"Flawless. It means everything to me."

Flawless
Anonymous, age 15
Brooklyn, NY

Perfect
That's all I want to be
Flawless
It means everything to me

Not many understand
The need
The want
The strive
To be better
Perfect
Flawless

Need to not be me
Need to be you
Need to be different
Not myself
When I am
Oh so broken
Oh so flawed

Not perfect
Not how I want to be
Not flawless

"I have this power to overcome."

Confidence
A.M. Young, age 22
Jenkintown, PA

Lonely and abrupt
I sit waiting for the corrupt
The one to take me away
From the simplicities of my day
To complicate things

To manipulate my mind
I climb and I climb.
Out of this depression
I have this lingering confession
That this will be different

I will be no more
From what I was before
Like a flower
I will conquer with a shower
To cleanse my soul

That clean embrace
From my mother’s face
I have this power to overcome
All these things that I have committed and done
That will haunt my thoughts

But won’t bring me down
I no longer hide like a clown
I am a bird, free
I am myself; I am here and I am me

Funny little thing confidence

Winners: National Poetry Month Contest

I am thrilled to announce the three winners of my National Poetry Month Contest. I got loads of submissions on all sorts of topics: relationships, self-injury, depression, anxiety, medication, self image, violence, racism, and more. But the common theme was hope...and that things get better.

Check out all the submissions here on my blog. And, of course, take a moment to read the three winning poems below.

The grand-prize winner is Anonymous, age 22 with "Fall."

She'll be getting a great prize pack of books including: It Gets Better by Dan Savage, I Don’t Want to Be Crazy and You Are Not Here by Samantha Schutz (signed by me!), It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, Cut by Patricia McCormick, and Talking in the Dark by Billy Merrell.

Anonymous, age 22
Fall

I try to suppress the grin on my face
As I rush, alone, to my next class.
The campus is graceful in its nature
and colors and I’m alone, not
lonely, thanking the empty sky for
getting me to this place.
I’m in awe of the bag on my
shoulder, heavy with overpriced
books. Proud that my four successive
classes give me some place
acceptable to be.
I take notes and study and wear a genuinely
rehearsed contemplative look. I can’t understand
the groans around me at another assigned chapter
or announcement of an upcoming test.
This is it.
What I’ve been struggling to attain for four
excruciatingly long years.
To sit in a class and learn, to abandon my corner
of safety and pain and thoughts designed to
derail me at every haphazard venturing out.
I spent the better part of my first two adult
years screaming on a locked ward,
but the piercing shrieks have faded,
and I don’t think I have to be so afraid
anymore.

I don’t think they can control me anymore.

* * *

The two runners up are Anu B., age 18 and Stephanie Faith Sizeland, age 19.

They'll both get signed copies of I Don’t Want to Be Crazy and You Are Not Here by Samantha Schutz (me!).

Anu B., age 18
Maybe

Maybe I’m not who you want me to be,
But I’m me. Incorrigibly, irredeemably, painfully
Me.
Maybe I’m not where you want me to be.
Maybe my hair is too long for your liking,
Or too short for your delicate sensibilities.
Maybe my pants hang a little too low,
Or I hold my books a little too close.
Maybe my eyes are too sad for you,
Or my hips too wide,
My arms too long, my smile
Too blithe.
Maybe it’s just that I’m too tall, too short,
Too skinny, too fat, too strong, too smart,
Too loud, too quiet, too immersed in my thoughts.
Maybe.
Maybe I’m not everything you want me to be,
But I’m me. Incorrigibly, irredeemably, painfully
Me.
But, maybe it’s not me.
Maybe you’re too…too.
Maybe you’re heart isn’t big enough,
Maybe your heart only feels its own pain.
My heart will have to be big enough,
I will survive your incorrigible, irredeemable,
Painful Disdain.

