May122012
You know, it wasn’t that hard.
I don’t get what they meant, that he was different, that he was undesirable in some way. I didn’t understand the harm in hanging out with him. The only harm was in what everyone else thought. And it was wrong.
If it were the right thing to do, I would do it. I always had. I donated, I volounteered,  I comforted my friends through tough times, I did well in school and if this were just another good thing to do, I would do it. I didn’t like leaving things incomplete.
I thought it would be hard. Everyone around me acted like it would be hard. But it wasn’t really hard. It was just unusual at first, to approach someone you had hardly ever spoken to, and all of a sudden try to get to know them.

You know, it wasn’t that hard.

I don’t get what they meant, that he was different, that he was undesirable in some way. I didn’t understand the harm in hanging out with him. The only harm was in what everyone else thought. And it was wrong.

If it were the right thing to do, I would do it. I always had. I donated, I volounteered,  I comforted my friends through tough times, I did well in school and if this were just another good thing to do, I would do it. I didn’t like leaving things incomplete.

I thought it would be hard. Everyone around me acted like it would be hard. But it wasn’t really hard. It was just unusual at first, to approach someone you had hardly ever spoken to, and all of a sudden try to get to know them.

1AM
I like to leave pennies around, imagining the wonder of the child who finds them. What else should I do with something so worthless to me? It seems selfish to keep the flattened, copper colored drops to myself when they’re bigger, better, and golden to someone else.
I like to leave notes on tables, or rip them onto leftover nail heads on telephone poles. If I draw a smiley face on a piece of scrap paper, I save it to make it a surprise for someone else. A heart or a coupon, a greeting on a napkin - why throw these precious things out? Food for a rat and home for mold may be medicine to someone who will be made willing to spread the cure.

I like to leave pennies around, imagining the wonder of the child who finds them. What else should I do with something so worthless to me? It seems selfish to keep the flattened, copper colored drops to myself when they’re bigger, better, and golden to someone else.

I like to leave notes on tables, or rip them onto leftover nail heads on telephone poles. If I draw a smiley face on a piece of scrap paper, I save it to make it a surprise for someone else. A heart or a coupon, a greeting on a napkin - why throw these precious things out? Food for a rat and home for mold may be medicine to someone who will be made willing to spread the cure.

1AM
White dove
Stupid white dove
Pluck your feathers out
And stain your skin with blood
Your stupid white wings
I want to clip them up
And pin your beak shut
So you cannot cluck
I want to slice your breast
And stab around inside
And boil up your feet
While you are still alive
Pull your claws apart
Pinch your little heart

White dove

Stupid white dove

Pluck your feathers out

And stain your skin with blood

Your stupid white wings

I want to clip them up

And pin your beak shut

So you cannot cluck

I want to slice your breast

And stab around inside

And boil up your feet

While you are still alive

Pull your claws apart

Pinch your little heart

1AM
Say the wrong thing, and the monsters from the other world attack me.
You can’t see them. Neither can I. Only I can feel them. They claw me and burn me, inside and out.
Mostly inside.
Their claws clinch around my heart as it beats and make it beat faster, to try and shake them off.
They squeeze my lungs in their mouths and make it so hard to breath. Sometimes they fill up my whole chest to try and make it explode. It doesn’t because the monsters aren’t fully formed.
They are from my past.

Say the wrong thing, and the monsters from the other world attack me.

You can’t see them. Neither can I. Only I can feel them. They claw me and burn me, inside and out.

Mostly inside.

Their claws clinch around my heart as it beats and make it beat faster, to try and shake them off.

They squeeze my lungs in their mouths and make it so hard to breath. Sometimes they fill up my whole chest to try and make it explode. It doesn’t because the monsters aren’t fully formed.

They are from my past.

1AM

Someone in the world hates you. You can’t escape it. Someone in the world despises you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

It doesn’t matter how good you are. Someone will hate you for being good. Try to please them with an infraction, and others will hate you for being bad. Try to hide the different parts of your self from different sides, to keep them happy, someone will hate you for hiding. It doesn’t matter if they don’t know you or what you did. Someone hates hiders.

