I was blind, but now I can see
How ugly I truly can be
When I hold the power of insecurity.

I hide.

With makeup many shades darker than
My true skin tone
Caked onto my skin
To hide
The red, the grease, the bumps.
Wearing sweaters and jeans everyday
To hide
The masterpiece
Of cuts
Across my arms and legs.
Big, baggy shirts
To take away
Any shape I may have.

So I manipulate,
To make up for my ugliness.
And it works.

You filled my head with ideas,
My mind with dreams,
And let my imagination run wild,
Stringing me along like a dog on a leash.
All the while
You sat on the sidelines,
Knowing
That none of it
Can ever
Come true.

But, like a dog, I sometimes string you along, too,
Running, and dragging
You along with me.

Let it be true that
You
And I
Are mortal beasts born to lie
And cry and die.
We are not meant to be
What we long to be.
We are we
And nothing shall change that.

The words are all there;
The letters, too.
Where to find them is the challenge.
Some are thrown right in your face
And for the world to see,
But others
Are still hidden
In my dark mind,
Daring you
To go looking for them
And fix me.

Red against black.
Black against red.
Blood seeping through.
They still leave scars,
Although the pain is not there
Or hidden.

Oh, the contrast…
Such a perfect contrast…
Almost makes the disaster
Pretty…
Beautiful…
How beautiful
It really is.

Like a Feather

Chaos swirls around me,
Shouting.
But in my invisible bubble
There is silence
As I fall
Slowly, calmly, gently,
Like a feather,
With my eyes
Peacefully shut.

I Want to See the World

I want to hike through the Rocky Mountains
Rather than admiring them from afar.

I want to return to San Francisco and Hawaii
In better weather
With friends,
Or on my own,
So I can explore however I please.

I want to visit Vancouver and LA
And see what life’s like in such big cities
Full of stars.

I want to travel all around Europe:
England, Germany, Italy,
France, Greece, Spain,
Finland, Sweden, Switzerland.

I’d love to see Japan,
And Korea and China.
Asia would be a lovely place for me to be.

I want to find myself in places
That I never heard of before.

I want to see the world,
And take photos for memories.

Shaking

Shaking with the cold that’s in the air and in my bones,
Shaking with fear, shaking with sorrow.
Shaking uncontrollably.
Shaking.

The Horror of Fairy Tales

Taught since a young age
To believe in princes and princesses,
Angels and fairies,
Knights in shining armor,
Told that one day we will be
Swept off our feet by a handsome man,
Saved from an unfortunate situation
By a hero we’ll forever be thankful for,
We grow up in a world of lies.

How long does it take us to realize the truth,

That
The only princes and princesses are snobby little bitches,
And the angels are the dead.

The fairies don’t exist;
They’re forever a part of our imagination.

The only knight I’ve come across
Is too fucked up inside his head
To do his job.

The only time we will be
Swept off our feet
We’ll soon after be thrown,
Flipped upside down
Into a puddle of mud.

And the only person who can save you
Is yourself.
So I suggest you save yourself from
This horror
We call
A fairy tale.

Back Off

You think you’re
Leading me away from the cliff
With your well-practiced words,
But really you’re just pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
Soon I may lose balance
And fall
Through the icy air in which I cannot breathe
And find myself
Dead before I hit the ground.

Cold-Hearted

My body shakes uncontrollably with this cold,
But it’s not just this icy weather I wish to shake off.
I can feel deep within me,
In my heart, in my bones,
In my mind
That my past is coming back to haunt me.
And I wish so for it to go away.
I wish to be able to simply
Shiver it away with the cold.

These Nights

These are the nights that are the worst.

My naked body lays, unable to hide
The scars left from my past
That I stare so intently at,
noticing every detail I hadn’t noticed before,
Like how that one is paler and sticks out
And there’s a barely-noticeable indent where that one is.

And I ask myself:
Do I really want more?

The blade is held tightly in my hand,
Prepared to slice,
But also willing to be shoved aside.

I eye the area in which I imagine
The skin being forced open by the silver sharp and blood seeping out.
Gently, I trace the lines I would make?
With my naturally inch-long nails.
Then I push harder—
Hard enough to leave a slight mark that only I can see.
That seems to please me for the time being,
So I put away my weapon,
Hoping the urge doesn’t surface again,
But knowing it will.

A Trapped Soul

In front of the movie theatre, I stood alone, checking myself over. My brown hair fell in short, soft waves that I could see in the reflection of myself on the tinted car window of a red mustang parked sideways in front of me. Tucked into my casual, blue jeans was a white shirt I had just bought the other day, and a simple, black blazer hugged me tightly. At the sight of how I looked in that lighting, a smile grew onto my lips. Behind me, dull light bulbs blinked around the list of movies playing. Constantly, I would look up at the pitch black, cloudy sky or the empty street to check if the angry clouds stopped sprinkling rain upon our city yet. I snuck a peek at my silver pocket watch. She was late. The movie had supposedly started ten minutes ago… But everybody knows that there are ten minutes of previews before the movie actually starts, so I decided to wait a little while longer. My body tensed and my back straightened as I expected to see her arriving soon; nervousness spread throughout me. Half an hour later I allowed disappointment to arrive and relax me with the realization that my girlfriend wasn’t joining me tonight.

Mother Nature showed empathy and halted the cold rain for my long, lonely walk home. After only trudging five blocks, it was time to smoke a cigarette for release. Temporarily ceasing my steps on the wet sidewalk, I let my body fall with a sigh until my shoulder blades and lower back both touched the dry brick wall near a tall, orange street light. I faced away from the light and stared into the distance, which was partly cloudy from the smoke seeping out of my mouth.

A sudden flash of light I spotted out of the corner of my eye broke me out of my trance. My entire body froze. Only thoughts moved. Fear spread. Once panic drifted away enough, my head snapped in the direction the flash had come from. There I saw the only other human in the area. In his hands, a Polaroid camera spat out an image—of me, of course. The photographer carefully slid his newest masterpiece from the camera’s grip, beaming a smile full of crooked yellow teeth towards me. I knew he meant well, but that didn’t stop me from viewing him and his smile as evil. Well aware of the myth, I tried to avoid having it come true my entire life; I was afraid of what would happen to me next, since I had clearly failed at avoiding this man’s camera.