Stephanie Faith Sizeland, age 19
Stop the bleeding

As she heads for the book shelf
She apologizes to herself once more
“I’m sorry, I can’t take it anymore.”
She lifts up her book titled “Glass”
“Story of my life” she whispers…
Underneath hides a secret kept from the world
The story of a broken girl.
She picks up the translucent piece
Sharpened edge
Sharper than the rest
In need of one more release.
Glass to skin, she carves
Another scar
One more line to match the rest
Closes her eyes and lets it slide
“This is the last time.” She lies.
As the blood runs, she weeps
Always abides by her one rule
“Never too deep”.
The lines are straight
She holds her arm to the light
Studying the horizontal cuts
Always left to right.
Never does it for attention
Or sympathy from anyone
Does it for herself
Because she feels she has no choice
Not tonight, not ever.

It’s about stopping.
It’s about having the courage to stop.
Having the strength.
Relief is possible without the knife.
Don’t cut your life short.
Make an effort to stop.
Make an effort to get better.
Tell someone you love.
Help someone you know.
Stop the scars.
Stop the bleeding.

"She colored her world outside the lines."

klp, age 18.

[I found her in the midst of my struggle] :

“She smiled, I smiled. Her eyes wondered where mine once strayed, and her feet stepped where mine once stumbled. I watched as she made believe, tarring up pretty little pictures into tiny little pieces, cleaning up the mess she made. I saw her gentle smile as she colored her world outside the lines, unafraid of getting hurt, yet maybe a little too wreckless and flawed. As she starred at the image in disbelief, I recognized the pain behind her eyes as she started to believe the lies that she was not enough. I always knew she was just a little bit too much like me. If I could tell her one thing, it would be to be beautiful just the way she is.”

"The silence was too thick to be cut. Too hollow to be filled."

Jamie Lynn Cox, age 18. Fresno, CA.

Sorry

I had a dream last night

That I boarded a train

To nowhere in particular

But I was not alone

There were several people there

Just as bewildered as I

All were dressed in thin clothing

And shivering

Ill-prepared for the cold climate

There were no tickets

No assigned seating

No listed destinations

It was as if it were a one-way train

That would sleepily continue into the infinite darkness of night

The silence was too thick to be cut

Too hollow to be filled

I stumbled to my seat

Trying to recall where I was and why

Suddenly I spotted part of a name tag on one of the passengers

Shamefully trying to hide it in the breast of their coat so I couldn’t read it

I realized that every nameless person had one

Whether or not they knew about it

I frantically searched for mine to no avail

I wanted to know who I was!

There was a drunken vagrant sleeping in the back

Who reeked of his own piss and filth

I didn’t want to touch him

But I had to get closer

I had to know his name

I saw the rectangular sticker displayed right on his chest

As if he didn’t realize it was there

Or as if he didn’t care to hide it

His name was Responsibility

And I was in disbelief

How could Responsibility just let himself go like that?

As my search progressed

I discovered a name for everyone

Worry sat in the front row

Rocking back and forth next to Fear

Who held his head in his hands

Beauty’s makeup was smeared across her face

She was crying

She stared relentlessly into the dark windows

Trying to get a glimpse of her reflection

Hope was an elderly man

I’d assumed he’d been riding the same train for a very long time

Patiently waiting for the train to stop rolling so he could get off

He wore a smile

The only one I’ve seen yet

There was one girl who never looked at me

She just gazed towards the front of the train

Lacking the curiosity of everyone else

I approached her

Touched her cheek

And turned her face to mine

Her eyes were blue and clouded

She reached out awkwardly

To find my hand, I assume

Across her hand I found the name tag

Hello, my name is Blind

I sympathetically held her hand

And wondered if she knew her name

Though she couldn’t read her identifying label

Without locating my own,

I still didn’t know what to call myself

She cuddled up to my arm affectionately

So beautiful was she

Like an angel

I instantly grew close to her

As I watched her snuggle into my side

I saw my name tag across my shoulder!

I read it and a wave of guilt washed over me

My name was Sorry

I realized then and there

Through the silence that could not be broken

There was no way for me to introduce myself to Blind

I realized then and there

The warmth of our embrace would be the only communication her and I could ever share

I awoke and cried.

How would she feel if she knew she was cuddling next to a person with a name like mine?

