i’m the quiet girl, but not

the one you read about in stories.

i’ll never be the one he sits next to one day at lunch;

i’ll never drop my books and blush as he helps me pick them up in the hallway;

i’ll never be the one to act confused so that he’ll have to tutor me in the dark nights.

i’m the quiet girl that no one pays attention to.

i’m the one that gossips with the teachers at lunch,

that listens to the crazy politics as i walk down the school halls,

that studies with friends in the evenings.

so no, i’m not the quiet and quirky and cute girl in the stories,

and he’ll never talk to me.

but that’s okay.

i never did need a boy to make me smile,

anyway.

i sleep alone

i dream alone

i wake alone

i eat alone

i run alone

i shower alone

i work alone

but i am not

lonely

“I’m trouble.”

It wasn’t boasting, necessarily, though I’m sure he took some pride in that statement. He was well aware of the edge about him, purposely infusing his words, his way of being with that devil-may-care, James Dean vibe that had probably bed a dozen girls this year alone.

He never had to say much— he let his sultry smirk do most of the talking. But there was a hint of melancholy in his tone. Or maybe it was regret.

Typical. He liked to keep his lines blurred. So do I.

His brown eyes flashed, regarding me with his usual gaze that saw too much, the intensity of it leaving me feeling vulnerable. But as much as he saw, there was so much he didn’t know. Like the fact that he was looking at a girl who had walked through hell with a smile on her face.

His gaze softened when I barked a harsh laugh.

“No. You’re not. I’ve met trouble. And his eyes are blue.”

People often say, depression hurts.

It saps the color from the world

leaving only darkness.

It turns shadows into monsters.

It holds your feelings hostage. 

But my depression is different.

I see colors clearer and more vibrant,

like the world has been soaked in paint,

the colors mock me, daring me to be happy

when they know I can't.

The shadow monsters are my friends,

they stand beside me protecting me

from the light, reminding me I have none.

I have forgotten what true happiness is,

though I have learned to fake it well.

Sometimes I can be truly happy,

a moment of childhood laughter,

but it is a ghost of a feeling

a dream ripped away

no matter how tight I close my eyes.

Some days I try to remember,

remember what the world looked like

before I tinted it with sadness.

But I can't,

because the world looks the same

 it's me that's changed.

Purple was the way she walked.

Blue was the way she smiled.

Her yellow soul shined brighter than the sun

And her red mind struggled to make sense of her confoundingly green heart.

Pulled directly towards that poor excuse for a lump of coal.

She cried pure gold

Onto his shoulder,

As sharp as a freshly cut diamond,

Leaving a rusty scar along her silver cheek.

Pain was a blinding rainbow of screams and laughter and unimaginable sorrow.

She would have left it all

For a moment of translparent clarity.

you are the wild berry in the forest

the ivy in the bushes

i’ll always taste your mystery

touch your wonder

and every time, my body

aches from the poison

that seeps into my heart from your kisses

that swirls into my body from your fingertips

and every time i wander back into the forest,

searching for a flower

ready to kiss a rose,

i find myself entangled in your

poison ivy

aching all over again

my name is death.

and i am here to collect.

last year, your husband took his last breath;

last year, your daughter finally felt like it was too much to be perfect.

it was supposed to be your end, too.

the losses were supposed to push you over the edge—

of your mind’s zoo,

of the nearby pier’s ledge.

you were never meant to survive.

between work, bills, and a single child left,

you were meant to take the dive.

i am here to collect because your life was theft.

you robbed me of my rightful sword

and sneered as you snapped it in half.

dear, i am your lord.

and yet, at me, you cried out in a laugh.

it has been so long since the time

when you would have accepted my knife,

for your love of a forever nighttime

made you desperate to end your life.

but being a glorious king,

i waited. for there was more loss to wreak.

for you, a purgatory i wanted to bring.

with greedy eyes, i wanted you to watch you grow weak.

and now i am here to collect,

but suddenly you are not so desperate anymore.

your mind no longer feels the usual neglect;

your body does not wear scarlet stains as it did before.

i am here to collect,

but you are ready.

with an army of support to protect,

with one amazing son to keep you steady.

i am here to collect,

but your heart’s ashes have blossomed into a flower.

armed with love and self-respect,

you have risen above my fatal power.

where are you now?

it's been years since I first

lost myself

in those headlights: how they seemed

to flash and stop and disappear

all at once. not a car, I decided,

but your eyes: how they seemed to glow,

how light seemed to favor only

you.

who are you looking for?

it's been years since we first

stood at that window, facing not each other

but concrete and the blue sky.

you spoke of escape as if

it was never within your grasp,

but remember, you didn't have to

stay.

why didn't you wait for me?

so many times. running. walking so fast

just to catch up with you,

and for what? it was like

chasing down a taxi

I had no money for. you

were too good for me. and too

far.

what is it you felt for me?

I could never find the answer.

not hate, I knew,

you smiled first, and waved,

and made me believe I meant something

to you, or to the world, if not

to myself.

not love, I knew

and left that light

that had, for some time,

touched me also.