A passion of love is wasted on him Since all he has ever done is stare through her Like she is transparent, invisible to his eyes And her wish is for him to look at her In those blue eyes telling her that he loves her too But she doesn’t know that he hardly knows her name Though she yearns to hear it part from his lips A soft sweet spoken voice saying Leah You are the only girl I want in this world She will never hear those words part from his mouth And so soon yet so suddenly she knows that She must not love or give it to anyone As love is wasted on someone Who doesn’t want her the same way Yet she dreams for something to burn like what she reads Or watches in movies, though all of that is fiction Not part of reality And she needs to know that loving someone is useless Especially if they will never feel the same way back She is transparent, invisible to his eyes And her wish is to learn how to stop loving him That was the only lesson she ever needed to learn

Elora had just walked out of the armory after checking each direction to make sure the halls were cleared, she was wearing her training leathers and her hair was in a braid that rested on her shoulder. As she walked to halls being careful not to get caught, she rounded the corner to her room, the blood drained from her face as her mother stood in the hall with arms crossed and a look that told Elora she was doomed. "Your father will hear about this. I have had enough of your disgusting attempts at rebellion. You will not soil our family name." her mother said with eyes that were practically burning into Elora's soul. She didn't know what to do, she had known one day her escapades of sneaking into the training rooms with the knights would come to light. But never had she thought her mother would be the one to catch her.

That night at dinner it was apparent her father had been told of her mother's findings, his once soft features looked hardened and stern. A heaviness centered in her chest at her fathers expression, as he had never looked at her like that before. Elora had always believed that he would not be displeased by her training habits or the fact that she had dreamed of being a warrior one day. But the look in his eyes made those thoughts she once had crumble to her feet in a quick instance.

Her mother spoke " I have talked to your father, and we have come to the decision that you will be put into extra finishing school classes. This way you won't have so much free time and you will learn to be a true princess. And not a princess who wears training leathers." Elora could practically see her mother's nose become more pointed and upturned in that moment, giving her the regal, snobbish look that in Elora's opinion all royals besides herself and her father had.

The words her mother spoke sunk in, but the words "that's not fair" stayed in her throat like a hot steel ball of despair. She knew she could never say such things without earning a slap to the wrist. And in that moment Elora realized the only lesson she would ever need to learn was that, nobody would save her from the villain. She would have to do that all on her own. And at this moment in time, her mother was the villain that needed slaying.

Pessimistic serenity, another recess to my own. A burgundy table, a coffee stained note. A space for two, but only silence kept me company. Smoke rose from untouched lips, a bitter black taste filled the void. A quiet burn muffled sustained thoughts, but even smoke fades when alone. She had answers to most, yet not every soul is meant to intertwine, some are born to walk parallel. That was the only lesson she ever needed to learn.

she fell for a guy, he broke her heart she should’ve known better from the start she gave it her all, but for him it was a game in the end, his lies broke her all the same it just felt so real, so different, so good she didn’t know love, and wanted to see if she could but he didn’t feel the same, that much she knows now he’s a jerk, a meanie, a big, fat cow why lie and say he cares when it wasn’t true why hold on to something completely untrue she wishes she’d have known better she wishes she never wasted her time on those 6 letters now she knows not to open up, or her heart would burn that was the only lesson she needed to learn

I often try to put gaps between my words that I write about you I try to not show an overwhelming amount of my grief Because honestly There’s a tunnel of Grief inside me that goes far too deep

When I don’t want to share you with the world Keep you for myself I share about my other struggles Which is okay Those are important too

But then the need to share my grief My need to share you Becomes far too much Far too in my face To the point where I can’t help but say something Share my pain And hope Wish that Maybe I’ll convince myself that I’m not so alone Maybe I’ll keep you here with me longer If I just share you and stop convincing myself that you were never here So I share you with the world of strangers I will never meet

Although it’s funny Because they seem to hold me with open arms Show me more love than some of my old “friends” That That was the only lesson I ever needed to learn

And every time I share you with people I feel Lighter As if a weight has just lifted off of me

However sooner or later That weight will come back Towering over me And there’s nothing left to do but Share him with the world

Then maybe one day One day I’ll share him Share him and the person he was instead of the pain that he left me with

• • • • Yeahhh so this is true. I write a lot about grief and sometimes i get a little worried when sharing it. Therefore I try to not write about it too much. Which can be good because then I’m forced to create other ideas. But anywayssss. Thank you for reading and showing support. It means the world 💙

Life sucks It probably always will But when it beats you down Get back up ‘Cause no one’s gonna help In the end, you’ll eventually see That’s all you need to learn

It’s been maybe two weeks since the crash and still Tommy asks me questions. The doctor said I had a minor concussion, but I’d be find after a few days. I got lucky, really, really lucky.

