A soft smile,

Fluttering eyelashes.

Secrets kept

Behind sparkling white teeth.

I know something he doesn't

So he could try to work his way into me,

But it will never happen.

"What would you like?"

He whispers softly in my ear,

As if ready to ravish me,

The moment we step off the plane.

I giggle softly in reply

And whisper,

"Anything you like.

Just ensure that no one finds out."

He then places his hand on my thigh

And brings it up slowly,

It feels weird.

Disgusting even.

I say nothing to this and keep the dopey smile.

Secrets are kept behind giggles.

Truths are withheld from the prosecuted.

"Humiliation," I say.

"So you like humiliation," he questions.

"I knew there was something I liked about you."

"Public humiliation," I tell him.

"It really helps me get off."

I laugh as I say this

Because I know something he doesn't.

It's like a game to the both of us,

But I know I'll be the one

Triumphant.

To The Yellow House I Spent Most Of My Time In,

You were always yellow to my knowledge. You were always there. You had that bunk bed and that flat-screen television but before that, you had a huge piece of my childhood.

I remember when all the kids were there and we would have the time of our lives. We would come to visit and we would have so many laughs and the fact that they're gone now is heartbreaking. I have vague memories of playing power rangers in your yard. I have memories of playing shop with cousins that weren't actually our cousins. I remember us all piling onto beds so we could all spend the night. I have this one memory of waking up and a cousin was watching Barbie.

There's that one time we decided to climb the cherry tree by climbing the roof. Everyone was scratching after that. But we made our juice. That hammock that would be on the front porch was one of the best things ever. Everyone fighting to get a turn or all of us just trying to pile on together. I can't remember everything clearly because many of those things happened years ago.

We're not even all friends like we used to be. We merely see each other in passing and words are barely exchanged then. And to think we all called each other family. I guess we grew up without you. We left you behind because we didn't need you.

I remember parties that would take place. That one table being filled with different bottles of alcohol. I remember my aunt just pulling bottles out from different places in the house and it was funny to me. I still remember that she slept with a huge butcher knife tucked between her bed and the wall, right by her head. Those were the days.

I can't exactly remember when we started growing up. When we all grew apart. Maybe it was as we all started getting to high school and we made our own friendships, we didn't need each other anymore. Or maybe it's because we got busy with our work and never had time to just play. Or maybe it's because we got sucked into the world of electronics so there was no need for power rangers or shops anymore. It's fine that all happened. It just sucks that we left you behind. And it's not like we can visit because you no longer exist. It's been about three years since you've stood proudly on that hill.

The last things I can remember about you, that ties in to my childhood are bunk beds and Netflix and barbeque chicken. Playing with the grill and having water fights and throwing away wallets with all the fake money we made. But I miss you. You were with me for as long as I can remember. And sometimes I can still hear aunty calling out our names to tell us it's time to come over. And sometimes I can still hear those cousins beckoning us to come and play. And sometimes I can still hear the echos of our childhood telling us it's okay to forget.

From a girl who made a home out of you

She walks up to the podium with her fluffy blue hoodie and a tremble in her hand. “Good morning,” she clears her throat as her voice cracks and she wipes her eyes. “Hello. I was never one for apologies really because I always believed I was never in the wrong. This time around though I feel I was in the wrong maybe because I didn’t explain myself properly. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone really. Well I knew someone would get hurt and I expected it to be only me. I was talking to a couple of friends and one told me I was being selfish holding on to a guy I loved when I was in love with someone else. She told me that would hurt him a lot more than anything I could ever do to him. I realized that she was right about me being selfish so I decided to let him go. I didn’t let him go for someone else or anything. He wasn’t being replaced. I let him go so he wouldn’t have to deal with my messed up emotions and mind. But I realized that after all the shit I experienced growing up, I got to be selfish that one time. But I can’t be selfish when I gave him up, right?” She looks down at the blank sheet of paper in front of her as more tears litter it’s page. “I want to be selfish again. I want back what’s mine. Because I’ve been wearing this hoodie,” she motions to the one she’s wrapped up in, “and crying since it happened. And it shocked me when I started crying because I haven’t cried for any of my past breakups.” She looks out into the audience at the lone figure sitting there and smiles a sad smile. “My best friend asked me if I just missed you loving me or if I simply just missed you.” She wipes her tears away again and laughs a dead laugh. “I miss you. I love you. I want you back and that’s unfair to you. You shouldn’t have to put up with my bullshit and rollercoaster of emotions. You shouldn’t have to deal with me switching sides and everything I do to you. I love you.” She finishes off and grips onto her paper as she stares at the boy who she hopes was still hers. Her heart drops as he stands and she bows her head in pain. “I’m sorry.”