I stared at the man like a deer in headlights. I don’t think he could see it, but I could feel my young soul being torn from my stunned body. A single tear made its way down my pale face as a tingling sensation crawled across my every limb, my torso, and my head. My body was fading away, weakly following my soul into an unknown world.

When I dared myself to open my eyes, nothing seemed different; I was in the same spot on the empty street I was before. Shrugging the photo incident off, I began the rest of my walk home. It took ten minutes of walking before I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere. I was walking straight, but it was like I was walking in circles. Confused by this, I went back to my earlier position against the brick, closed my eyes, and replayed what had happened. I replayed it and replayed it and replayed it, but it made no sense.

Eventually, I found the spot on the sidewalk which I was never able to walk past; when I tried I simply found myself walking towards it again. Once I found this spot, it didn’t take long to realize that my soul and body had been transferred away from reality and into the man’s photograph. That was exactly what the myth had said would happen if my picture ever got taken, but I never thought it would happen to me. There was no way out of this dreary place, it seemed. To pass the time, I visualized the reaction my girlfriend had when the information was passed on to her that I had gone missing the night we were supposed to watch a movie.

***

The moment Karlee placed the plate of pancakes in front of her five-year-old daughter, Lylia, who she received as a result from her last relationship, the phone sang for her attention from the living room. She quickly shuffled out of the kitchen with her tiny, vein-y feet to answer it, wondering who would be calling at this time. “Hello?” she shot at the caller, annoyed.

“Hello? Ms. Smith? Ms. Karlee Smith? It’s Cody’s father, Joseph. You’re the girl he has been dating lately, are you not? The brunette with the child, right? When was the last time you saw Cody? Do you recall where you two last went and what you did?” he questioned Karlee as if she were a teenager again, not the 25-year-old woman she was.

“Uhm, yes, Cody and I are dating. I was supposed to go to a movie with him last night, but I was late, and he was no longer there when I arrived. If you’re just calling me to give me a lecture about how to be a better girlfriend or something, then I don’t want to he—”

“That’s not the problem, Ms. Smith. You see… well… according to Cody’s roommate, he never arrived back at his apartment last night, there has been no answer on his cell phone, and none of his friends know where he is, so we reported him as missing this morning. I was just wondering if you would join us in a search we’ve scheduled for the weekend.” Joseph rambled on.

Karlee had stopped listening when she heard the word “missing.” The phone dropped out of her delicate hands and crashed to the ground, leaving a slightly noticeable dent in her brand new parquet flooring. She stood there, shocked, with her bruised knees threatening to give out on her and with Joseph constantly shouting “hello?” into the phone.

Lylia bounded into the living room at that moment, her blonde ringlets bouncing all over the place. She stopped instantly when she saw the grief on her mother’s face, and then took the last few steps to embrace her thin body with a hug. Karlee burst out crying.

***

Cody found himself crying as well, imagining this event taking place. He couldn’t stand being trapped any longer. There were no guns around; only a road, sidewalk, streetlight, and brick wall. Taking the only choice he felt he had, he stood up, faced the wall, took a final, deep breath and begun smashing his head into the brick with full force until he no longer could. Finally, after many blows to the head, he fell to the ground. He situated his mouth over the growing puddle of dark red blood and gave up.

Memories of You

i. When you cross my mind I don’t focus on the last few weeks of our friendship. Instead, my mind only remembers our sweet, sweet memories together

Memories of You

ii. When I pass by your house in a car, the bus, or even when I’m simply walking by, I cannot fight the urge to quickly steal a glance at your house. Sometimes I even imagine where you may be and what you may be doing. Usually I picture you in your bedroom, telling the girl that lies comfortably on your bed that it’s “death metal time.”

Memories of You

iii. You used to drag me out to the garage to accompany you while you smoked. I would sit, bored, on the steps, and you sat with your legs crossed on the chair, smoking. Sometimes you would wander over to your drum set and show off a little for me, and I would always smile.

Memories of You

iv. Oh, your hugs—there was something very different about them that I liked. To be honest here, you’re not the skinniest guy around, and normally I’d hate that. Hugging you, though, was always comforting, and I believe your weight played a part in making it that way. I could hug you forever.

Memories of You

v. It wasn’t the first snowfall, but it was our first snowfall together. We were excited. The moment it changed from fall to winter, we had begun planning to make an igloo with couches inside and hotbox it on the first snowy day. Bounding across the empty street and into the park, we started smoking our weed before creating our couches and igloo. When we finished the bowl, we had a quick snowball fight. But we forgot gloves, so we headed back to your house to grab some. We didn’t make it back outside to build couches and an igloo; I fell asleep. And by the time I woke up, all the snow was washed away by the rain.

Memories of You

vi. I have a bad habit of napping at people’s houses. Yours was no exception. Your bed was the most comfortable bed I ever sat on. Whenever I would wake up from a short or long nap in your bed, I would wake up to you laying beside me and us holding hands. It was comforting, knowing that even in my sleep you were there, refusing to let me go.

Memories of You

vii. I only live a 5-10 minute walk from the school we both went to, but I’m lazy. You convinced me to accompany you on the walk to school every morning. I waited for you at the corner by the stop sign everyday, watching you walk towards me, smiling at your strange style. We would hold hands up until we got to the hills. I never have liked holding hands with someone while walking uphill. I wish I held your hand when walking up those hills, though.

Memories of You

viii. You knew how much I loved your blue plaid shirt more than anything else you owned, but you still insisted on wearing your red plaid jacket all the time. I didn’t mind that one much, though. Sometimes we would both wear our red plaid shirts on the same day by accident. It was cute. Every time I wear that shirt, I still think of how much you loved it on me.

Memories of You

ix. Kittens were your weak spot. You melted the moment you saw one, as did I. A calendar filled with them hung on your wall, and I would always write cute messages for you on a random day when you weren’t looking. I remember when we went to a New Years party and you paid more attention to the host’s kitten than anything else. I did the same at Tasha’s party recently.

