Pride month.
Flags of all kind,
Hoping to find someone else,
Who wears there flag proud.
As I only have 2 friends,
Who I know,
That share there story and beliefs,
Proud.
I want to be that person too.
So I’m writing this to talk.
That it’s okay to speak up,
It’s ok to be yourself.
You don’t have to hide,
And be someone else.
Your flag.
Your beliefs.
Are you,
Your own person.
So let yourself shine.
Let yourself,
Love,
Cry,
Laugh,
Get mad,
Get upset,
Because it’s okay,
And I’ll always be here to talk.
I’ll always be by your side,
Just…
Let yourself,
have pride.

That day.
That life.
That pastime.
That fright.
When I was left,
Behind that stair,
Crying.
No one else knew I was there.
That blood.
Those bruises.
That pain,
I’ve tried to fight through it.
But the weight,
That it holds.
That the fact,
No one even knew.
Those scars.
That blood.
Dripping down my face,
Into my eyes,
Down my throat,
Blood pooling at my feet.
Sitting there,
in time of need.
That day.
That led,
To fighting,
For life.
Those flashbacks,  
Of when they pulled me into that hallway.
School.
Crime.
Turned on there “other” face,
And destroyed my hope,
That the world can be great.
That blood.
Will forever,
Remain in my memory.
That pain I felt will never be gone,
The pain that day.
That nobody noticed or saw.
That day,
Was what hurt me the most.
That day.

Thorns.
Blood.
Scars.
Pain.

Bullying.
Rumors.
Love.
Hate.

Cries.
Begging.
Pleas,
For help.

No one is listening,
No way out.
Thorns stab,
Like knifes to skin.

How will I escape?
When I’m stuck in a body I don’t want…
With health issues,
I can’t take care of.
My body giving up on me,
And I Know I’m failing within.

Spreading pain.
Of those words,
That blood,
That day.
Cold tile floor.
Lies.
Thorns stabbed me then,
left an imprint on my soul.

So know I live my life,
Stuck in a web of pain,
Being punctured with thorns.

My stomach is a coffin,
Holding each meal.
Waiting to explode out of the casket,
Rejecting what my body needs the most.
My nausea is the funeral,
Coming like waves.
On a stormy day.
Locking me in for hours.
No escape.
My pain is the graveyard.
Bones and ghosts haunt my past
And hurt my future.
They yell and mock,
No matter what they talk.
My brain— the tears,
Running down my face like rain,
As my body feels like a knife plunging into me.
Late nights, and early mornings of shooting, stabbing pain
That won't give up for a second.
No avail.
I don't want to live with this pain,
This nausea,
The throwing up.
My demon mocks, “It got ya.”
The dizzy, and headaches,
The late nights, and early mornings,
The nightmares and flashbacks,
All the times I felt faint,
The time I fainted—
I don't want to live like this.
I need help to find a way.
Whether it's meds, appointments, or therapy,
As long as no one blames it all on something
Completely out of order.
I'm running into a border—
A wall,
A blockage.
I fall.
I trip.
I get shoved.
Will I fit in?
Into this place?
Will I make stupid mistakes?
Will I be betrayed?
Pain is something I don't take lightly.
I used to keep it hidden,
I used to use a mask.
But now that I'm open about it,
People think I'm attention-seeking
When I'm just trying to communicate,
When I don't know exactly how yet.
Sure—I've told lies,
I've made a disguise.
I'm trying to change.
I have made a mistake.
I'm human, I do that sometimes.
I'm willing to take responsibility for my actions.
I just need someone to listen.
Because I'm sick of living in a black hole,
Feeling like a knife is plunging into my stomach with each cramp,
Each sting.
The nausea is the other thing it brings.
I just need someone to listen.
And I need help with many things.
So many…
Like pain.

Another year goes by,
Another year awaits.
What will each year be?
Well..I can’t stop thinking—
About all my mistakes.
All the times I lied,
I didn’t eat.
All the times,
I said I did my homework,
But I just procrastinated-
Accepted I’d never be good enough,
Accepted defeat.
I tried to hide myself within a disguise,
But how long will this last?
I guess I’ll have to wait,
As I have no choice.
Year after year,
Will keep going by.

Clinking metal,
Cold against bruised skin.
Hope lost,
No where within.
Strength gone,
They stole from me.
I try to escape,
But my chains,
Forever hold me.
Inch thick,
Cement wall,
Chain attached,
Ive hope for escape,
But mental—
physical pain,
Seems to,
Forever last.
Chains are what’s holding me back.
Regret,
Pain,
Shame.
“Im not worthy”
“I’ll never be perfect”
“I’ll never be loved”
“I’ll never be safe”
“Im scared to grow up”
“I’ve already lost my faith”
And yet I'm here,
I’m alive,
But why do I feel so empty?
The answer is these chains,
That hold me tight.

Flower
-A short story-
Olivia williams

     A meadow with a girl surrounded by grass and flowers of all types, shapes, sizes, and colors. Out of all of them, there is a very unique and special yellow rose whose petals feel like fur and whose patterns are different and special.
    The patterns consist of many yellow and white polka dots and the special, strange rose is as big as the girl's hand. She picks the flower, curious, happy, and calm, admiring its beauty as her brown hair flows in the soft mild wind. Other kids are playing tag around her, but she feels different, as they are all surrounded by different flowers, and the yellow rose is alone. She takes it home, plants it in her garden, and cares for it. Soon, the flower grows like no other, but it's still alone.
       The girl picks a petal daily, and each petal gives her a new adventure, task, a new experience in her life. The new experience leads to things both good and bad. The flower becomes a guide for her, helping her navigate through everything. For every boulder she pushes, it still seems to bring her down, but with the help and pride of watching her flower grow, she gets through all the ups and downs of life. Soon, she becomes a teenager, but still, the flower is there, leading her through some of the toughest and most crucial points of life.
    One breezy fall evening, bundled in her fall coat, white hat, and white mittens, she ventures through her neighborhood and to school. Soon she realizes, as she grows closer, that even though it is a weekend, the gates are open. She steps from the pavement to the grass and she can almost feel the soft grass through her sneakers.
      After a walk, she notices that all the flowers are picked dry and soon learns that the flowers the other children had gave them irresistible options, and the flowers made them rich and cruel. As days go on, she gets bullied for not being like her other classmates. One foggy night, she returns from school and sits down on her bed, frustrated, upset, and angry with her so-called “friends”. They seem to make fun of her so much. After she eats supper, she goes to water her rose but as soon as she touches it, the petals and her hand glow.        
       The glowing spreads through her body and she feels different and strange. Soon she notices the new power that Rose has given her. It had given her the power of strength, the power to never give up, the power of hope. She no longer feels angry and comes to terms with her situation. She decides that she needs to learn to love herself for who she is and after a while becomes a unique and special flower, just like that unique, special yellow polka dot Rose.