the cemetery

the other day
i saw
a cemetery

there was
a huge gate
and many trees
surrounding

i thought to myself

when i die
[as soon]
[as i go crazy]
this wouldn't be
such a bad place
to sleep

street noise

my words
are not the same
as they once were

where did the meaning
go

my frustration
taken out on a pocket knife

blame will fall on me
people will try to
ignore the fact but
at least i know
the truth

is that
all that
matters?

perspective

I wonder
what would happen
if I stood on my head
and tried to keep silent

maybe the words
would spill out
my ears

better explainer
than me

reminder

teach me how to be lonely
im drifting in and out of reality
help me find my sanity
for the manatees
im crazy
my brain is sick and hazy
but teach me how to be lonely
so i can touch base with reality

good(bad

im losing this battle
but not in the way that you thought.

i'm losing this battle
the sides are flipped
the good is coming for me
and i'm standing in my armor

im losing this battle
happy is coming for me
dragging me on the ground
my fingers scratching at the dirt
screaming with a cloth in my mouth
"you lost, kid
you lost and now you mean nothing"

no more pain
this is not my comfort zone

no more wanting to die
cant take away my will

you have to fight now,
or else
i'll take the ultimatum
anything is better
than getting better
youre asking a cripple
to get up and walk
fuck you
my brain doesnt work
there is damage from
your battles
good is the bad here
there are scars where trees had been here
this is all my fault
this is all my fault

typical

i wake up just fine
until i realize that my spine
is not broken and my head begins to whine
about why i should decline
this offer of life 'cause y'know im not fine.

and i brainwash myself
throughout the day because when you see yourself
in the mirror you shiver because in it of itself
you're just a stupid elf
so i keep my mind occupied to keep away from myself.

and when night grows nearer
and my thoughts become clearer
i begin to fear her 
'cause i cant see out my rearview mirror

anymore and my stomach drops
and everything stops

and i think it'd be a good thing
to bring
out all my demons until i hear the ring
of my own screams echoing in my ears and i spring

from my own skin petrified.

and just before the morning
my friends call out a cry of warning

and i could never do it in the first place
and i begin to chase
my own tail over and over because this race
cannot be won and with a straight face
i sit in my place

and think about dying again.

_

i am
sleepwalking
through this
world
without an
ounce of
hope
left
just confusion

broken words

when i begin
to spill my soul
i forget
to use
punctuation
and my words
go uncapitalized
in the wrong places
and words roll
on and on
and never break
because i never
end anything
that i start
and the pixels
of a font
reward my thoughts
with sight
on a screen
on a small screen
and i erase
almost everything
because truth
is hard
to portray

the middle of the street

i am trapped
in a prison
of existence.

i was locked
up in here
by a cold man
named Adolf.

he took the key
silver
in tongs
and held it
in a forge
until the metal
melted away.

he laughed at me.

and i'm trapped
in this cell
in the middle of
society
everyone sees me
some dont notice
some slow down
some reach through
the bars
and i shy away
from their touch
all of them 
end up 
walking away.

and i want
it to stop.

i dont long
for the outside
anymore.

i just want
everything
to stop.

and it seems
there is
only one way
but i cant do it
i cant do it

and im stuck
here suffering
until finally
i lose everything.

why does
this feel
okay?

ode to dog

i wonder what
goes through
her head.

i wonder if
she comprehends
what's going on
inside of
her big sister's
mind.

she's innocent
i know that for sure.

i stroke her fur,
and i realize
she has deep
emotion too.

she would be so confused
if i were to one day
vanish

maybe she'd sleep on my bed
all day

maybe she'd inherit
my inability
to get out of
bed

but dogs
dogs are funny.

she's so happy
running around
showing off that
new bone in her
mouth.

taunting us
with her toys
forcing us
to play with her.

she doesnt know
what it feels like
to be sad
indescribably
sad
but that's ok.
that's one of the
many things
that make dogs
better than humans.

the a-word

you say
i'm not
alone.

but really

i am.

everyone
i talk to
i hang out with
i do stuff with

they're all gone now.

and i'm all on my own
because i'm too
afraid of more
idiocy to
talk to more people.
it's like i can feel
their pity
like waves in my skin
"aw, youre all isolated
let me come stand with you"

people.
people talking to me.
what do i do
to not look like
an idiot.

uhmm,
bounce my legs around
that's cool
wring my hands
yeah that's bangin
stare at the wall
and stutter
when you finally decide
to speak
that's super fucking rad
too.

