“Climate change is fake,”

You say.

“It’s just a theory.”

Oh?

Well,

A theory is backed by years of research,

Scientists guessing and

Gathering evidence.

But ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

“Greta is just a girl.

She has no place in politics.”

Ah yes,

The classic

Children Are Insignificant

Argument.

But often times,

As many parents will tell you,

Adults learn more from children

Than anyone else.

“The climate changing is a natural thing.

So what if it changes?

There’s no way to prove humans

Are destroying the Planet.”

I’m sorry,

Kind Sir,

But have you read the scientific journals?

Have you listened

To the scientists

Wholeheartedly

Backing Greta’s cries for help?

Your answer will be

No.

For ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

We kill each other,

We hate each other,

We mock each other

For our differences.

But tell me,

Does hatred change the world?

Does murder heal

And mend broken hearts?

Do bipartisan governments

Solve world hunger?

Do multi-billion dollar

Capitalist industries bring people together?

The answer is once again no,

A very large and

Resounding

No at that.

You say it is fake,

You support the raging,

Hateful,

Racist,

Sexist,

Prejudiced

Commander In Chief

Who denies logic

Because you want to.

Because change is horrifying.

Because the Old Ways

Fix everything,

Like they always have.

Isn’t that right?

But the Young Ones

Know.

The Young Ones know better.

They know better than to blindly follow

Propagandized government.

They know how to question,

They know in their Souls

What is right

And what is magnificently wrong.

It is so hard to

Believe

That so many refuse to

See

What is going on right before their eyes.

But,

Your Majesty,

So what if climate change is fake?

The worst thing to come of that

Will be to find renewable energy sources

So that we never

Fall into a

Mass Extinction

Again.

It is difficult to

Believe

The hatred flowing so freely from

The lips of the

Ignorant,

The Violent actions

Supported by those who refuse to

Open their eyes

And see.

For you

It is hard to

Believe

The Earth is dying,

And Her voice is fading away.

Her shoulders shake with Fear.

Her eyes well with tears,

Tears filled with the trash we’ve

Shoved into her.

The Earth pleads

And begs.

But you will not change,

You will not wake up.

You are old,

You don’t have to take care of

Our Earth for much longer.

When you are gone,

They will have to live,

Or merely survive,

With what you have left behind.

You will not change

Because as soon as you

Die,

You will be free of

Consequence.

But ignorance is a powerful,

Powerful thing,

Is it not?

I am a nameless face,

A faceless name.

I forgot my name so long ago,

I forgot what my face looks like.

I’ve not a clue how my voice sounds.

Maybe it was thick

Like sweet,

Raw honey.

Maybe it was soft,

Floating through the air

Like a bird

Carrying itself on fragile wings.

I cannot remember the time

I’ve spent in this cold,

Dark place.

All I can remember is what sent me here.

I was a queen.

The people loved me,

And I loved them.

I loved the gardens sprawling across

Acres and acres

Of fertile land.

I loved the royal horses

And riding over the meadows,

Through the forests,

Visiting those who I loved.

But the thing I loved the most,

The one thing I could not

Live without,

Was my King.

He stole me away from a

Horrid little tower

In the east.

He won me from the orcs,

The Deformed Elves,

The Cursed Ones.

He fought a war to drive them

Into the

Depths

From whence they came,

And at the end,

He found me,

A young woman,

Locked away in a dungeon.

He rescued me

And let me live in his castle,

Gave me food and wine.

For the first time I tasted

Sweet cherries,

Salted pork,

And bitter ale.

I was happy.

And then the orcs came back.

Stronger and faster,

They seethed in their abyss

For years,

Their hatred swelling

And granting them powers

We hadn’t seen before.

They shot Black Magic

From their fingertips,

Their screams made the

Soldiers’ ears bleed.

Their bows shot straight

Through fleshy bodies,

Leaving gaping holes

So that beating hearts would

Fall to the dirt.

They demanded their maiden back.

I was to be their

Salvation,

The way out of their

Wretched lives.

They would use me to create

A better bloodline,

To breed with the

Elite orcs,

The High Priests.

But my King refused.

He fought,

And fought,

And fought,

Because he loved me.

I was his Queen,

His one and only.

Until I couldn’t give him

A Son.

Time and time again,

Try after try,

I gave him only daughters

Or nothing at all.

