These Four Walls

Winding

I want to go straight on this winding road

and embrace the earth in a flurry of green, brown, and red.

Then I’ll be free of this cumbersome load.

I no longer care about finding the meaning of life's code

I exist only in these four walls and on this bed

I want to go straight on this winding road

Many nights tears like volcanoes flowed
"Please God, change this please," I plead.

"I need to be free of this cumbersome load."

Morning slowly steeps in, and I grab the keys and hit the road

Driving 65 up a mountain and it goads,

“You don’t have the courage,”

but I went straight on a winding road,

now I’m free. Free of my cumbersome load.

My parents are trying to brush Sage under the rug, forget that the issue ever happened. So my mom will point out men on tv and comment on their attractiveness and I can feel her monitoring me, wondering if I'll agree with her. For her sake, I do. Or she'll talk about my sibling's future and wonder if they'll produce grandchildren for her. I walked into that trap once and asked her why she thought I wouldn't produce any grandchildren and she responded that I had told her I didn't want any children. She knows very well that I want children, I've talked about adopting ever since I was 12.

My dad is finally talking to me again and he seems back to normal, meaning he seems content to forget about the Sage drama. Even though they both seem fine, I am not fine. I don't have any friends at this new college because I don't feel like I'm a part of it. Up until this point in school, I've always had friends, people knew me, and I had good relationships with the teachers. Here, however, nobody cares. If you're not living on campus, it's hard to connect with people you only see a couple hours a week. I end up going to school, doing homework, and sleeping. I barely talk to my friends at my old college because it hurts too much. Right now I'm supposed to be doing the senior traditions, applying for jobs, and stressing out over schoolwork. Instead, I struggle to find a sliver of interest in any of my studies, it will probably take me an extra semester to graduate , and I've already decided that I will not be at the graduation ceremony.

Cheers to ..........

Who Are You

Who are you?

I am a cross between this and that

an extroverted introvert and aggressively passive

I go where I please, but “Please, will you go with me?”

I used to write my life’s story on my arms

and loved to see bones through my skin.

I was cute; I was a doll, everyone’s friend.

I am what you want or what you need

but never in between

Either a basket of fries or “And how did that make you feel?”
(but more sincere)

I used to lie to myself and everyone else

just to keep up with a certain persona.

I was cautious, hesitant, the teacher’s pet.

I am label free, inside a box;

chaotically organizing, yet striving to be free.

Honestly, if you know who I am,

let me know because I need a hand.

Pinprick of light

I saw Sage today, I left him a qr code on our blog because if my parents stumble across it, they won't know how to interpret it. I couldn't stay long, dad was working from home and he thought that I was in class.

We didn't talk much, there wasn't a lot that we could say - he was fuming at feeling so useless and I felt guilty. I mean, these are my parents, I feel responsible for their actions. Why couldn't I have been more open with them throughout the years about my thoughts on sexuality, maybe they would be more understanding now. But at the same time, they have never been the sort of parents interested in a child's musings. They wish I had told them earlier to nip things in the bud. I'm just something that needs to be fixed.

It was nice, though, getting to be with him and hold his hand. Maybe you never know how much you love someone until you lose them. Right now, there's such an aching in my chest, I feel like it's going to cave in. I would cry, but I'm so tired of crying.

"Lady Lazarus"

Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.

I do it so it feels real.

I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.

It's easy enough to do it and stay put.

-- Sylvia Plath

The Therapist

Was horrible. She looked like an old friend of mine and so I found myself talking at her, expecting her to respond like my friend would, that she would just understand the way that I operate, and pick up on my little clues. Needless to say, after the first ten minutes with her, I saw that she wasn't getting it, so I just kept talking and stopped trying to clarify things for her. I haven't had anyone willing to sit down and listen to my side of things, so I just let it all out. I talked to her about last year when my grandpa died and how every morning since I had found out, for a full week, I woke up at 4 am for no reason. I told her about my stress issues and how I don't know how to deal with it when it takes over, that I just let it build and build until I explode. However, that's how I handle most emotions in my life, but now it's all backfiring on me. Near the end of the session she summarized the things we should work on over our sessions, but I already knew that I wasn't coming back to see her.

Maybe I'll find a therapist on my own.

Faltering

I’ve forgotten how to speak.

How to let the words slide out of my mouth like jelly.

So bottled up inside, afraid to let loose.

When did I become so afraid of hearing my voice

And making my sound be heard amongst the chatter?

I never was one to merely to blend in.

Why am I hiding within the confines of what’s safe?

Who is this girl and why can’t she speak?

I’m afraid to go against the grain,

to make people upset, in fear that they’d abandon me.

I agree with all they say, never questioning their actions.

Their words may hurt and leave deep scars,

But still I am a coward who cannot take a stand.

I need help and don’t know where to turn.

My mouth is stapled shut, only a pen and paper to name.

So for now, I write, in hopes that my voice will return again.