"You're so empathetic. That's what I admire about you."

It's words like that that stick with me.

They haunt me and keep me awake.

For you, my favourite teacher, to say such things...?

There must be something you're missing. 

I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up so high;

It's not like I don't have to choose my words to you carefully,

But still, I had a glimmer of hope:

That somebody could finally understand me.

Silly me, silly me, I should have known;

Psychopathy has no room for empathy. 

Even if I wanted to be nice and caring,

I couldn't, scientifically or psychologically.

Do the voices that tear at my sanity care for me?

Do the dangerous swings of lethal lows and sweeping highs

Ever offer any stabilty?

Do the things that only exist in my head really matter to reality?

Do you really think I am the mask I wear everyday?

What a disappointment.

"You're so empathetic. That's what I admire about you." 

That's impossible if you see the real me.

~~~~~~~~~

It's unpolished, but I'm too frustrated too try to fix it.

This is about . . . no one. Somebody I guess talking to me. I sit in a corner at recess, in the spot with all the clover. Nobody over comes over there except me and my sister and her friends, but they're graduating this year, so next year I'll be alone. So I guess this is how I imagine someone kind of whismical and imaginative like me, who notices, would approach me. I guess it's also kind of the deterioration of their mental health. Finally they leave, and I guess that would be a little bit of a relief for the person they were talking too - me - but also I think I would miss them a lot. I really don't like being noticed, but at the same time I really appreciate being noticed. So yeah. That's what this is. Sorry it's not very good, and it's formatted really weird.  

Clouds

“Hello.”

“Have you ever wondered about the clouds?”

“About what’s up there?”

“Have you ever thought about birds, flying through the clouds?”

“I have.”

“I’ve always wanted to fly through a cloud.”

“It would be so cold.”

“I would get absolutely soaked, but it would be worth it.”

“The exhilaration would make up for it.”

“Have you ever wondered what it would look like to be above the rain?”

“To see the rain pouring down from up above?”

“Have you ever wished that sometime, if you jumped, you would fly?”

“Are you ever coming out of that corner you hide in?”

“Do you want to fly with me?”

“I promise my mom will buy you new clothes if yours get wet.”

“There’s a cloud up there.”

“It’s small, but it’ll do.”

“The bricks in your corner are hot.”

“Do you want to stop hiding?”

“Do you think the clover here would fall out of your hair if you flew?”

“Do you like this corner?”

“Do you like me?”

“Do you think those clouds are pretty?”

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”

“That rock you sit on doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“The clouds are so high up.”

“Do you think I would have enough energy to fly all the way up there?”

“There’s a wispy one.”

“Do you ever come out of your corner?”

“It’s hot in your corner.”

“Do you want to come over in the shade with me?”

“I don’t think I can fly.”

“My hamster died.”

“I wonder if my hamster has flown through a cloud yet.”

“If I die, will I get to fly through a cloud?”

“I wish you would talk to me.”

“Does nobody but me and you come to this corner?”

“I think you should come out of that corner sometime.”

“Can I pick the clover?”

“It’s too hot over here.”

“Am I annoying you?”

“Sorry.”

“Goodbye.” 

dream's mask just came out and i'm drowning in it so here you go

untitled

everybody i know doesnt know me

and that's how its supposed to be, thats how i live and how i'll die and how i'll-

what if i took off my mask and showed them?

would they still look at me the same way or would they turn their backs and walk away-

even if i tried i couldn't, i've been wearing it too long and it's become reality

the walls are bleeding as i stare into space, empty thoughts drifting like clouds across my mind and

you never really understood, did you, nobody did and they won't, i'm too good of an actor-

i taught myself how to fake and fake it i will, i'll keep faking until the earth splits open and the sun burns out and there's no one left to see me

would you still like me if i took of my mask and showed you?

i would give it all for you, do you feel the same-

can't ever say it but it doesnt matter anyways

"i see you, i get you, you're my best friend and i want to make you happy" you say, but there's nothing behind the words and

you dont see me and you dont get me and you can't make me happy because nothing can anymore,

i said i loved you but i'm incapable of feeling anything so i guess that was a lie

if i said the same words without the mask how would you feel?

would you look at me and see how true my words are and how deep my feelings go- 

wish i would close my eyes and forget the world 

Apparently I wrote another poem.

WordSong, I hope you kept a copy of your poem for yourself if you want it, because it's too dark for Chatterbox.

Admin

I miss you.

Not in a tragic,

Never-see-you-again

But will be eternal pining 

Kind of way.

I just miss you.

Like the way I miss rain

When the ground grows dry and cracked

I don't need a storm, since I can just go inside,

But it would be awfully nice.

I miss you.

In the way you feel lonely when there aren't any clouds

But once clouds appear the sky looks too crowded.

Then I'm torn since I want to talk to you

But even more I just want to escape.

I miss you.

Sort of. 

Kind of.

Not really that much.

But still sort of, a little. 

So I'm pretty proud of this one, what do you guys think? It's not based on any personal experience, I'm only writing from the point of view of a character, but I like it.

My Dream

I once read an article

About controlling dreams.

I’ve never done it, but

If I could control my dream, I don’t think anyone would do what I would.

I wouldn’t fly, or meet a celebrity, no, I’d live a night close to one I’m sure plenty of people already have:

It would be evening in summer,

And I’d be wearing my coziest pajamas and fluffy rainbow slippers as

I walked down the steps to the basement, where we have a gray couch and a TV

My sister would sit on the couch with a big glass bowl of popcorn, and my brother would scroll around, looking for the movie we’d watch soon

And we’d sit together, laughing and talking and doing everything we’d never do in the world where I’m awake

After a little while, my mom would come downstairs with milkshakes for everyone

And we’d start the movie my brother picked, and drink our milkshakes and eat our popcorn and just be there.

When the movie was over, my sister would drift up the stairs,

And my brother would bring up the bowl of popcorn, not to be helpful, but to eat the rest of the popcorn in it

And my mom would sit next to me and say,

“I miss him too.”

Even though she’d never really say that 

Because she’s too busy thinking it to notice

How we’ve all fallen apart, 

Crumbling all on our own, no matter how close we are

But none of that would matter in my dream, 

And Mom and I would go upstairs together 

And she would clean out the milkshake cups

And my brother would go to his bedroom, 

And I’d go to the one I share with my sister

And we’d snuggle up tight in our beds

And it wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be close enough for all of us

Still, something’s been eating me as I think about all of this:

Is it really worth dreaming if you’re gonna wake up?

Written during a midnight mental breakdown