To the girls who liked a guy who didn’t like her back

I’m sorry

You didn’t think it would turn out this way because you guys had a connection

He was everything you wanted him to be

He was there when you almost cried yourself to sleep.

I’m sorry that he let you go because he couldn’t see how great you were. He didn’t appreciate the girl your mama said would one day run the world.

To the girls who let go of the guys who loved them

Don’t play games hun, I know you loved him too.

But emotions are funny things and you didn’t understand them at the time.

You packed your bags and moved out of that little apartment you guys shared sitting on top of that Chinese restaurant.

You took a bus and moved back into your old bedroom at your mother’s house.

You’re sitting on your mother’s couch crying now wishing you were with him.

But you still don’t understand emotions enough to realize that he’s waiting on you because he understood.

To the girls who would never love him but would always like him.

You should probably let him go now. Give him away to someone who will love him with the intensity of the sun as it beats down on you trying to say what I’m saying.

Give him over. He doesn’t belong to you and holding on is damaging the both of you.

I know you want him badly. I wanted someone badly too. I wanted him so much that I would walk through the Sahara desert just so I could quench my thirst with him at the end.

To the girls who never wanted a guys love but let him believe that they did.

Now I’m not here to judge you. No one has a right to judge you.

You wanted him around because he made you feel safe.

You can’t have everything you want sweetie pie. Let him move on to a girl who actually wants his love. Stop messing with his feelings and woman up. You’ll meet someone who wants to love you and you will accept. But he isn’t yours. Maybe the guy who is yours lives in the house next to my mother’s because he got his heart crushed by a girl who just left. Or maybe it’s the guy who just bought a dozen roses to propose but is going to get rejected.

To the girls who have been living their lives wrong. It’s time to wake up and sort that shit out

I would always wonder what would be in a suicide note because I could never grasp the concept. Why would you be apologizing for finally getting the freedom you wanted? Sure the people you live behind love you but they want you to be happy. What would even go into a suicide note? Would you tell everyone you love them and give them the reasons why? Would you do it to give them closure? Because to me, it made no sense to write that note. What was the point? A silly little note would not give them closure. Putting your body in the ground would not give them closure. Learning of your aches would not give them closure. Yet people still write those notes as if they aren’t going to blame themselves for not seeing anything. And I may judge them for writing those notes but here I am penning mine.

Tell Lindsay that I’m sorry I never made her my iced coffee. Tell her the book I wanted her to read is saved on my computer. Tell her one day we’ll have that tea party and she’ll learn of everything I had to spill. Tell Lindsay that I adore that grey screen cardigan hoodie she gave me and I wore it forever. Tell her that I should have told her I loved her a lot more because no one was as good to me as her. Tell her I’m sorry for being cold and closed off but she didn’t need to realize how broken I was back when we were still kids. Tell her that I love her and I’m sorry that we won’t be travelling the world.

Tell Richards that he couldn’t have done anything. He shouldn’t beat himself up or feel guilty for my weakness. Tell him it was a long time coming. Tell him he would never understand all that happened in my head when he wanted me to be okay. Tell him I’m sorry for never given him that notebook. Tell him I’m sorry for not telling anyone else. Tell him I’m sorry for the blood that stained my wrists and if it reminded him of that girl then he can hate me. Tell him I know he will never hate me. Tell him I’m looking forward to best friend dates and those memories I wish to make for my scrapbooks. Tell him I’ll miss him more than anyone else. Tell Richards that I’ll get him his chocolate milk and burger one day, even if I won’t deliver it myself.

Tell Akira I’m sorry she knew nothing. Tell her I’m sorry she was too naive to realize those dying on the inside. Tell her I hope this doesn’t shock her because as much as I tease her, she was the only pure thing I had in my life. Tell Akira that I still have that ruby red bracelet she gave me for my birthday. Tell her I still remember the little story behind it. Tell her for me please that I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend.