He killed the ones he found,

And sought the ones

I hid.

He had become a madman,

Obsessed with an heir

To carry on his

Blood

And wars.

Though I begged and pleaded

For him to see

Reason,

He never did.

And so,

When he had enough of my

Soiled Womb,

He sent me for execution.

The murder flew above my head,

Cawing and clawing

For death.

The Executioner stood

With his

Bloody Axe,

And he struck a

Mighty blow

Meant to send my head

Rolling.

But before his fell swoop

Could fall,

One of those devilish arrows

Pierced his skull,

Grey matter spilling

Before the crowd

Come to watch the

Witch Queen

Die.

A black curtain blocked

The sky

As the arrows rained

Down upon the King’s

Loyal subjects.

Most were dead before

They could

Scream.

I was shot

Three times over,

But never wounded.

The arrows passed through me,

The gapes stung

Like the tiniest scorpion,

But they healed.

The King fled.

Orcs climbed the walls,

Their grey skin gleaming with sweat.

“My Lady”

The leader said

“We are here to take you home.”

I went

For I had nowhere else to go.

I was to be hunted

Throughout the kingdom

Until my head was presented

To my Husband.

His fury could be felt

Across the land

For months.

As we crossed

Those Hellish gates

Into the Realm of the Orcs

My daughters stood,

Crying,

Rejoicing at their

Mother’s return.

They had taken refuge

With my Kin,

Heeding my past words

To run somewhere the

King dared not go.

Their skin had turned grey,

Their eyes a deep violet,

Unlike the orcs’ muddied

Yellow and orange.

“It’s their blood”

He said.

“You have given us hope,

Your Majesty.

Our redemption lies

Within you.”

I nodded.

I did not care

What my fate was then,

I only wanted

The King

To feel what I had felt,

To cry how I had cried,

To suffer how I had

Suffered.

And he did.

I gave the Orcs

Their bloodlines.

My daughters became

Generals,

My sons became

Warriors

Under their command.

I ruled them all.

The King,

Enraged at my new,

Powerful offspring,

Made the servant girls

Give him sons.

They,

Too,

Had nothing but daughters to give.

He killed them,

And strewn their bodies

On the castle walls.

Until the last,

A sixteen year old

Girl,

Finally birthed a son.

I waited.

And one day,

On the Son of the King’s

Twenty-first birthday,

I sent my legions

Crashing all the way

To his doorstep.

On the King’s deathbed,

His son fought nobly to

Defend his father’s

Honor.

But he died

Like the rest of them.

Bloodied and broken,

I dragged him to his

Sniveling father’s chambers.

I slit his throat

Before he could say

A word.

The only Son of

The King died,

And as I looked into my

Once-lover’s eyes,

His soul shattered.

I never felt so satisfied.

I spit in his face,

Beat him until he was

A bloody mass

Of pulp and bones.

I was powerful.

The Orc Magic slithered

Through my veins.

I could have cast

The whole world

Into an inferno of

Decay and nothingness.

But I was done.

My deed was finished,

And I left my daughters

To their new

Empire.

My sons followed them

Willingly,

Pledged to follow

The Royal Queens

Until the end of time.

I left.

I slank away

To a secluded cave

At the edge of the

Earth.

No one came looking.

They knew I was gone.

As I scribble my story

On this cave wall

I reminisce

And cry.

The worst place to be

Is not here.

It was not

With the King.

The worst place

I have ever known

Is the utter

Hopelessness

Of losing a child.

Not once,

But many times over.

So here I am,

No regrets,

But rage

And sorrow

And longing.

I have no voice,

No name,

No face.

I will die a faceless name

And

A nameless face.

“I don’t want to be here.”

An alarm goes off in your head when you hear that,

Right?

Well let me explain what it really means.

To me,

At least.

I don’t want to die.

I’m afraid of death.

I’m afraid that there is nothing for us

When we die.

I’m afraid the preachers are right.

Maybe I’ll go to their Hell

And burn forever.

So don’t worry about that,

I don’t want to die.

I just want to cease to exist,

Maybe for a little while.

No,

That’s not it…

Let me think,

Hmm.

What exactly is it?

Ah.

There it is.

I would give anything,

Anything,

To be someone else.

To have

A different body,

A different brain,

A different everything.

I don’t want to look in the mirror

And see this.