If there is something “different” about you, someone will hate you for being odd. Everything about you is “normal,” the different people will hate you for being “boring,” “conforming.” Try to find a balance, people will scold you for trying too hard. Don’t try at all, you are careless and lazy.

Be fat, and they will want you thinner. Be thin, and they will want you curvier. Be ugly, you are not attractive enough. Be pretty, you are not “real” enough. Be religious, you are blind and unintelligent. Be non-religious, you’re going to hell.

Be alive, you are a burden. Kill yourself, you are a selfish coward. Scream, “for god’s sake, this isn’t fair!” - life isn’t fair. And they all hate you for it.

Somebody out there hates you no matter what you do. Somebody out there loathes you. No matter what, there’s something wrong with you.

So what is a person to do?

What is a person to do?

1AM
It’s like a glowstick, snapping in my brain
Seeping its neon green and making changes
Interfering with my thought process
With my vision, with my speech
Where I once saw red I see stars and dots
And a mobile of interesting things

It’s like a glowstick, snapping in my brain

Seeping its neon green and making changes

Interfering with my thought process

With my vision, with my speech

Where I once saw red I see stars and dots

And a mobile of interesting things

1AM
This is a story about how “we” became separated into “us” and “them.”
How “friends” because separated into “sisters” and “enemies.”
How things change but people don’t.
It all started in kindergarden.
Four little girls play together on the jungle gym ground of wood chips and dirt.
One with 

This is a story about how “we” became separated into “us” and “them.”

How “friends” because separated into “sisters” and “enemies.”

How things change but people don’t.

It all started in kindergarden.

Four little girls play together on the jungle gym ground of wood chips and dirt.

One with 

12AM

Author’s Note: A small collection of psychology related poems written on a practice test during AP Psychology review.


The metal mothers feed me love

When rhemus monkeys come to play

And Rorschach’s crooked blots of blood

They never seem to stay

________________________________________________

At Littler Albert’s screams of fear

The white mice push for chow

When Kitti asks the loafer’s why

the

doctors

ask 

them

how?


Pupil lens and cornea

and retina a nerve

They do the work, but iris gets

the color they deserve

Blue green brown gray

Your happy home life has no say

The eyes your genes formed in the womb = 

the eyes you have today


Pavlov’s dogs are hungry again

Ring the bell to tell them when

no need to take them to the vet - your food-laced

footsteps

make

them

wet

April262012
The heart beat’s quickened blub blub against the ribcage door
Thump thump whump until it’s walls hit can stay no more

The heart beat’s quickened blub blub against the ribcage door

Thump thump whump until it’s walls hit can stay no more

10PM
A darkness cast
Swollen shadows splashed on the portrait
of a growing baby
A shade that almost erases the spots
of spoil on the
skim-milk white skin
The brighter it gets, the bigger the spots become
I remember
Holding that rocking horse
tight like a purse on a scary street
like a child in a crowd
a swinging back and forth
back and forth
And the creaking was never too loud

The bright is blinding now
It whited out my horses
And my bruises
And the baby
White like an egg and invisible I sway 
back and forth back and forth
On the carpet next to my bed
like an egg
Gotta keep
my yolk warm
so I curl and never stop rocking 
even in the light

A darkness cast

Swollen shadows splashed on the portrait

of a growing baby

A shade that almost erases the spots

of spoil on the

skim-milk white skin

The brighter it gets, the bigger the spots become

I remember

Holding that rocking horse

tight like a purse on a scary street

like a child in a crowd

a swinging back and forth

back and forth

And the creaking was never too loud


The bright is blinding now

It whited out my horses

And my bruises

And the baby

White like an egg and invisible I sway 

back and forth back and forth

On the carpet next to my bed

like an egg

Gotta keep

my yolk warm

so I curl and never stop rocking 

even in the light

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