My fingers are screaming
As I beat a rhythm into my desk's surface.
They strike in the same rhythm over and over again,
But you will never understand why.

It is mistaken for a distraction,
Or perceived to be anxiety.
And my classmates scowl and tell me to stop,
No matter how panicked I seem.

It is not a side effect of ADHD,
Or wanting pity.
It is a silent scream of pain
And fear.
It is my cry for help.

...---...

I love all of you girls,
I watched you all fall in love
Met your partners
Cheered at your weddings.

I love all of you girls,
The fancy jobs you have
The places you go to
Smiled at the pictures.

I love all of you girls,
As I sit here
Alone at café
Thinking about the time when
It was easier, simpler and just us

I love all of you girls,
I hold your pain with dignity
Life seems silly when you are around
I guess, I missed out
You all caught the train
When I walked along.

Hope is not purely

positive, because it goes --


hand in hand with fear.

Do you not think about it the thing we fear the most
Same way we will all end and have a string around our toe
Or is it just me wondering about something I really can not help
Something so honest but so hurtful to accept
Did it ever cross your mind
How soothing religion is to believe
Yet everyone still has that fear at the end,
because life isn't at all what it seems
You can only speak now
What you feel and what you know
But how certain are you of the place you end up when it's really time to go
They say give it to God and I did
And he gave the thoughts back
If hell wasn't such the curse
Would our good deeds still be an act
If you knew there was nothing at the end
Would you share that and instill fear
Or would you put your loved one's heart and mind at peace,
if you told them what they wanted to hear
In no way am I saying there is no super being
There's a whole wide world
So, God isn't what I'm questioning
What if we're supposed to just feel the right now
And feel all the moments
Just to say it has happened
Is that what the Lord only wanted
Life is a celebration
The poor suffer through, and the rich take a toast
But how can you be obsessed with something you fear the most?

Day by day I find myself drowning in feelings I cannot put my finger on,
Not like a carefree momentum-fueled skater basking in wind echoing off the dips of concrete;
Rather a feeble insect surfing in the linoleum of a running sink, barely missing the drain with each wave.
Albeit, I am the one turning the faucet. If only I would turn it off.

I am surrounded by a pool of my tears.
Familiar, slow, melodies travel through my nerve endings.
The memories are all I can feel in my frail, numb body.
Why am I shaking again?
Is it because I miss the validation I got from my teachers in kindergarten?
Or the unfinished self-portrait in front of me that reminds me too much of my insufficiency?
Perhaps the unbearable gaze of ones who only have love to spare? Love is enough…right?

I’m glancing all over my enclosure, for anything to distract from the thoughts caving in on me.
My eyes fixate on the photo strips on the wall,
My other home grinning back at me.
Half the world but only a text away.
Why can’t I do it?
They will ask how I am. I can’t tell them,
That I have to go back.
I cannot live in this silent house no longer.
Please set me free,
To where I really belong.

why would she be here?
why would she leave parts of herself
in a place that's been promised to ghosts?
for reasons unknown,
for motives unclear,
for every line that made her feel
a little less wanted each time it healed.
she stands and waits,
watching the remnants of light fade away,
letting herself submit to whatever comes next.
the whispers grow near,
her vision is blurry,
her posture is rigid,
her heart is so solemnly still.
she hopes to find peace
in leftover pieces that no one else needs,
but she can still use them to fix up the holes
before all of her disappears.
why would she be here?