its happened twice.

where in the darkness of my room, i lied down with a tear streaked face and a noose around my neck from the pills in my stomache.

where it felt like my chest would burst open before the pills would stop my heart.

and the second time it was as intense as feeling like i was pushed under the waves of a midnight ocean, and someone was pulling me under and under until the last of air left my lungs and all i could breathe was water.

and i wanted to stay there, swollowing the water and feel death at every sense.

and i was so angry.

and i was so sad.

and i was so confused.

and i was so lost. So, so lost.

I wanted someone to hold me but at the same time i wanted to be completely alone in this struggle.

since that was how i started, and how i wished to end.

in silence and utterly alone.

in the darkness.

i realized how fragile i was in that moment.

how such a small thing could end im me wishing to drown so deep, no one could ever find me.

maybe it was me,

my selfishness, my laziness, my stubbornness,

that landed me in the ocean rather than the stars.

i mean i tried,

i swear i tried,

i swear i tried with everything in me.

but maybe,

this is how it was meant to go, and meant to end.

maybe this is how everything was supposed to go.

maybe i was the side character, meant to help the main character evolve into something beautiful.

maybe this was never my story.

never to tell, never to end,

a cliffhanger of the best kind-

confusing, abrupt, and incomplete.

Dangling down from a half severed rope

Reaching out,

And failing each time,

This is the end of the story,

Rather than the beginning,

Since there is none

Just a build up and a bag and a bottle,

There was never a middle,

Where the tension raises and leaves everyone at the edge of their seats,

There was only waking up and falling asleep and falling and falling

More and more

Down again,

There is no story,

No منزل (destination)

No معنی (meaning)

It just went on,

Mountains and valleys,

And the rivers between them,

And into the seas,

There is no path you can follow

To see where I landed,

Or how I got there,

It just ended where it started,

And rose and fell all over the place.

There’s no way to understand it,

Except living through it yourself.

Its caves filled with water above sea level within the clouds,

Dangerous and phantasmal

Filled with hope and none at all.

Its Dangerous Hope,

In all its forms.

---so its dangerous to believe in something that wont come true

Erm...hi. I figured I should introduce myself, after popping up randomly from time to time. I go by Leaf, online at least. A pretty dumb and odd nickname, but it stuck. I'll take a wild guess and assume that I'm younger than most on here, being almost 15. But writing is my passion so I will gladly accept any and all criticism.

I can't say I've had a hard life in any way. I'm the youngest of five, from immigrant parents. We moved around quite a lot in the U.S., from coast to coast, basically. It took a toll on me, even if I didn't notice till later on. Yet, I would never change any of it.

Writing is everything to me and I wouldn't be me without it. My voice, my journal and my pens (I might have an odd obsession with all things pens) mean a lot to me. The idea of wanting others to understand and be able to relate with what I believe and what I say is just beautiful to me. When I do my spoken word pieces, I speak with the full intention of making others see through my eyes and understand every damn thing I say. From this (almost) 15 years old Pakistani Muslim girl. I want people to feel something through what I write, whether it be anger or relief or happiness- anything works.

We're all misunderstood and stand next to each other with rumors, lies, labels, and ignorance- so why not just open up and try to understand? 

They say the truth of me is innocence. 

Is sweetness, caring, darling-

The one with the kind smile and even kinder voice.

She's an awkward prodigy of having words spilling out with her mouth closed.

She's quiet but she's loud as hell.

They don't know that beneath the surface is a heartbroken, bitter being.

They don't see my harshness, the rude thoughts-

She's no angel, she's just a devil of the rose's thorns. 

I whine about every good dream, and when it breaks...

I blame everyone while knowing it was just me.

I draw them in with kind words and stab them unconsciously as if it's second nature.

I beg you don't trust me. I'm no Belle, just a cold, and empty passerby. 

That...is the truth. I swear. 

You only ever realize how bad the storm actually is when you’re under it. When the rain is hitting your face and the windows rattle and quake. You think back to the signs, and wonder why you didn’t run while you could. You look for the exit, the end of the maze, but it’s nowhere in sight anymore. So you start running, and running, and running- but you can’t escape anymore. You’re stuck. So you wait...and wait. The events play out in front of you, breaking your heart each time. New horrors are discovered and you’re useless to stop it. You are the bystander. So you watch, and watch as it breaks your heart. Until you are no more.