I hate all of myself with

Everything I am.

My oddly shaped legs,

My misplaced curves,

My red and white stretch marks,

My unevenly baked muffin top,

My blob of grossness I call

A stomach,

My back fat

That pours over my bra strap

And shows through my shirt.

I hate my face.

It’s too chubby.

I haven’t a jawline in sight.

My lips aren’t wide enough.

My double chin is repulsive.

My freckles don’t cover up

The horrific acne.

My eyebrows never look good.

Hell,

My blue eyes aren’t even

Blue enough.

They’re a dull grey

With pale blue flecks

Sprinkled around,

With a few green hues in the middle.

I hate them.

And what am I supposed to do?

How do I stop

Thinking of myself like this?

I am not an attractive

Person.

I am not pretty.

I am not in shape.

I am not capable of

Achieving the physique

I want.

I am not.

I am not.

I am

Not.

I don’t eat because I feel sick,

But also because

I don’t think I deserve it,

But also because

I don’t even want to.

I haven’t a soul to call.

That’s a lie,

I do.

I could call someone right now.

Would they pick up?

Would I bother them?

What if they’re irritated?

What if?

What if.

What

If.

The point is that no one

Texts me or calls me first.

No

“How are you?”

No

“Are you okay?”

No

“I miss you.

Wanna hang out?”

I haven’t a friend in the

Whole world

Who’s going to do that for me.

No one.

People don’t care.

If I drowned tomorrow,

My girlfriend would be the only

One there to mourn.

But even then,

Sometimes I’m a nuisance to her.

Sometimes

I’m too much.

And it’s my fault.

My mental illness consumes me

Most days anymore.

I can’t go a single day

Without crying now.

I want out.

I want out of this miserable,

Gut wrenching,

Horror filled,

Awful existence.

I can’t hope for better.

My anxiety says,

“What if it doesn’t?

What if this is how

It’ll always be?”

My depression comments,

“Don’t waste your time

Worrying.

You know

It won’t.”

It’s crushing.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think straight.

I can barely function.

And I have no

Goddamn

Clue

What on Earth

I’m supposed to do.

Manic laughter echoes in the dark room.

The metal clangs pierce the air,

Shattering the deadly silence into millions of sharp pieces.

Fingernails scrape across a chalkboard

And smoke fills the musty room

As the tiny sliver of moon shines through the barred window.

The laughter grows louder,

Making you cower on the dirty floor,

Smelling the rusty chains

And blood splattered on the walls.

You cough uncontrollably,

Bile rising in your throat,

Which soon turns stale and dry.

You shake as the footsteps stop

Just in front of the door keeping you safe.

You scream as he finally takes you.

Fear.

Fire

Is bright--and dangerous.

Destroying and consuming

Everything around it.

There is no stopping it

Once it has started.

Only the strongest, hardest

Stream of water can put it out.

Fire

Spreads so quickly

That it is difficult to control.

And one is often so distracted

By the flames,

That they cannot seem to find

The source.

Once a fire is gone,

All that’s left

Is a burning husk

Of what was once

There.

“I’m not good enough.”

These words run through my brain daily,

“I’m not good enough.”

Every morning as I look in the mirror,

“I’m not good enough.”

When I see the scars on my body,

“I’m not good enough.”

The moment I walk into school,

“I’m not good enough.”

It’s constant.

“I’m not good enough.”

I’m far from perfect,

But I can’t be that bad…

Can I?

I don’t know who I am,

Or who I’m going to be.

So I go back to the phrase,

“I’m not good enough”

To mask the fear of the past, present, and future.

Who I was wasn’t pretty.

I was selfish,

I was mean,

I was ignorant,

I was indecisive,

I was arrogant,

I was ugly,

I was cruel,

I was nothing,

I wasn’t good enough.

Who I am now is better.

I am more selfless,

I am more kind,

I am more wise,

I am more proactive,

I am more humble,

I am more beautiful,

I am more compassionate,

I am something,

But I’m still not good enough.

Who I’m becoming is greater.

I will be more brave,

I will be more loyal,

I will be more intelligent,

I will be more ambitious,

I will be more determined,

I will be more confident,

I will be more amazing,

I will be more than I am now,

But I still won’t be good enough.

The words that started so long ago still run through my mind,

“I’m not good enough.”

