I feel awful for not posting. I am writing, but I can never finish a story. It feels like losing a part of me and with my depression and other various mental health disorders, that really isn't an option right now. The worlds that I create are my escape from this currently stressful, scary reality. I've been pulled and pushed in directions both physically and mentally that I never thought I would reach. I work in a grocery store during a global pandemic, I'm a first-year college student stuck at home, and I'm just surviving at this point. I come home from work exhausted to the point where I can't stand and overwhelmed to tears and scared for my health or the health of my family. If creating world after world after world is what saves me, then that's what I'm going to do. It sucks because I want to share the love I write, but you'll never see an ending and I think that's cruel. Working on poetry though. Writing will always be my passion and I will always write. On another note, I've discovered my love of LGBT+ novels and so that could also be where my time goes (could read a book and lose time).

Question: Would y'all be interested in just my writing or can I share myself (not in fictional characters) too? This platform has been an escape and I've loved being here, but my poetry has become my story and I want to tell it if it'll be heard (or read I suppose).

Thank you for still being here,

Alexander :)

(Sorry for the long absence. I was finding myself and dealing with things. This poem tells a story. Thanks, Al. :))

Born into pink

With abundant long curls

Dolls and tea parties

Dresses and make-up

Do as mom says

Never get dirty

Tilt your chin up

And smile

Be pretty

Or no boys will want you

This isn’t my body

A forever cage

My identity begging to be let free

My insides twisting and contorting

Dark colors and frown lines

An XXL hoodie draped over my dysphoric figure

Tears more often than smiles

Dolls with shattered porcelain

Tea stained dresses scatter the floor

Beside long locks of curls

Isn’t that a cruel punishment?

Being born into the wrong body

Being forced into stereotypes of the wrong gender

“You’re broken!” Mom screams.

“You can be fixed.” He preaches.

Banished sins

And outcast children

Love me until you forget me

My sins cast hate on you

Cast shadow on my soul

Prismatic light on pale concrete

A door cracked open

No long curls

No hoodie

Just me

In my own body

One that I have found

And one that I am free in

I am me

And I am not sorry

This is my identity

Air raid sirens burst my ears

As fog rolls in

Barren streets whistle in cold air

Left abandoned 

And forgotten

Shop windows gather dust

Foreclosure signs marking bankruptcy 

A ghost town 

Of past memories and neighbors 

Both are gone

In this horrible sickness

Rusty tins cans move along the ground Days of rations gone

And the future unknown 

A bag of bones lays in the corner 

This family didn't have enough 

And everything left

Empty shelves 

Left unstocked

By workers who've fallen ill

By this horrible sickness 

The sick are growing 

And the healthy are shrinking

Less doctors 

And more patients

More bodies 

Than graves 

All those mourning 

Simply cannot

Their loved ones are buried without a word For this sickness must end

We must rise above fear

A horrible, debilitating fear

For we are stronger than anything

Though this brings a new low

We will rise above

Like a phoenix

The ashes will produce beauty 

And life once more

For this sickness must end

Masked and broken

I walk with my head high

Smiling from ear to ear

Passerbys smile too

All they think is that it’s fine

I’m happy--they think

Oh, to be happy--they mumble to their lover

Look at me

Help!--I scream

My words suffocated

In the noise of the crowd

Why can no one see me?

A mask that caged my soul

It screams in agony to be let free

Pounding

And pounding

Against my vessel

It wears and tears

But the mask remains untouched

For nobody can see the pain

That lies inside

Why can no one see?

Please let me free

An eternal darkness

But still, I smile

Through endless tears and screams

My heart slowly tearing apart

My soul dimming

My brain flickering

But that mask hides it all

No one can see

A peek into the light is shuddered

And hidden

Why can no one see?

Please let me free

A slow patter

The echo filling the hollowed brain

Crimson red on ivory white

Bleeding to know I’m alive

A slow, stuttered heartrate

Heartbreak

Pain

Loneliness

Cascading and dispensing on to the cool water

Pooling around tile crevices

My lifeline

Draining

Drawing away

The heart slowing the lungs

Closed eyes

And deep breaths

The last breaths

Bleeding to know I’m alive

Only to die

I lay frozen to my bed, unable to move or breathe or yell for help. My body lay encompassed in eternal fear. A small scratching that's increasing in volume makes my heart race into my throat, choking me as I gasp for air. In the corner of the room, a woman stood staring at me--she had a frayed rope tied around her neck, sunken purple eyes, and more bruises than pale skin. Her nightgown bloodied in a messy triangle between her breasts. It looked as though she tried to speak but her words were suffocated by the rope so instead she trudged closer. Every part of my being wanted to move, but nothing did. I'm frozen. She held my neck, taking my life just as hers was taken. It hurt then I woke up. My eyes blurred with frightful tears as I look around to the silent, dark house. I sit up drowsily in search of the women, but it's just me and a sleeping Grayson. The feeling of her hands still lingers on my skin.