Tell my mother I hate her. Tell my mother I love her. Tell my mother I don’t blame her. Tell her that my mask was so good around her that she would have never realized. Tell her that it wasn’t her fault that she never saw it happen. Tell my mother that she had built the foundation already and it was sturdy. Tell her that the reason it crumpled like paper was because I knew nothing of building.

Tell my father… don’t tell my father anything. He doesn’t deserve anything from me.

Tell my siblings I know I was a brat. Tell them that I know that they loved me and the problem with our relationship was me. Tell them I had so much to say but at the same time I couldn’t.

Tell the boys I played with that I’m not sorry. Tell them I know I should be sorry but I’m not. Tell them that I said it was a lesson well learnt and they shouldn’t let it hold them back… don’t tell them anything actually. Don’t tell them anything I have to say so I can disappear from their minds and it can be like I never existed.

Tell Roger that I forgive him. Tell him I no longer feel his hands under my shirt and unclasping my bra. Tell him that once upon a time I would have hurt him but I’ve been over that for a while. Tell Roger that he was a villain in my story.

Tell my cousin that I hate him. Tell him I forgive him but remind him I hate him. Tell him he was supposed to protect me and he didn’t. Tell him I hate him.

And please do me a favor. Tell Bre that I’m sorry I left her in a cruel world. Tell her that the world messed me up and I was too weak to fight back. Tell her that I crumbled and she shouldn’t. Tell her that I’m glad she looked up to me all those years and I’m sorry I left her.

I lived a life where I have to say sorry a lot but there are so many thanks to give.

Tell my favourite blue mason jar that I said thank you. Tell it thank you for allowing me to fill it with the iced coffee that kept me going for so long.

Tell my favourite notebook thank you for keeping all my secrets. Tell it that no one knows me better than it does.

Tell my favourite hoodie that I still love it. Tell it that it made me feel safe when I was alone.

Tell my books thank you and I’m sorry I had to leave. Tell them that someone will take care of them.

Tell them all that someone will take care of them. Tell them that the someone is me. Tell them that my heart has been broken so many times that I could never bring myself to break any other heart. Tell them that if the world doesn’t want me anymore then it has to pull me out kicking and screaming.

Tell the world that I’m not afraid of it. Tell it that I won’t do its dirty work so it can appear as innocent. Tell the world that if I die then it will be at its hands. Tell it that everyone will know what it did. Tell the world that if it wanted me to write a suicide note as an exit…

...it should have told me what to write.

Things that happened during my teenage years that I would never wish upon a teenager.

My eyes were filled with tears yet they were too dry to cry.

The wrists of mine that I always cherished for being unmarred ran with red many days a week.

I didn’t eat. Well, I ate so my mother would leave me alone but at night when I lay in bed I would curl up because the pain was too much. The stabbing in my gut would travel to my heart and I would want someone to hold me but I had no one.

My mother slapped me around a couple of times because I was disrespectful. How was I disrespectful when I just answered your question?

My tone? There’s nothing wrong with my tone. It’s how I talk to everyone who doesn’t respect me and just because you birthed me doesn’t mean you deserve special treatment.

I wished to die but at the same time, I wished I didn’t because I refused to break my best friends heart. I refused to leave the two of them with a hole in their hearts. A hole I was sure would heal pretty quickly but I didn’t want to chance it in case it didn’t.

I didn’t want to be wrong and have them carry guilt around because they couldn’t save me.

My best friend made me promise I would not do anything stupid because he knows someone who spent weeks in a mental institution because she tried to kill herself. He doesn’t want to remember me that way.

My stepfather caressed my wrists and then my thighs and he worked his way up to my bra clasps. He unpinned my bra and let it fall from my shoulders all without removing my shirt.

And I screamed.

I screamed and cried and begged someone to help me. But no one helped me except for my tears.

He got tired of drinking in my tears so he shoved me away and got angry with me and left me there to cry. He left me there to cry but I didn’t cry because I was on my way to ruining myself. My relationships were a mess but I would always receive the hate I gave. Until one guy was too soft, the kind of guy I always said I wanted.

But he wasn’t the kind of guy I could handle because I broke him with my sharp edges and frigid words. And I was never apologetic.

Instead I simply just ignored his existence and pretended like we never happened.

And I speak of these things like they happened so long ago but some only happened last week. I act like my teenage years aren’t killing me slowly.