[note sarcasm.]

i kind of
want to just dive
head-first
over this railing
the one
on the second floor
of the mall
break something
i'm already broken

these ideas
aren't cool
but they wont go away
no matter how hard
i try i just
cant even distract
myself anymore
because i'm all alone
i'm so very
all alone

the slo-mo

y'know
today is really weird.
im empty
i barely woke up this morning
im just...
im sort of completely dead
and very much alive
at the same time.
it's really odd.
i should know myself
i should understand my own head
i should want to live

whenever i think
about taking
my own life

i always
want to have
the chance
that someone
could find me
before it was
too late.

but at the same
time,
i want
to die
far away
from everyone
so nobody
would have to
find me
if i went through
with it.

i dont know.
i never know.
i say that so much
and most of the time
it's true

i wonder if
these thoughts
have overcome
my brain so much
washing over me
like a slo-mo tsunami
that they are
wiping out
memories
of feelings
and emotions
maybe that's why
i dont feel
anymore

mother

my mom 
gets really weird
when we talk about
my head.

sometimes,
she doesnt shut up.
i guess my silence
pisses her off.

sometimes,
she stares at me
and squints
and asks
"are you having
an episode?"

well,
mom,
you wonder why
i dont want
to talk to you about
this stuff.

you get angry with
me when i can't
form words
to explain my pain
this shit
attacks me
how well do
you think someone
could explain
getting mugged
immediately
after getting beat up?

right,
it'd be hard.

so you sympathize
with physical pain
but not your
own daughter's
emotional, mental beatings?

thanks, mom.
thanks for trying to understand.
you don't know anything.

prepared

im not prepared
for these two weeks.
not at all.
i'm not ready 
for this alone.
it's a different breed.
this alone is something
that i have never dealt
with before.
i've always had
my support group
right on hand
at the push of a button
instant comfort.
but now...
i'm scared.
i'm alone.
i'm lonely.
i dont have motivation
to keep up
with myself
anymore.
he told me,
"i dont want
to go to
any more
funerals."
i dont want to
let him down.
i'm suffering
though.
i'm suffering
and i dont
know how
to handle it
by myself.

honor

im honored
so many people
actually believe
i'm gonna live.

thats why
its so hard
to deal with
the fact that
i'm probably
gonna crush
their hopes.

why do people
have faith in
me?

i'm just a
suicidal dork
with no purpose
other than hating
the world
and existing
as a background
character.

bad again

im sorry

that

im sorry
never once
meant anything

good morning
it's 1 am
that's morning

it's a really
not good morning
though

it's a suicidal
morning

my parents
and their friend
are drunk
and yelling

i'm not entirely
glad
we didnt get
into an
accident

maybe
it couldve
killed me

so i dont have to

shut up,
michele
just shut up

you cant do this
stop being so
fucking selfish
these people
love you

i'm sorry
that i cant
do this

i cant

so stop fucking telling me
to look on the bright side
because i'm gonna
go blind
i fucking hate this
please
just take me out now

let something happen
so i can keep my promise
my contract
let a tree fall
on my house
on a clear night
out of the blue
right on my room
knock me dead

let my
computer break
and electrocute me
so i am no more

please just dont let me
feel this anymore
i dont want
to breathe

breathing
is for the weak
breathing is for
the happy
just let me go
let me go
let me go
loosen your grip
so i can fall
please

the Second Chance

part of me
just wants a second chance.
i feel like
i screwed up this life
too badly already.
i have no story.
i have no rhythm.
i have no fight,
i have no happy ending.
my happy ending
is overlooked.
"but did you die?"
part of me
wants to say
i tried, once.
tried what?
to die.
i know that's just
stupid,
stupid,
stupid.
goddamn alone
catches me every time
happy, or sad.
in despair, or hopeful.
my happy ending
will be overlooked.
where's the drama
that society
wants?
well, you want drama?
what if i did die?
would that be enough for you?
please?
that stupid girl
that dressed like a boy
died
because no one stopped her.
fuck you guys.
fuck you.
i hate you,
i hate this world,
and i just want everything to go away,
and i dont want to go back to school,
because there
nobody really cares about you,
nobody really cares.

