Message from Alexander
I feel awful for not posting. I am writing, but I can never finish a story. It feels like losing a part of me and with my depression and other various mental health disorders, that really isn't an option right now. The worlds that I create are my escape from this currently stressful, scary reality. I've been pulled and pushed in directions both physically and mentally that I never thought I would reach. I work in a grocery store during a global pandemic, I'm a first-year college student stuck at home, and I'm just surviving at this point. I come home from work exhausted to the point where I can't stand and overwhelmed to tears and scared for my health or the health of my family. If creating world after world after world is what saves me, then that's what I'm going to do. It sucks because I want to share the love I write, but you'll never see an ending and I think that's cruel. Working on poetry though. Writing will always be my passion and I will always write. On another note, I've discovered my love of LGBT+ novels and so that could also be where my time goes (could read a book and lose time).
Question: Would y'all be interested in just my writing or can I share myself (not in fictional characters) too? This platform has been an escape and I've loved being here, but my poetry has become my story and I want to tell it if it'll be heard (or read I suppose).
Thank you for still being here,
(Sorry for the long absence. I was finding myself and dealing with things. This poem tells a story. Thanks, Al. :))
Born into pink
With abundant long curls
Dolls and tea parties
Dresses and make-up
Do as mom says
Never get dirty
Tilt your chin up
Or no boys will want you
This isn’t my body
A forever cage
My identity begging to be let free
My insides twisting and contorting
Dark colors and frown lines
An XXL hoodie draped over my dysphoric figure
Tears more often than smiles
Dolls with shattered porcelain
Tea stained dresses scatter the floor
Beside long locks of curls
Isn’t that a cruel punishment?
Being born into the wrong body
Being forced into stereotypes of the wrong gender
“You’re broken!” Mom screams.
“You can be fixed.” He preaches.
And outcast children
Love me until you forget me
My sins cast hate on you
Cast shadow on my soul
Prismatic light on pale concrete
A door cracked open
No long curls
In my own body
One that I have found
And one that I am free in
I am me
And I am not sorry
This is my identity
Air raid sirens burst my ears
As fog rolls in
Barren streets whistle in cold air
Shop windows gather dust
Foreclosure signs marking bankruptcy
A ghost town
Of past memories and neighbors
Both are gone
In this horrible sickness
Rusty tins cans move along the ground Days of rations gone
And the future unknown
A bag of bones lays in the corner
This family didn't have enough
And everything left
By workers who've fallen ill
By this horrible sickness
The sick are growing
And the healthy are shrinking
And more patients
All those mourning
Their loved ones are buried without a word For this sickness must end
We must rise above fear
A horrible, debilitating fear
For we are stronger than anything
Though this brings a new low
We will rise above
Like a phoenix
The ashes will produce beauty
And life once more
For this sickness must end
Masked and broken
I walk with my head high
Smiling from ear to ear
Passerbys smile too
All they think is that it’s fine
I’m happy--they think
Oh, to be happy--they mumble to their lover
Look at me
My words suffocated
In the noise of the crowd
Why can no one see me?
A mask that caged my soul
It screams in agony to be let free
Against my vessel
It wears and tears
But the mask remains untouched
For nobody can see the pain
That lies inside
Why can no one see?
Please let me free
An eternal darkness
But still, I smile
Through endless tears and screams
My heart slowly tearing apart
My soul dimming
My brain flickering
But that mask hides it all
No one can see
A peek into the light is shuddered
Why can no one see?
Please let me free
A slow patter
The echo filling the hollowed brain
Crimson red on ivory white
Bleeding to know I’m alive
A slow, stuttered heartrate
Cascading and dispensing on to the cool water
Pooling around tile crevices
The heart slowing the lungs
And deep breaths
The last breaths
Bleeding to know I’m alive
Only to die
Choking Hazard- Chapter 2
I lay frozen to my bed, unable to move or breathe or yell for help. My body lay encompassed in eternal fear. A small scratching that's increasing in volume makes my heart race into my throat, choking me as I gasp for air. In the corner of the room, a woman stood staring at me--she had a frayed rope tied around her neck, sunken purple eyes, and more bruises than pale skin. Her nightgown bloodied in a messy triangle between her breasts. It looked as though she tried to speak but her words were suffocated by the rope so instead she trudged closer. Every part of my being wanted to move, but nothing did. I'm frozen. She held my neck, taking my life just as hers was taken. It hurt then I woke up. My eyes blurred with frightful tears as I look around to the silent, dark house. I sit up drowsily in search of the women, but it's just me and a sleeping Grayson. The feeling of her hands still lingers on my skin.
"Morning," Grayson mumbled into the pillow, "What are you doing up? It's a quarter before six."
