He had woken up at noon, missing breakfast altogether, instead opting for a ham and cheese sandwich. He held his phone, checking notifications and responding to texts as he ate. His dark, wavy locks appeared as if they had been home to a few pigeons throughout the night. After scarfing down his sandwich, he spent a total of five minutes throwing together an outfit, before stuffing a towel into an adidas cinch bag and biking to his friend’s pool. He had to be at work by four, and it was already nearly one. By two thirty, he was back home. He texted his friends and posted on his story. Then, he got ready for work, throwing on shorts and a random lacrosse shirt. He left at three thirty. At nine fifteen, he saw a girl, maybe a year younger than him, with what was obviously her family. They were carbon copies of the mother, blonde hair and blues eyes for all three children. He snuck glances at her while she waited in line for ice cream. Wavy, tangled hair and sun-kissed shoulders, exposed by the blue, floral tube top she was wearing. It seemed as though she was laughing the whole time she waited, her ocean eyes seemed to be perpetually smiling. Jeans, rolled above her ankles and beat-up flip-flops. She was looking at him occasionally, too. She didn’t end up at his window, but one he was working near. He watched the surprised look on her face when she was handed a waffle cone filled with two scoops of chocolate ice cream, enough for her to be handed a small dish with it. The rainbow sprinkles really were the finishing touch. He saw her stealing glances at him while he scooped ice cream for another family. He looked over, instinctively. Their eyes met. She blushed, quickly looking away. His gaze lingered a moment longer, before he got back to work. He saw her leave, not having finished her cone. Ten o’clock finally rolled around, and he drove straight home. Walking into his house, he shut the door slowly, as not to wake his mom or brother. Another ham and cheese sandwich for dinner, but this time he added pickles and tomatoes, for good measure. He carried a water bottle up to his room. After his shower, he put on his dad’s old hoodie. It still smelled like him. Tired and somber, he pulled out his earbuds and started his most comforting playlist. All the songs he remembered his dad listening to when he was younger. Earbuds in, hoodie on, he fell asleep on top of his covers at midnight.

The god you speak of, the one you devote time to every week, is merciful. loving. generous. Where is their mercy for the kindergartener who has a cyst in his brain? What could he have possibly done to deserve twenty hours of seizing? Where is their love for the people who have tried to leave the world you say he created for us? The ones who have lines up and down their arms, across their thighs, lining their hands? The ones who have held knives against their throats? With empty pill bottles in their hands? How can you sit there and tell me there is a god above? That your god is the one who looks down on us? That everything they do is for a purpose? I don’t see your god’s damn purpose. What’s the purpose of giving us food, then cursing a teenage girl with the mental illness that makes the need to throw it back up? What’s the point of putting us here and watching us struggle? The only generosity I see is when your god assigns tragedies. Why am I here if I’m only going to die one day? What good are prayers if only the rich white families have their requests granted? What kind of god asks you to kneel for them, when we could stand and do more than they ever have for us? What fucking kind of fucking god leaves us with more questions than fucking answers? I wish I could believe in your god, but I live in my own world apparently. Maybe faith is your way of coping but I do not believe any longer. I believe that one day I will die in this world. One day my body be buried in the ground where it will stay and rot. One day I will be gone. One day, none of this will matter and I won’t be here to care. But for now I choose to believe in my reality and not your god. Because your god seems more like a devil than a savior and your heaven seems a lot more like hell. And there’s enough hell on the earth you say your god created to last me until I get the chance to meet them.

It’s a lack of control

Irrationality taking hold while

you reach to grab onto

something, reaching into the air realizing

you can’t hold onto memories.

It’s knowing that you can’t stop

Nothing is how you wanted it but

everything else is stable, yet

you’re the one falling even

though you were just letting go.

It’s remembering you’re to blame

Had you only held on tighter, perhaps

you would still be in bed, still

wondering what would have happened if

your fingers had slipped.

What is it like to have loved and lost?

Were the moments stolen from fate worth the inevitable? And when we laid together, wrapped in that old, plaid blanket, watching cheesy rom-coms, could you feel the seconds ticking by? Every exhale was one of exhaustion. Counting the minutes we had left, knowing each one was something we’d never get back. Sleeping felt like a waste. Did my friends notice the bags under my eyes? Would I still be able to feel your arms wrapped around my waist, from when you turned on those overplayed, pop love songs, and we swayed under the stars? Each day that I could fall asleep calling you my own felt like a victory.

What is it like to have loved and lost?