~~~ 

i

feel like i'm

not

normal.

i mean,

no one really is, but

i casually whisper,

"you're so stupid,"

"you'll never be

who you want to be,"

"why are you

even trying," 

-to myself. i

cry, i shut out the

people that i need, i

get sad for no reason.

my life depresses me, and

i always feel i'm

not

good

enough.

my drawings depict

tears,

sadness,

and rarely a smile.

my books and

my poems get

continually darker.

i fall quiet, i

chase off the world then

call it back; an

endless cycle.

my stomach tosses at the thought

of speaking to others, i

use my characters as

imaginary friends because i

can't make real ones. 

i will

never be

good

enough. 

Sometimes I wonder

If I'm making you wait.

But when I look back

I can't see you.

I feel guilty on every journey

When I know you're waiting

Back at home for me.

Every time I disappear

Into the distance

Over the horizon 

Hurtling towards danger

And adventure and movement.

My life is full of colours and sounds

And music.

Sometimes it's beautiful,

Sometimes it's lonely but serene,

Sometimes it makes me want to cry,

Sometimes it makes me smile and enjoy it, 

Sometimes it makes me want to punch someone,

And sometimes I just want to run away

But still, it's lively and energetic

and keeps me on my feet.

It is life. 

So I wonder

When I leave you behind,

Do you die a little more each time?

Are you trapped under layers of smog and rumours

Crushed by the same old routine and an empty house?

You always deflect such questions with a smile,

Say, don't make me worry, and, welcome back

But sometimes I wonder,

Is it really me making you wait? 

Skies painted with muddy purples and greys, 

Replacing vibrant clear orange and gold. 

Cold blows goosebumps across my heated skin,

Feet and hands caked with a dusting of dried dirt.

Basketball in flip-flops isn't ideal

And yet, here I am, the only girl among a pack of boys,

Forcing myself to arch up instead of tossing at the hoop,

White skin stained with pink amidst a crowd of browns and blacks.

It's different, but nice.

