I remember

I hate that I
still think about
those green walls,
their scolding tones,
"Remember where you are."

I sat next to a boy, that first day
it was four to one.
"You can't sit there!"
he said, the man in charge
of protecting me, and then,
"Remember where you are."

The punishment for not sitting still or
moving too much or taking up space
was the revocation of gym privileges,
our only chance to move and take up space.
The youngest of us was a
skinny kid with ADHD and a big smile,
he never stopped moving.
I watched that smile drop as he suffered
his punishment while the rest of us
walked downstairs.
I wanted to help him, but,
"Remember where you are."

We had to listen to two women
from alcoholics anonymous
even though none of us drank.
I couldn't speak up to say that I never would.
They were sure of who we would become.
I couldn’t explain that I’m paving my own destiny,
I've seen where one glass of whiskey can lead
when your mind looks like mine.
I didn't get to decide,
I was never asked what kind of help I needed.
"Remember where you are."

He touched me that first morning.
His cold hands were the first thing I knew. 
Who would believe me?
They kept reminding me that
I was nobody.
I was my diagnosis.
Nothing more.
"Remember where you are."

All
day
long
in hard, plastic seats,
we didn't speak, and were not
allowed to look outside
the window.
"Remember where you are."

Staff would shuffle in and read off
of pieces of paper,
telling us to get better
but never how.
I soon learned
not to ask questions.
"Remember where you are."

I hate that I
still think about
those green walls.

I hate that I
can't make myself forget.

new fears this halloween

you grow up and
your problems get bigger
sure, that makes sense, but
nobody warns you that
so do your friends'

it's Halloween
I've learned new fears since
dressing up as a pumpkin in the 1st grade

it used to be faceless monsters
lurking in the dark,
now my friend's little sister
can't get the help she needs,
her parents don't believe that
the monster in her closet
is now trapped inside her
rattling her rib cage

it used to be big kids out
early, when we were trick or treating
but now the cops are at another friend's house
and they might take the kids away
all five siblings, while she's hundreds of miles away
the fear of separation that big is far worse
than any screams behind bushes or pranks on houses
how do you tell a 6-year-old to find a new family?

it's my last Halloween as a kid
all I see are haunting reminders
that fictional horror
ain't got nothing on reality

snippets of her mind [updated]

she thought she could write
poems using snippets of
her mind, but when it all
unraveled

she couldn’t
make sense of it

what was this new
layer, she asked
why does this memory
feel tainted,
spray painted
with regret, thin enough
to see through to what
she used to believe
was true-

she was stunned,
started backtracking, but got
turned around, lost in a forest
of memories and
miscommunication

she was too young then,
but now she has the
instincts, as women do,
to know it wasn't right

she thought she could write
poems using snippets of
her mind, but when it all
unraveled

it was too dark
for her to see anything

bravery means vulnerability

it is not defined by boldness
nor by refusing to listen
(that isn't bravery)

they called me brave
(but left out the
parts of my story
that made it true)
they said that i was brave
"because i survived"

but i didn't get to decide
how my surgeries went or
how my body
healed itself

i got to decide how to
stitch myself up
in another way
from the inside out, into
standing position.
i got to try to put my pieces
back together
ones that didn't fit anymore
however i chose to
(in the end,
i figured out that i had
to create new ones)

courage is found in the most
vulnerable parts of a person's soul

for me, that means
telling my story
and admitting to any
shame over my past

it means
revealing that all
of those ugly things i
was told (the words pressed
against me until i
couldn't breathe)
still haunt me

these brave things
(the vulnerability) hurts

so much of me is
tangled up identity,
but i am learning that i
can redefine myself
(as many times as i choose)

being honest
with who i am
who i was
and who i want to be-
that is vulnerability
and that is bravery.

this is what healing looks like

it's easy to get hurt- it takes seconds
healing takes time- it ain't pretty
for me,
the hard work has just begun

healing started with

blood and bandages,
tears and getting sick of pancakes;
I forgot not to look in the mirror,
it only made me feel worse
at least, on the bad days

that is what healing looks like
it can be quiet, deep aches
that tear you apart from the inside
the kind that people can't see
that is not forever

so, in the mist
of this experience you
would probably throw away
if you could

thank your body anyway
for the effort it's put in
for you and your happiness
the words will feel weird on your tongue
but, thank your body
for surviving
thank your body
for giving you strength

you can't rush loving yourself
have patience, my dear
it all comes with time

to heal a wound,
you have to stop touching it
scars are tougher than skin
and, oh darling,
the sun will rise again

(trust me, you don't want to) [updated]