fucked

my head is like fire
and darkness
and numbness
and fear
and monsters
and suicide
all wrapped in one
with a toxic bow.
when i need sleep
my head tells me
to stay up
and dwell on
my senses
of despair
see how my gut
is true
and i try to
shake it off
and i mean literally
i shake like a leaf
i run my fingers through
my hair
i wring my hands
tell myself 
this ain't true
but really
look alive
darling
because it is.
all of it is true.
you're fucked.

you're fucked.

dependence

i wish i wasnt
so dependant on
you people
to live,
friends.

i wouldn't hurt
you
if i had
the option.

it's hard
to live
without
people
to lean on.

i know,
it's only human
to reach
out.

i just dont
want to
hurt anyone
any more
than i
already
have.

shadow

my shadow
is it's own being.

all the good things
about me

drained into
a black spot

on the ground
attached to my

feet.
it is scared

that i will
turn on it

again.
and in all

honestly,
i would be scared too.

quicksand

honestly,
i'm just drowning in quicksand.
not water,
because then i could kick my legs
and actually get somewhere.

the quicksand
pulls me in farther
every time i try.

try to fight it.
try to win.

the sand around me fills in
and it begins to squeeze on my arms,
my neck,
and i can feel my pulse.

i wonder
what the silence
will be like
when it stops.

in truth,
i cant fight it.
i won't win.
and i know that is extremely pessimistic

but it is truth.
i will not run from it.
and im sorry if that lands me
in a bad place.

do not blame yourself.

it's
all
my
fault.

leave me to drown, please.

i have heard many metaphors
the suicidal lion
the wolves chasing after me
the demons that haunt me
the ocean i'm drowning in
the tower i'm locked in
the sky that i just can't reach.

i hate floating
and fighting
and trying to get over
this pain.

if i were rapunzel,
i would've just stayed in that tower
so i wouldn't have to
deal with the outside world.

i want to lay here
and yearn for the stars
even though i'm lying
when i say "i want to meet them."

i know
if i don't work
i won't get better
and i'll die.

i know this.

i just don't know
how to keep hope
in my head.

it seems to spill
out of every crack it can find
my eyes
my nose
my mouth
my ears

i cant juggle
these things
and keep them inside.
my heart is too full
of useless insults
and masks.

like my desk drawers
that i never clean out.
it has started to overflow
out the back
and i haven't even bothered to look
at what keeps falling out.

it could be hope.

a letter to my future suicidal self (on why i should keep going.)

first off, i know this world is a really shitty place to be.
trust me, nothing is rainbows and unicorns and cotton candy.
nothing.
but there's reasons to hold on a little bit longer, and i promise you they will never change.

stay here for your family.

stay here for your friends.

stay here for that one kid you've never actually talked to but they were nice to you anyways so stay here for their kindness. or kindness as a whole.

stay here for your dog. Bella has never betrayed you.
she'll miss waking up in your parents bed after the millionth time you've called her to find your face. the belly rubs. the frisbee toss and bone hiding. stay here for her.

for god's sakes, stay here for Erin and Ian and Campbell and Courtney, and all the others who have tried to save you. your existence is a gift to them.

stay here because you're a damn good poet. someone's going to need that someday.

stay here because of the good days. the days where you find no guilt in being happy. those are good days.

stay here for your teachers. you've touched them emotionally (and academically). they would be so hurt to have you gone. they wouldn't even get to watch you graduate.

stay here for your parents. i know, i know, they've been creating rough waters in the sea that is your mind for so long now, but if you leave... they'll want to leave too. everyone you are close to will want to leave too.

stay here because dying hurts too much. physically, for you, and mentally for all of those you have touched.

things may not get better. you don't know the future. but i know this: 
if this is truly your lowest point, 
and you cant go any further unless you find yourself 6 feet under, 
you have to push against the floor of this ocean and float up. 
just float up, and find air, my friend.

your good side will be waiting for you.

death in a wal-mart

standing in the middle of a wal-mart store
i want to melt into the floor
and disappear
i am not here
i am not here
quit looking at me
i am not here

i want to hold my head and cry
these strangers scare me and i
cannot wait
to leave this place
away, away, away

my head tells me "these people hate you"
"these people pity you."
"these people want you gone"
"you - you know you don't belong."