Memories of You

x. I could never get over how damn cute you were with your constant blushing. The smallest comment of mine would cause your face to turn red. And then you’d turn your face slightly away from me, attempting to hide your blushing.

Memories of You

xi. Family has never meant much to me, but you were such a momma’s boy. I would always stand around the kitchen with you while you made her sandwiches and coffee and deliver it to her when she arrived home from work. And you would make me my usual blue Kool-Aid at the same time. At one point you even started to buy me strawberry syrup so I could have my favorite, strawberry milk, instead.

Memories of You

xii. I think of you more often than I’d like to admit; I swear I do at least once a day.

Fashion, Here I Come

Multiple dresses will hang their lonely selves in my closet, showing off their uniqueness and variety. Black tutus will cling to some. Ruffles and lace will decorate the bottoms, the chest area, the back, the shoulders, the sides. There will be dresses that tickle my knees, short party dresses that flaunt my body, and maxi dresses that end at my ankles. Flowery patterns will be scattered across the torso, the skirt. Plain reds and blues and greens will cover my body. Perhaps even yellows and pinks will have appearances. Skin-tight dresses will mix with poofy dresses. Dresses that resemble night gowns will gently drape over my slender figure. I’ll have shirts that are long enough to be considered dresses. Fancy dresses I rarely will be able to wear appropriately will have a reserved place. Blouses will be placed with the easily-wrinkled skirts, with the dresses. Rompers will scatter themselves amongst the dresses as well.

Shirts. I’ll have plaid shirts, black shirts, colored shirts, striped shirts. Logos of bands, some that I don’t even listen to, will be splattered onto my shirts, along with unfamiliar and familiar cartoons. I’ll wear v-necks and crew-necks. Button-up shirts and shirts with zippers. Tank tops, t-shirts, long sleeved shirts, cropped shirts. Knit and wool and cotton. Even beneath my clothes, there will be variety.

Plain bras will compete with lacy bras. Polka dots and stripes will transform into flowers. For plain days will be plain colors. Corsets and brassieres. I’ll strut around in sexy thongs. I’ll put on a show for whoever happens to be lucky.

My hair, my makeup, my jewelery, and my nail color will constantly be changing to compliment my outfits. Curly or straight, short or long, up or down. Accessories are key. Sparkles or bold colors. Silver or gold. Bows, in my hair and around my neck. Tuques, berets, and fedoras will keep my head warm.

Blue jeans, red jeans, purple jeans, pink jeans. Black jeans, grey jeans, white jeans. Skinny jeans, boot-cut, flare. Ripped jeans. The pockets will peek through the bottoms of my shorts. Shorts and skirts will take turns being pulled up to my waist; maybe even jeans will have a shot at hugging my waist as well. Tights will hide themselves under skirts and shorts; plain, fishnet, lacy. Leg warmers will provide warmth for my lower legs and be matched with heels or flats.

Boots and booties. Heels and flats. Runners and skate shoes. Sandals and flip-flops. I’ll take a walk in your shoes.

Every style will have a chance. I’ll wear a different outfit everyday.

Rip

I silently gazed out the tinted window of an unfamiliar red van in thought. Interrupting my thinking, I felt a finger poke my cheek. “You had an eyelash on your cheek. See?” she excitedly said while shoving the finger that my eyelash sat upon towards my mouth. Once she noticed the confused expression occupying my face, she explained that I was supposed to close my eyes, blow the eyelash away, and make a wish. I glanced down at the eyelash that grew out of my eyelid only moments ago and squeezed my eyes shut, then sent a small gust of air out of my lungs and towards the eyelash as my friend had requested.

“Why make a wish on only a small hair?” I asked, interested to hear her response.

“It’s the same as blowing the seeds off of dandelions and wishing on them as they float through the air,” she spoke, with a tone implying that I should have already known that.

With the explanation behind wishing on an eyelash, I wished to wish more. I wanted to make a thousand or more of the same wishes; I would wish that same wish until it came true. My imagination ran away at that moment, picturing how my life would change for the better if I could fly like I wished. It would surely be sensational, feeling the wind whip through my hair as I stare down at hundreds of vehicles slugging their way through paved streets.

That night, as I sat on my uncomfortable bed with my knees up in the air, leaning my back against the pillow I’d owned since I was a baby, with my face looking up to the plain ceiling in my room, I thought about what my friend had told me that day. I wondered if the wish would come true or not. It was only one small wish on an unrealistic idea, though, so the chances were slim. But what if I had an infinite number of wishes? Then maybe my wish would come true. I would have to wish for more than just to fly, though, because I’d have no wings. ‘Angels have wings,’ I thought, and I had always adored angels; to be one would be pleasant.

I slowly raised my hand to my eye and swiped my finger across the tips of my eyelashes. Carefully, I gripped a patch in between my fingers, and took a quick and shallow breath in. With a sudden movement of my wrist and arm, I ripped out the patch of eyelashes. My other hand instantly flew to cover my sore eye and put some slight pressure on it to lessen the pain. I maneuvered my body to face the window that the moon brightly shone through, brought the eyelash clump close to my face, and closed my eyes. ‘I wish I was an angel, I wish I was an angel, I wish I was an angel,’ I repeated several times in my head as I released the breath of air I had sucked in earlier. My eyes began to inch open, and I looked up to the sky, searching for the stars. I believed that if my eyelashes reached the stars, then my wish would come true. So over and over again, I plucked my eyelashes out, until there were none left and I was immune to the pain; I was determined to have my ridiculous wish come true.

My eyes felt naked come the next day at school; I felt before that my eyelashes had always protected me from the stares of others into my unique, French green eyes. “What happened to your eyes? They have no eyelashes,” a young girl that must have been around nine years old pointed out.

“I, uh, ripped them out,” I managed to stutter out in a whispered voice.

“Why would you do that? Wouldn’t that hurt?” she pressed on with more questions that I was unwilling to answer.