I'm not the most athletic;

I'm a girl after all, and no one wants a girl to spend time outside

But it's fun and not stuffy anymore, so I really don't care.

However, soon a voice calls 

Over the fence

My name and that I must join the other girls at their tea party.

That's why we came here after all.

I'm sure my game mates hear my disappointment

As a mumble out a "fine."

I grit my teeth and clench my fists,

Getting ready to hate the world again.

I turn around, toss down the basketball;

Pick up my umbrella and let down my dress

Toss-twirling my umbrella high above my head

In frustration and catching it, perfectly balanced.

Who knew wood and fence latches could feel so oppressive?

I sit alone by the window, scribbling angrily

Begging tears not to fall as I longingly watch their new game outside.

Cold wind carries the sounds of others' fun, lint clouds littering the dusk sky.

A soft voice calls from below, separated only by a thin screen;

"It was nice playing with you!" My eyes find him, surprised.

"Huh?" My name is called from the next room, and I quickly ready my things.

"Yeah, me too." I'm probably too quiet to hear, but I still put it out there.

As I walk away,

I should be feeling free,

Bubbly and happy inside.

Instead, I feel like a jerk for not saying it first.

To me, the Universe is a bright place.

Sure, it's filled with dark spaces,

But colour and light and dust

And life are also here in the Universe.

It's purple and black with spiralling galaxies,

And twirling nebulae and black holes

And glittering stars and the shine of

Thousands, millions, of oranges and yellows

And greens and blues and whites;

All painting the wondrous Universe we live in.

It's quiet and peaceful and exciting, shining and

Full of mystery and beauty and curiosity and freedom beyond belief,

All wrapped into one huge Universe-taco.

But there is darkness too. 

The darkness is the Void.

In the Void, there is nothing but emptiness.

No light travels to the Void.

There is only silence and darkness.

And me.

It is a place I hate.

But I cannot bring myself to hate it completely.

There is no adventure in the Void.

No sense of exploration and unknown, unlike the Universe.

I already know what is in the Void.

Nothing.

Nothing but the figure I can't stand to look at for long in the mirror.

Nothing but me. 

I never know when I will suddenly appear in the Void.

But when I do, there is no escaping.

I am trapped.

All the fight leaves me, I'm fading.

But it sometimes feels better than Real Life.

Real Life is the world beyond my head.

It is loud and blazing and full of terrors.

Sometimes there is nothing terrifying though.

Sometimes it is bored monotony, sometimes it is stress.

Sometimes it is confusion and annoyance and indignation and feeling different.

And sometimes it feels like there are shadows I can't see.

But at the same time, it's always too dark and too bright all at once.

Then there's the Radiance.

It is a cold place.

The wind always shrieks a bitter chill.

And when it doesn't, that's even scarier.

Because silence it that white place feels so hollow.

Even emptier than the Void.

The Radiance is too tender a name. 

The feel of pity and help that you don't need and never asked for,

Of people who say nice things they don't mean or can never get enough stuff, 

Of people who yell and beat at home, but actual all nice and caring in public;

It all goes here. 

Sometimes I wonder if the Radiance is different than Real Life,

But I can't tell.

I feel blind in both places.

The scariest thing is that I can see.

It's just all white.

Like snow, but with no feel.

Like a blank paper but no thrill or excitement in anticipation.

It feels like getting gutted with words and not a knife; 

I don't understand why some people like it.

I hate Real Life. 

I hate the Radiance even more. 

'in thought' is different.

This place is secret,

But somehow always there.  

I can't tell if I like it or not though.

Sometimes it sinks me down to the Void.

But sometimes it brings me back to the Universe, too.

Sometimes it sends me to new dimensions, or loses me in its pages.

Some days it reminds that the Radiance is a thing,

All the while stealing my attention from most of my time spent in Real Life.

It's lush garden, filled with mild weather and wild life.

It usually feels at peace to be 'in thought.' 

But I always return to the Universe,

Just to repeat these cycles.

Lost in the Universe, one I can't help but to explore.

I wonder what is so alluring

About void and scarlet?

What calls out from the shadows,

Snags my consciousness, and drowns me?

Is it the water, clouded and dark?

Is it a fascinated fear of the unknown?

Or perhaps it's my own tortured imagination?

No one will ever truly know.