I was your typical angsty teenager,
lust and recklessness personified
into a human body.

I never called myself a poet,
but I spent my days
writing to boys who never loved me
and parents who were never there.

I went through a photography phase.
I cut images from magazines,
women with stick-figure shapes
and too much makeup and sad eyes
that everyone seemed to love staring at.
I took pictures of people
when they weren’t looking,
found beauty in others
when I needed to find beauty in myself.

I went through a rebellious phase.
I shaved the side of my head
and dyed my hair blue, and then black.
I tattooed my skin and
pierced crazy places on my body.
I smiled at adults walking by
because they fell silent,
and I knew that they were judging me
but didn’t have the
courage to say anything.
I liked thinking that
I was braver and louder
and more confident at seventeen,
than these people were at sixty-four.

I snuck out and went
for long walks in the dark,
because the nighttime air
felt peaceful and still.
and when the world was fast asleep,
I could let go of my attitude.
for a few hours, I could feel calm
because nobody was watching.

I was walking home one night
with Molly in my bloodstream
and adrenaline in my bones
but I got trapped in my mind
somewhere along the way,
stuck floating in between
self-worship and self-loathing.

I ran away a few times,
usually ending up at my friends’ houses.
I drank from blue Solo cups
not knowing what I was drinking
and not caring enough to know
as long as it got me drunk enough
to dance all night
and not remember a single thing
the next morning.

I watched my best friend
sneak away, not so stealthily,
to go have ***
with boys twice her age.
I think she snuck away loudly
on purpose so that
we would all know  
she was capable of
getting boys to
pound her senseless.
I don’t think she was capable of
getting boys to love her
for more than her body,
but I don’t think she ever tried.

I fell in love,
or at least I thought I did.
I had my heart broken
and healed and broken again.
at one point, there was a boy
who taught me how to kiss,
and that the backseats of cars
are rarely as spacious as they look.

through our conversations,
I learned that this boy believed
in extraterrestrial life,
and that he hated the color orange
for reasons he could not explain,
and that when he imagined the future,
he saw me in it.

through my own heartbreak,
I learned that sometimes
words mean nothing,
and that people can lie,
and that we were too young
to imagine any future at all.

I made memories
that still haunt me,
and promises that
I broke long ago.
I lived in the moment
and didn’t want to
think about growing up,
or what my plans would be
one year from then, or five, or ten.

I didn’t want to think
about anything farther away
than the weekend,
because nothing was guaranteed,
and nothing ever stayed the same.

change is constant
and, to me, that is both
beautiful and terrifying
at the same time.

good girls
are not supposed to
get angry
or raise their voices
when they argue
or argue at all
in the first place.

good girls
are not supposed to
wear ripped jeans
or tight shirts
or say the word “****.”
good girls
are not supposed to
even think about *******.

and here I am,
having already used
the word “****”
three times in this poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
get plastered
on school nights
or tipsy before classes
or listen to music
with the volume
cranked all the way up.

good girls
are not supposed to
know which windows
make the least noise
when they’re sneaking out
or know where they can
buy cheap alcohol underage
or know who they can kiss
and where to kiss them
to get what they want.

good girls
are supposed to
smile silently and be pure
and go to church
or wherever they pray
to cleanse their filthy souls.

good girls
are supposed
to believe in
and put their trust in
and have faith in a god.

good girls
are supposed to
expect this god to
keep them away from harm,
and to never learn how to
keep themselves safe
if this god fails to.

good girls
are not supposed to
act anything like me.

the only thing
I have ever truly
believed in is poetry.

I outgrew religion by
the time I turned seventeen,
long before then
if I’m being honest.

I never turned to prayer for
advice on how to live my life.

I never turned to anyone
but myself.

I only consulted the bible
when I needed inspiration
for some tragic poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
write poetry
the way that I
write poetry.

good girls
never speak of or write about
*** and drugs and violent minds
and suicide and more ***
and broken hearts.

good girls
don’t sing along to
the lyrics of sad songs
in front of open windows
just for the ******* sake of it.

but good girls
don’t realize that life is short
until it’s too late.

good girls don’t ever
get to feel alive.

a girl like me
who gets into trouble
and refuses to stay quiet
and causes a scene
everywhere she goes
is not a good girl.

a girl like me
might be too reckless
and die too young.

but a girl like me
will die with no regrets
and plenty of memories
and so many *******
stories to tell.

a girl like me
will live the life that
good girls dream of,
but never get to talk about.

I am not stubborn. Rather , I am
  nothing beyond a soul who can't
  dare to rebel against her own inner    
  voice.

Revival of a revolutionary spirit
What I represent?
Dem single mother ******* children
Uneducated, unmotivated, and poverty stricken
Moma pay da rent, da car note, den broke, da game sumtm' slick
So I'm young BLACK and angry, real ****-life *****
Infested communities of drugs and guns thats brought in by the government
So before I move a pack o pull a trigga just tryna win
I'm already guilty, 'until proven innocent'
Ain't dat a *****
The days as slaves and Jim Crow's segregated ways have passed,
Dey sayin'
But I only see it disguised now as a 'color blind' racial caste system
Crooked politicians and sellouts oppressing dey own kin
In the 'pursuit of happiness'
They're privatising prisons for capital
Mass incarceration
How could another life be property?
With a loss of civil rights, even after release
Take it ha you wona
I'm anti-colonialism
Everywhere the 'Albino' go he **** the land and oppress the people

they look at you with cold eyes
hard-set mouth and eyebrows rise
venom drips from their tongue
very coarse for one so young

so much anger within their soul
the glowing red embers of burning coal
they won't show weakness they won't show pain
they won't stop till their enemy's slain

that is what they show the world
fists clenched and eyebrows furled
they hide behind a tough guy charade
so no one can see them afraid

but ones you see past the mask
you'll be shocked and left to ask
why they are so nice and kind
but keep it all close, confined

An old man smiles and points the arrow
"you don't know they're just a sparrow."

she kissed him under no roof,
no thoughts could spring to mind
no code, no written proof
she told him she’s undefined

Thinking about all the times I said yes
Just to make others happy
Now everyone seems to have forgotten
That my life is my own.

This is why they don't teach you to say no-
So that you can't say it to their face
When the time comes.
They've been raising me like a pig for slaughter.
I guess I should've known better.
Should've spoken up.
Should've acted out.
Should've stomped my feet and yelled "NO!"
Gotten a tattoo, smoked some ****
Said I'll do whatever the **** I need.

But no one ever told me
Being a good girl never does any good.
You just miss out on what the world has to offer
End up putting a stopper on your anger
Like trapping a genie in a bottle.
And guess what?
The genie ends up
Developing its own Stockholm Syndrome.  

You get trained with treats like a dog
Sit, stay, fetch!
All the while putting a leash on your collar
When you're not looking.

It's a bit of a stretch, you say?

You're right.
Having a teen rebel phase in your twenties is not cool.
What can I say?
I've always been a little slow.

But now it feels like life is on hold forever.
I've handed the keys over
And locked myself in.

Within my head is no longer
A good place to escape to.

How likes sometimes dicatate me my self worth...
But I'm a rebel and I had enough.
From now on what I like - that counts for me.
That way I'll hopefully learn to be free.