“No,” was all that I replied with before I rushed off. Thankfully, the bell had rung and I escaped back to class, hoping that nobody else would question me on my lack of tiny, curled hairs sprouting from my eyelids. Nobody did. I was relieved to know that there were no more questions; I hated lying.

Picture day came, months later, and as my mother carefully curled my hair for me she finally noticed my lack of eyelashes and asked what happened to them. “I don’t know,” I lied. “My eyes are itchy all the time and I rub them a lot, so they probably all fell out,” I continued. She believed me. ‘Damn my ability to lie so well,’ I thought. Soon after spilling those lies, I realized that I shouldn’t have said that; my mother instantly thought I must have had something wrong with my eyes. Many times I would try to convince her that I didn’t need to see a doctor, and that I didn’t need eye drops. How long would it take her to just get used to it?

Over time, my wishes changed completely. I moved through multiple wishes: for five consecutive days I wished to be an angel, imagining what it would be like to protect somebody while wearing a halo above my head and have white, fluffy wings protruding out of my elegant dress, and for three months I wished only to be pretty. I wished so damn hard. My wishes had become more realistic, obviously, but were still a far off fantasy.

Years later, in middle school, my eyes were too busy staring at the whiteboard to notice the stranger sitting diagonally to me staring intensely, studying my looks. It caught me completely by surprise when she blurted out the usual question “why don’t you have any eyelashes?!”

“Uh, -” she cut me off before I could say anything more.

“Did you accidentally rip the out with your eyelash curler?” she spoke in a gentler tone, to me directly. “I did that when I first used one. It hurts, doesn’t it? Once you learn to use it better, you won’t have that problem anymore,” she continued to ramble on. I just gave a small nod, tuning out her annoying voice, and feeling relief for the fact that I didn’t need to explain the truth.

I no longer wished for anything when I blew away my eyelashes at that age. I only pulled them out as a habit; a bad habit. I ripped them out when I was angry, frustrated, stressed, upset, or nervous because it felt good. I wanted my long eyelashes back again, though; I longed to feel them against my pillow when I blinked and to swipe my finger across them once again. Two months had been the longest I could ever resist the temptation. Each time they grew to a certain length, I gave in to relieve myself from the urge I could never ignore.

Only recently did I come to the realization that ripping out my eyelashes is not just a bad habit. What I do has a name. It’s a type of obsessive compulsive disorder, called trichotillomania. I’m lucky that I only suffer with my eyelashes; many others rip out their eyebrows and the hair on their scalp. One day, though, I won’t need to hide behind loads of black eyeliner, because I’ll have long eyelashes again, I swear.

A New Beginning

I don’t know why I did it. I think it was just curiosity. Through friends I only conversed with through electronics, I had been exposed to a destructive lifestyle and a disgusting habit that I was unable to break away from. Willingly, I fled from the simple life I knew; the oblivious girl I once was truly was gone, even though I pretended that she still resided in my untouchable body. While continuing to act the same, nobody noticed I changed; nobody was there to tell me that I was blindly stumbling in the wrong direction. A life of deceit, of manipulation, and of lies was the new life I chose to enter. I didn’t realize until it was too late that it was myself I caused the most harm to rather than my pathetic puppets. For years I was convinced that I was shredding and shattering others’ simple lives and leaving them with permanent emotional scarring. Harshly hurting them seemed to be the only way to make sure I wasn’t forgotten or left behind; I used their fear of me to pressure them into staying with me. Basically, I had them all helplessly dangling on their own unbreakable strings; only I held the strength to cut them loose. It didn’t bother me, though, to know what I was doing to such young, innocent people. At least I didn’t think it did. Unconsciously, though, I was slowly falling deep into a hole that I would be unable to claw and climb my way out of; I was losing my precious sanity and turning into a malicious monster.

Over the years that I paraded about carrying the power to destroy, anger filtered into my veins through invisible holes on the edges of my heart that I constantly tried to patch up. I held a grudge against all who had hurt me and planned for a deviant revenge.

After many hours upon hours of brainstorming ideas, I stood silently in front of my body-length mirror. Through the darkness of my spacious room I could still see my hollow green eyes blankly staring back at me. I felt no anger, no sadness… I felt nothing. Swiftly, I flicked on my energy-saving light bulb; usually that light made my bedroom bright like daylight, but that night the entire world was dull to me. With cold, shaky hands I swiped black eyeliner across the area where my eyelashes should have sprouted out and caked on my powder foundation which always was multiple shades darker than my skin tone; they didn’t make strong enough foundation for skin as pale as mine. I took a small, fragile step back to examine my petite body for a last time. I compared what I saw then to what I saw summers ago, back when happiness existed in me. My hair, which used to be brilliant shades of brown and blonde had lost its shine and melted into one, plain color. Eyes that used to sparkle with a bright, French green resembled the empty eyes of a patient with Parkinson’s disease and had faded into a shade of grey. No smile, smirk, or frown inched onto my lips, much to my dismay; I had hoped for a sign of emotion to change my mind. No tan lines existed on my body, for I had never burned or tanned my precious pale skin. My recent lack of appetite was obvious when I glanced down at my slim stomach. When my eyes looked up and down my arms and legs, they always stopped at the patches of red, fading scars. The memories of how they were carved into my limbs speedily flashed through my mind: the brilliant metallic shine catching my eye, the reflection of my wondrous face, the movement of my arm as I roughly swipe the sharp metal across my skin, the glistening blood leaking out of my body and slowly dripping down, and the panicked swabbing.

Suddenly, I turned around and snatched my favourite outfit off of my furry black rug and hurriedly dressed myself. I tiptoed silently on the hardwood floor down the hallway and into my mother’s bathroom. With the door closed, I turned on the tap to cover the sound of my rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Once I found what I was searching for, I hid the bottle in my pocket, washed my hands, hunted in the fridge for yogurt, and then fled for the computer room.

As the computer blinked between different pictures, starting up, I stuffed a number of pills into every spoonful of yogurt I digested. Relaxed, I signed onto Skype and sent a request to have a video conversation with a new friend of mine. We talked and laughed, as we always did, for an hour before he ended the chat with his promise that if anything was ever wrong I could call him and he would make me happy again, and I said my final goodbye.