“You remember your name?” Tommy takes a sip of his orange juice, staring at me from the other side of the counter.

I nod, wanting so much to run to the front door behind me and escape. “I think it’s . . . Damian?” I tilt my head as Tommy sets his clear glass down, giving me a worried look.

“Does that sound right? No, it was something more . . . Perfect,” I shake my head, pretending to scan my thoughts for rembrance of my name.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Funny.” He nods, looking me over with his hazel eyes. Mom’s eyes, just like them.

I look down at the white counter, counting the little grains of stone that almost look like they’ve been melted to look this way.

“You going to school today?” Tommy ponders, taking another sip of his juice.

No . . . I don’t want to face the crowd. They’ll all ask questions and I’m sure that after the hundredth, I’ll be so annoyed I’ll just blurt out. “I killed someone!” Which could go a million different ways, and I dont’ even want to know what those ways could be like.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, as I lean my forearms on the cold counter. “Maybe.”

There’s a long pause that echos through the small kitchen. Tommy finishes his drink, sliding the glass into the sink. It lands with a loud crash agaisnt the other dishes that are piling out.

“I mean, if I do . . .” I trail off eyeing the overflowing sink. “Who will do these dishes?”

I walk over to the sink, grabbing a towel from the hook on the cabinet under the sink.

“Me?” Tommy replies as I start wiping the edges of the counter around the sink. “Like I always do. Every single time.”

I stop wiping, shutting my eyes. Tommy’s on to me. Of course he is! He’s Tommy, the only person on Earth that knows me better than I know myself.

“You scared?” He asks, walking up next to me.

Scared? I wish I was scared. I’m terrified. “I just don’t want to face the music.” I mumble. “I’m tired of it.”

Tommy grabs the towel out from under my hand. “Well we’ve all got to eventually.”

That’s what I hate most about life. You can’t escape it, you can’t run from it. Everything finds you, it always catches up with you.

Tommy starts scrubbing the counter. “I think you should go . . . Mom always said things start to get better when you do what you’re used to.”

I sigh, “Yeah, I guess but I’ve never liked school.”

Tommy shakes his head, dropping the towel, using his rough hands to push me towards the door. “That doesn’t matter. You’re used to going to school, so maybe going back will start to make everything go back to the way it was.”

I want to laugh. How can Tommy possibly think anything could go back to the way it was? Once something big happens it’s like ripping a page. You can tape it, but it’ll never be the same again. No matter what you do.

“Fine,” I mutter grabbing my heavy backpack off the ground as I slide into my shoes.

Tommy hits my across the shoulder. “Good boy.” He opens the front door, the blinding sun shining in my eyes. “Now get.”

I’m shoved out the door before I can even turn around to grab a lunch. That’s so Tommy, wanting the house alone to himself so he can invite a girl over. He gets Fridays off from work, and I know what he uses them for.

I walk slowly down the side walk. Dragging my feet along with me as my backpack hangs from one shoulder.

What am I going to say? I just hope no one notices that I was gone for a couple weeks. I don’t have many friends, if any at all. Which is a personal choice, if I wanted friends I’d have them.

I watch my feet as I force them to keep going. It’s so cold out here, even with Dad’s jacket around my shoulders.

“Davian?” Maisie asks, walking down her driveway. I didn’t know she lived here. I scan the house behind her, I’ll remember that, the white one story house with the black door and old bench on the porch.

“Hey,” I say as she comes to my side. “What’s up?”

Maisie brushes her hair out of her eyes as she turns to look at me. “I’m just trying to get through the day without breaking.”

Same. Although I think I’ve already broken. “If you do . . .” I pause, my eyes bouncing off Maisie’s as we walk. “I’ll be there to put you back together.”

Maisie smiles sweetly. “I’m glad.”

. . .

The rest of the day is a blur. No one asked about my absence which for some reason hurt. It’s what I wanted, so I should be jumping with joy not wanting to go lay in bed and cry my eyes out.