Because I have only been loved and won.

and it crashes over you

waves breaking and spraying

the voices swirl around you

talking and laughing and screaming and yelling and crying

you see the empty cups scattered around your room

the plates piling up in the kitchen sink

when’s the last time your bed was made?

the curtains opened?

it drags you under

but pushes you back up

you come to hate breaking the surface

more than you hate being pulled under

losing track of memories

you can’t remember

was it two weeks ago or today?

every time you see someone it’s like a new face

the waves twirl you into a ballerina

spinning in circles

lost in the movements

days are weeks and weeks are months

but minutes are years and seconds are eternities

suddenly it’s now again

you’re standing on the sandbank

struggling, fighting, chasing after your breath

and it crashes over you

I had a friend, who had a cousin. We were all the same age, sitting on the same couch, watching the same dull children’s movie in the humid cool of summer’s midnight. The cousin’s father was an alcoholic. We were all bored of the movie we watched solely because there were children totting around. He asked me, “Do you believe in God?” And I, being the naive, sheltered child, responded, confused, with a yes. He asked me, “And you just go along with the idea that God created the world?” And I shrugged, not knowing where he was going with the conversation. He asked me, “Then who created God?” And then his aunt, my friend’s mom, came in, telling him it was time for him to go back home with his father. I remember him crying. He didn’t want to go home. He repeated that through his tears. That was the only time I had ever seen him cry. It’s always stayed with me, the crushing reality that made a ten year old boy question God, while I was questioning which of my friends would be home for me to play with. The unfairness he had been through, to see through the stories of love and equality that God provided. He never mentioned if he believed in God, he only left me with questions. And I still think about that day.

He begged her to go back to bed. No, she wanted to stargaze for a moment longer. She always thought it was such a waste for all that light to travel for so long, only to be ignored by the sleeping people. That starlight danced upon her face, making her eyes sparkle. He watched that starlight catch in her hair which brushed her shoulders when she drew them up in a fit of laughter at his jokes. That starlight that projected a memory in his mind. It replayed. He bent and bent and broke. And she’s sitting on the windowsill with her feet dipping out into the cool spring evening. He’s lying in bed, trying to ignore the starlight painting her figure by the window. They’re trying to ignore the divide. He can’t fall asleep. He doesn’t want the memories. He’s frustrated and she’s just sitting there, sitting there fine, bathing in the starlight. And suddenly he’s yelling, goddamnit, why can’t she just come back to bed like a normal person. She jumps. She slips. Fingers grasping at the starlight, it can’t hold her any longer. It glints off his irises, a cold regret filling them. Her shadowy form crumpled in the front yard.

They buried her in the daylight.

We’re all in a hurry

Constantly moving

Can’t seem to slow down,

even for a moment

If we falter, if we pause, we drown

Drowning in the feelings and the happenings

Feet pounding on the pavement

one, two, three

one, two three

drowning out the feelings and the happenings

one two three one two three

Running, running

we’re always running

towards tomorrow

towards “it gets better” one two three

muscles burning, body aching we keep running we keep moving

if we stop, that’s it

because for all they teach us, for all the times they yell at us for being wrong

we don’t know how to think

incorrect

we know how to

we just can’t

if we think about one thing then we’re thinking about it all and if we think about it all we’re crushed by the weight of everybody’s problems that are suffocating you while society’s expectations to be the happy go lucky character have you in a chokehold and

and

and suddenly we cant breathe

when they want us to be calm when they don’t know what to do with us they say “just breathe”

breathe with our lungs made of fire, breathe when we can’t but “just breathe” they say

just breathe in their lies and breathe out resignation

in

and out

one

two

three

in

one

and

two

out

three

they don’t know what to do with us

if they slow us down

we shatter

but if we keep moving like this

we go up in flames

the diamonds crack and the golden melt

We can’t slow down

We refuse

We’d rather go out with a bang,

shoot a flare gun to the sky,

than break when no one’s watching.

Everyone is drifting away

The words you type

The way your voice sounds

How you light up with laughter

It’s fading

It’s lonely this way

Seeing you in the hallways

Never anywhere else

Hearing you hung out with her yesterday

Wondering why she’s better

Except it’s not hard to discern why

She has the right words in all the right places

Why would you bother with someone who’s too afraid to speak?

It’s better this way

Watching all of you fade away

The memories are enough

The times you could forget imperfection

Wishing you still could

But I need to get it through my head that I’m not good enough.

I need to understand that ignorance is bliss and even though the days where I forgot my shortcomings were the best of my life, they’re not reality.

The reality is that I’m draining to be around.

I’m not funny or smart. Not creative or unique.

I’m not noteworthy at all.

I sure wish I was.

I wish that I was artistic like you

Or funny like you

Or a genius like you

I wish I was as attractive as you

I wish I could be good

Good enough for anyone

I only need one person

Not alone, per se

Just lonely

Lonely as the realization hits you

That you’re better than me

I’m powerless to stop it

I guess I’ll be alright

That’s what everyone tells me, after all

Right before they leave

As you leave

Hollow, metallic, robotic

I’m not me

I watch myself do everything I would if I were me

but I’m not me

I’m just a spectator

Emotionless, it’s hard to care what happens to me

I can feel things but it doesn’t seem quite real

Every moment seems so slow, but I blink and two weeks are gone

Where am I going?

Every time I slip away it’s harder to come back

It’s more difficult to tell if I’m back

I’m not me anymore, I’ve changed

I’m empty

The thoughts reverberate in my mind

Empty of all else, they grow

Taking root, they blossom

To the point where I don’t want to eat

I can’t sleep

Everything seems pointless

I’m not me but if I was, I’d be sobbing

I’d be hiding from the monster I’m watching right now

The one who’s typing out these words