“Ashley H. is a girl who eats, breathes, and sleeps reading and writing. She also doesn’t understand what this Pokémon Go thing is about.”
“Things you should know if you want to be my friend”
- I will always want to please you, no matter what my opinion is.
- I will get mad if you tell me I need to ‘lighten up’
- My depression is a part of me that I’m too scared to push away
- I have scars. If you’re embarrassed, I will wear a sweater in the summer for you.
- I hate roller coasters with a passion
- Book will always make me smile
- I will probably ask you to buy books for me at least once
- When you ask me to do things, I might say no because being around other people is just too hard
- You will always be welcome to stay at my house. It’s a safe haven for everyone I know
- I love animals. Buy me all the pets, or adopt one for me
- I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I take everything to heart.
- Please. When I want to ignore everyone and watch videos alone, let me.
- My cat is satan. Tread carefully.
- If you want to go swimming, I will probably get a sunburn.
- Be patient. That’s all I ask.
- And last, I will always be afraid to let someone in.
“A Letter to my Best Friend”
Dear best friend,
You grew up on my couch. You were my sister, but then, you always will be. When I moved, I watched us grow apart, and slowly, we lost each other.
We should have gone to prom together. We should have gotten ready together; and I know you would have insisted that I let you do my hair. You would have told me to let you do my makeup, even though you know I hated it.
My best friend. A protecter. Ultimate destroyer.
I remember growing up together. You stayed by my side as I transformed into the complete opposite of you. You are everything I am not. I will never be as beautiful as you, nor will I ever be that so utterly effortlessly.
You are effortless in everything you do. You excel in all of your classes, sports, talking to people, and everything inbetween.
God, you are even a better writer than me. I watched you move on, until you named me an ex-best friend. You replaced me. And yes, I tell you that I also have a new best friend. But you will never be abandoned by me. Even if you forget about me. I can’t give up on you like you gave up on me.
I miss you. I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye to you.
“I am America”
We proudly announce, “I am American.”
Every 4th of July we blow things up. Because how patriotic is that? Today, I am scared to go to a movie, because terror attacks and police brutality scare me.
I can’t give up the fear. I am an American and I am more ashamed than ever. We kill senselessly and turn off the TV and say, “At least it’s not us.”
But it is. We are dying and scared because we just can’t get along.
I am a teenager in America, a voice that is so small, no one ever seems to listen.
But I can’t give up. I refuse to stop, but “I can’t breathe!” I just can’t.
Who am I to say, we don’t all matter? Why can’t we all matter?
Cut, slice, drip, drip. Don’t cut too deep or you’ll be discovered, because cuts too deep need stitches and you already have plenty of those.
Drip, slice, deeper now, because the pain is too much and your phone lights up with a message from a girl in your class that you don’t know. But ‘slut’ is the text. And another. Worthless. Ugly. Slice. Stupid. Drip. Waste of space. Crying is the only thing you’re good at because why would you need talent to die?
Don’t cut too deep and don’t cry too loudly. If you do it will only get worse.
Teachers telling bosses and councilors who try to help and think they know you but just want the check from your parents, whose divorce is tearing you apart.
Cut, slice, deeper now. Pain is good, a friend who stays when death is too busy to show up.
Don’t cut too deep. Nobody cares.
I am a byproduct of anti-depressants and a broken home. I was happy as a kid, but growing up is hard when you wear your heart on your sleeve.
The bullying started to affect me in the third grade, though one day I remember the first time i truly understood what they were saying.
A boy, with brown hair and a sly grin. He opened his lips and spoke the word I still identify myself as today. “Worthless.”
I am not what I was supposed to be happy. I should have been happy.
I wore a tutu on picture day. All the other kids wore nice dresses and button up shirts, probably from some fancy store I couldn’t afford to go to.
I shouldn’t be like this. I’m a byproduct of rape; and even though it’s been years I am, and always will be afraid to be touched.
Anti-depressants and therapy that I never wanted. They don’t know that “worthless” is the sad story of me, the drum I walk to and the echo of everything I do. Everything.
I am a byproduct.
Beauty is pain.
We starve ourselves till our own body can’t even hold itself up.
We type ‘ugly’ under a girl’s picture. A girl I might add, you don’t even know.
We put plastic in our bodies and suck off fat with machines.
Beauty is being stick thin, maybe even paper, because who wants to keep a stick?
Our bodies are targets that can’t be covered up with war pain, and our self esteem won’t rise when we look in the mirror and only see mistakes.
But you are not a mistake.
You are NOT a mistake, okay?
Beauty is a laugh. A note that is only meant to bring the person reading it up.
“Beauty is Pain”
“You don’t get it!” I screamed.
“I don’t get it. I love you. Please get some help.” He pulled me onto his lap and kissed my forehead.
There were voices outside, protesting something that had gone on in the news. We ignored them.
“I love you too.” I wrapped my arm around his stomach and winced when the raw, open wounds pressed against his stomach.
“I won’t leave you like this. You should live.”
“Self harm doesn’t want me to live.” I don’t want to live.
“I know. You can beat this. We can beat this.Together.” His voice was like honey, warm and soothing.
He made me feel like I could fly. As if my back were above the earth, but I could see the sky, clear except the clouds moving through the air. But that was yesterday. Love is evil. Donald Trump is evil. That guy I loved? Yeah, he’s a Donald Trump supporter. I hit him with my purple Bug and drove away, I can’t like a guy who supports this ridiculous man. And who wears ugly sweaters in the middle of July? I don’t know. He was allergic to my dog and never wanted to meet my parents. He had a hipster beard when I met him.
This guy made me feel on top of the world. I stopped taking my pills last week, the same day he proposed and I hit him with my car. I am not fine. I got the urges again and I stay up all night listening to my thoughts rage until I pass out. What else would I do?
I told my parents today, and they said, “We’ll be glad you didn’t get pregnant!” I just laughed. But after, I couldn’t stand. I wanted kids. I fell to the floor, sobbing. Now, I can’t stop the urges. I did it again. I couldn’t even see because of the tears in my eyes.
“I miss you. Is it so stupid that I miss you?” I asked him today while he packed everything. I sighed and pulled my sleeves down further. It was the middle of summer.
The blood trailed down my arm, spices filling my blood. Fall, when there were no monsters to fill my head. I am the sand in the sandbox that no one wants to play with anymore. No one. I fall down deep into myself. I close myself off to the world because who cares about the alligator who is alone, in the swamp, with no one to play with?
“Picture this Workshop”
A list of things that will never love me back
- My books
- They fall apart with years of my hands moving across the page, but they will never love me back. They are books of course.
- Because we use it, but never appreciate the sense of comfort it gives us
- It makes me hate myself as I put it in my mouth, savoring the taste. It’s sad. No one will love a fat girl.
- Your lips.
- Yours left mine for another; everyone tells me he wasn’t deserving of me. But I wasn’t the one who deserved him.
- Anyone and everything. I can’t help but feel small when we haven’t explored our solar system to its fullest.
- It can kill you if you don’t go out there with the right suit. Don’t go naked they said. You will die, they said.
- A man that loves another
- My cat
- She wants to eat me.