Shayna walks through the crowded hallways knowing that she shouldn't be here. Mr. Mase her math teacher noticed Shayna has been different the past month. No one knows why. He wants to ask her if she is okay but he is to 'chicken' (by high schooler standards). Mr. Mase is a thoughtful man with an odd passion for math and deep care for high schoolers (I still don't understand why most of them are awful except for a few like Shayna). Mr. Mase is not normally one to ask the kids if they are alright. Although, lots of students often confined in Mr. Mase. He listens and respects their voices. Even though he was an adult he understood that as a teenager most of the time you just wanted to be heard and understood, so that's what he gave them.
Yesterday, Shayna struggled to get out of bed, she opened her eyes then closed them again. Her second alarm rung- she jumped up and turned it off. She didn't expect the sound to be so loud; every little thing seems to be scaring her recently. She groaned and flopped back on her bed. Can I just stay here, she thought. She knows she has to get up and get ready for school. She opened her closet which is about half the size of her small room- she practically lives in there. Her small room, she loves it. It is the only place she really belongs. In her the-only-things-that-fit-are-a-tv-desk-bed-bookshelf-and-now- there-is-only-4-square-foot-left room. Her clothes are quite boring, plain (I guess as a narrator I sound be objective, right? Well, like Shayna's clothing, I find objective is boring). Her wardrobe filled with white and pastel-colored clothing (I don't know how she doesn't stain them). If I'm honest Shayna's personality is the opposite of her wardrobe.
She was not a 'soft' person as the cloths and typical made her seem. Her math teacher fell for her facade, most people do. Shayna wears a ribbon around her neck. It is a crimson red that contrasts the colors she wears. I used to see it as a bold fashion statement. Well, until I saw her talking to Mr. Mase. The last bell had just rung. I was going to ask him a question for an assignment. I saw Mr.Mase and Shayna talking; he finally asked her if she was alright. He looked away and was erasing the whiteboard while they were talking. I was stayed out in the hallway because I saw them talking through the window. She took off her ribbon. She took her ribbon and Shayna chocked him with it. Now, Mr. Mase is lying dead on the floor and she saw me. "Omg," is the only thing I can whisper.
Boys Might As Well Be From Mars (TW: Mention of rape)
Boys might as well be from Mars.
I don't understand them at all.
I haven't talked to many of them
outside of my family members.
I don't get it. I always hear about
heartbreak and violence from boys
but I've never understood why
they would do that.
Boys might as well be from Mars
or is it girls that are from Mars.
You hear all the time how us girls
are being treated like we are lesser.
We are looked at like we are going
to steal the world from the boys
but what I don't think is understood
is we just want to live here too.
Girls might as well be from Mars.
I can't speak for all girls but I know
I feel this way:
We are constantly having our choices taken.
You hear all the time about what girls
were forced to do. You hear and
hear so many stories of rape.
Girls might as well be from Mars.
Apparently, we are not human.
Apparently, our anger doesn't matter.
Apparently, we are just servants.
Girls, get used to being from Mars.
Let’s Talk About Your God (TW: Might be slightly offensive to followers of Christianity)
Let's say he sits above the clouds
on his thrown of praise.
You say God's forgiving
then why am I still
bleeding from Eve's one
And why are some of his followers
so insistent that if you sin once
you will always belong in Hell?
If your God is in control
like you say he is then why
is there even a need to debate
the importance of the lives
of the oppressed?
Why is sex considered a sin?
Why is my body and my desire
not my own?
Or better yet, why is love
I don't like your God.
He can pack his misogyny
and hypocrisy and leave.
I’m not good at saying thank you. I thought I was, but I figured out I’m not when it’s important. It was a week ago when I sent you that text. I told you how not okay I felt. I know you think that you don’t have good words but you do. At least, they feel better than talking to Mom. I’m not trying to downcast Mom but everything she says I can or already tell myself. She never tells me something I don’t already know, when we are talking about me or how I feel. Everything she says is fabricated from overused advice. I do the same thing she does. I kinda hate that. I hate clichés. I think that's why I try so hard to be different, to be better. I want to be too many things. I am too many things. I don't know how to honestly be myself. The person I am is trapped in my head, reserved to only be present when I'm alone. And here I am messing up a thank you note with another problem. Thank you, again. I'll stop talking now.
I love you,
How I Know I’m An Addict
The sun rises in the East
and sets in the South.
Until it doesn't.
The sun can't rise
if you never see it.
You just know it's dark or not.
What happens when your sun,
your basic need
isn't the sun?
Your addiction is your world.
Is anyone addicted to the world?
I am not
who you think
I'm passion and
love and extremes
black and white
and fascinating color.
I'm too much
in my head
I don't know how
to fabricate the
So instead of
or pretty blues,
or wild purples,
I want to be;
I fade into
just a muted,
who you think
The Sky Dims
A few cars driving down the road.
People falling asleep in their beds.
The sun slipping behind the horizon.
The sky dims. They roll out of bed.
Giggles heard from the apartment next door.
They blink in there empty apartment.
This is the life.
Walking down the hall to the kitchen.
A yell from the arguing couple a few doors down.
Sitting at the table in the kitchen.
I should be sleeping.
They open their computer.
The last steak of purple
falls away from the black sky.
They stare at the screen.
Then stare a little more.
They open their notebook
I have too many ideas
is the title.
A car roars down the road.
They start typing.
Before they look up the sun shines in the window.
The Power Of A Peaceful Night
I felt my feet pushing off the ground. My legs pumping to get out of there. I'm so sick of their arguing!
Wow, it's so peaceful out here. You could hear the birds quieting their songs and the grasshopper's orchestra coming to a crescendo. The ever so slight breeze- gently ruffling the tree's leaves. Up in the sky the moon astonishingly bright, almost pulsing with light. And the stars. Oh, the stars. There are so many stars; too many to count scattered across the sky. I can't remember why I was upset in the first place.
if there were such a time for a wonderful
community to fall apart
I guess that time
would be now.
that right now is a perfect time for the
whole world to fall apart.
I guess now is the
time to fall.
I should get used to things breaking before
I really have time to enjoy them.
I guess I should get used
Lowkey talking about what's happening on WtW