I look down the silver chain around my neck, Aven's black ring dangles down the valley of my breasts. "One with my heart," He would say as he kissed me with a passion so fierce, it'd make the darkest monsters cower in fear.
I settle my gaze on the path in front of me, letting the warm memories of my mate drift to the back of my mind, making a note to come back to them later. With every step I take the grass and trees in my path whither and die. I will restore them later, but for now, a message is needed. Hell has come.
There were no guards along the roads leading to the compound. This would normally happen because of the low number of guards, but now, it's because they think I'm dead. I have one purpose today. Kill Deverine. Only then can I finally rest in the underworld with my mate. The mate she took from me...
Okay, so this little scene just popped I'm my head, and I'm gonna run with it. I have a few scenes planned out in my head.
They Were Supposed to be Non-Addictive
I almost had a breakdown after I couldn’t find a bottle of muscle relaxers. I’m only seventeen, I’m a member of the National Honor Society and varsity swimmer. I’ve been accepted to all of the colleges I applied to and was offered generous financial aid for each acceptance. It’s not supposed to happen to me. They were supposed to be non-addictive, a safe alternative for a shoulder injury after my struggles with oxycodone after a surgery I had last year for a sports-related injury.
I’m supposed to be better, to not fall down the dark holes that they warn us about since the drug and alcohol classes they give us in the sixth grade. I’m not supposed to be like my mother, we are different. I made sure that we are different, but it seems that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.
I couldn’t find the bottle, I guess I used all of them up. They helped me sleep, even though they were just supposed to stop a muscle spasm in my shoulder. I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, scared that some unknown force that no one else could see was trying to kill me. They took away my nightmares, my anxiety, my fear of being alone. They made me a ghost of myself, but for the first time in a while, I wasn’t haunted.
They always talk about addiction like it is horrible in all ways. Don’t get me wrong, it is, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and heard it within my own thoughts. But, they always leave out the reason why people use in those powerpoints they show us in health class or the school assembly where the parent of a late heroin addict comes to talk to us. It numbs me to the void that is my mind. My mind, that should be perfectly healthy, but isn’t. When I was using the pills, the constant screaming in my head stopped. I was calm, I wasn’t frantic or agitated, I was normal for all intents and purposes.
And now, for the question that I face every day of my life. Why stop? The pills I was using didn’t hurt me, they didn’t poison my body, they weren’t illegal, hell, they were prescribed by my doctor. Three times. It wasn’t until I had to stop using them, that I noticed my dependence. Eight o’clock rolled around, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe or think right. I wanted them, but I didn’t need them for their purpose anymore, my shoulder was healed. It’s been months since I stopped, though one was taken occasionally after an all-nighter or particularly nasty anxiety attack. But I’m all out now. The prescription is done. No more pills for me.
I feel like crying again. They were supposed to be non-addictive, but here I am, writing about how much I want one of those tiny, orange pills.
Crossfire - Chapter 8 (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/PympG1kTacb A George Weasley romance - a smexy George - a smart-ass American who had never heard of Hogwarts until she was horribly apparated there a week before her junior year starts - no battle of Hogwarts, thus Fred lives (you can thank me later) - and maybe a little spice, like I'm talking white people thinking salt is spicy spice. (My dad reads my stories)
Crossfire - Chapter 7 (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/P5Q3CFIN0bb A George Weasley romance - a smexy George - a smart-ass American who had never heard of Hogwarts until she was horribly apparated there a week before her junior year starts - no battle of Hogwarts, thus Fred lives (you can thank me later) - and maybe a little spice, like I'm talking white people thinking salt is spicy spice. (My dad reads my stories lol)
Grief is No Real Thing
Dark screams echo in the void of my mind.
Demons claw at the empty cavern of my chest.
The Dead grab my ankles as I walk; they tempt me.
The Ghosts of agony clutch at my throat
And the Whispers of misery force their way into my ears
And the internal Hell, burning its way through my body, brings choked tears to my eyes.
My screams are silenced behind a stoic face, as I stand above, staring down.
I curse the Heavens, but it seems that only the Devil can hear me now.
My own special, silent, torture.
They lied. Grief is no real thing.
You only feel the pain of the dead, as you die slowly from the inside out.
I just remembered him. I felt his death all over again. And I, myself want to wallow in agony, losing myself in the depths of hell all over again.
The Deity of my being does not seep the sweet scent of life, but of fermented grains,
Produced by our modern world.
This Deity does not brush shoulders with the Gods,
But stumbles along blurred and unclear walls.
Welcomeness is an uncommon feeling in her touch.
Cold, brittle hands cause me to cringe away
Whilst my mind screams in agony for its maternal touch.
The Deity of my being does not care for my life. If so, she does not reveal it to me.
Caring more about the tidings of man than her own offspring.
Hooded eyes and a downturned mouth.
Once belonged, is so now gone
And I yearn.
And I pine.
And I beg.
Give me anything!
I pray she end my sufferings,
Even if done so in a lie.
Yet, the Deity has made her choice.
A choice that was not myself.
Somewhere on a corner suburban street,
Where the tulips regrow every spring
And children play amongst the creek.
Where the sunset spills onto the clouds that rest atop the hospital.
Where the elderly ride their bicycles in the early morning,
And the harmonizing birds nest upon the power lines.
Where everything is not pristine and perfect as it is on the outside.
Where neighborhood friends are abused, and addiction mocks families.
Where gangs slowly integrate young school children.