I wasn’t surprised to find myself in the emergency room at the hospital that night. Being forced to drink a cup of charcoal is extremely unpleasant, though, I must say, as is vomiting multiple times afterwards. Carrying new hope, I expected to stay at the hospital for as short a time as possible. Sitting in a cold, cramped ambulance on the highway to a psych ward in Courtenay, I realized the stupidity of my actions, though. With half my belongings that I brought along with me being taken away, I didn’t know what to do with myself until morning, so I began to look for anything to keep me entertained and separate me from all the other maniacs in the ward. Spotted, the phone sat, unused, by the office. Memorized before my phone was stolen from my bruised hands, I dialled the number of my friend. Three times I had to hear the annoying ring of a phone before his answering machine cheerily spoke to me. I didn’t leave a message, and he never talked to me after that day.

I’ll never forget his promise, though, that that if anything was ever wrong, to call him right away, and he would make me happy.

The nights
When the moon
Lights up those
Normally dark streets
Are the nights
When you can find me
Wandering
Underneath the moonlight
With inspiration sprinting about
In my head
As I’m living in bliss.

Drifting in and out
Of consciousness,
Losing track of what’s
Real and what was just
A dream,
Focus is barely there.

Did I say something?

How long have I been
Gone
For?

And then my eyes
Are closed again.

It's like I'm skating

without ice.

You make him out
To be a monster of a man,
But I can prove to you
That he’s not.

Lost Dreams.

I stand
In the middle of this empty field
As my shoes become soaked by the grass.
On the sidewalk in the distance
I watch you take your final steps
Away from me,
And away from our memories.
Before you step out of sight,
You take one glance back at me
At the same time a shooting star crosses the sky.

That falling star
Carries millions of wishes
From hopeful, desperate people
That will never come true.

And as I watch that
Falling star above you,
I watch my dreams fall with it.

The First Time He Saw My Face.

The first time I presented
myself to him
while lacking makeup
I expected the worst.

He asked me
to lay down and close my eyes.
Afraid of what he might do,
and feeling self conscious,
I did anyway.

I was slightly startled when I felt
the warmth of his hand
caressing my face.

His fingers
touched each curve,
each bump,
and each imperfection
of my naked face.
He brushed and pet my eyebrows,
noticing their true color.
His fingers tickled my eyelashes
as I imagined a frown
forming upon his face
in disappointment.
He traced his fingers
along and around my lips,
memorizing their shape,
before softly kissing me.
With little pressure,
he massaged my cheeks…
and my temples,
causing me to relax.
He swiped my bangs
to the side of my face
to uncover my forehead:
a place he had never seen before,
even when buried beneath makeup.

After minutes,
he moved down to my arms,
my torso,
my legs,
my feet,
and my back,
rubbing and massaging
every inch of my body.
His fingers danced
on my body;
he used the fingernails of his
that were barely existent
to lightly run across
my beckoning skin.

And after he was done,
all I could do
was stare and smile at him,
and hope
he could read the words in my eyes:
I love you.

Come Back... Please

I must learn to move on.

When our
Supposedly romantic relationship
Dies,
I will always be the first to
Move onto another
Vulnerable person.
Yet, when it’s
Our precious friendship
That ends,
It is I
Who will forever dwell
On what was previously there.
It is I
Who freezes the day constantly
Just to reminisce
And wish so hard
For the people of the past to come back
That tears fall.

Am I the only one
Who longs
For life to rewind,
Even if only for a day,
So to say a proper goodbye?

You Were Forgotten.

Your name crosses my vision
And I have to take a second look
In order to remember
That
I used to know you.
A recent picture
Of your pretty face
With that stunning smile
I used to see everyday
Stands out among
The blurry ones
With unfamiliar people.
As memories of
Our days together
Flood my head
A pang
Of slight aching
Slowly begins in my chest
While my entire face
Droops
In sadness.

A World Without Hate

A world
without hate
is a world many long for.

Hate has been drilled
into our minds
and hearts
ever since we were children.
It has caused
emotional damage
that is beyond repair,
scarring people
and changing
their views on the human race.
Hate is often taken further,
to a physical level,
targeting specific individuals,
random strangers,
groups of people,
and people who are just
in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

Hate itself
is hated.

With the lack of
such a strong, common emotion though,
where would we be?

Most would assume
that without hate
they would be able
to walk alone in the streets
without the fear
of being attacked
for who they are
or what they’ve done.
It would be assumed
that everyone
would be friendly to each other;
no harsh, judgmental words
would be thrown at innocent people
on a daily basis
for the sole purpose
of hurting them emotionally.
And without others sending
hate towards them,
they would have no reason
to hate themselves.

But can’t you all see
that none of that is true?

Without hate
we would be without love.
Every emotion must have an opposite
in order to exist.
If there was no hate
none of us would know what love is,
because there would be no
opposite emotion
to compare love to.
The range of emotions
a person is capable of
would be lessened,
and the emotion above hate
would likely be considered
to be hate;
it would still exist.
It will always exist.

We don’t need to change
the amount of hate
in this world.
More acceptance and forgiveness
is what’s needed in this world instead.

I had a dream…

I dreamed of the day
When my skin would be flawless,
And not an ounce of unwanted fat
Would sit uselessly on my body.

I dreamed of my future career
In front of a camera.
I could show off my photographic
Body and expressions
With unique poses.
I’d be captured perfectly,
If only I were my own photographer.

I dreamed of a birthday
Full of masks.
Women in beautiful ball gowns
Swaying around a room
With handsome men in tuxedos.
I would be another
Mysterious, unknown face amongst the crowd.

I dreamed of myself
Dressing up in a gorgeous prom dress
Like no other,
With my brown hair grown long and luscious
And my face glowing with happiness.

…and it was crushed.

Moving Shadows.

Through the window
The sun’s rays shine.
Across my feet
The light hits.
To my bare eyes
The light and heat
Is unmoving,
Yet every time I look down
More shadows
Crawl over me,
Pushing the rays away
And replacing them with
The cold that comes with
A lack of sun.

