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    ~oxt. 16~ (oct. 16, '21)



    • school


    things to do today:

    • buy a blank notebook
    • do your homework
    • write a story


    • be gentle with yourself


    i gave you


    and then i wonder why I have nothing.



    you dont get to



    not now.

    not today.

    not ever again.



    • caps
    • bold, underlined text


    If you think


    will sit in

    s i l e n c e

    you are wrong.


    I will






    • mention and description of overdose


    Something about the way she looks at me...

    I can't describe it.

    Like a sweet spring breeze,

    like my heart softly curling just perfectly around my neck.

    Like an overdose;

    not that I've had one;

    the tingle of your body, caught off guard

    the black dots in your vision bursting at the seams.

    The calm of the storm, the rose of your cheeks, the satisfaction and the adrenaline.

    like that






    it is never about

    what i can do with my words...

    only what i can do with

    my knowledge.

    but if you'd shut up

    for once...

    you'd see what i can do with My







    you see what I can do All By Myself.

    slam poetry ~apr. 13~


    • implied rejection dysphoria
    • feeling worthless, hopeless, etc.
    • school
    • screaming
    • mention of crimes
    • gun
    • toxic friend
    • food
    • dream smp
    • sickness


    I wonder a lot of things

    like how my friends think of themselves.

    How their smile shines bright when they think of something they love.

    How they look at me with wonder

    say it’s okay

    because they really enjoy the time we spend together

    but I keep apologizing

    because I feel like a burden.

    Sometimes I wonder what would happen

    if I was never deemed “gifted”

    if they never put me in special classes

    and burdened me with homework

    and a feeling of never being enough,

    never doing enough,

    always seeing a goal that I can’t reach.

    And I wonder what my teachers think

    as I raise my hand for the sixth time that day

    or maybe I haven’t yet

    and maybe they’re thinking of what I’ll say

    what I’ll leave out,

    why I just had to share this story.

    Time is precious

    and I never seem to have enough of it.

    Time escapes my grasp

    and I can only watch

    And I wonder where it goes.

    And sometimes I wonder

    “Do my friends hate me?”

    Are they lying to me so I’ll leave them alone

    or do they really not care when they text me five times

    just so I get to their house on time.

    And I wonder if the apologizing is ever enough,

    if it’s a crime to say sorry as much as I do,

    if one day they’ll think I don’t mean it when really,

    every time I say sorry,

    I want to scream it so loud I never have to say it again.

    And sometimes I wonder why

    my brain holds me at gunpoint

    to do the things I do.

    Like it’s a crime.

    I wonder if my teachers remember me,

    if I left an impression like I always wanted.

    I think about the times they’d say,

    “You lost your privilege”

    and I wonder if they’re the reason for my trust issues

    or if it’s that one toxic friend I had

    when my brain was most impressionable.

    I know that the guy at my bus stop had no reason to lie,

    but I wonder if he did.

    Was it my fault?

    I wonder why the stars align as they do,

    why English has to be so hard,

    why we can’t just reinvent our universe so it isn’t confusing.

    I wonder if my parents will ever listen,

    or if they’re lying to me,

    if they put on a smile just for me and as soon as I leave, they wipe it off

    like how I purposefully miss the sour spots on apples.

    I wonder if I will ever achieve the goals I make,

    if I’ll ever read as many books as I want

    or watch as many movies as I want.

    I wonder if the hero was right, or maybe the villain was.

    Because as Ghostbur says,

    “A villain is just a hero you haven’t convinced yet.”

    And I wonder if my friends think of me as a hero.

    Or a villain.

    Am I a villain?

    ...no, that can’t be right.

    I don’t want to be a villain

    I don’t want to be like a sickness

    something you don’t want to catch

    something you pass on to people

    something you want to get rid of

    something that exhausts you

    something that brings you pain and turmoil

    something that infects you

    something that barges in uninvited, calls your house home.

    God, I wish I didn’t wonder.

    Because when I wonder,


    I’m my own sickness.


    from the studio,

    within the guitar

    through the speakers

    of your car

    between your teeth

    across your tongue

    from space and back

    amidst the young

    in your headphones and

    out with your speech

    with a message for all

    worth a thousand voices' preach

    the flower garden


    • animals
    • mention of death (in a common phrase)


    above the chatter

    across the river

    as far as the sun may go

    through the prarie

    around the villages

    against the rain and snow

    in spite of the clutter

    in lieu of the chaos

    between the slim byroads

    near the butterflies

    ahead of my view

    into the great unknown

    because of my conscious

    'till death do us part

    hence why i came to these beautiful blooms

    by means of my free will

    next to the flower garden

    out where theres breathing room

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