Dear Little Brother

Deal little brother,

Happy 13th birthday

it’s crazy because

I remember being 13

it feels like yesterday

when I was 13,

I had my first boyfriend

he told me he’d kill himself

if I left him

and it still feels like yesterday

that holding hands

felt a lot like handcuffs

and the butterflies from the fear

years later,

I still get butterflies

when I run into him

the kind from deep within your stomach

that make you want to scream

but the lump in your throat is like a gag

so you can’t

and you’re 13 so you don’t know

what abuse is

to this day, I have never felt as terrified

as when a boy blackmailed me

for his own life

turned boys to monsters

and love to a contract

so little brother,

I hope you’re nice to girls

but I see who you hang out with

Nike swag head to toe, hat flipped

thinking they’re the shit

like little frat boys waiting to grow

watered by hyper masculinity

and one day, I know

gatorade turns to beer

victims of bullying to victims of suicide

weak boys to weak men

please be strong little brother

be vulnerable

be pretty

be emotional

be passionate

be anyone you want

except the 13 year old boy

who abuses 13 year old girls

you don’t have to be empty

to be strong

you don’t have to threaten your life

for someone to stay with you

you are worthy.

4.003 grams

incest, assault, molested… MOLEsted

there are 4.003 grams

in one mole of Helium

Helium is a noble gas

it does not react easily to other elements

Helium floats in air

because it is less dense than

oxygen, carbon dioxide, nitro-

when it happened

I wanted to float away

become less dense than

the air around me

adopt the principles of a noble gas

not react easily, inert

let it happen because this too will pass

Helium.

colorless, odorless, non-toxic

no one knows it’s there

no one knew I was there either

maybe Helium & I have more

in common than we know

silent. distant.

can’t let anybody/electrons in

I meant to say electrons

Helium can’t let any electrons in

there’s no room

Helium still has its past packed away

in moving boxes that don’t move

taking up space in the living room

Helium doesn’t need anyone anyway

Helium’s too full.

Dear Writer of My Life Story

Personify me

Put some human-like qualities

to the tone of this body

Hyperbolize this soul

Add some exclamation points

make feelings times ten

I’m tired of this numbness

Put some alliteration

to make up this mix

set me to a beat

give me a rhythm to dance to

Add some symbols

turn this pain to scars already

I’m done writing poems

about fresh cuts

It’s easier to tell stories

about what’s already healed

I would tell my story, dear author

this masterpiece you’ve worked so hard on

my life.

My Parents Taught Me About Silence

my parents taught me about silence

but not the broken glass in the air kind

not the pain slicing through you

eyes welling with tears

swollen throat silence

my parents taught me about good silence

the kind that fills you

all of us in the car

no one is speaking

radio off

just the rumbling of the engine

and since I know the difference

I know that this silence

is not the one my parents taught me

my silence feels empty

I live in the barrel of a gun

that has just been fired

such intense emptiness that

it feels like the walls are caving in

a crushing

a bullet was displaced

somewhere in the fight and

nothing came to fill the gap

I live in a vacuum

in space, there are such cold, empty places

vacuums which consist of not a single molecule

in these vacuums, there is immense compression

as if the walls are caving in

a crushing

a bullet displaced

if you do not attempt

to hold your breath

or fight the compression,

you will maintain consciousness

for about 10-15 seconds

in this time,

you will feel the moisture leave your tongue

your heart rate will rise

your skin will turn blue

and your body will swell

it will expand

to twice its normal size

you will grow

but you won’t explode

your skin is strong enough

to hold you in

on the bad days,

I try to remember this

that sometimes,

we can only grow

when it feels like we can’t breathe

when your heart is pounding

when the silence is so intense

it will kill you

but the reason that the

human body can not survive

a vacuum is not that it is weak

but because the oxygen flow stops

so remind yourself to breathe

but don’t hold your breath

The Poet

sometimes I manage to produce a poem

that I’m proud of

and someone may ask me

“how do you write so well?”

and I wish the answer was easy

like: “Yep, I just eat an egg shell every morning

wash it down with some OJ

and that’s where all the good ideas come from.”

but they don’t

they come from this brain

this brain that never shuts up

that insists on convincing me

that my friends hate me

and that I’ll never amount to anything

the very same brain that taunts me constantly

will, every once in a while,

give me a decent thought

and that’s the problem

because if I cut the connection to the crazy

I lose the poet

and I love the poet

she’s hilariously cynical and has the best sense of humor

but as my favorite TV show character

loves to remind us

all magic comes with a price

but this magic is confusing within itself

because the poet is often sad

she sometimes joins the heckling of the brain

encourages the eternal damnation of the heart

and loves to run experiments

on the chemicals of my mind

like oooh let’s see, what if

we take away all of the motivation

increase sarcasm to 85%

and, just for fun,

add a constant feeling of numbness

let’s see what happens

and then, when she feels like it,

she’ll start whispering lines

and I translate them to paper

sometimes I manage to produce a poem

that I’m proud of

and someone may ask me

“how do you write so well?”

and I wish the answer was easy

at least as easy as they think it is

but they don’t know the poet

so I smile and simply say

“she comes with a price”

Prompted

cuts on my brain

weakens the pain

gives away blame

yet everything's the same

got myself home

always alone

barren phone

my cover is blown

won't hide from

I see what I've done

this moment was fun

back to one

back to black

back to black

got a few cracks

lots left to lack

there's a beauty to empty

for nothing exists

a place to build

a wide abyss

Love (age 15)

I really hope I’m just confused

what a great word

like my mind just switched something

but this isn’t little

could come to define me

but this isn’t too big

I would be okay

just something to think about

switched

maybe I’m just reflecting

a chameleon in a rainbow

a happy chameleon

but, nonetheless,

confused.

I’d live to be in love

maybe that’s the problem

too eager too soon

or too late

fifth grade first kiss

left for another girl

because if it were for me

it would have happened

after everything that’s passed

I still believe in that

but I’ll never know

if it’s the wrong person because

of the person they are

or the person I am

either way it didn’t happen

I’m kind of glad

because that means

I get to save it

put it in my pocket

play it in my mind

keep it in my heart,

a lonely vessel,

I’m kind of regretful

it’s hard to open a door

that doesn’t have hinges

but when it happens

when I turn the knob,

look over my shoulder

make sure I still think

that they’re worth it

I’ll know

and

I won’t know at all

maybe that’s what will

make my first special

to be so deeply terrified

yet wise, yet vulnerable

with all the fear from my past

no fifth grade first kiss

for this girl

meant to be left

confused.