In my head

Wishing

Blinking

Breathing

Walking

Running

Creating

Realizing

That I

Could be

Something

If I didn't think as much

About winning

Or where I'll stand

Or how good I will be compared

To the people that are better then me

I need to focus on breathing

Because I used to be so smart

But now I'm middling

What's happening

To the me

That focused on reading

Writing

Homework

Dreaming

Believing

In myself

Caring

About myself

Not being afraid

To brag about my accomplishments

Because now I try hard to focus

But the information slips

And I end up

Crying

Hurting

Screaming

Breathing

Breathing

Breathing

Realizing

That I could still be something

If I

Just

Give myself a break

Judgement is something that can't be avoided: you do it, I do it, even Obama does it. It's simply a quality that comes with thinking, and having opinions. But it's ridiculous that people can't do or wear anything without being judged. More specific than that: teenagers. We are constantly judging each other and being thrown into stereotypes: You wear nice clothes? You're trying too hard. You like black? You're emo and depressed. You like reading? You're a geek. You've had sex? You're a slut. People categorize us, and dish us out into groups based on everything we do. Girls can't get away with going to Starbucks anymore without being called a 'Typical White Girl'. So, what do I hunger for? I hunger for us to be able to look at each other, and see people: not stereotypes, not their stomachs sticking out over their jeans, just people. I want us to see how nice their smile is, how interesting they are to have a conversation with, how pretty they look in a certain top or color. I hunger for us to want to be people, not barbie dolls, and I hunger for that to not just be encouraged but truly accepted. We say so much these days that we think will make a difference in people's minds about judgement and stereotypes, but we don't take much of it to heart. The kids who tell you to love yourself could very well be crying themselves to sleep at night. The ones who tell you to be happy could be trying to convince themselves to be happy, too. Before I punch a wall, I conclude this piece with hopes that you not only heard me, but you listened. I hope you, too, hunger for us to accept one another, and just make peace with our brains so that when we JUDGE people, because it's bound to happen, we also SEE them. Because you never know, you might like what you see.

eyes of blue, brown,

with golden grains

no one would ever guess

the thing he became.

his heart faded to grey

and his soul a dark blue,

his eyes were solid black,

his hellish tears were true.

he threw his dreams in the trash

with every punch he threw

and every scream of agony

all the awful things he'd do.

some drugs and hugs

light sprung to his eyes

now a dark chocolate

he no longer cried

but still a rotting body

on the inside

more pills more love

he turned the tides

hazelnut daydreams

and a heart of gold

if only he didn't discover

happiness gets old

he asked me late last night

if good things ever remained

i asked him why, he just sighed:

"my eyes are getting dark again."

"shaky hands makes

a shaky heart

and an anxious amber

never settles,"

you used to say

so i took a box of cards

and wrote in bold words

52 reasons I loved you.

by the end,

my hands were calloused,

but my letters were strong,

and my heart finally

beat normally

(for a girl in love).

I then built

a tall house

with all 52 cards

and called it ours by the

light of a happy moon.

but still time passed;

the cards bent, snapped

and piece by piece

our paper home collapsed

until I couldn't read

my writing

and all that

was left were

52 ways a heart could break

and a lonely

anxious amber.

we live life in

black and white

yet we cry for the

lack of gold

we are

Times New Roman

and size 12 font

no italics and no bold

we may walk along

the dotted lines

if we fit

inside the frame

of society's portrait

of a beautiful life;

filtered black and white

titled 'The Living Game'.

I stood with my heart between my knees and my lungs up between my eyes and I gasped for a breath of legitimacy I grasped for a guess at infinity and I recognize it wasn't wise but foresight was never defined with clarity and looking back I realize that exhales have always been guaranteed while it's inhales I've taken for granted

feet planted

pounding

prodding

pupating

I stood there and sighed at the sky

I did not move until the wind

tripped me

toppled me

tumbled me

down

my own

ravine