instead I crept into the doorway and I watched them breathe together

My sister looked distraught laid Against my tired mother

She frowned the way that children do The way that I could never

The protected way that children could- Allowed to feel whatever

And my mother tried her darndest But I could see her tired eyes

She didn't frown she didn't twitch When I turned on the kitchen light

I turned around to go to bed But when I got there, babe, I cried

Whod've known a four year old Felt so damn lonely that night

I woke up on her laundry In the doorway, on the floor-

Of course she was annoyed But I's not lonely anymore

no ones awake at 3 am and midnight no one wants to talk

so i listen to the stories and then I tell more to the walls

and the walls began to answer with moths against the glass

and the wind through the leaves outside and faces from the past

later I crawled under the covers and I listened to the rain

when the baby needs to sleep The machine won't sound the same

but the baby cried much louder She wasn't taught yet not to cry

she's allowed to seek attention Wake her parents in the night

and my mother is so tired and my Father isn't mine

and the rain on the machine repeats Perfectly in time

I ran into the livingroom Found a chair, began to cry

my ears could not hear that rhythm Repeat one more damn time

My mother found me the next morning, In the kitchen, on the floor

Of course she was annoyed But the rain can't hurt me no more

When the kids giggle at school Their god would tell me to be kind

the nicest thing I seemed to do was to Walk four feet behind

I rarely talked in groups, I didn't dare to crack a joke

so I laughed out loud at nothing, And used riddles when I spoke

then I got home and went to work then Volunteered more than was wise

I have homework, I need to run, and I need to sit and write

I sent two texts an hour ago, I wait for their replies

knowing I'd go with them wherever, if I didn't have the time

So my grades begin to slip, my mother goes to sleep at six

and my sister throws a hole in the wall and gives me lip

I wake up an hour late, and I still wake up on the floor

but mama you can't blame me, I ain't lonely anymore

I vaguely remember writing it- not sure when, or why.

It had to be important.

It hid under my sleeve at school. I didn't speak to my friends much.

I ignored it, mostly.

There was a speaker on my backseat when I threw my backpack in.

After the drive to school, there was a speaker and a rose-

a very old, very dead rose

on my backseat when I pulled my backpack out.

I didn't speak to my friends much. I didn't think about the dead rose.

I ignored the writing on my arm, mostly.

I pulled off my sweater when I got home. It was too hot for a sweater.

I had my ToDo list on my palm, my schedule on the back of my hand. On my thigh there were encouraging phrases, my desperate attempts to motivate myself into finishing my homework the night before.

And of course, on the inside of my forearm, it lay, nearly faded, neatly scrawled.

"Sometimes My Textbook refers to Dead Philosophers in the Present Tense"

It must've been important, it lay there hidden.

I hadn't spoken very much to my friends.

Strange, it wasn't written in my handwriting.

I've got people in my head

they won't let me forget

just where they

came from

One, he calls me "his best friend"

the other tells me when I can

I should

run

Help! They're going to take me!

And you will all mistake me

for insane!

Help! they're going to keep me!

And I'll forget

I tried to get

away...

There are people in my dreams

they love me unconditionally

I'm starting to think

that's not

a good thing

They must suffer; I must sleep-

and somewhere in

their hearts,

I think they

blame me

Baby, tell me what it means

to be hated by your creator?

They love you, but they

kind of want you

dead

Maybe God isn't what he seems?

Maybe He's a writer

and this was always how

it had

to

End

It had to end.

There are people

in my head they won't let me forget

just where they

came from

One, he calls me-

his best friend, the other,

tells me "when I can,

I should" run

***An author on instagram posted a poem that began with the first two lines. This is my unique take on the idea.***

I'd let you read

the things I wrote

about you,

except that I already have.

I wrote about you

when I wrote about the stars

hiding in the eyes of children.

I wrote about you

when I wrote about the statues

that captured the love of dreamers.

I wrote about you

when I wrote about the shadows

the artists crawled to to survive.

When you read what I wrote

about the man in the moon,

my dear you were only

ever reading about you.

When you read what I wrote

about the long talks at night,

it was only about you,

I'd decided to write.

When you read what I wrote

about oxygen and jazz,

you will see the real influence

thattrue love has.

When you read about fear,

about narcissism and shame,

in between the cursed lines,

you'd also read your name.

I'd let you read the things

I wrote about you,

except you already did-

but please, keep on believing

I just dreamt up

all of this