anti-apathy, anti-depression.

blank expressions,
sore muscles,
an insatiable hunger
for things that material objects
simply cannot satisfy--
my body floats
and i am a slave to this depressive state.

white pills that
control my brain,
i can't just stop taking them.
i wish there were an easier way,
but i am tired of this
dependency (which i was told would never happen)!

every night, i have to swallow white pills
until the doctor says i don't have to.
exhale, inhale--holding my breath for that day.

illusionary moments

drugs as an escape,
you thought you were over and done with it.
oh well, once a drug abuser,
always a drug abuser.
swallowing pills to make the physical pain
dissipate, dissolve, diminish--
it's easy enough to understand.
"it's an easy escape," someone put it.
"masking your feelings with drugs shows
no self-respect; how do you expect people
to respect you?" another one said.

it's not like you'd understand anyway,
personal battles are so complex and twisted.
the feeling of floating away from your body,
sinking into the floor, leaving everything
and everyone behind--it's a vacation from yourself.
for a couple hours to not be in pain and to
not feel the pressure inside your head,
or an aching body, a crushed heart,
or a depressed mind is absolutely
inexplicable!

acetominophen, lexapro,
hydrocodone, ibuprofen, tramadol,
clonozepam...chemically speaking,
they are your only friends.

ehh.

sorry i seem so emo, i really am not slitting my wrists and sulking in a room of darkness. i'm kind of floating around, seeing where the days take me and i'm waiting to fly back home.

misogyny

you call out, "hey baby, slow down!"
"where are you goin' so fast?"
"hey girl, i wanna talk to you."
some of you males should be ashamed
of your gender.
to think you have the freedom to strip
us women of our dignity--fuck you.
you would never talk to your sister, your mother,
your daughter, your relatives that way!
men take for granted the privilege
that they are born with.
never will they have to experience
the fear of walking alone at night,
being catcalled--you should be so lucky.






the men closest to us,
the ones in our lives, the ones who
are supposed to be there to protect us,
and love us; they are the ones
who betray us.
one night, one boy had feelings of lust--
and who else to take it out on but me?
telling me i owed it to him,
i didn't understand what the hell i owed.
i, being the passive one, did not want to fight.
straddling me, i felt my shirt being peeled off,
over my head.
my pants being stripped off, the sound
of his belt unbuckling--i could only
squeeze my eyes shut and hope that
it would be over as soon as it had started.
i had been objectified to the lowest low,
his dirty, filthy hands on my breasts,
his warm breath taunting my ears--
oh, it made me feel so tainted, powerless, used.


to earn respect is to give it.
no woman should have to compromise
her self-worth to gain a man's respect.
sticks and stones may break my bones,
and words will always hurt.

meandering thoughts.

empty, empty, empty.
the reoccuring theme of my life!
i'm in a car on an endless road,
the doors are locked shut and all i can do is look
for a horizon, or sign of civilization.
none of this is true though,
but that is how my school life feels like.

girls and boys abound where i live,
drunken weekends,
a pipe hit here, inhaling the skunky smoke;
i get so high, i sit in a stupor.
the tv is on all the time,
superficial shows of superficial drama,
it drones until the light is about to creep through the shades.
popular music from the speakers
are broadcasted from our rooms and we dance, dance, dance.
these girls i live with,
they each bring their own personalities to
each and everyday, and they are
so unique, and so special.

although i enjoy san francisco,
it is seven hundred miles away from home.
seven hundred miles away from gorgeous weather,
my family, dear mentors, my family.
two and a half weeks until i can return.

the days cannot go by slower.

to a boy--

well now,
that was quite taunting.
you, dear boy are so mean
(and i mean this in the nicest, possible way)!
here a weekend, gone the next.

your smile--
i cannot get it out of my head.
i love the way you are so
easy-going and relaxed because
it puts me at ease.
and oh god, and intelligent you are!
it's quite intimidating, i cannot lie.

are you just very friendly,
or just a flirt?
c'est la vie!
young people are this way--
to be beguiling is how it's played.

please come back.

what's done in the dark, must come to light.

you are a dark abyss of black, there is no visibility. black absorbs all color; you absorb and collapse upon yourself.

how to reach you? how to communicate to the distant? it's a good question to be asked. do you want to be touched, loved, thought of, cared about, talked to?
"YES!! I AM DYING--I WANT TO DIE, I WANT TO DIE, i want to die..." there's a simple solution for that, and you know of many. your tears are useless, your cries fall upon deaf ears. you are such a fool.
