and i walk aisle after aisle and
yes i know i wring my hands too much
i know i look terrified
i know my hat is backwards in a lost act of masculine courage
keep away your children's prying eyes
i know they got them from you
please take me home, mom
please just take me home

i lost my headphones
and i cannot drown my head
in bitter music
as these strangers close in

i am dead here
i dont want to exist here
get me away from here
but what is here

here is this planet
this vacuum that is consciousness
here is existing
and i want to get away from it

find me a place
where i am safe
where my own head does not attack me
every time i leave my home
i hate alone
i hate alone
i hate alone

a haiku.

it is all my fault
for existing, in the first
motherfucking place.

trying to understand.

when I was 5,
i truly believed
the world was a wonderful place,
my mother's big hugs were the greatest thing in the world
crossing that big empty street annoyed me
playing oswald in my neighbors front room
with the glass tables
and that grandfather clock
that scared me every time it rang.
when i was 7,
i lived and breathed happy.
i would come home with my best friend
i would read and write stories
once i wrote a story about an evil witch that took over all of England
i had such an imagination
that blue's clues would be jealous.
that story
hung in my dad's office
laminated
as a forever keepsake.
when i was 9,
i was queen of the school
i had friends
and nobody cared
that i would play pokemon with the boys
that i would create imaginary cities
that i would make friends stay friends
and protect them
and protect them.
when i turned 12,
i went to middle school.
lived the life,
and i felt so grown up
like nothing could stop me
i had a locker
i had a fucking locker.
but i was no longer on top of the world.
words began to scare me.
i hid my beyblades in my pockets
and secretly took them out at lunchtime
because who wants to be friends
with a girl who still plays with
little boys toys.
when i was 13, my life turned into hell
my brain was bombarded by Brian
his laugh forever an echo carved into my spine
i still shiver
my bones cry out in fear
when he looks me in the eye with that
nonchalant grin.
doesn't he know,
how much
he hurt me.
that was the year
when i formally met
alone.
when i turned 14,
i tried to recover.
i surrounded myself with friends
tried to convince myself i was fine.
and i was, for the most part.
i was normal.
i would go to the mall.
but nonetheless, i was still the odd one out.
i never really have fit in.
i convinced myself, once.
i convinced myself.
i am now 15
and i wake up each morning
trying to shake off last nights demons
who etched words into my skull
who break me down everywhere i go
who make me believe
that i'd be better off dead.
i convinced myself, once.
i convinced myself.

my room feels like summer

my room feels like summer
it embraces me as i walk in that door
the air around me grabs my arms like a hug

welcome back to your cave
welcome back to your room
welcome back to your bed
welcome back to the place 
where you always end up alone.

welcome back to the place where you deny the monsters are there
the place where you deny that you are alone
the place where you deny that everything is wrong
where you go to sleep
wishing you were not a liar

my room feels like summer
my room is not summer
it is not even close to summer
summer is a wonderful place full of sun and happiness and friends
and my room is not summer
my room is darkness
my room is numb
my room is a place where the monsters under my bed are my best friends.

it is not happy
there is no sunlight
i have kept these blinds closed for so long
and i should probably open them up more
once in a while
let the summer air come in
and try to change the way that things are
maybe then i wouldn't be so messed up.

my body

my hands speak life.
my arms reach for something lost.
my chest heaves with each breath i take.
my legs attempt to run away from the fear.
my feet know the legs are liars.
my head looks pained.
my heart says, hold on.
my heart says, wait.
my heart says, i don't know.
my bones shiver.
my brain says i don't belong here.
my brain says get away from here.
my brain says it is too scary.
my brain says let go.
my eyes look for beauty.
my eyes turn up empty.
my ears scan for hope.
my ears come up empty.
my muscles refuse to move.
my heart says, get up.
my brain says, lay there a while.
my soul says, i don't know what to do.

write happy.

happy.
happy is the term called carefree.
happy is the word without worry.
happy is a shout into the deepest depths of the world singing
happy-go-lucky "i don't care!"

i dont really like happy.
i feel like happy is just something i can reach for but it's too high up so

i cant reach it.
i like to sit on the floor and stare up at it and think about how far away

it is and how i'll never reach it.
i dont want to reach it.
i like the ground.
it's hard as rock, sharp as nails, and uncomfortable.
i find a way to sleep there.
sleep is a wonderful thing.
it's like taking a stroll with death every night.
talking to him about how much pain there is in living.
death understands.
he's neutral.
i dont know if i want to join death quite yet.
he seems like a nice guy.
i've known him for a while.
he makes sad things happen, though.
he made my dad cry.
i've made my dad cry, too.
i am a sad thing.
sometimes i think i really belong with death.
a lot of people think of death as a horrible thing.
i think it's okay.
it has to happen.
it's a natural, neutral thing.
i see death a lot.
death is neither happy, nor sad.
he is not carefree, or angry.
death exists, but only to people who want him to be there.
maybe he's my imaginary friend.

