Mar 05

Wrong

In America alone there are over 55,000 homeless veterans on any given night.
That's over 55% of all homeless in America. 
We spend billions of dollars sending troops into war.
But how do we treat them when they return home?
I'll tell you.
We treat them like dirt under our boots on the streets.
The streets that they risked their lives protecting.
The streets that they know all to well, as they scrape change from them.
So they know where their next meal is coming from,
But most of them still go hungry.
We deny them healthcare,
A basic human right.
On average 21 to 22 veterans commit suicide everyday,
At the hands of us.
Because we don't provide treatment for their illnesses like PTSD, alienation, depression, speration, and anxiety.
We are killing our veterans with the scenes and nightmares they witnesses during combat.
But they're terrified to go back and get help.
Feb 03

I am from...

I am from broken families and divorced parents.
I am from long nights with my sisters.
 Fights, and name calling.

I am from paint brushes and acrylic stained palettes.
I am from art classes,
    And drawing after drawing.

I am from summer Six Flags trips and pool days.
I am from jump rope teams, trips, and home shows.

I am from broken friendships and lies.
I am from bullies,
    And trying to learn to love myself.

I am from books and reading sessions that last for hours.
I am from finding escapes through other people’s written words.

I am from legal and physical custody battles.
I am from my mother moving to South Carolina,
    And her getting married and waiting a year and a half to tell me.

I am from switching schools and making teachers quit.

I am from therapy and doctor’s offices.
I am from casts and bruises from adventures.
Feb 03

I'm Sure

It was like a scene from the movies, 
Where the pretty popular girl gets what ever she wants. 
In the heat of the moment I forgot what roles we played in society. 
All that matter was the way you were looking at me.
As I looked at you through my wide rimmed glasses,
while I pushed them up my nose. 
I caught you watching me.
Your glasses resting on the bridge of your nose.
Your gaze was full of admiration, love, and care. 
But there was also caution behind it. 
You were looking at me like I would disapear if you looked away. 
You wore a smirk that pulled your features into an experssion that I've never seen you make towards me before. 
Your light blue eyes sparkled,
With what I'm not sure. 
If I could travel through time, 
I would go back just to relive that moment.
As our eyes met,
I'm sure you saw the excitment behind mine.
In the moment,
Jan 20

You.


Loving you,
Is wrong.
And I know it is.
And if the world knew,
They’d label me more of an outcast than I already am.
But I can’t help but steal the extra glance at you from across the room,
Admiring the way your back slopes as you write out your thoughts,
Or as you drum your fingers against the keys of your computer.
I can’t help that all my worries and stress melt away when you laugh,
Because it’s like honeysuckle blowing through the breeze on a warm summer day.
Your voice creates a melody,
And your words create the lyrics.
And if it were a song,
It’d be my favorite.
The twinkle you get in your eyes when you talk about something you’re passionate about,
Is irresistible.
Your eyes are like the ocean,
Easy to get lost in.
And if you’d let me,
I’d go swimming in the deep blue waters everyday.
Dec 09

Society.

As you stand infront of your closet.
Fingers threading through hangers and down the soft fabric of your clothes.
As you try to choose an outfit that complies to what society wants from you.
But still applies to school dress code.
So you don't have to do the locker room walk of shame.
Changing into smelly gym clothes.
Because you were showing off to much shoulder and that was distracting to your male educators.
Spending hours perfecting your make-up, and making your winged eyeliner so sharp that it could kill a man.
So that when you walk down halls, 
Heads spun 360 like an exorsist.
So that you can prove your haters wrong.
Because they told you,
No one would ever love you based off the way that you look. 
And your left wondering if you do this for yourself or for the approval of others.
Because you can't see yourself worth.
Because you don't think that you look like the slim fit beauties on magazine covers.
Dec 05

What I Want.

