Atypical that’s what I think of myself  but no one cares, their lives go on indefinitely
Because who knows what life has to offer, what is life, my teenage eyes are blinded and can't comprehend or understand such complex questions.
Caring for none than thyself. Those words are mentioned to me, every time I attempt to say or do anything for my family.
Despite all the people and a family that accompany us, we still feel unheard and unloved.
Existentialism is a cruel thing. I’m not ready, not ready for my comptent of existence.
Fear and terror are instilled in my heart, a fear of what the future has to bring.
Growth. I see my own growth and germination and I feel lost
Have I learned enough? Will I survive in this enhanced world? Has my heart grown enough?
I miss my innocence. Innocence was bliss. A wonderful and unexpected bliss. It was protection, protection from the world that I now have to face.
Joy is not something as easy to feel as it had been, joy was underestimated by me. Joy is not underrated
Keen to survive and lay my roots down. Keen to believe in goodness and love.
Lost, that's what I am, lost in a sea of people
Maltreatment is not something that is inflicted by others, it's something that one can inflict on thyself. Maltreatment is disdain that runs deeper than any blade
Nostalgia is overwhelming but it's something that I feel most of the days
Oppression clouds my thoughts and feeling, as I try to find the light that is my voice.
People pass by and can't hear or see me. I am being ignored by people who know who they are.
Quivering, my hands are still quivering from all the pain and memories.
Realizing that hope is for fools.
Shoving my feeling inside
Trying to grasp on reality
Understanding that my existence is not known.
Victory will be one of those words unheard for me.
Wilting and withering. I am slowly wilting and withering into the ground.
X-rays won’t fix me as I go down this path of disdain
Years will pass and I still can't comprehend why I am here.
Zippering up and hunkering down.

It starts small.
It always the first step you take up the stairs.
And the kid sitting on the guide rail, the little girl says it-
¨What am I doing wrong?¨
The winding staircase stares you down saying,
¨C'mon just a little farther¨
And you're young and you're stupid, so you do.
Then it isn't just one kid, it's 20, 30, 50-
And theyŕe all saying different things.
And they're all begging you to turn back.
But you're young and stupid so you keep going
This time she's in middle school
And she’s talking to the air, and every word hurts
She lies like a rug
She self pities, and walks towards highways, and writes goodbyes on notebook paper
And you keep walking
You don't even know what's at the top of the tower- but you keep going anyways.
Suddenly she's older. Smarter. Quieter.
Every word still hurts, but she´ll trust anyone with a smile.
And then she's crying, and venting her frustrations
And the kid is pulling her sleeve and screaming and she is too
The girl is alone again.
She looks in door after door. Some just lead to brick walls.
She opens one and smiles, and disappears inside it.
You keep going.
Now she walks up with a shadow.
Another shadow comes to her side, and holds her hand.
The first shadow turns and says something to the girl.
The girl starts breaking.
Now she’s reaching, crying, desperate, drowning.
The shadow disappears.
You step up to her. Shes holding a bottle, and she’s had enough.
The highway becomes the bottle, and shes a blindfolded pedestrian.
¨We have to keep going.¨
The shadow isn´t just one but several.
¨You have to keep going.¨

Once, in seventh grade,
I took a class in a portable
that had a bathroom built in.

I sat behind a girl
with brown hair
that always smelled like dryer sheets.

When she would write,
her shoulder blades would
glide under her cardigan

as if the wind of grace
was making waves
on the skin of her back.

When she stood up
her eyes moves to mine--
the only mobile dots on a freckled complexion.

She walked behind me
into the bathroom
and I listened to her ****
while the teacher explained
that X isn't always greater than Y.

a tear drops from her eyes
and it brings no cause
though it quivers with emotion

and the stars do not shine brighter
when polished with her briny tears
but dim their glow and listen
listen!
to her sobbing
but wait
her capillaries will burst!
stop it!
stop it!

its translucence
its opaqueness
the inherent contradictions it produces
and the images it emanates

so while her eyes may open
they are unfocused
and gone
and the click of their judgements is obscene
because her soul has escaped

where has it gone?
she swears she saw it just a moment ago
just a moment
just a moment
just a moment

chirrup,

youth of the spring,

come sensitive pores and

sensible glands and senseless fun,

cheerup.

It’s a curious pat on the head
It’s not being bad for a black girl at the age of fifteen
It’s the wrong shade of foundation
It’s trivial
It’s being too scared to call them out, disappearing and saying you left because you were bored
It’s entering the queue for pizza at the end of a night out in Budapest four times because the first three times you were ignored
It’s where you’re really from
Really
It’s just a question

I am made from

the perseverance and kindness of my mother,

and the knowledge and patience from my father.

My mind tangled with

overwhelming emotions that I try too hard to suppress,

and memories that light up my eyes with wonder

filling my stomach with warmth and purpose.

Experiences that shaped a heart of empathy

having been far down in the pit of despair

once strangers that are no longer, helped me find clarity.

Chapped lips and a quick tongue

I fear to say something too fast,

without a second thought

having unintentionally stung.

Inside are taped up cracks and stitched holes

knowing all too well I could have helped myself

out of a toxic relationship by just taking control.

Inside are bones and bad blood circulation

all the caffeine, drugs and nicotine consumption

coping mechanisms acquired over the years for a fix,

a pleasurable sensation

to balance out the losses, betrayals, deaths, and depression.

Passions, soul, and substances all churning and rumbling mixed about

I used to be good at self-sabotaging

now I’m trying to pace myself so I don’t get worn out.

I am made from

every kind encounter I’ve had with a selfless stranger,

laughter from my friends and lovers

sounds of sweet nothings but the wind in nature.

My ears filled with

the first time you told me you loved me

and the voices that allowed me to overcome tragedy

songs that carried me away in bliss

with only a simple tone or melody.

My eyes deep and dark like the color of soil after the rain falls

squinting through thick glasses trying to see clearly past life’s pitfalls.

I’m constantly inspired by the world around me

Always wanting to try it myself so I can experience it all.

Jack of all trades, but a master at none.

I feel like there so much to learn and so much to see

it’s hard to pick just one thing to be.

I can barely even attempt to fathom

what else life has in store for me.