Shayna walks through the crowded hallways knowing that she shouldn't be here. Mr. Mase her math teacher noticed Shayna has been different the past month. No one knows why. He wants to ask her if she is okay but he is to 'chicken' (by high schooler standards). Mr. Mase is a thoughtful man with an odd passion for math and deep care for high schoolers (I still don't understand why most of them are awful except for a few like Shayna). Mr. Mase is not normally one to ask the kids if they are alright. Although, lots of students often confined in Mr. Mase. He listens and respects their voices. Even though he was an adult he understood that as a teenager most of the time you just wanted to be heard and understood, so that's what he gave them.

Yesterday, Shayna struggled to get out of bed, she opened her eyes then closed them again. Her second alarm rung- she jumped up and turned it off. She didn't expect the sound to be so loud; every little thing seems to be scaring her recently. She groaned and flopped back on her bed. Can I just stay here, she thought. She knows she has to get up and get ready for school. She opened her closet which is about half the size of her small room- she practically lives in there. Her small room, she loves it. It is the only place she really belongs. In her the-only-things-that-fit-are-a-tv-desk-bed-bookshelf-and-now- there-is-only-4-square-foot-left room. Her clothes are quite boring, plain (I guess as a narrator I sound be objective, right? Well, like Shayna's clothing, I find objective is boring). Her wardrobe filled with white and pastel-colored clothing (I don't know how she doesn't stain them). If I'm honest Shayna's personality is the opposite of her wardrobe.

She was not a 'soft' person as the cloths and typical made her seem. Her math teacher fell for her facade, most people do. Shayna wears a ribbon around her neck. It is a crimson red that contrasts the colors she wears. I used to see it as a bold fashion statement. Well, until I saw her talking to Mr. Mase. The last bell had just rung. I was going to ask him a question for an assignment. I saw Mr.Mase and Shayna talking; he finally asked her if she was alright. He looked away and was erasing the whiteboard while they were talking. I was stayed out in the hallway because I saw them talking through the window. She took off her ribbon. She took her ribbon and Shayna chocked him with it. Now, Mr. Mase is lying dead on the floor and she saw me. "Omg," is the only thing I can whisper.

Boys might as well be from Mars.

I don't understand them at all.

I haven't talked to many of them

outside of my family members.

I don't get it. I always hear about

heartbreak and violence from boys

but I've never understood why

they would do that.

Boys might as well be from Mars

or is it girls that are from Mars.

You hear all the time how us girls

are being treated like we are lesser. 

We are looked at like we are going 

to steal the world from the boys

but what I don't think is understood

is we just want to live here too.

Girls might as well be from Mars.

I can't speak for all girls but I know

I feel this way:

We are constantly having our choices taken.

You hear all the time about what girls

were forced to do. You hear and

hear so many stories of rape.

Girls might as well be from Mars.

Apparently, we are not human.

Apparently, our anger doesn't matter.

Apparently, we are just servants.

Girls, get used to being from Mars.

Let's say he sits above the clouds

on his thrown of praise.

You say God's forgiving

then why am I still

bleeding from Eve's one

mistake?

And why are some of his followers

so insistent that if you sin once

you will always belong in Hell?

If your God is in control

like you say he is then why

is there even a need to debate

the importance of the lives

of the oppressed?

Why is sex considered a sin?

Why is my body and my desire

not my own?

Or better yet, why is love

a sin?

I don't like your God.

He can pack his misogyny

and hypocrisy and leave.

I’m not good at saying thank you. I thought I was, but I figured out I’m not when it’s important. It was a week ago when I sent you that text. I told you how not okay I felt. I know you think that you don’t have good words but you do. At least, they feel better than talking to Mom. I’m not trying to downcast Mom but everything she says I can or already tell myself. She never tells me something I don’t already know, when we are talking about me or how I feel. Everything she says is fabricated from overused advice. I do the same thing she does. I kinda hate that. I hate clichés. I think that's why I try so hard to be different, to be better. I want to be too many things. I am too many things. I don't know how to honestly be myself. The person I am is trapped in my head, reserved to only be present when I'm alone. And here I am messing up a thank you note with another problem. Thank you, again. I'll stop talking now.

I love you,

Lindsey

The sun rises in the East

and sets in the South.

Until it doesn't.

The sun can't rise

if you never see it.

You just know it's dark or not.

What happens when your sun,

your basic need

isn't the sun?

Your addiction is your world.

Is anyone addicted to the world?

I am not

who you think

I am.

I'm passion and

fire and

love and extremes

always contradicting

switching between

black and white

and fascinating color.

I'm too much

in my head

I don't know how

to fabricate the

real me

into reality.

So instead of

bright reds,

or pretty blues,

or wild purples,

I want to be;

I fade into

the background

just a muted,

lifeless gray.

I'm not

who you think

I am.

A few cars driving down the road.

People falling asleep in their beds.

The sun slipping behind the horizon.

The sky dims. They roll out of bed.

Giggles heard from the apartment next door.

They blink in there empty apartment.

This is the life.

Walking down the hall to the kitchen. 

A yell from the arguing couple a few doors down.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen.

I should be sleeping.

They open their computer.

The last steak of purple

falls away from the black sky.

They stare at the screen.

Then stare a little more.

They open their notebook

I have too many ideas

is the title.

A car roars down the road.

They start typing.

Before they look up the sun shines in the window.

I felt my feet pushing off the ground. My legs pumping to get out of there. I'm so sick of their arguing!

Wow, it's so peaceful out here. You could hear the birds quieting their songs and the grasshopper's orchestra coming to a crescendo. The ever so slight breeze- gently ruffling the tree's leaves. Up in the sky the moon astonishingly bright, almost pulsing with light. And the stars. Oh, the stars. There are so many stars; too many to count scattered across the sky. I can't remember why I was upset in the first place.

I guess,

if there were such a time for a wonderful

community to fall apart

I guess that time

would be now.

I guess,

that right now is a perfect time for the

whole world to fall apart.

I guess now is the

time to fall.

I guess,

I should get used to things breaking before

I really have time to enjoy them.

I guess I should get used

to regret.

Footnotes:

Lowkey talking about what's happening on WtW