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as soon as the sun rides,
I force a smile onto my face,
pleasing to the outside,
faking my way throughout the day,
the darkness looming behind my back,
threatening me throughout the day,
it gets closer every second the clock ticks,
I try to escape it and cling to the brightness,
until the sun sets at night.
as soon as the sun sets,
the darkness begins to take its place,
comforting me like my childhood blanket,
wrapping me tighter and tighter with each passing moment,
grasping for breath,
the darkness holds on,
and I cling to it,
like the scared child I am,
until the sun rises in the morning.
Curled in a ball and wrapped in a blanket
I can’t move
You’re holding me down
I’m tired but yet I can’t sleep
I’m restless but yet I have no energy to move
I am a living, breathing contradiction who is dead inside
I am a human living with a ghost inside of me
My brain is like an ocean of emotions—high tide always at night.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Slowly inching further and further inland.
The sadness is drowning me beneath the chaotic atmosphere.
I call for help yet no one hears me.
For the salty sea water has already filled my lungs.
Every year I grow a little taller and talk a little less
I say this year will be different—better
I attempt to be smaller than the last
I sleep a little longer and cancel all my plans
I wear a baggier sweater
I write with shaky hands
Every year I make the same birthday wish
I spend an exorbitant amount of money
I still don’t get that kiss
I get a little sadder and isolate myself
I don’t laugh at things that are funny
I am just a dusty, old book on the shelf
Every year I see fewer people and become more shy
I bite my nails more often
I try hard not to cry
I read thicker books and draw better art
I pick out the perfect coffin
I see the breaking of my mom’s heart
Every year I get closer to paradise
I add to all my letters
I give less advice
I make my bed and feed my mom
I know I’ll never get better
I try to stay calm
One day the sun will poke through the clouds and shine brightly.
As everyone says, there’s always a calm after the storm.
Even on the darkest days, there will be light.
You may not see the light because your eyes are shut.
You’re scared of the dark, so you’d much rather be in your thoughts.
But in reality, your thoughts are darker than the brewing storm outside.
At least when the wind swirls downward into a tornado, you can seek shelter.
But when your thoughts are swirling around, there’s no escaping.
Your mind is your mind, and you can’t change it.
When a dandelion dies, we think of it as beautiful.
Their white, soft, fuzziness has such a delicate look that can’t be described in words.
Often, little kids running around the playground will stop to look at the new discovery.
Their parents, curious too, will accompany their child.
Mothers will teach you to blow all the ‘whispies’ off and make a wish as they float ever so gracefully into the sky.
Some days I feel like a dead dandelion with half of it’s ‘whispies’ missing.
I mean seriously, what child wants to make half a wish?
Oh the voices
that's how it starts
but slowly you fall deeper into your mind
you wish you could change yourself—the way you look
that ‘little voice upstairs’ is telling you what everybody is thinking
you know it’s true
and ever so slowly ‘they’ know it’s true too
‘they’ call you out on every little flaw
you can’t take it anymore
the voices constantly swirling in your mind
you can’t run from it
you can’t hide from it
so you might as well deal with it
It feels like you’re at the top of a roller coaster.
You know the drop is coming—sometime that is.
Sometimes it’s a few seconds, others—minutes.
Swirling upside down and right-side up.
Whipping you left and right with your adrenaline pumping through your thin, bluish-green veins.
Your breath becomes heavy, it feels as though you are breathing through a green Starbucks straw.
The pumping of your heart can be felt through your temples, pulsing, racing, scaring you. Deep breathes.
In and out.
In that moment the only thing you need is pain-something to distract you.
And then it’s over.
They are peculiar little things-parallel, nice and neat in rows sometimes on arms, sometimes on thighs.
They each tell a story.
A unique story only some may understand.
I’m one of those people.
These marks cover my body in places that can’t be seen to the glance-over passerby. They shimmer in the sun and stand out when the human skin turns a shade darker in the summer.
Some say it’s for attention, I say it’s a way to feel like you’re alive.
These lines show the battles you fought with yourself, and the ones who call it attention-seeking, they don’t understand what it feels like to be numb 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
I'll say goodbye
I look to death the way a child looks to their mother.
With longing in their eyes and a tugging in their heart.
It sings to me in a raspy voice hitting all the right notes.
A lullaby calling me to a deep, never-ending sleep.
The inevitable topic that no one ever talks about.
The idea that haunts my dreams and fantasies.
I don’t look both ways and I go 20 over the limit.
Some are scared of death, I’m scared of living.
Breathing is a waste of time and I—a waste of space.
Let’s make everybody happy—I’ll say goodbye.
I'm slipping away
That feeling when you lose someone close to you—that longing in your heart, empty stomach kind of feeling.
Imagine that times ten every.
Because each hour I live—I slowly lose another piece of myself.