“Bad day?” Maisie questions as she meets up with me in the hall.

“Was,” I tell her. “It’s not anymore.”

Maisie bumps me with her shoulder, laughing. “Do you mean to be so . . .” She pauses blushing as she looks away.

“Charming?” I finish her sentance, the whole terrible day flooding out of my memory. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Maisie shakes her head. “No . . . Well maybe.” She laughs meeting my eyes. “Does that make you feel better?”

I put a hand on my chest, above my heart. “No. You didn’t mean it . . . You just wanted me to feel better.” I do my best to look hurt and broken. Which surprisingly isn’t very hard.

Maisie gives me a small smile as we push open the glass doors into the real world. Not that school isn’t real but . . . This place is just different. It’s where most of my life happens.

We walk in silence for a while, listening to the world around us. The sweet chrip of the birds, the rustling sound of the leaves on the branches of trees above us. It’s all so peaceful, so perfect.

“Is it wrong?” Maisie asks, like I’m reading her mind. I’d actually like that, it would be fun and then the world might actually make sense.

“What?” I look down at Maisie to see tears building in her eyes.

“To . . .” Maisie licks her lips as a tear slips down her cheek. “To want to go to sleep and hope that you fall asleep before you fall apart?”

I guess it kind of depends. I do that all the time, except crying usually keeps me up so I’ll break way before I close my eyes.

“No,” I stop as we get in front of her house. “I do it . . . I think it’s just our way of hiding pain. Ignoring it, fighting it off.”

Maisie nods, so softly that I can barely tell she moved her head. “I want it.” Maisie mutters. “I want to fall asleep before I fall apart.”

More tears stream down Maisie’s face. I like how she can be her real self if front of me. Not that crying is her true self, but she’s not afraid to hide her feelings. I like that . . . A lot.

I reach out using my thumb to wipe Maisie’s wet cheek. “I know.” I murmur as she stares into my eyes.

Everything seems to freeze, the trees stop dancing with the wind. The clouds stop drifting and the world seems to stop revolving around the sun.

“Thank you,” Maisie whispers as she brings her hand up to mine. Brushing my fingers gently with hers.

I grab onto her hand, squeezing it tight before letting it go. “I’m here.” I say as Maisie swipes at her cheeks. “I’ll always be here.”

Maisie nods but I don’t get the feeling that she actually believes that. Something in her is telling her I’m not always going to be here. But that’s a lie, I’ll never leave this girl. Not if I can help it.

“I hope that’s true,” Maisie chokes out softly as tears stain her face.

I don’t know what to do. So I do the first thing that cross my mind. I drop my back pack, letting it smack the side walk as I wrap my arms around Maisie.

It feels different. Not like a normal hug. I feel a burst of light, a warming fire that’s spreading though my whole body.

Maisie brings her cold hands to my neck, burying her face into my shoulder. I shut my eyes, tears pricking in my eyes as I listen to Maisie’s quiet sobs.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I did this to her. I hurt her. How can I live with that?

“Don’t let go just yet,” Maisie whispers into my ear, her breath warm against my neck.

“I wasn’t going to.” I mumble, pulling her closer as guilt boils through my veins.

I wish I could go back Tell her what she didn’t know yet. She’d probably ask me if I married that guy, Or maybe she’d ask me if at last I’m fine. I would shake my head and tell her no, And there’s a thing or two she must know. She’d probably look at me concerned or confused. I mean, if you were six, what else would you do? I’d tell her the truth, Things will go wrong, But don’t worry, It’s okay in the long run. She’ll look at me funny and ask what I mean, I’d tell her that not all rollercosters are fun. Some things you’ll desire, And for some things you yearn, And that was the only lesson she ever truly needed to learn.

Side note: I’m they/them (nonbinary) but I said she because I think that it’s something I wouldn’t tell younger me, maybe I’d tell her that she’s autistic, but nonbinary was a discovery I needed to make on my own

Her cold hands slowly going down my body My heart racing as I pleaded with her to just stop

Reassuring me with a bright smile that we were just playing a game I caved in and gave up with my own little pity party

After the fact I wanted to scrub all my skin off

But that wouldn’t be the last time now would it?

Each time I felt my identity leaving me Who was I? What was my purpose in life?