Missing you comes in waves.
And tonight I'm drowning.
I want to feel your big hands on my soft skin,
As I sob into your chest at 2 A.M.
I want to hear you whisper sweet nothings into my ear and tell me that everything will be okay.
I want to feel you run your fingers through my hair as you wipe the tears from my eyes.
I want to lay in your arms as your silky voice soothes me to sleep.
I want to wake up in your strong arms, breathing in your scent, as pools of sunlight gather on the floor.
I want to be able to take your hand in public places without being judged.
I want to be able to hug you whenever I want to.
I want to be able to feel your soft lips against mine when I need comforting, or as we make dinner in the kitchen, or just as we lougne together on the couch.
I want to be able to express to the world how much I love you, without being told that I don't or that I'm foolish.
No one understands that 
Dec 04

School

They say they protect everyone.
That they stop bullying and help the victims.
They claim that they try and do what ever it takes to stop it. 
But we all know the truth.
When they turn their backs, 
Insults are hung around our necks like signs inviting anyone to join in. 
They don't think twice about jumping on kids who supposedly claim
'I wish I was dead' 
Poking and prodding, 
When we don't want tot talk about it.
They say they don't premit suicide jokes,
But they turn a blind eye to the kids in the snack lines;
Who hold plastic knifes to their wrists. 
Joking to their friends about 'being a cutter'.
Saying 'oh, look at me, I cut' or 'oh, I'm Emo'. 
They see it, they hear it, they know it's happening.
But they sweep it under the rug like nothing ever happened. 
But whose really at fault here?
Us or them. 


 
Dec 04

Charcoal & Graphite

Graphite scratching at paper as imagination becomes relality.
Erasers dragged over freshly drawn lines. 
What's left of the image is swept away from the page.
She drags her pencil over where the sketch used to lay, reworking the lines to perfectly capture the protrait in her mind.
She's been at in for hours.
Crumpled up papers litter the floor around her.
Her hands are coated in graphite from relentlessly sweeping away eraser shavings and graphite dust.
No matter what angles she approaches the problem from, she struggles to transfer the image in her mind to the page before her.
She drops her pencil, fingers ghosting over the charcoal sitting beside her.
When she gets an idea.
Pushing the papers littered with marks away, 
She grabs the charcoal, pressing the tip to the paper before setting to work.
She's lost herself in thought, swift arm motions, and sharp wrist flicks. 
Dec 04

Gone.

It's been awhile since you left this dark place we call home.
I hope you're not hurting anymore and that you're happy. 
I cared, I still do, and I always will.
Even though you told me not to. 
Now I know that you distanced yourself to protect me, but it only made it worse.
You had so much potentional in you. 
I told you time and time again that I could feel it in my bones. 
But you didn't believe me anyways.
Your future was so bright, it was almost blinding.
But in your eyes, it looked so dull.
You were so kind and had such an open heart.
Even though you didn't think so. 
Your smile was spirit lifting.
Even though you found it broken.
Your presents could make anyone feel better.
Even though you thought you were annoying.
You were unique.
Even though you thought you blened in like pastels.
Now I'm left looking at where you should be sitting in class.
Nov 18

The Remaining Seconds.

The clock on my wrist is counting down it’s last minutes.
I sit quietly in the god forsaken room.
It’s only me here, something's telling me that I shouldn’t move.
This goddamn room is so quiet that I think that anyone within a mile can hear my heart pounding against my rib cage, and the voices in my head screaming.
    ‘1 minutes 43 seconds.’
I shift in my seat, the leather of the chair rubbing against my jeans.
I wipe my palms on my jeans as I stare at the door becoming more anxious.
‘1 minute remaining.’
My heart starts beating faster as if that’s even possible.
I’m questioning if I even want to see who walks through that door.
    ‘45 seconds remaining.’
The voices in my head, they’re screaming at my me stand.
I rise from the old leather swivel chair at the back of the room with shaking knees.
    ‘30 seconds remaining.’
I take three unsure, unsteady steps forward.

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