I feel the pressure of a million tons sitting atop my chest, pressing on my heart like snowcaps on mountaintops, and each new thing is another drop of rain in a hurricane, wearing me down until I am smoothened and hardened and my color has been bleached out but wearing a mask is so much easier than taking one off

I wish I could cry

It’s pulling me

the swirling hand of the depths of who knows

And I’m being drowned

nobody on the land can hear my screams

because they’re the silent type

ones i brush off as easily as one would a piece of lint on a sweater

my eyes are drooping

a storm is brewing

and the riptide is pulling me

out to sea

to isolate me

and to let me die

and at this point

its a sweet relief from the relentless bartering from the sea as it turned against me

and pulled me

down

down

down

down

You say being young is energizing

It’s great to be young

Carefree, and jubilant

Experiencing the world with our own eyes before the adults insist we need glasses to help us see

But youth isn’t what you think it is because...

Youth is rushing to grow up and

Youth is you should know better than that, you’re 10!

and youth is it’s time to start growing up and

youth is never just have fun since

it’s always do your schoolwork so you can succeed in life

and youth isn’t endless days of summer, ending with roasting marshmallows around an open flame and a perfect family, as the sleepy sun casts a golden glow on the world because

Youth is pressure from

Friends

Family

Teachers

Neighbors and

they’re all watching

and they’re done saying Aw, she’s cute

By the time you can walk and talk, they’ve moved on to saying isn’t she a little old to be doing that? because

Youth is a enervating battle to be older

but to stay young

some wonder why youth is wasted on the young, and to that I wonder

why those who wish to be young waste the youth of the young.

I’m not sure why every leaf must die

Though, I think it may be to make room for the new beauties

The leaves, they begin as buds as birds chirp, and flowers blossom

Ready to emerge into the great wide world

And they turn green, absorbing the sunlight as children run back into the house

Reaching for cumbersome dollar bills and cool pieces of change

As the ice cream truck rolls by

Then some turn golden

Some set ablaze with hues of red and orange

While grey chipmunks bury their acorns,

Planting the last of what they can before the ground freezes over,

But in the end, in the cruel, cold hours of winter

They all fail the test of time

As the wind sweeps them away, making off with its stolen beauty

And in the spring, as birds once again

Begin to sing their spritely songs again and the flowers blossom into beautiful pastels

The buds will once again arrive and sprout into beauty

The clock struck ten and now it was like Cinderella but in reverse

She’d be coming back, so she didn’t bring her purse

42 eyeballs stared as she left the room

21 brains predicting gloom

Silently she made her way

To the cafeteria to protest on this day

Silence hummed in the crowd

Only murmurs, nothing loud

She made her way and sat down

Her eyes on the clock, her posture as if she were wearing a crown

As seventeen long minutes went by

She breathed in for the ones who could never ask why

Lives ended so suddenly, might as well be her own

This thought shook her to the bone

Seventeen tears trailed down her face

For the seventeen lives silence couldn’t replace

And as she made her way back to the classroom

She felt the predicted gloom

As 42 eyeballs watched her sit down

And 21 brains thought about her frown

While just one

Processed the power of a single gun

head down, cheek squished on arm

read the words on the screen

write them down on the paper again

graphite lead falls to paper

scratching out words

they start to blur

blend

together

when you sit for forty-seven minutes

and read

and write

copy

and paste

pencil slickened by tiny sweat beads

gathering on blistering fingers

marks left from

reading

and writing

and copying

and pasting

but not a “command C” paste

a write and write and write until the screen

and the paper are

identical

so then you have notes

some on the glowing pixels

and some scratched out on paper

written with your time

that you cannot reclaim

so treasure your “notes”

for they contain part of your life

Every person’s got a shadow

It’s hard to believe, I know

They’re hard to see

When you’re trying to hide yours

They’re hard to see

In a world of black and white

They’re hard to see

When you’re sitting in the dark

They’re hard to see

When we don’t see each other

But when you shine a light

Underneath your bed

The monsters will always disappear

You’re never even sure they were ever there to begin with

The same happens with a shadow

People will deny

They’ll lie

They’ll cover it up anyway they can

They’ll shove their light into your eyes

Burning your retinas

Until you’re blinded by the imprints

Sunspots dancing across your vision

Like sugar plum fairies

But much darker

Everyone’s got a shadow

Trailing behind them

Silent

Suppressed

Scared

And these shadows?

We’re all so ashamed of them

We pretend they don’t exist,

The mention of one sets cheeks afire and people running

Until we’re all sunshine people

And our sun has reduced the word

“Shadow”

to ashes, to be

stolen away by the wind

It’s funny how

at night after all the

emotions I keep suppressed inside

leak out through my eyes

silently,

as my shoulders shake

I’m left feeling empty

and numb

not a bad numb and empty

not a good empty and numb

but unfeeling in a way

that lets me wake up

and be able to plaster on a smile

and make jokes

that aren’t really jokes

but silent cries

for help

I, I, I

My, my, my

Me, me, me

"That's cool, I-"

Everyone wants to talk about themselves,

and I will admit that I do, too

Sometimes, though

it's necessary to stop and listen

stop chattering about your life

and hear the bees buzzing about theirs

Some may call me nerd,

friend,

or a person who will lend

Some may call me kind,

mean,

or somewhere in between

Some may call me strange,

fine,

or a kid who can shine

But I call myself

a sister,

a moron,

a daughter,

a lover,

a soccer player,

a bully,

a friend,

a babysitter

And I think I am

broken,

content,

distressed,

overflowing,

perfectionist,

tired,

silly,

annoying,

crazy,

acting,

fake,

lying

Does it matter what words I use?

I am me

and me is I

and that

will have to do

for you

and me