My happy place is the McDonald's parking lot at 3 AM
I'm an electric godsent malfeasance
With embers of stars racing across
My pistons and pulleys,
They keep increasing the dosage
So I stop pulling
At my frayed wires so violently
Every day I wake up and I choose
To ignore my trauma silently
And now my trauma is dividing me
I go to work hiding how much my
Mind is preoccupied by the idea
Of dying, my circuit board is fried
And I'm tired of trying
I work with mental illness
The way a butcher works with meat
I try and cut away at fatty tissue
But a dull knife only cuts so deep
And my skin has been thickened
From so much father son bonding
It would sicken the stomach
Of a young man remembering how it
Felt to be yelled at by an adult
That towered like a tree, arms
Like pythons and face covered in
Mean, covered in angry, covered
In displeasure and distaste for
Failure pointed out so easily
Quick criticism flowing from the roots
Like a spring in the garden of Eden
I can't even bring myself to say
How much I hate the person I grew up
Being, the kind of person I want to be
Is so far from the person that I became
I lost faith in my ability to change
After I lost everything that mattered
And somehow ended up staying the same
I still isolate myself when I'm sad
I still avoid confrontation when I'm mad
I still pretend like it didn't really
Hurt, when it was the worst pain I've
Ever had and I hate that I couldn't
bring myself to say that,
I hate that I didn't love myself
Enough to rely on someone else
I hate that I couldn't ask for help
Instead I wrote my hatred on a notepad
And now, most nights that's all I have
—By David Mar
she had a tiny scar on her chin where the puppy got her
in a sundress
red hair like a fire
i lived two full lifetimes in that little scar
in the time it took her to smile at me
I fell from the tree.
It was tall, it had leaves dancing all over it
It was big.
It hurt when I fell from the tree.
When I fell, the ground caught me,
it did not feel comfortable, but it caught me.
I opened my eyes to see the same tree, standing there with pride.
I felt the grass on me, like a wave hitting against my skin.
Once again there was the tree mocking me.
I felt the urge to kick, to conflict, but, no.
I stood looking at the tree. I do not kick, nor did I conflict.
I stand and turn.
I walk away.
I have to go home to my mother and her cats.
—By Elora Rogers