Where are you?
Are you listening? Those who feel like they don't belong, like they have nowhere left to go- are you here? Can you here me?
I want a world of my own, of our own, where we don't have to suffer to survive just because we are different. Don't you? I hate feeling so alone, like I'm the only one in this endless, inked sea of societal despair, trapped by a system that knows nor cares not of the validity of my existence. I look around, and so many feel it too, and I know that I can't be alone, but they shove it down to be accepted. But I have always been alone, no matter how hard I try, and I can't do that anymore. It's not viable. And I know that it's like this for others- it has to be, right? So, please, are you out there? The people hidden in the dark, waiting to be free? The people forgotten, lonely, left viscerally wanting more?
Is there anyone out there?
Am I always going to be alone?
Let My Dark Exist
Cracked eyes, too-bright sunlight invading, and for the countless time, I wish that it would end. That this world, the one that keeps rejecting me, hating me, telling me I'm worthless for my neurodivergency, could somehow recognize my humanity, could break. I want to shatter the world like its shattered me, over and over and over again, just because I'm different. But the blinding light seeps through, still. It's here, and the pain isn't going away. I'm not going away. How can two things so discordant, my world and my literal existence, exist here in this moment, one yearning to consume and the other to be free? How can they both survive, when the society around me exists solely to consume and destroy the essence of who I am? How will I survive this summer, this time of too-bright, putrefying sun?
Boots click on tiled stone, their cacophony of sound dramatically dropping decibels with every explosive bang that echoes through the hall. A sharp smile grows wider, impossibly so, as suits falls with pulls of a trigger, sleek strides propelling them closer - a door, a final release, a freedom won.
Alone- A flip poem
Sitting and contemplating.
What I need most, more than anything in this world, is
you; you being with me through it all.
I will never need this,
this isolation, madness
Please, I need this.
Come to me.
leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
come to me.
Please, I need this;
this isolation, madness.
I will never need this,
you; you being with me through it all;
what I need most, more than anything in this world, is
sitting and contemplating.
You have no idea how much I can hate
Even though you’re my
you really have no idea,
like frost clouding a window,
seeping into my heart,
You don’t know that I have learned to “hate like a woman” (to quote a good book),
to hate not with a firery, intense
but with cool, strong, unyeilding
To never forget
to stay strong like winter,
And you’ll never know.
Because I am a chamelion;
my face and demenor change with the breeze,
but I can melt into the shadows too.
You don’t realize how easily I can make people forget
that I’m “mad”,
all the while turning these useless emotions into something helpful,
my beloved ice.
Hey, can I see?
What did you say? I didn’t hear you...
oh, you know. the usual
it’s really not a big deal anyway
mentally, I roll my eyes. I know it’s not a big deal,
to you at least, but I’m curious.
I can’t help but remember my moms’ voice saying:
Remember, curiosity killed the cat!
I’m curious, okay? I like the sentences
and pictures being completed. I’m not trying to be nosy;
I’m not trying to barge in on your life, I’m asking about things
you already said to me
you showed everyone else in the class
things everyone else already knows about.
you showed everyone else an image,
my people crowding around your shoulders,
I squeezed in there too,
everyone smiling and chatting about that image,
wow, that’s cool! where did you find that? that’s messed up, in a good way
then the computer shuts,
people step back,
and I have no idea what’s going on,
I asked what happened? what was the image showing?
it wasn’t too funny anyway, you don’t need to care
I hate this.
This is the way you’re treating me?
Oh, screw you. I brought a book today,
Why do I need others when I can dissapear into inky words?
Books are just
The Lowe’s Porch
is heat is low tide is watching
the granite boulders shimmer with
bits of hidden mica is the seagulls soaring the ocean
crashing is the people lazily walking by taking back
the road from cars flip-flops padding
across yellow lines uncaring about the two
cars patiently waiting is turning
a page in your book while the heat persists making
time move like honey is sitting in a well-loved chair old wicker
groaning beneath faded cushions is eyes longingly
staring at the waves wishing
you could make the tide rise hoping that soon
you can swim is trying
to play a game of cards but nobody
agrees on what to play is moving from
from one leisure to the next is the rough texture
of the sketchbook in your hands as you pull
it out of your worn bag the scratch of pencil
moving across the page powdery graphite
smudging around the new lines is the shadows
lengthening the twisting branches of the ancient
tree stretching across
the lawn the hedge whispering
back to the breeze tantalizingly drifting
off the waves promising an escape
from the relentless heat is the lowering sun glinting
off the backs of bikes leaning precariously
on the side of the porch tangled
into each other is the sun painting the
sky in violent streaks of color is people
walking towards you bringing plates covered in tinfoil chatting
while they walk up the steps to the porch flip-flops pounding
the white painted wood is the laziness of the day
melting away and you realize
the night has begun
I always like thinking best;
I dream- it’s what I do.
I create mountains,
How long until I am trapped in my mind?
When I think,
and run from reality
I am lost to this world-
is the object in front of me real
or is the place in my mind?
I like that place so much more than here.