so you want me to write happy.
i don't know happy.
happy doesn't exist anymore.
it did once, but it ran away from me.
hid in the stars.
in the treetops.
happy is scared of me.
happy gets attacked by my guard dogs.
i am afraid of happy.
happy always pulls me away from the ground.
i dont want to fall again.
i've fallen so many times.
so writing happy -
i cant write happy.
i'm too afraid that happy will drop me again,
but this time i'll crack.
this time i'll meet up with my imaginary friend.

A Letter to Life

Dear Life,

if i stay tonight,
what will you give me?

what will happen,
that will make this worthwhile?

because right now,
i'm just about done with your shit.

i am broken,
but that does not mean

that i cannot feel
anymore.

i am close,
but not that close.

so i guess
what i ask of you,

life,
is that you stop being

such an asshole to me.
i want you

to give me some control,
okay?

because this is not
what i want.

this...
i dont like this.

i might not know
what i want just yet

but bear with me,
tone down the pain,

the fear,
the anger,

and give me
a second

to breathe.
that's all i ask.

so maybe,
if you can do that for me,

i can figure out
what's so great about you.

what everyone
seems to be

bragging about.
because right now

you look to me
like a tornado

tearing up
everything that once had

meaning,
and scattering the

pieces of my
mind, of my thoughts

all over
this field of

piercing daggers
that tear apart every chance

that i have
at hope.

but maybe
theres a slim chance

that you can change.
i've come to like

these daggers
these knives

in my mind,
as they have created

a cushion
that i always fall on

but if you give me reason to

maybe i can
leave them behind.

these ideas

get more vivid
each time
I entertain them
behind my eyelids
in front of my brain

the chill of metal
the barrel of a gun
pressed at my head
pressed at my chin

the choke of a noose
rope burning at my throat
suffocating
waiting for a sigh of relief

the blade of a knife
inching closer
and closer
because really,
what is one more
stupid kid's
life
to this world?

description?

i sort of feel like i should explain myself.

i kinda just opened up this blog, threw a shit ton of poems on it all at once, and never said anything about it.

but the thing is, explaining myself is... hard? i dunno, really. i'm not completely comfortable with the idea, because i've been through a lot, and well, if any of my friends find this...

i'm sorry.

god, i just... poetry is my way of venting pain. i'm no vincent van gogh, turning pain into beauty, no... pain is pain. pain, to me, can only be portrayed one way. but it might just be the fact that i find no purpose in happiness or positivity. my mind is void of all emotion except sadness and hurt. and that sounds like a bad thing, but i've kinda come to terms with it somewhat. actually that might be a lie. i have no idea.

but i don't want to explain this like a fucking diary. i've tried keeping diaries before to no avail. my words just continued to lose meaning.

i guess that's why i like poetry so much, because when using small amounts of words you can hide a deeper meaning behind them. i like digging for things like that. sometimes i take my old poems and dig around, even though i know what i was thinking when i wrote them, so i can find even more meaning in these words.

but hey, before i end this, i just want to put it down for the record (if you havent already figured it out from my work) i have severe depression and anxiety, and i'm struggling with wanting to take my own life.

but if you keep seeing poems here, it means i'm still alive. unless i turn into a ghost and then i can haunt this computer. that would be pretty awesome. afterlife art. fun stuff.

anyway, i hope my blog doesn't get you guys down as low as i am myself. i would say that i'll keep fighting, but i hate to lie. i dunno what's going to happen, honestly. i'm probably going to regret writing this. oops.

-Michele

I HATE GUNS

in my mouth

there is a mental gun.

i feel the cold barrel

through my teeth

and i bite

but i can't break metal

'cause it's a metaphor,

hazel grace

i hold this killing thing

with shame

unlike a dog shows off it's bone

and i'm gasping for breath

wrestling the air

'cause it's hard to inhale

with a gun in your mouth

because what if

you breathe in bullets

what if

you actually

use your chance

what would be the

horror,

what would be the 

terror,

what would be the

pain,

but you so much

as lay a finger on

that trigger,

i will blow

my entire world

to bits.

please

dont make me

hurt me

anymore