"i am better than you, and you know i'm better than you. i will become something that will eclipse your existence and you will be sorry for all that you did. i am intelligent, talented, unique, mature, witty, attractive, responsible, ambitious, personable, kind, outgoing, caring...the list goes on, my dear friend. you are nothing but a setback and you--you are dead to me."

light begins to seep into the abyss of a room. a window has appeared. sunlight is able to come in through those transparent panes as the sun rises.



another one is built and put in. more glass in the room. you are saddened, yet pleased.




and another.

and another.
and another.andanother.andanother. and another!

it is clear what the abyss once was. a skeletal frame of plaster, messed up sheets, strewn clothes, a neglected desk and a chair never sat upon. an unpleasant smell mingles. with the sun, the rays bring a presence of contentment. you are the speech within the abyss, and your voice is crisp and clear. no more sounds of unhappiness, no more anger, no more disappointment. nothing.



you have yourself.

dirty deeds

i go to bed with you,
but my mind is on someone else.
your muscular body,
your angular face,
your tender kisses--
i cannot help but avoid your eyes
and picture someone else.

i lay next to you,
i feel your body's movement,
up, down, inhale, exhale.
the warmth on those cold nights,
i cannot deny that i crave it,
i want it, i enjoy it, i need more of it.

i can't look at you, dear boy.
i can't say that i'm sorry
to avoid you, to not talk to you,
to not look at you straight in the eyes.
you are too ostentatious,
you are a misogynist, a user.
but, i am like you, a user.

i hate your gazes,
i hate your poise,
i hate your stature
and your arrogant and egotistical nature.
your voice grates on my eardrums,
and your presence gives me an
overwhelming sense of discomfort.

i wish i never got involved with you,
i suppose i am sorry...
pity onto you.

my home is foreign.

i am going to go where the sun always shines,
the girls are pretty,
the boys are handsome,
where the fun never fucking stops.
but it's all become so estranged from me.

i can't be in my own neighborhood
without feeling like i will rile up
stupid, idiotic, meaningless, childish drama!
fuck you for "hating me"; you got what you deserve.
stop trying to blame me for everything you did...
to me, me, ME.
i can only smile with how demented you lead
a misconstrued life; you're so fucking pathetic.

my mother always has a reason
to bicker and argue with me,
my father cannot defend me, nor can he.
kind father of mine, you have no spine.
my house can definitely feel
as if it is not a home.

i run to alex, to becca.
the way i miss them--
i feel pains in my heart,
it is so awful.

god, i don't recognize the people
like i used to (and please, don't take offense)!
driving on mira mesa boulevard,
i feel like i don't belong.
i belong in la mesa, or santee,
or encinitas, or oceanside:
all of these places are strange to me,
i feel more at home in a place i don't know
than my own hometown.
i've been away too long.
it's been too long.
is this what will happen to me when i am older?


when i step foot in san diego,
i want to bask in the sun,
lay by the poolside
and relax with beirut.

counting the days for...what?

all i care about is a superficial goal;
to be rail thin must equal contentment!
i don't feel as hungry anymore,
but am i sad?
i can't tell.
am i happy?
perhaps.
the sure constant is that i cannot feel.
i get angry, but i am not angry
with the fervor that i once had.
i feel the sobriety of the days,
nothing changes nor is out of the norm.
the funny thing is that
i constantly feel as if i were in an
inebriated stupor--
i have since february;
my question is when it'll stop.

i don't feel empty,
i do not want to cheapen myself
for 15 minutes of pleasure,
i don't care if i have companionship;
i am stagnant in solitude,
but i can revel in it.
who cares when i can leave the fog
of san francisco,
for the bright and warm rays of
san diego?
i honestly could care less.

pressing key after key
on this expensive piece of technology i own
at least gives me some solace
in the meantime.