I act like the clinical psychologist I was seeing wasn’t about to diagnose me with depression and bipolar disorder.

I act like she wasn’t toying with saying I had anxiety too.

But I left that clinical psychologist when I saw what she was thinking.

I don’t need people airing my ugly truth to me because then I might fall apart.

Things that happened during my teenage years that I’m still living.

I still curl up in bed and hug my favourite stuffed animal when the pain gets too much.

I still shudder when my stepfather looks at me but I keep wearing my shorts and tanktops.

My wrists are no longer stained red but they seem to be forever marred.

And that’s not okay but it’s simply just my teenage years.

Red.

The stupid marble countertop was soaked in a hauntingly red colour. I clenched the blue rag in my hand tightly as my tears mixed with the blood. A knock sounds from the door of the apartment before it opens.

“Kelly,” the voice is practically a whisper. “I came as soon as I saw the text.” August moves towards me and places his hand gently on my shoulder. “Kelly,” he calls again. I turn my head to look at him while bringing my right hand up to wipe away some tears.

Red.

Blood from my hand smears onto my face and a small, horrified scream exacapes my mouth. I turn away from August and grasp onto the now red countertop as my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

“I can clean this mess up Kelly. You can go take a shower now.” He places his hand on top of mine. “You can go take a shower now Kelly.”

“No,” I shout as I grab my hand away from his. “No.” My voice catches in my throat and I bite my lip. I hold the blue rag to my chest as if it is my lifeline. As if the moment I let go of it I drown.

“Kelly just let me take care of it. Let me help you.” August reaches for me again but I flinch away. “Kelly let me help you.”

He keeps saying my name as if to remind me. As if I had simply forgotten it because of what happened.

“I can do it.” He raises his hand in surrender and backs away at my words.

He watches as I scrub away at the red marble countertop trying to make it white again. “What happened Kelly. You’re text wasn’t exactly coherent.” The only noise that comes from my direction is the squelching of the blood. “Kelly. Come on Kelly tell me what happened.”

I drop the rag on the counter and spin to face him angrily. “I know my name,” I shout. “I don’t need a reminder.” My knees caves in and I fall to the floor.

Red.

I didn’t realize there was blood on the floor. I’m sitting in blood on the floor. A scream escapes from my chest and leaves me gasping for breath. I dig my nails into my thighs to ground me to this plain of reality.

“Kelly…” his voice trails off as he reaches for me.

I push myself into the cupboard and grip tightly onto my forearms. “He wanted to make dinner. He said he wanted to do something for me because I had been working hard and I deserve more than takeout,” my breath catches, “he said I deserved more than takeout. He cut his arm. He was cutting something, the knife slipped and he just kept on cutting. Over and over. I came to check on him and he was in that trance he goes into sometimes. He didn’t hear me when I called his name. I got the knife away from him, pressed a towel against his wrist. Called the ambulance and when they came they whisked him away. But I couldn’t go with him. I had to clean the blood. I had to fix it for him. He doesn’t really like messy things. But he’s not coming back any time soon is he?” I look to august as if I don’t already know the answer.

He shakes his head softly and I collapse in a heap on myself. “I’m sorry.”

You expected me a week ago

But here I am still clinging to you

I don’t want to let go yet

For the world might hurt me to get to you.

But I know it is inevitable

And I’ll have to let go soon

But mum I don’t want to

For the warmth you give me

I’ll find nowhere else.

We will never have a connection

Like the one we developed over these months

But maybe it will be stronger

Even when we’re not literally connected.

So I’ll see you soon mum

And I hope daddy is happy to see me

Because I know when I get out

I’ll scream and cry

For a connection broken.

When I first open my eyes

I hope to see you,

The person I’ve been connected with

For so many months.

And give me a pretty name,

And love my eyes,

Because I’ve spent so long in the dark,

The light might make me seem ethereal.

I never properly understood the concept of love. It was something no one could properly explain. In asking my mum once, she told me that love was admiring all the little things he did. She said it was wanting to be in his presence all the time and when the two of you finally separated, you felt devastated but hopeful because you knew that you would meet again.

I asked my grandma once and she told me about her friend Lila who kept forgetting her husband was dead. Every morning, she would wake up and prepare his usual cup of tea. She would set it in its usual spot, on the little blue table, in the kitchen and wait for him to come back from walking the dog. When he didn’t her eyes would fill with tears and she drank his cup.