Times goes by so fast,
Dragging the warmth of the summer sun
With it,
Unnoticed.

A birthday is just another day for you to get your hopes and expectations as high as the clouds, but then have them crushed into tears.

Teardrops.

The refreshment cold tears
Running down your face
Inch by inch
Gives
Is incredible;
All anger and sadness is able
To leave your body
At the same time
And through the same,
Harmless method.
Nobody knows that you’re crying
Unless they look at your hidden face,
Because the teardrops fall
Silently.
While looking at the ground
To hide your face
You can see them
Splattering on the floor
Through blurred vision.
And after the release is done
There is no trace of it left.

Eye-Opener.

You know what? I do feel sorry for you.
I feel sorry that you were weak enough to fall into her trap
And become her victim.
You were just what she was always looking for:
Someone with a good life,
Someone with potential,
Someone that’s too-nice,
And someone
Hoping for love.
You were stupid
And fell hopelessly in love with this fiend;
What a shame.
I sat back and watched her take advantage of you
And your poor soul;
The drugs she shoved down your throat,
And the classes she forced you to skip,
And the family and friends she lost you
Were all for her own entertainment.
She told you ridiculous, heart-wrenching lies
To hold your attention
And keep you by her side,
And only now does she speak the truth.
Only now do you all see what I saw all along:
A pathetic girl attempting to drag
Everyone above her
Down into her hell of a life.

A Fractured Life.

How long has it been now?
A month?
Two months, three months, six months?
A year?
…Two years?
It feels like it has been going on forever,
For my entire life.

And now,
Years later,
I look back
And realize
It was only a small fracture of my life
That I barely remember.
And then I manage a
Small laugh
At how big of a deal I made it
Back then.

The littlest things become
Magnified,
Causing panic,
Until reality kicks in
Years later
To show you
How silly you were being.

Asexuality.

Lies—
Simple one- or two-word lies
Told to hide
What I consider to be
My secret.
Is it always
The things that make you
Who you are
That you try
Desperately to keep hidden
From even the ones
Closest to you?

Am I still
In the closet
As long as I lie
And keep the truth to myself
Out of fear?
No, not out of fear—
Out of knowing that
My sexuality
Will destroy
All future relationships for me.
But I’m an actress;
Can’t I act like
I’m not asexual?
But
I am asexual.
Who In their right mind
Would want an asexual?
How many people
Can say they’ve dated one?
And how many
Of those people
Can honestly say
They enjoyed it?
So many of our beings
Are naturally sexual,
So why would one choose
Someone who is not at all?

Games.

I like the games
As long as
I’m in control.
Their
Fighting and struggling
To win
Amuse me
Knowing that there
Is no winner;
They’re just being used.

Before It's Gone.

One could easily
Take for granted
The beautiful view
Of mountains and
An ocean
Outside their window.
It’s only when
New, huge houses
Get built
To block the view
That it’s realized
They should have
Cherished what they had
Before it was gone.

No pictures were ever taken of it-
There were barely even any
Glances out the window
To admire the beautiful
View of nature.

Childhood Memories.

A splash
Of a memory
From my childhood
Arises while in the shower.

I cup my hands together
Underneath the falling water,
Gathering the warm water in my hands
Until it starts to overflow.
Then, with a sudden movement
I let it all go
And listen to the booming sound it makes
As it slams against the shower floor.
I gather the water
Once more in my hands,
But this time
Throw it up in the air
Like celebratory confetti
And feel it
Sprinkle back down on me.

Theivery.

In a world taken over by technology
It is not easy
To avoid and hide from
Cameras—
A popular electronic
Enjoyed by many
That are meant
To capture memories
In the form of pictures to keep forever.

“Photographers” are everywhere;
On the train, in the streets, at the beach,
Dying to get that perfect photo
Of those exotic flowers
Or that intriguing stranger.

When one with odd beliefs about cameras
Sees the unmistakable
Flash
Of a camera
Hit them like lightning,
Their whole world freezes
In a wave of panic
As they slowly turn their head
To spot the human
With the camera
Pointed directly at them.
The picture taken
Inches its way out of the camera—
It’s a Polaroid.
The victim of the photographer wishes
That with unfamiliar speed
He could
Run,
Snag the photo,
And disappear.
But instead
He just stands there,
Horrified,
As he fades away
With his soul.

Alone in the World.

Nobody will always be there for you.
No one is ever really there for you.

Don’t rely on others
Because in the end
You’re always alone.

Self Conscious

Standing in front of the mirror,
She paints on her mask
Of makeup
With the morning sun
Reaching through her window
To provide light.
She piles layers upon layers
Of clothing
On her body as well,
To take away her shape.
Every morning is the same.
She does what she can
To hide her real face and body
From the view of others
Because she’s afraid
Of what they will think,
And of the looks they would give her.
If it’s too ugly for her own eyes
That are used to it
To look at,
Then how would anybody else
Manage to look at her
Without giving her a look
Of disgust?
Whether or not
The colors match
Is unimportant;
All that matters
Is hiding
Her true self.
The level of begging
People do
To convince her
To show herself
Will never work;
She will always refuse
Until she is happy with what she sees.

Options.

vi. Raised high above the water,
I stand on a bridge.
I lean over the rail and look down,
Wondering what it would feel like
To fall all the way down.
Hesitantly, I step over the railing.
I take one look back at me,
At the people walking by—
Why don’t they tell me to stop?—
And jump.

How nice it feels
To finally be
Soaring through the sky,
With nothing
And no one
Holding me back.
There’s no going back
For me now;
This is it,
I’m free.

Options.

v. 40 minutes
Into the woods
I walk,
Following
The tracks of travel.
No thoughts
Occupy my mind;
I’m completely empty.
The whistle blows
From a distance,
So I ready myself;
One foot at a time,
I step onto the tracks
And plant myself there strongly.
When I see it
Round the corner,
I take a quick, deep, final breath
And squeeze shut my eyelids,
Preparing myself for
The impact.

The surprise comes, though,
When I don’t feel it;
Instead, I feel the train
Rush past me,
Only a foot away.
When did I jump off the tracks?

