I can’t tell what’s heavier on my shoulders 

The weight of my backpack 

Or the weight of the expectations

I don’t know what’s harder

Falling asleep at night

Or waking up in the morning 

I could overthink everything 

And I would never feel ready 

I don’t know what’s worse

A C

Or that panic attacks have become a common occurrence 

I don’t know why I’m so tired

Maybe it’s the piles of homework

Or the stacks of anxiety in my head

Even now

My head is spinning

My fingers shaking 

My eyelids begging to close

But my brain won’t shut up

At this point I don’t know what’s more important 

A 4.0

Or my sanity

My mental calendar is filled

The due date of my English essay 

Shares a day with that test

And the slide show is due before that

I need to remember to sleep

But get all that done

And do an extracurricular

A sport 

Join a club

Try something new

My back hurts

From my backpack straps 

And expectations

My head hurts

From my migraine

And the tornado of thoughts

My eyes hurt 

From the lack of sleep

And staring at that math problem for too long

My heart hurts 

Because I know

That no matter how hard I try

It won’t get better

My panic attacks will multiply 

Faster than the assignments piling up

My grades might drop

Lower than my self esteem

And my backpack will weigh just as much 

As the expectations that blanket my shoulders 

apology to the mirror

 i say sorry to the mirror
 for looking away too fast.
 for calling her names
 that no one deserves.

 she stares at me like she knows
 every unkind word i’ve whispered.
 maybe she does.
 maybe she’s tired of forgiving me.

 today i try something different —
 i trace the shape of my face
 like a map i forgot how to read.

 there’s a person here.
 she’s still here.
 she’s not what i called her.

 the mirror doesn’t smile back,
 but she doesn’t flinch either.
 maybe that’s a start.

…what is this?

Is it…

No.

It can’t be.

But…

It looks like…

Good news?

And a feeling, something almost forgotten.

Hope?

Shhhhhhh, no no no no no!

We mustn’t jinx it.

It’s so rare

That if we lose it

I’m afraid we won’t get it back.

Still, this

Strange and 

Unusual feeling?

It’s hope,

And maybe it’ll stick around.

I'll forget

(the exact words,

too many to remember)

(I wish I wouldn't,

I want to have you with me

always)

what you said.

I'll forget

(if we shared lunch

or went downtown

or looked at those mushroom overalls,

did I just know you would love them,

or did you tell me?)

(will I ever be able

to tell people

about the days

I know we spent together,

but can't remember)

what we did.

But I'll never forget

(reluctance)

(stubborn)

(sad,

not like I'm used to,

I can't tell you

the way the tears are always there

the way my heart is never as light as it was)

(helpless,

I'm not good at helpless,

but I'm not a doctor,

not a scientist,

can't drive you there,

can't pay for it,

I can just try to make you smile one more time)

(happiness,

it comes in bursts,

bubbles coated in sad,

but sometimes I forget

and it's just you me and

snow or dirt or leaves or movies or walking or eating)

(I better

never forget)

the way you made me feel

(you made me feel)

“Greetings, loyal subjects...I understand there is some grumbling amongst you regarding the state of your lives.” The king addressed the large crowd that had gathered in front of his royal palace. Up until that point, His Majesty had been having a rather good morning. He’d woken from a light slumber to his first breakfast, upon which being concluded, had had a walk around the Royal Garden and had returned for his second breakfast. As soon as the dessert was taken away, he was carried up the stairs to have his mid-morning nap. And then he woke to this.

“Questions about why I spend all your taxes on wars and very little on your cities,” the king continued, unaware that his peruke was slightly askew. “How I have one standard of justice for street level drug dealers and another for pharmaceutical drug dealers. And how I take cash and gifts from large donors, many of whom then get favorable treatment...rest assured, these are all valid concerns.”

The crowd was visibly surprised. They’d expected the king to deny everything, and they were ready for a fight against the Imperial Army. After all, with the king’s recent history, violence was almost assured. Several of them had even brought pitchforks to be used if necessary. They hadn’t expected the king to be so reasonable.

“But let me draw your attention to my humble food taster. Seven times a day, he puts his life on the line by tasting my meals. Seven times a day, he must risk his life for a person he doesn’t even know. Why? Because he is a servant of the law. I am just like my food taster. I might have a higher rank, a longer title, but I too am a servant of the law.” At this point, the king leaned back into his bedroom as he caught a whiff of tender barbecued wings – first lunch. His stomach growled in annoyance, telling him to wrap this up quickly.

Now the crowd shifted uncomfortably. They shoved their hands in their pockets and quickly moved their eyes. Several of them even brought their pitchforks and blazing brooms to eye level, thereby surrendering all firearms. They’d arrived with such bottled up anger, but now they didn’t want to spew it at the king. He seemed like a nice guy, just an ordinary person like most of them.

“Some of you may ask who, then, is my master. It is not the law. It is the people who make the law. The people who think they’re above the law. The people who claim to help the people, but do nothing. You may have come to me with bad intentions. Several of you may have wished to cause harm to me. Do not waste those feelings; instead, show them to the Members of Parliament!”

That last proclamation made an impact on the crowd. They were reawakened with the spark of hatred. Now their anger wasn’t directed towards the king; now their fury was facing the Members of Proclamation. They gave one last cheer, raised their pitchforks, and surged towards the Parliament.

“Distraction is the key to governance,” the king whispered, walking towards his dining room for his first lunch. After all, mental effort made him hungry.

A day as grey as

the clouds above it

And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light

with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence

Sadness is a blight 

to which there is no cure

but time.

Indeed, it can be eased like swallowing pills for a chronic pain

but it doesn't ever seem to leave.

Walking through barren woods, which is barren of its leaves but not its memories, nor its life, though that one is harder to find

Running with my hair down, feeling it flow with the air through which it winds, feels as if it

takes

a little pain away

And raindrops begin to fall

a few 

and more

then many,

recycling tears which have run dry.

Sadness comes as sadness goes, never gone, not always there

but just around the corner

morbid, maybe, a depressive take on life

but true, is it not?

Maybe it is not such a bad thing

because I do my best writing when I am sad.

Trees blow in the wind

and the words flow

as I am washed clean by the rain.