"Morning," Grayson mumbled into the pillow, "What are you doing up? It's a quarter before six."

"Trouble sleeping," I drag myself into the bathroom and hurriedly turn on the lights. The dark is not my friend, "How'd you sleep?"

"Great," he popped up behind me, "You look like you slept for days. It's unfair that someone can look this good after waking up."

"Thanks," I tilt my head back so that he can place a kiss on my recently moisturized lips.

We spend an hour getting ready for school before leaving my room. My father stood at the stove tossing pancakes into the cool morning air.

"Hey, dad," I smile, "Where's mom?"

"She got called into work so I stayed behind to make breakfast," he pointed a pancake turner at Grayson who, by now, is standing nervously behind me, "Who's your friend?"

"Grayson Dark," he answered, "We lost track of time with schoolwork last night."

"Plenty of pancakes to go around." My father's sleeve slid up his arm revealing scratch marks. I only saw them for a couple of unnoticeable seconds before he hurriedly shoves it back down. The woman in my dreams had similar marks on her gray arms, I note to myself.

"Neel," Grayson broke my thoughts, "Am I riding you to school?"

"No, I kinda want my dad to ride me. I want to talk."

"Alright."

"Neel, I'm honored. You don't ever want your dad around your friends," he joked.

"You're a cool dad--of course I do."

The three of us sit around a small circular table and talk about the weather and school and everything typical. Grayson heads off first to grab something from his house then my father grabs his work bag.

"Thanks for driving me," I say as I reach the garage door.

"No," he quickly yelled, but quieted down, "Don't go into the garage. It's infested with bugs and your mom doesn't want them in the house," he hurriedly explained.

"Okay," I say slowly and quite confused.

Inside the passenger seat of the car, I look down at my feet to see them among various debris of sticks and fibers. There's a lot I want to say, but nothing comes out like being frozen in the nightmare. I'm scared for some reason. Some part of me wants to open the door and run so before he can even park, I do open the door and bolt into the school. I watch the floor as I walk and as I try to piece together my morning.

"Bro," James jumped in my window of view, "How's it going?"

"Tired.” The largest yawn escapes my mouth before I could try to cover it.

"You're weird dreams again?"

"Yeah," I sigh, "They're so real."

Grayson joined my side like a breath of fresh air, "And troubling. It's been three weeks of non-stop nightmares."

"You'd know," James laughed, "You sleep with him."

I don't respond, "We need to get to homeroom."

Mr. Zaner's calculus was the only interesting part of my school day--I get to witness Grayson being a fool with the teacher and Mr. Zaner laughing his boisterous laugh. Most of everything else blended in with the normalcy and at the same time, the strangeness of this Wednesday. Grayson sneaks in through the back entrance of the house and up to my bedroom where we proceed to procrastinate our homework. He always distracts me.

"Are we that obvious?" I ask, stopping his latest barrage of kisses.

He threw his head back in protest, "Yes."

"You're trouble."

He smiled, "I know."

"Like I should be doing schoolwork right now, but instead I'm with you."

"Well, you didn't stop me nor hesitate to rip my clothes off," he leaned back, sinking into the fluffy cushion.

"I'm not complaining."

"You are."

I roll my eyes, "Grayson--"

"Neel!" my mother yelled, "Get down here."

I hurriedly tossed my clothes on as I stumble down the stairs to see an officer standing in the doorway--his shape outlined on the floor with the shadow of the setting sun. A pile of papers rests tightly in his left hand.

At the age of 16, Neel Hobbs believes he has a perfect life--two supportive parents, a loving boyfriend (Grayson Dark), and a goofy best friend (James Alexander), not mention his straight A's and physical structure, but that all changes on his sixteenth birthday when a letter reveals that Clark Hobbs, his father, has killed Sherri Joyner, a senior at Summerfield High School, and that her body is buried underneath his home. A search warrant flips Neel's perfect life upside when he learns that his father is a horrific serial killer, burying bodies under their home and getting away with it for over a decade. Follow Neel and those in his life as details emerge of these crimes and as Clark stays on the run tormenting his young and rather recently vulnerable son. How is Neel going to deal with this trauma and what threats are going to impose on his life as he digs deeper? How many bodies are there truly? And is the truth really all there is?

Nobody knows what lurks in the shadows.

It was almost as though the house had a heartbeat. A slow, stuttered rhythm that swayed through the grasses. The cool air brushed open the curtains and dew painted the soft petals of mother’s tulips. The clock chimed six.

Officer Doyle pulled her body out slowly, struggling with the awkward shape of mangled bones.

I sit up drowsily and look around. The silence of the house echoed through my body with a deafening sorrow. Forty-seven minutes later Grayson grumbled awake.

Life is incredibly brutal

But yet even more beautiful

When rising from the ashes with tear-filled eyes,

One can see a true path

That lies within a strenuous reach

You have to be willing to fight

To arrive alive

"Nothing in this world that's worth having comes easy."