How much panic
Washed over the one
In the front of the train
When he realized
He could not stop?
How often
Does it happen?

Options.

iv. An unfamiliar place
With unfamiliar people,
Doing an unfamiliar thing.

I inch myself forward,
Past the line that says
“Do not pass this line,
For your own safety.”
I glance down the tunnel
And see the lights
Heading towards us all
With high speed.
If I timed it right,
I could jump.
But what would come first,
Electrocution
Or being hit?

And how many of these strangers’ minds
Would my suicide haunt?

Options.

iii. The fresh cuts on my wrist
Look like nothing.
Would I have the guts
To give myself
The final cut?
Watching the skin peel apart
As the blade swipes,
And watching the blood
Gush out…
I long to see
My blood pour out of my body
And create a puddle
On the tiled floor;
The idea intrigues me so greatly.
My vision would be filled
With such a lovely red
Before seeing black.

But how long would it be
Before someone
Realized what I was doing
And smashed through the door?
Would they think my
Puddle of blood
Is beautiful too,
Like I would?

Options.

ii. I sit cross-legged on my bed
With the pills scattered in front of me.
One, two, three at a time
I take them
Until the whole pile is gone.
Then I lay down
On that same bed
And wait.

The pain is great,
And the days seem to be months,
But if it’s the last thing I ever feel
Then it’s worth it.

Options.

i. The sun beats down,
Shooting rays of warmth and light
Towards me
And reflecting off the
Ocean waters
With hopeful sparkles.

But I imagine something else:
Grey clouds covering the entire sky,
Rapidly billowing to the west
With the strong gusts of wind
That I can’t escape.
The ocean stirs,
And waves crash
Everywhere around me.
Slowly, I bring my body closer
And closer
To the ice-cold salt water;
My soul is already there,
Drowning.
I ignore the fact
That I can no longer feel my body
Because of the cold
And continue walking
Until all I see is black
And the air in my lungs
Has been replaced by water.

And when my dead body
Sifts itself back onto the shore
Of that sandy beach…
And when that young girl
Screams
When she sees it…
And when her mother runs over
And sees it as well…
And when there’s a number of people
Crowded around my body,
Awaiting the arrival of an ambulance…
When I could have gone
Where no one would ever find my body…
Well, what can I say?
I like sandy beaches.

What Happened?

Our words
Will never be the same
As they used to be.
The choices we made
Tore us apart
Slowly,
And neither of us
Bothered to reach out
And take hold of the other’s hand
To hold us together.
We stared at each other
With sadness illuminating in our eyes
As the truth eventually
Showed its ugly face;
Our past was never real.
Everything we thought was right before
We now realize was always lies
Made for each other
To shield us from the loneliness
In our lives.
We both needed hope…
But then you found real hope
And left me
Like I never really mattered.

We’ll patch each other up though,
Right?

Hun, I Love You, But.

Keep your dreams out of the skies,
Your hopes held not-so-high,
And your eyes out for lies…
And I could give you a billion reasons for why.

Don't Lie to Me.

Despite how hard you try to hide it,
Secrets lie between us;
I can see them
Seeping into the air in front of you
And clouding around your mouth.

In the Blink of an Eye.

Through this schoolyard field I rush
And run
Trying so hard
To escape this chaos
That has so suddenly
Come about.
I silence the screams and cries
Of every living body around me,
And especially the ones that suffer,
By bringing myself elsewhere
Into a fantasy.
Here,
It’s a meadow
In which I skip
And frolic
And race through,
Sharing playful laughs
With invisible friends.
We pick flowers—
Dandelions to make wishes upon.
And we just lay in the grass,
Having ourselves a silent conversation
While cloud shapes float by.
Eventually we will go, though,
Through forest trails,
Back to our unfortunate realities.
The only thing
To transport back with me
Will be
The sound my hair makes
As the wind swishes through it,
Tangling and untangling numerous strands of curly hair
As I run.

Follow Me Into the Dark.

I wander through this maze,
Hopelessly following
Black shadows that cross my path
And disappear,
Ignoring the urgent chirps of birds
Warning me to turn the other way
And flee at my fastest speed.
But little do these noise-makers know
That it’s always shadows
That lead me to safety and comfort.

Curses.

And it’s days like these
When I wish such a curse didn’t live inside of me
And possess my being.

Leaving Home.

A good idea
It might be
To scrounge up the money
That I need.
But the “might”
Is what worries me—
Maybe I’m not ready to yet leave.

Busbusbus.

Small talk
On the bus
Doesn’t seem so awkward
When our focus is on
The unique, unmistakable sounds
Of a moving bus
And the intriguing conversations
Of others.

When There Were Butterflies,

Everything was amplified.
The colors of the world
Were brighter
And of higher contrast,
The days seemed to
Go on forever
In a neverending summer,
The constant laughs and smiles
Made life look so happy…
And the numbers were higher;
Temperatures, hours of sunlight,
And how many caterpillars there were.

Now, life is so dull;
Everything has faded
And become depressing.
Each day blends into the next,
The dread growing.
And there seems to be
Less
Of what makes life worth it;
Less butterflies
Soar through the sky
During sunny summer days.

The Things Not Mentioned.

Did I ever tell you?

I tend to keep my tendencies to myself.

Let’s just keep the past in the past.

But
Secrets
Could hurt you.

I’m sorry.

Always left with a loss of words...

I don't deserve something so pretty.

No chance to redeem yourself;
I’m gone.

Wishful Thinking

You make me wish.

On this couch
We lay.
Your body rests
Beside mine
With your legs
Beautifully entangled
With mine.
One hand of yours
Grips mine;
There, I can feel your
Struggle to stay awake.
Gently,
I tickle your sides
With the fingernails
On my free hand.
The light
Slips through the window,
Casting shadows
So that I can barely see you
With the dimness of the room,
Yet I admire you
And your features anyway.
Just above the volume
Of a whisper,
We speak to each other
With pauses
To share kisses.
Somewhere inbetween
Those moments of
Contact between our lips
The words “I love you”
Are spoken;
Not from my mouth though.
I know I cannot
Return those words to you,
For I do not yet feel that way
And don’t approve of lying
About such strong feelings.
So instead I tell you truths
Of how happy I am.