I asked your mum once. My mum scolded me for that. She whispered to me that there were things I didn’t understand and tried to take me away. The next time I came to your house, your mum sat me down and explained to me that love was a rainbow. She told me that it wasn’t always there and you would hold out hope for it every time it disappeared. You pray for it to rain so you could see that rainbow again. For you to feel the rushing emotion of joy whenever it appears. And at 7 I believed it to be rubbish. Even when she looked away with tears in her eyes and gripped my little hands tightly, I still thought it was rubbish. Back then, love was the silliest thing to me. Why would we wish for something that would bring tears to our eyes?

I understand them now. I understand why their eyes filled with tears and why their voices would tremble. Well I first understood when I was 14 but now that I’m 20, I feel it too. Love is taking a photograph of your favourite book and hoping the picture lives longer than the actual book. Love is sitting outside during a storm and hoping you will be safe. Love is all the dangerous and beautiful things that we appreciate. Love is sharp and dirty and brings tears to our eyes. Love is pretty and it tastes like my favourite candy. Love is the stupidest thing to me, so when they told me to write this for a grade, I rolled my eyes. It doesn’t matter how in love I am with you, I will always hate love with my being.

To The House I Grew Up In,

I visited you a couple weeks ago, or maybe it was months. I can't seem to keep my days straight anymore. The outside looked different but it wasn't such a major change that I didn't recognize the place I grew up. There was still that gate that faced the street that we would tire ourselves out on. The house was still painted the same colour and the same number of windows were there. But the flowers at the front were missing. Those hedges that hid the front yard from the outside world, they were gone. They were gone and I didn't know when they disappeared. There weren't any flowers outside the fence surrounded by rocks anymore. Maybe it's because she's dead. She was the one who planted all those flowers.

But I was fine with those simple changes because everything else seemed the same. It still seemed like that house I grew up in. That house we would stay up in when there was no electricity and tell stories, stories that scared me at a young age. We would play monopoly and card games and play cooking and bingo. We were kids and we were happy and we never thought of growing up. And the house didn't seem like it grew up either. The house was still cleaned from top to bottom every Christmas and the windows still strung with lights. There was still that tiny television and that fish tank. The tank is empty now but there were fishes in there back then and it was fun taking care of them.

That house holds so many memories of a young girl who dreamed with her sisters and cousin, and it was a fine house. I can still remember that one cousin coming to visit and he chased us up and down with a lizard. My great grandmother scolded us for running about. I miss her now. I regret not crying like everyone else. But it's too late for that now. I remember walking along the side of the house past the candles she laid out in commemoration of the dead, I don't think anyone lights those candles anymore.

That day whenever ago I visited you, I almost cried when entering the backyard. The backyard that was once filled with the vibrant yellow and orange flowers that took up so much space. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear those bees buzzing around those flowers. Strangely enough, it was because of those flowers I got stung by a bee. The dog that once took up residence in your yard died a couple years ago. And that's sad to me because I remember being so scared of that dog. And there were two cherry trees I can distinctly remember but there is only one now and it doesn't live up to its former glory. There aren't as many mango trees, those trees I was so scared to climb. No creeping vines of passionfruit that we would pick to make juice in our little toy blenders.

I love you. I really do. But there's no more of those kids who would sit together and have so much fun. We won't do puzzles or play cooking or tell stories anymore. We all grew up and we're not the same but we maybe all miss the old you. I miss the flowers mostly even though I hated them back then. They were a symbol of my childhood.

But somethings didn't change at all. There's still that same rusty pull-up set that we would try to use but couldn't. There's still the dog house even though there is no dog now. The shed from so long ago that I can never remember entering still stands proud in all its rusty glory. But now there are trees I never climbed and plants I never picked. Flowers that were never present when I was just a child. And maybe that signifies that we have grown past those children who loved the world. Instead of orange and yellow flowers, there are roses, roses that were never a part of who we are.

But I thank you for raising us. You raised so many of us and loved us. You would watch us laugh and cry and scream and play. You would watch as we made friends with the neighbours children and teased each other endlessly. You made us who we are even though we left each other ages ago. And there are no more of those flowers or those trees but it doesn't belong to us anymore. You haven't belonged to us in a long time.

From a child who felt at home in your arms