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?

The Old People Were Right

It has been a little over a month since I graduated high school and not one of my closest friends have contacted me. To my surprise, the people I barely gave the time of day during high school have been the ones to contact me. The person I sat beside in every class, the people I shared a group with the entire year during AP Calculus, the group I ate lunch with every day, the person who told me some of her most personal secrets… not one of them has contacted me. Who HAS contacted me however is the girl who always greeted me when she saw me in the hall, the girl who occasionally asked me for help in AP Literature, and the girl who I ate breakfast with a few times during the year. Of my many friends, only three acquaintances have asked me how I’m doing and have wondered if I wanted to hang out. It’s a little heart breaking as I send texts to old friends to get nothing back and tag friends in posts on Instagram and Facebook to merely get a like, if I’m lucky. I do not have a best friend nor have I ever been especially close to any single person, however, I had a band of friends that were always there for each other that has now disbanded and forgotten one another. Perhaps it’s because they want to move past their high school days and leave old friends behind. Perhaps it’s because they have been too busy to glance at their phones or laptops. Perhaps they just didn’t like me. Whatever the case, I am not bitter, but relieved and somewhat in wonder. I do not have to reminisce about embarrassing educational and social mishaps throughout school but those people who witnessed that and helped me get through it are now all gone. People I talked to daily for the majority of the year are now separating paths and I’m left thinking of how accurate older people are when they say “a social life in high school doesn’t really matter because you’ll never talk to 99% of your classmates again after commencement day”. I used to be reluctant to accept this because every single on of my classmates were so close, however, it’s become true and something I have shared with my sister who is now beginning high school.

Tumblr Blogging Reduced

Oh, Tumblr. The place where middle aged men who want to post their saddened poetry blog anonymously about “the one that got away” during their teenage years; the place where teenage girls post about their obsessions to mainstram boy bands and that good-looking young guy from American Horror Story; the place where guys go to find porn. Yeah. That place. Maybe I just never developed a favorable opinion on Tumblr. Tumblr isn’t necessarily bad but… I don’t see what’s so good. So many of my teachers and friends assume that when I say “I like to blog” that I mean I reblog some pictures and a few funny posts on Tumblr. I don’t know if I should be offended by this assumption or just accept that Tumblr has become so mainstream that bloggers have been reduced to lonely middle aged men, fangirls, and horny teenage boys and that pretty much concludes society’s visualization of bloggers. As a somewhat prominent figure on social media, I have accumulated a fan base for myself complete with 5K (the unfortunate max) Facebook friends, 4K Facebook followers, over 20K Instagram followers, 500 Youtube Subs, and 15K Twitter followers. In my journey throughout building this fanbase, I have never once encountered an especially sophisticated Tumblr. If I were to ask my followers “so what’s your Tumblr user names?” I would more than likely encounter a plethera of teenage girls posting depressing (both in originality and context) poems and reblogging photos of their favorite band. Maybe I’m just not searching the right tags.

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.