Those words haunt me,

Like the ghost of a lost loved one,

Like the last words you heard from the one you used to love.

I don’t remember when the words started,

I don’t know when the voices in my head turned evil,

I don’t know why they started in the first place.

Maybe it’s because I was never taught to love myself,

Maybe it’s because of the bullies.

The bullies that called me names,

They said I was fat,

They said I was ugly,

They said I was stupid,

They said I was retarded,

They said I didn’t belong there,

They said I was nothing,

They said I wasn’t good enough.

Maybe it’s because of them.

Or maybe it’s because of my father,

The father who never spent time with me,

The father who called me names,

Called me a brat,

Called me ugly,

Called me manipulative,

Called me crazy,

The father who ignored my cries for love,

The father who treated me like I was horrible,

Like I was stupid,

Like I was worthless,

Like I was nothing,

Like I wasn’t good enough.

Maybe it’s because of him.

Or maybe it’s because of society.

A society that says only a minority of women are beautiful,

A society that sets high standards for its girls,

A society that expects me to be a model,

A society that wants me to be something I’m not,

Something I will never be.

It wants me to be 5’ 10,

It wants me to be 115 pounds,

It wants me to be flawless,

It wants me to wear makeup,

It wants me to be something impossible.

With these expectations come insecurities,

Insecurities that may never go away,

Insecurities that I can’t fix.

My stomach is not flat,

My hair is not blonde,

My eyes are not bright blue,

My body is not perfect,

I’m not good enough.

Not good enough to be a model,

Not good enough to be beautiful,

Not good enough to be something of value.

So maybe it’s because of society.

Or maybe it’s because of my family,

A family that ignores me,

A family that expects everything of me,

A family that wants me to be amazingly stunning.

They baffle me with their looks of judgement,

With their material values.

I’m not normal in their eyes,

I’m not beautiful,

I’m not smart,

I’m not confident,

I’m not good enough.

So maybe it’s because of my family.

Or maybe it’s because of my mother,

The mother that used to be loving,

Used to care,

Used to help me,

Used to tell me I was good enough.

But my mother isn’t there anymore,

I don’t know where my mother went.

For four years she’s been somewhere else,

Her mind is not her own,

Her actions are not the same,

She is different.

She yells at me almost daily,

Becoming upset over nothing,

Telling me my brother is better than me,

Saying that I’m stupid,

That my grades are unacceptable,

That my behaviour is rebellious,

That I’m the most disrespectful girl in existence.

She mocks my interest in the military,

Yet tells me it’s where I should be.

She says that I am horrible to her,

Yet tells her friends that she would never trade me for another teenage girl.

It’s so confusing,

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand the way my mother acts,

I don’t understand her love,

I don’t understand how she could possibly care,

But I know that she really does.

My thoughts about my mother are so conflicted,

Because she makes me feel important,

Makes me feel like I’m something,

But then she knocks all of those compliments down,

Down with negative comments,

With shots at who I am.

Even though she says she loves me,

She makes it seem like I’m nothing,

Like I’m not good enough.

Maybe it’s because of my mother.

All of these voices in my head,

Telling me those awful words,

“I’m not good enough.”

I know I’m better than this,

I know I’m something,

I know that I am good enough.

It’s such a pointless argument,

Yet it rages on inside me everyday,

“I’m not good enough”,

“Yes you are,”

“Prove it then.”

I try so hard to be good enough for people,

For the bullies,

For my father,

For society,

For my family,

For my mother,

For myself.

I know that I really am good enough,

I know I’m not worthless,

I know that people love me,

I know that the real problem lies within something else,

Within myself.

I’m good enough for everyone but myself,

I am my own worst enemy,

And I don’t know how to fight myself,

I don’t know how to do this.

How does one fight fire with fire?

How is that even possible?

It isn’t.

I have to accept myself for who I am,

Accept that I am not perfect,

Accept that I never will be.

Even though I’m not perfect,

I am kind,

I am smart,

I am important,

I am beautiful,

I am independent,

I am loyal,

I am amazing,

I am determined,

I am understanding,

I am compassionate,

I am empathetic,

I am brave,

I am strong,

I am something,

I am good enough.

Though it will take a very long time,

I know that I can learn to love myself,

I know I can do it.

It won’t be easy,

But it’s achievable,

It’s possible.

All I have to do is say,

“I am good enough.”