Previously titled: "What Mental Illness Isn't" and 
"(dip your toe in and you might not come back)"

Mental illness isn’t
pretty faces, the only blemish
some bags from lack of sleep

        Mental illness is 

        ragged faces from nightmares that

        wake you up in a cold sweat

thin frames, from shyly saying no to some sweets

        organs squeezed between skin and bones,

        eating has become something you can’t do without

        throwing it all up afterward

too big sweatshirts and an allergy to school

        not being able to get out of bed,

        unsure you’ll make it through the day

the quiet kid at school, always reading
they should try harder if they ever want someone to talk to them

       lungs no longer breathing,

       anxiety tears broken ribs to pieces

headphones, dazing off in class
maybe lazy, maybe not

       questioning reality

       all grounding points gone,

       the butterflies carried it away

neat freaks and a dresser with all matching socks
they wash their hands all the time

       Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

       not being able to leave the house before it’s done right

streaked mascara, sadness is the only emotion in sight

       high: driving with the sunroof open

       laughing loud, you can do anything-

       you don’t sleep for three days

going from happy to depressed pretty fast,
whatever that means

        low: bang your head against the wall,

        trying to shake off the demons,

        who looked like angels a second ago

holding grudges too long

       flashbacks

       being shoved in the hallway and beat behind the cafeteria

       your mom’s wail, you’re passed out from the OD

       old scars and deep memories of the pain

       your mind against itself

Mental illness is not something you can try on. 

(trust me, you don’t want to) 

There are people who survive it, 

there are people who don’t. 

It looks different on everyone, 

lies blur the lines, you might get confused. 

One thing is clear: 

our pain is real, 

so, you don’t get to 

try it on like a costume. 

Mental illness is real. Not some 

label to be worn like a trend, 

only to be thrown away when things get serious.

Stripped Raw

rollercoasters invoke vomit
black and white photography
misses out on half the picture

volume stabilizers
keep things even, tones level
one song blends into the next
lots of things are thrown at you
but, predictably, they all weight the same
(some people don't have those installed)

everything is at a screaming pitch
one that can drop so suddenly,
sound submerged in water
(sometimes I think I've gone deaf)

emotions ride my skin
like I'm a rollercoaster
diving deep, needling me with ink
whenever the mood hits them

jealousy feels like jello on skin
and happiness is that moment
just before you jump

anxiety is yellow
buzzing bees trapped in my lungs
they will get angry
and make me regret
having a single thought

rollercoaster again,
up and down, but I'm blindfolded

this trail is endless
oh, I'm back to where I started
intensity drives you mad
to the brink of reality
falling into exhaustion

some people don't have the automatic system
we use a gear shift in our minds
to control our emotions
careful not to stall,

going too fast, when will I stop?

I can't explain
I don't have the words
no, I have too many
they won't fit in my head
I'm pouring out my soul,

nerves open to the air
emotional skin ripped away
leaving raw sparks
waiting to start a fire

The Assumptions Are Wrong

You never really know anyone.

The girl who caught my eye
after rolling up her sleeves to paint
started to cover the scars, but stopped
and smiled after I showed her mine.
She wrote song lyrics on her arms
for comfort- to remind her of what is real.

There is solidarity.

One girl with the cute afro
and anger issues
cried after yelling at one of the other girls.
She loved to do word searches.

Who says we are in control?

The little girl who bangs her head up against the wall
to rid herself of the demons
looks adorable with her fuzzy blanket
singing along to watching Disney movies on the couch.

Anyone can be affected.

One girl who had to learn to eat again,
wouldn't let you
hate on your own body.
She could
speak 3 languages
and draw like a goddess.

We are more than our pain.

The people living under depression can crack the brightest smiles.
We wouldn’t wish these feelings on anyone-
that’s we always want to crack jokes.

Between the locked doors and gray walls,
we shared stories from days long ago,
we got excited on chicken tender day,
we ran around the gym and painted everything we could-

We are trying to heal.

Next time someone assumes
they know you, but get it all wrong, try
not to get mad,
no matter how hard you have to grind your teeth,
because you know the truth.

The truth that
you never really know anyone-
if it helps, don’t worry, no one really knows you.

