.
Why here, you greedy beast!
I only want something to be mine…
You may not have a taste!
Locked away like a malevolent convict,
My mind rattled its cage.
Purpose to commence conflict.
Shutting out the world,
I kneeled on the floor.
I can’t pray to a God,
But I can sure as hell hope.
Maybe one day,
I’ll be free.
No more worries or darkness,
No more horrid waves threatening to crash over me.
My demon cannot be drowned in tears or sorrow,
It craves happiness.
If I feed it, each time I see it,
I fear that its threat becomes stronger.
There are no scars on my skin,
But there’s a fresh wound in my heart.
My loneliness twists the knife,
But my voice only grows weaker.
One day I’ll have to bleed for my sins,
My demon will be the one to watch.
My only company for my death
Will be my worst fear.

Blood Lust

She walked into the room
Where there was blood on the ground.
As she sat on the floor,
The sticky sweetness stuck to her,
Like the memories of her own demise.
Where the blood came from,
She did not know.
But there had been pain in that room.
That was all anyone needed to know.

This is Love.

This is love.

The hurt and the pain,

Brain pounding louder than the heart,

Every second, of every day.

Butterflies in the soul and mind,

Care is so divine.

Fragile little dove,

Why do you fly so low?

Soar high above the world!

You’re better than those crows.

Ruthless little heart,

It beats for you so.

Please tell me,

If you leave, where will I go?

Burning Eyes

Burning eyes,
Let the tears
Wash away the flames.
Close those windows,
Hide your soul.
Don’t let anyone see.

Stinging heart,
Let the tears
Flood away the pain.
Hold your soul,
Keep it safe.
Don’t let anyone touch it.

Raw throat,
Let the tears
Scream the words you couldn’t say.
Get it all out,
Allow your words to bleed.
Make everyone hear.

Bloody wrist,
Let the tears
Mix with the relieving fluid.
Bleed it out.
Don’t take a breath.
Make a pool to drown your pain.

The Decent Days of a Lonely Pariah

I grew up in a small town. There weren’t many kids where I lived. I went to school but I was different in every way. I was white, for starters. I was used to the racism of my relatives so of course I didn’t know what to make of their different skin when I was first starting Pre-k. I wasn’t racist, though. I was just so unsure. Of course, as I progressed in grades, the bullying got worse. You’d never think an eight year old could be so hateful until you come back from lunch, look into your desk, and find the toy you’d brought for show and tell torn to shreds. The names started soon after the toy incident. I was used to being a pariah and I actually liked it so I was a bit taken aback when a girl that had once tried being my friend came up to me and called me a “freak.” I didn’t know what it meant so I dismissed it.

Distance was my protection. I never paid attention unless I really wanted to, especially at school. If I paid attention long enough, I noticed things that were horrible. Sometimes I’d look up at lunch and see kids giggling at me. If I looked up at the wrong time during class, I’d get an ugly face from a peer, a face that mocked me. My best friend was a teacher who didn’t even teach me. Her name was Mrs. Reed. She was white and she was always nice to me. I wish I had been put into her class. I remember being paddled once but my first grade teacher. I was always so distant though so I could never remember what for. Just that I was taken into the bathroom, had my little pants pulled down, and my butt hit with a ruler. I was confused but didn’t ask questions.

My parents didn’t know how badly I was being mocked at school. If they did or if I did mention anything to them, they dismissed it. How badly could you be bullied in first grade? To them, my torment was joke. I’d build up all this resentment of what was happening to me at school and build up all of my energy and when I got home, I’d be so hyper yet so angry with the world. That year, in first grade, I didn’t just receive new glasses and a new cliche nickname of “four eyes”, but I was put on a medication called Ritalin. The therapist that my parents had been taking me to for years had prescribed me many new medications. At one point, she thought I had bipolar disorder. But she eventually settled on the thought that I may have ADHD. I was put on Ritalin so that I could calm down. My parents didn’t know how much it depressed me. I never paid attention to my grades, but I know they dropped as soon as I was put on The Demon. There was no more hyper-ness for me. I was empty. All I wanted to do was sit down and breath. Second grade was less eventful. I was called names and still bullied. I was a pariah but I didn’t much care. I hated school and everyone in it. I just wanted to go home and pretend I had friends. I liked my imaginary friends more than anyone else in the world. Running around in my yard that seemed an endless adventure island, I’d have hundreds of friends.

Everything happened in fourth grade. Everything got worse. Everything was about to get better. There was this hateful boy who was as mean as a rattle snake. He was suspended almost weekly, as he had been since before I could remember. He didn’t care how horrible he made me feel or how he was going to do it. So when he began pounding mercilessly on my arm one day in line while I was waiting for class, I didn’t do anything. Everyone laughed. I went home that day and cried to my mom. Why didn’t the teachers do anything? Surely they saw him hitting me like he was! Didn’t they hear the kids laughing and making the “ohhhhhh” noise that only kids could make! Why me? Was it because I was the freak? Was it because I was fat? Why was I treated differently? I NEVER talked for Christ’s sake! I sat silently even when a teacher was addressing me, as I had been since the middle of 3rd grade!

The new principal was a mean lady that I called Ms. Witch. She was a young black lady. I had experience with racist teachers before, like in Pre-k with Mrs. Petell but Ms. Witch had more power and she seemed hell bent on making my life miserable. I went to the office for the first time since Kindergarten that year over something I didn’t even do. I can’t remember what. But she must’ve felt pretty damn dumb when the boy who did do it confessed. That wasn’t the first time I had went to the office that year and it wouldn’t be my last, but we’ll get to that after I tell you about KIPP.

In 2001, a school began to be build not far from the school I was currently attending. I had heard that it started with 5th grade. As soon as it began being built, students started coming. You see, it was a charter school in the KIPP foundation and they wanted to get started with the first class, class of 2009, right away. It grew into a all new elementary school and as the class of 2009 was ready to go to high school, a new high school was built just for them. I heard rumors at school that kids were made to sit on cinder blocks when they misbehaved and this thing called “bench.” I remember wishing my school had punishment beside silent lunch and suspension. I’d never do anything bad enough to be suspended (so I thought) and I stopped doing my homework just so I could sit in the quiet protection of the teacher. Sometime my mom would drive by KIPP and I would look at it longingly. Mom noticed.

True Love

You are an abomination.
You’re trash to society.
There’s no way you could gain acceptance.
To love is your crime,
Your existence is a sin.
Just a mistake,
A Disease.
And you can only be cured with religion.

Society says it was your choice to be this way.
Is it something you can change, no they’re

And even if you could change it,
Would you?
You look into your lover’s eyes.

Remember those late night promises.
Burning hearts as you ache for more.
Kisses in public because you’re unafraid to show love.

Goddamn the wicked souls,
Those that condemn you before they know true love.
Heartless beasts chant you’re damned.
Monsters see only gender.

God created two types of men.
And gave us all opinions and preferences.
Love is no exception to men’s preferences.