And drugs make their way into the hallways of our high-schools.
Where the broken are ridiculed with so-called privilege.
And child predators stalk the streets at night, thinking no-one is watching them.
Where minor city monarchies decide what is best for you, but only if you agree with their politics.
Where hidden racism plagues the minds of our youth,
And the screams of our neighbors keeps us up at night when they think no-one can hear them.
Where people's true identities are hidden behind brick walls.
And people question, why would you ever want to leave?
Where I am left to smile like nothing's wrong, damming myself to hell for keeping the dangerously false image of America alive.
And hidden suburbia was shown to the world
The lightnin' bug gave borrowed life to the dim and dying street lamp.
While children rode underneath, cloaked by a smoke filled sky.
The world ends.
The city burns.
The hospital bustles.
The lightnin' bug dims.
The broken lamp now dead with no one to mend it.
Its been forgotten in an age of chaos.
I wept at the death outside my doorstep.
Another source of light left to die with only one to mourn.
Week 2 day 2 of quarantine, 3-24-2020, 11:36 pm
"The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people smile the brightest. The most damaged people are the wisest. All because they don't wish to see anyone else suffer the way they did." -Jellal Fernandes
At this time in our lives, we're being pushed and attacked beyond our limits. my mental health still remains the priority for me, no matter what. And right now it is being attacked by unknown stressors and blatant anxieties. This came out of nowhere, wrecking all of our lives without our consent.
Now we're the damned.
Generation's lives marked and labeled as starting and ending points for mass tragedy. The elderly and hospital workers are suffering, but what about me? And don't you dare say that I'm being selfish, because for fucks sake, I'm only 16. The only environment that myself and countless others felt safe in was taken away. A sport that I love, that I just got back from a year long injury to play, has been taken away from me. I can't even move forward with planning my fucking future because college campuses are closed!
So, we know about self isolation and staying at home to protect the elderly and the hospital workers, but what about me? Where is my person designated solely for me on 6ABC, giving solutions to my growing list of problems! Where are the adults that are supposed to protect our adolescent minds now?
FUCKING HELL AMERICA, what about me?
quarantine blues? more like purples
I just dyed my hair purple because my school is closed for the next two weeks, and I do not regret my decision at all! Forgive my cliche, but my only regret is that I haven’t done it sooner!
I’m fine, nothing major going on, move on with your lives.
my doctors and my dad and my teammates and my friends and myself, I’m fine.
Inside, I make sure to check for leaks and cracks in my hidden truths
No, no, I promise, I’m fine!
Unuttered limps tucked away in my cleats
Tape muffles the screams of my agony, but I’m fine, trust me.
It’s only a bit of turf in my shoe, I’m fine, no limp, see coach?
I won’t have it taken away again, I refuse!
You can’t make me quit, do it and I’ll scream!
What? Nothings wrong. I’m fine.
If you say something enough it will eventually come true.
AN: I wrote this a few weeks ago, and it was and still is meant to be a slam poem, but I feel that this poem perfectly captures my mental state for the past two years. And with that, I feel that it fits perfectly with the message that I’m trying to spread with An Overthinking American Teenager. (besides trying to become a meme god.)
You don’t love me, you love the thought of me.
Finishing milestones before college,
you suffocate me like a swarm of bees.
But I won’t leave yet, that I acknowledge.
Granting my own stupidity to trust
thoughts that it will all work out in the end.
I’m scared because I refuse to give up
though college might be just around the bend.
I think we might have a chance-- please don’t leave.
Why does this have to be so difficult?
Why can’t you just listen? You’re so naive!
Just let it be, for once be an adult!
I have made up your mind behind closed doors.
I won’t tell a soul, especially yours.
Over the past week, I've learned what jealousy was. How it feels creeping its way into your mind, sending raging fire through your veins. Jealousy is new to me, a strong hate for someone that I don't even know is new to me. A livid passion for someone stepping on a claim that they knew was your own creates a new type of annoyance within me. I shouldn't be jealous, there is nothing to be jealous about, but still, it is there. Lurking in the shadows of doubt, planting itself deep within my adolescent mind. The feeling is suffocating, an endless pit of tar holding me down, keeping myself prisoner in something I want to be set free from. You've given me my tar, now give me my feathers. I might be humiliated, but at least it will be over.
I feel like, if I ever have a library like this in my house, I would have officially made it in life
Teenage Love Affair
I don’t know what’s more pathetic, the fact that I think I’m in love with someone when I’m not sure that I know what love is, or that fact that I think that there is a solid chance that he might hate me. I mean, my whole demeanor changes when I’m around this guy. It’s been two years and I still can’t tell if his affect on me is good or bad. Part of me wants to forget him. Leave his name in the dust and keep walking. I’m pretty sure that anyone in this situation would feel that way. But it seems that whenever I’m ready to forget him, something always seems to hold me back. Just like something seems to hold me back from telling him how I feel, in order to get this whole thing over with. Like puddles or winter break. And it’s so so so pathetic, because I’ll start moving on and it’s like he just pulls me in over and over again. All it seems to take is one late night text, or one simple sentence in the hall, and I’m suddenly on cloud nine. The things I’d do just to have a conversation with him. The secretes I’ve kept because my only friend is crushing hard on him. How could I even think of doing that to her? I tell jokes to make it seem like I don’t care, but every time my friend confides in me, or I hear about him with another girl, it just breaks my heart, over and over again. And why should it even matter to me? It’s not like he is even mine in the first place.