Addicts [updated]

tricked into seeing control
over your body,

your past,

your present,

your future

just when you need it so 

desperately, heart aching for relief

it appears

whatever it is, be careful

it will be tempting,

oh, the pain of saying no

it will feel big, as vital as water
by big,
I mean, like everything

it will fix all of your problems

I mean, it won't and

you know that, but it feels that way

once and you're hooked

once and you know,

oh, once you know

you become an escape artist

you'll repeat it

no matter what lies it will take

no matter what it takes

the hole you are digging, 

your own grave, gets deeper

again again and again

drop it?
but how to
refill that hole?

my throat is dry, I need it

like water

that missing piece

is the only reason for all of your problems

not skipping meds, not skipping breakfast

not ignoring responsibilities, not ignoring friends

no, the problem is

whatever is keeping us from it

that is making
our whole world
crumble around us

when we are already

so far underground

looked upon as weak,
we are judged by those who cannot know us

we are more
than our addiction

perhaps a painter or skier 

or mediocre at everything tried

try.

that is all you can do
try and try again

Breathe

Your emotions may feel like a sandstorm, as if
your body is screaming at you
to believe that your
very existence is a crime
that the world wants wiped from it's surface-
breathe.

B r e a t h e
as if you are introducing your lungs
to air for the very first time.
Feel your chest expand with gratitude towards you,
because together you are harmonizing to create the music
of life.

When you are through
with pretending you have no grief,
it's okay.
I know those memories are heavy,
maybe you don't think you'll ever get
enough air to stretch your chest all the way out,
it's okay.
Start with small breathes and move your tummy out,
hum until you can open your mouth
to gulp down that little bit of hope that's there
because

if you can breathe
that means you are still here.
And if you are still here,
know that you will learn to
control that sandstorm.

Use up all that air and
make your voice heard.

Happy

They tell me that it is
not a sprint,
but a
  m  a  r  a  t  h  o  n
They love to
explain
exactly
how
to
do
it.

So,
I have.
I’ve run the mile,
taken my pills,
slept like I'm supposed to,
and tapped my twice heels to come home.

Only,
I can’t remember what I’m returning to.
Did I pass the test? Am I happy, yet?

I feel something like it some days, I think?
Talked to some friends - check
Wrote a nice story - check
Read my favorite book- check
checkcheckcheck
I’m filling in the bubbles
on my scantron, colors still muted blue.

And I supposed to see something brighter?

Lifetimes

Every corner will only lead you back to the beginning.
The lines start to melt, hot wax chasing you
to face
scream after scream
of faces you want to believe-
Tell say that you are wrong.

You always are.
At some point, you might even
let the voices crawl closer,
let the scorching wax run over you.

I fought for years,
and I want to say I still am.
Days and weeks and months and years-
A
l
i
f
e
t
i
m
e
of hearing that I am
worthless.

          A lifetime
          of being told I am a sin.
                    A lifetime of knowing I will never succeed.

I fought for years,
and I want to say I still am.

Strangers will not define
my worth.
Bullies cannot know
what my God believes of me.

The only block between success
- and this person who hasn’t even lived yet- is me.

It may take a lifetime.
But, I will work for those years,
learning week in and week out
that I have power.

Day by day,
I am beginning to remember…
My soul was put on this Earth to blaze a trail with the hellfire of my Truth
to light the way for any who may need it.

Only Some Words

“You’re sad and angry
all the time.”

“It’s what you do.”

She speaks those words
and my stomach dropped because
It might be true.

My throat swells
- my energy popped.
Where once might

have been joy,

lies only regret.

If only I could
                        count
                                 oh,
                                      just all the things
                                                                   I've heard,
that have been
said about me.

It would be quite distressing,
an awful lot of hate.

But, people, they don't know me.
It is easy to say that
and mean strangers on the street,
but you have to remember that
it just might mean your family too.

You are the only one who has
experienced all of the things,
the only one who knows of all the
stolen cookies and guilty pleasure songs,
no one can steal from you
your memories and your soul.

You are you
it is as simple as that.
They can say words,
and they will hurt,
but you are mighty
perhaps like mitochondria.

Aye, Aye Captain

I’m sick of waiting, okay?
I don’t need a prince with greasy armor, or whatever.

Forget the prince, I am a Captain.
These may be uncharted waters,
but how else do you learn to sail?

It requires patience,
long-term planning,
impulsive decisions,
and maybe a dramatic spin of the steering wheel.

Only a Captain knows their ship
the best, and the true ones
never stop learning.
Whoa! Look, I mended that

splintering plank. Now,
no one will step on it.

I journey to help others,
but, also, because it is the only way to
stay afloat.

That is all you need to do.
Stay afloat, please?

Just How Broken?

Sometimes you don't know
how broken you are until you try
to piece yourself back together.

BandAids unstick.
Dreams are forgotten,
plans were rewritten.

Dry Saddness

Sometimes there are
No tears.
My face is dry.
I am all dried up. There is just
nothing inside.
I stare.
At what?
There is nothing
left inside
to even hold onto the reality of what's outside.