catharsis This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

November 17, 2013
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whenever i see the wishes of those
as insomniac, as dully tragic, but not as
disenchanted as me,
i am inclined to disagree.

they cling to their pastel-colored dreams
of never waking up.
they long to spend their lives in half-sleep,
in pillow forts, hugging the back of a body;
they think that that foolishness is love.
if i wanted to commit slow suicide – if i wanted to stay
in bed forever, to stagnate and wither and die
like a caterpillar trapped in the cocoon,
there are pills i could take, or stop taking.
you are not my magic medication.
thank God, because
i need more than warm flesh to bury
myself inside
or a safe static human blanket in which
to hide.
i require blood and bone and gristle,
and i want to still hurt, but just a little.

that is why when the 3 a.m. thoughts do claim me
and my subconscious slinks to impersonal fantasies,
even then i cannot bring myself to hum
a lullaby
or whisper in your ear; or hold your hand,
or shed
a single tear, or simply watch, even when your leave. instead
i lie with my arms glued to my sides,
too paralyzed to breathe.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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