And the more laughs we share,
And the more I look at you,
And the more I hear your voice,
And the closer we get,
The more this feels like a dream…
The more you feel like a simple
Character
From a too-perfect dream.
When will it all crash down upon me?
I hope never.

Blind Eyes

I have such
Pretty eyes,
I know,
It’s such a shame to have to
Cover them
With glasses.

And it’s
Saddening to know
That one day
They won’t be able
To view the world
Any longer,
Ruined by
Blindness

All beautiful things
Are broken,
It seems.

The Reaper

Death is standing on my porch
And knocking on my door,
But I’m screaming at it,
Saying that it’s not my time yet,
And begging it
To let me finish
With what I need to do
Before I’m stolen from this world
And dragged into the deep pit
Of Hell.

Figment of My Imagination

Why is it that
Whenever I talk to you,
I feel as if
I’m talking to
Someone that’s not real…
A character from a book, perhaps.
Not because you’re perfect;
I don’t know why.
You make
Keeping my mind
In a fantasy world
Easy.

Don't Abandon Me

I no longer can feel
The tiredness in my droopy eyes,
Or the contact between my feet
And the ground they touch.
My senses are disappearing;
My soul is fighting
To get out of the body
It's trapped in.

Attached

Lace your fingers with mine
And let it be proof
That I won’t let you go.

Give Me Answers

I wait to hear the answers aloud
From others’ mouths
To the questions
I only ever asked
Inside my head.

Save Me From Insanity

I strip
And I scratch
And I cry out so silently,
Laying in my bed,
Awaiting the arrival
Of someone to
Busy my hands with theirs,
Hold my body close to theirs,
And shush my silent cries.

Panic Attack

Why is it that
I strip of my clothing
So quickly
When the times comes to change?
It’s almost as if
I am in fear
Or digust
Of them,
Anxious to rid my body
Of the clinging fabrics.

Leave My Body

May I strip away all my sins,
All my fears,
All my mistakes,
All my regrets,
My stupidity,
And all other unwanted
Aspects of me—
My life.
Just save the insanity,
Maybe.
May I strip away all
Said things
With the stripping of these clothes?
Night after night,
I’ll try.

I'm Next

My eyes always wander,
Scanning the area
For who it could be.
The thought occurred quite suddenly though,
That it could be me.

Lazy.

I have been robbed
Of all my energy.
All I can do now
Is lay here
With my eyes closed,
Unmoving,
And not to speak a word.

My Best Friend

To have truthful friends to
Tell you how bad you look, to
Show their hate for who you’re dating, to
Laugh at all hope you have for yourself, to
Have no respect for you, to
Slam your head into walls and
Push you to the ground, to
Hate you, to
Treat you like the horrible, disgusting
Monster that you are.

Just Give Up

Stop complaining,
All of you.
I’m not making you wait;
You’re choosing to.
I’m not worth the wait anyway,
So why bother?

Remember Me

When I lay here, dead,
None of this will matter anymore…
So why does it matter now
If it won’t then?
I’d rather spend time
Doing something
That people will
Remember me for.

Kiss Me

My lips are screaming out the words
“Just kiss me,”
But you don’t seem to be getting the message.

Unbalanced

In my two hands
I balance
Two people;
One person in each hand.
Although sometimes
One side outweighs the other,
Neither side ever hits the ground.
Yet,
Now that I see you
Standing in front of me,
I want to simply
Drop
The two of you that
Occupy my hands
And instead
Wrap you up in my arms
And claim you as mine.
The only problem
Is the hurt I would feel
When I would look back
And see the two I held before
Shattered on the ground
From the sudden drop.

Lucky

I sit here, smiling,
And I ask myself how I managed to
Get so lucky.

Disappointment

Every time,
I get my hopes up…
And every time,
You let me down.
But I won’t mention it
Because you’re worth too much
To me
For me to let you know
That you keep
Letting me down.

I See You, Though

some reason
I never thought of you as
A real
Person.
Only now
Am I actually seeing
That you are.
I observe
Your movements
And listen closely
For your words.
I realize that
You’re real
And really there;
Just nobody
Pays you any attention.
You do what I wish I could do;
Disappear, even though
You’re in plain sight.
Nobody knows, though,
That you’re there
And you exist.

Teach me.

But then
Your cover
Would be blown…

How tricky.

Hide Your Face

If I tilt my head down,
Draping my hair over my face
So I can’t see you,
Then maybe I’ll become lucky enough
For you to not see me either…
Because my face is
Too ugly
To be in the
Public eye.

What have I become...

Fake Emotions

Every smile is a fake
Because this happiness
Isn’t what it seems.
It almost comes with more
Sadness and tears
Than smiles and laughter.

Your happiness is fake too,
I know.

Beautiful Tears

I’m crying, and I know you’re crying too.

Tonight, I sleep in a puddle
Of a mix
Of your tears and mine
Together.

Fallen Pyramid

One minute you’re standing on top,
And the next you’re sitting on the bottom.
But you don’t know how you got there;
You just know how much you’re hurting
By being there now…
And you know you must have hit many others
On your tumble down,
Making them hurt too.

I Could Love You...

Have you ever seen a person,
Talked to a person,
Known a person,
And thought
‘I could love them.’

Goodbye, Innocence

Desperately
Stripping away innocence
So fast
With fear and disgust.

Then standing there
Naked and humiliated,
Begging for it back,
But knowing that it’s
Lost forever.

Cat Scratches

Blood rushes through my veins,
Begging to be let out.
Slight scratches penetrate through
The surface of my skin,
Making it all the more tempting
It would look natural still;
Highlights would just be added
Is all.

You're a Participant.

How long can you resist the urge,
Let’s see.
This is all just a test,
And it’s all just a game.

Bring Me to Life

In the final moments before your death
You wish a million things for yourself that you’ll never get.

I Want You Here

I stand here, speechless, watching you walk away from me.
And when you look back at me with your begging eyes,
I just look down at the ground, ashamed.