I was disgusted to be in my own skin

Nobody was there to save me My silent cries for help that went unnoticed

Life is unfair

That was the only lesson I ever needed to learn

Once there was a girl;

This girl had a Dad who didn’t have much money. But he tried and he tried. He worked cutting grass and painting for people. He’d had a stroke a few years back, no one would let him work.

She had a Mom that was never there- there, but a zombie. Passed out on the couch, cigarette in her drooping hand, mouth slack from the drugs while the little girl’s Dad did his best to keep them all happy. Cleaning and cooking, even though he was horrible at both. He worked on a huge play set, giving us his best.

“What’s wrong with Momma? Why does she sleep so much?” Because she’s tired. She’s so tired. But she’s always tired. We’re use to it.

The girl had two sisters, too. They were younger. From the start, she had a lot of responsibility. She liked playing Mom. Since Mom couldn’t even do it.

The girl had a Grandma, a Nana, Papa, Grandpa, close cousins, mean cousins, two aunts. Two uncles and some dogs and cats.

Peanut. Yes, that was one dog’s name. Until the neighbors shot it. It was as old as the little girl. When it was missing, her Dad rode his old, beat up Toyota truck down roads calling for her until the tanks were low and he couldn’t go any more.

And after Peanut, the girl’s Mom left. There was a fight that morning. The girl left for school. When she came back, her Momma wasn’t there.

“What happened?” Momma passed away today. She’s in Heaven now. She’s okay and you will be too.

But the girl wasn’t. She had episodes. Panic attacks, anxiety. OCD, minor depression and anger problems. She bottled it all up. Then took it out on walls and people, using her fists to stop hurt.

Her Dad died a year later. Another stroke. The problems got worse. The girl scratched holes into her skin unconsciously. She slit her wrists. She wanted it all to go away. She laid awake, crying silently and smiling in the morning for her sisters. She heard voices in her head. She was never good enough.

Then the abuse got worse. Her Mom couldn’t hit her anymore, so her Mom’s parents took that place. They filled the girl’s head up. They hit and hurt her. The voices in her head got louder. Demons clawed at her insides. More problems piled on what was already visible. She was prescribed medicine. But she wouldn’t take it. She didn’t want to be like her Mom.

She got into fights. School became a blood bath with her there. She fought people bigger than her. Even boys who dared cross her. She stood up when she was put down. And she finished the problem.

There was no one she could talk to. Counselors, therapists, family- nothing helped her. The threat of drugs hung over her head. She fell into gangs. Skipping class, jumping fences, spray painting. Selling stuff that shouldn’t be sold. She was with the baddest boys in town, her fights got more violent. Her “family” closed in with drugs.

So she started hiding in hoodies. She covered up scars and she let her hair down to hide the claw marks. She read more. She got into writing. She fought less. Until a line was crossed, and she broke. She wasn’t happy. She was barely breathing. But she was there.

The drugs got worse.

She was a shell. She didn’t talk much. Her eyes were glazed over. She sat without talking. She sat still for hours and did nothing. She didn’t draw, write, read or paint. She failed tests. Holes in her skin got deeper. When she got quiet, the voices got louder. They roared past, laughing. The drugs put her on pause.

Until the day she ran out. The doses stopped coming. She went back to school- they sensed the difference. She got into a fight the same day. The boy punched her in the face and busted her lip. She put him down and sat on his waist and beat him across the face. When she was pulled off, she spit her blood at his face and made her way to the principal’s office.

They threw her from the school. Violence wasn’t tolerated there. It’s what they said. She started getting homeschooled. Shut off from everyone in the countryside.

She snuck out to see the stars and talk to her Dad. She told him she was sorry. One night, she cried and told him how mad she was at him. He shouldn’t have left her, and he did.

She went back to bed. The next morning, she got up. Put on her black hoodie and tights. She slipped in her black boots and pulled her hair up. She sat to work on a book. She worked on it without eating until sunset.

Her family didn’t approve. Writing? She’d never get anywhere. But still she kept going. She tried harder with each passing day. She got lost in her stories. She read books- watched videos secretly, to learn how to write better. She went to the library and sat for hours, cramming literature, composition, writing, grammar and the publishing books in her head.

From this came the first lesson of many lessons: you don’t need support. You don’t need someone to tell you how good you are. You don’t need approval. You fight for it if you want it. You fight like hell to get there. If you want it- take that shot.

And when you get put down? You stand the fuck up. And you fight.

How do I know? Because that little girl- That little girl was me.