"Trouble sleeping," I drag myself into the bathroom and hurriedly turn on the lights. The dark is not my friend, "How'd you sleep?"
"Great," he popped up behind me, "You look like you slept for days. It's unfair that someone can look this good after waking up."
"Thanks," I tilt my head back so that he can place a kiss on my recently moisturized lips.
We spend an hour getting ready for school before leaving my room. My father stood at the stove tossing pancakes into the cool morning air.
"Hey, dad," I smile, "Where's mom?"
"She got called into work so I stayed behind to make breakfast," he pointed a pancake turner at Grayson who, by now, is standing nervously behind me, "Who's your friend?"
"Grayson Dark," he answered, "We lost track of time with schoolwork last night."
"Plenty of pancakes to go around." My father's sleeve slid up his arm revealing scratch marks. I only saw them for a couple of unnoticeable seconds before he hurriedly shoves it back down. The woman in my dreams had similar marks on her gray arms, I note to myself.
"Neel," Grayson broke my thoughts, "Am I riding you to school?"
"No, I kinda want my dad to ride me. I want to talk."
"Neel, I'm honored. You don't ever want your dad around your friends," he joked.
"You're a cool dad--of course I do."
The three of us sit around a small circular table and talk about the weather and school and everything typical. Grayson heads off first to grab something from his house then my father grabs his work bag.
"Thanks for driving me," I say as I reach the garage door.
"No," he quickly yelled, but quieted down, "Don't go into the garage. It's infested with bugs and your mom doesn't want them in the house," he hurriedly explained.
"Okay," I say slowly and quite confused.
Inside the passenger seat of the car, I look down at my feet to see them among various debris of sticks and fibers. There's a lot I want to say, but nothing comes out like being frozen in the nightmare. I'm scared for some reason. Some part of me wants to open the door and run so before he can even park, I do open the door and bolt into the school. I watch the floor as I walk and as I try to piece together my morning.
"Bro," James jumped in my window of view, "How's it going?"
"Tired.” The largest yawn escapes my mouth before I could try to cover it.
"You're weird dreams again?"
"Yeah," I sigh, "They're so real."
Grayson joined my side like a breath of fresh air, "And troubling. It's been three weeks of non-stop nightmares."
"You'd know," James laughed, "You sleep with him."
I don't respond, "We need to get to homeroom."
Mr. Zaner's calculus was the only interesting part of my school day--I get to witness Grayson being a fool with the teacher and Mr. Zaner laughing his boisterous laugh. Most of everything else blended in with the normalcy and at the same time, the strangeness of this Wednesday. Grayson sneaks in through the back entrance of the house and up to my bedroom where we proceed to procrastinate our homework. He always distracts me.
"Are we that obvious?" I ask, stopping his latest barrage of kisses.
He threw his head back in protest, "Yes."
He smiled, "I know."
"Like I should be doing schoolwork right now, but instead I'm with you."
"Well, you didn't stop me nor hesitate to rip my clothes off," he leaned back, sinking into the fluffy cushion.
"I'm not complaining."
I roll my eyes, "Grayson--"
"Neel!" my mother yelled, "Get down here."
I hurriedly tossed my clothes on as I stumble down the stairs to see an officer standing in the doorway--his shape outlined on the floor with the shadow of the setting sun. A pile of papers rests tightly in his left hand.
Choking Hazard- What’s it about?
At the age of 16, Neel Hobbs believes he has a perfect life--two supportive parents, a loving boyfriend (Grayson Dark), and a goofy best friend (James Alexander), not mention his straight A's and physical structure, but that all changes on his sixteenth birthday when a letter reveals that Clark Hobbs, his father, has killed Sherri Joyner, a senior at Summerfield High School, and that her body is buried underneath his home. A search warrant flips Neel's perfect life upside when he learns that his father is a horrific serial killer, burying bodies under their home and getting away with it for over a decade. Follow Neel and those in his life as details emerge of these crimes and as Clark stays on the run tormenting his young and rather recently vulnerable son. How is Neel going to deal with this trauma and what threats are going to impose on his life as he digs deeper? How many bodies are there truly? And is the truth really all there is?
Nobody knows what lurks in the shadows.
Choking Hazard-Chapter 1
It was almost as though the house had a heartbeat. A slow, stuttered rhythm that swayed through the grasses. The cool air brushed open the curtains and dew painted the soft petals of mother’s tulips. The clock chimed six.
Officer Doyle pulled her body out slowly, struggling with the awkward shape of mangled bones.
I sit up drowsily and look around. The silence of the house echoed through my body with a deafening sorrow. Forty-seven minutes later Grayson grumbled awake.