When the storm finally thunders down, it comes unexpectedly. You saw it coming, but you could do nothing to stop it from hitting. It came like a stray cat. You saw it wandering around, but said nothing, till it showed up in your garage. 'Till the thunder turned to lightning to pouring rain. Everything changes. The sky turns and your stomach churns- 'I saw this coming.' The sick feeling in your stomach pulses.

I stared down at the text. My chest hurt, already. It gave nothing of the actual situation away, but I felt the storm coming. I had seen glances and forecast, which I passed off as nothing. But hell if I was right. I started crying but I don't know why. 

There's a feeling that drowns you when you know somethings' wrong. You don't know what, but it's there, hitting at your nerves and warning your brain. You can't do anything to take it away, but you can try to mask it. But whatever you do it always comes back. And when it happens, it crashes down on you like an anvil, unforgiving. These feelings...I can't ever describe. They..they're so confusing, I can't distinguish them. How I wish to define them, to put a face to the criminal feelings that seem to understand how fate works- but I can't. Maybe it's for the best. 

I don't know what it is, exactly...but...

I've watched it rip people to pieces,

rip people apart.

Stuff their hearts with cotton and watch as they stop breathing, and fall.

And fall.

And fall.

I try to yell at them to survive,

but then I remember that it was me that caused it all. Me that started it all.

I remember what I told each of them-

A jumbled mess of the other's thoughts.

I tried to make sense of it all and only made it worse.

So, if you want to blame anybody at all...

Blame me.

The one who told you it would be fine.

The one who killed you, in the process of healing you.

Blame me.

The one who watched both of you cry.

And watched, helpless, as it ripped you both apart,

ripped you both to pieces.

They both say they're fine now.

But their eyes...their eyes tell such a sad story.

They try to mask what they're feeling,

but I've seen so many times, I know it by heart.

I've done this so, so many times.

They say you learn from your mistakes.

But I never even realize I'm doing the same damn thing until it's too late.

I haven't learned.

I haven't grown.

I've just got more demons now.

But this poem isn't about me.

No, it's about what I've done.

It's about the ones I've killed.

And ripped apart.

And what I leave as I walk away,

pretending.

Like I'm always pretending,

To pretend that I'm pretending-

That nothing ever happened here.

That no graves were dug,

that no tears were shed,

and I'm pretending that I'm innocent as I walk away from piles,

upon piles of dead bodies that have my name written all over them,

in permanent marker, 

in multi-colored sharpies.

My fingerprints and my blood and their blood-

all mixed together like the ingredients to the perfect wine.

And if I keep running...

and running, and running, and running, and running-

If I keep running...

They couldn't possibly catch me,

could they?

I broke again last night. I fell to the ground, feeling helpless in the dark. I hugged my knees on my bed and started to cry. I cried for being alive, yet too strong to die. I wished for someone to hold me close and tell me I'll be alright. Yet no one came. I watched the closed door, stay closed. I saw as the lights flickered off, one by one. I heard the voices calling my brother's name, slowly fade. I heard the water tap close. I listened as they laughed and talked. I sat there, as they forgot of my existence. I cried and screamed and begged and prayed for help. Help that never came. I scratched my arms and shivered. My stomach lunged upward and my heart pound relentlessly. 

     I broke apart. I fell. I died inside as the darkness took over. I couldn't breathe and struggled to move. I knew I needed someone. But no one ever came. They never did. I was forgotten. Again. Again. Again. Again.  

They were like fools.

Walking airheads that didn't know how cruel the world could really be.

See, they crossed paths with murderers and let them go,

so as to give them a chance.

The benefit of the doubt.

They learned all too late that life wasn't all butterflies and lilies.

They learned all too late that to live, you have to fight.

So they lost battle after battle, until they fell to their knees, and stayed there.

Too strong to pull the trigger, and too weak to stand up again.

They were like me.

Innocent ones that knew the color of blood all too well.

Knew the scent of it like the back of their broken hands.

Like their broken bodies.

Our broken bodies.

We hit ourselves, again and again, too afraid to accept the truth right in front of our eyes.

Until it burned our skin and added to the ever growing scars.

Yet they survived,

and kept alive,

wanting to see the last breath escape their lips,

into a graveyard of forgotten voices.