I felt like Liar, taking advantage of that sweet girl

Someone like Trust should have held her

Not me

I wish there was a way for her to have known the truth

I wish there was a way I could have told her

I never wanted to hurt her

For all she knew, I could have been Love riding next to her

A person worthy of such compassion

I’ve never known a feeling like that before

She held my arm without ever questioning who she was holding

She just did it because I was there

Whatever I was

She didn’t care

She held my arm tightly

Scared

And clinging to the only person she knew

Unfortunately

I was Sorry

And she’d never know it.

"i am not hungry. i already ate."

Anonymous, age 18

circulation

twenty three beads on each side. forty six in total. red beads; red is a primary color. a bracelet, my bracelet, tightly surrounding my wrist. i am not hungry. i already ate. i do not feel well. i will eat later. i tell myself what to believe, tell everyone the familiar lies that are supposed to disguise my hunger. the number changes as i feel the release, running miles around my subtle disbelief that maybe i am already enough. following the rules i have applied to my life. collar bones are beautiful, my legs are fat, the feeling after not eating for a day makes you stronger - imagine the feeling after going on longer, running on empty, pretending like you are not wasting away. count the calories. calories in, energy out. burn more than you eat. one hundred is a big number, do not break one hundred, you must weigh ninety five when you graduate next fall, i remind myself over and over, the memories from back when i was only ten. you need to eat. they remind me of why i am so weak, so cold, so drained of life, so on the edge, to tired, so consumed with sickness. i have a red beaded bracelet with forty six beads that fits around my bony left wrist and subtly reminds me that all my thoughts are disordered, and i eat weird and that everyone is right. that the mirror is lying and that i am making myself sick, dying to be something i have always been. it reminds me of the fear of becoming fat, but it twists it around, making me feel like i already am and that i have to take control before i lose it all. it is not all about beautiful. it has never been only about beautiful. it has been about control, when i became a vegetarian five years ago. it has been about being accepted, feeling like skinny is all i have. it is about fear, of self and of growing and of getting older. it is about the voices from my childhood that replayed over and over, never letting me forget, giving me something to hold onto when i felt like i had nothing left, that turned into lies i find hard to turn away from. it is about feeling, about dealing with everything, about living life with a sense of belonging, even if i only fit into the statistics. it is about a story, my story, of how my life began: three months too early, one pound and six ounces, and how i survived, even though the doctors doubted. my life story about where i am today, how i got here. a story i am willing to tell four hundred times more, because maybe someone is listening and maybe they will see that i know what it feels like to desperately try to change the reflection, and i know the hold it has, but i know freedom exists on the outside. i have a little red beaded bracelet as a reminder of who i once was, of the anorexic sickness that i lived, but that was never really me, that was never all i was. there is more to the story, my story. there is always so much more than the skin and bones, or the red beaded bracelet cutting off her circulation.

"Barely there, striving for a reflection you will never reach."

Now that the poetry contest is over, YouMakeMeFeelLessAlone is is back with posts from YOU! Check back weekly for new posts...and send in your prose, poems, and artwork. Read the submission guidelines here.

Your words are powerful. Your words can help people. Share them.

Anonymous, age 18
[step one:]
"my life in a manila folder, scripted for diagnosis. they quote me, writing down my pain of logic, treating it as a side affect. i am scheduled a next appointment - policy. i am considered by statistics, their only determination to cure me. as i am introduced to my aid, they mark my progress with another prescription. i am given a new prospective to life, with vague conception beyond these sterile walls: they are creating my recovery out of medical terms i am bound to understand someday, yet i am reminded 'this is the easiest part.' as i stumble into yet another step towards..... i wonder where it all ends."

[redefine me:]
"one hand on your protruding hip bone, one finger down your throat, breathing deeply in denial, convincing smile, hiding the frantic rush of control. running on empty desperately after a shallow sense of value to fill you up; wasting away in a media driven prospective, giving you little room to see. you feel the gentle break of identity as you fit into the style, conforming to the paper doll appeal. barely there, striving for a reflection you will never reach; dying to impress the goddess of thin. they glimpse across your presence, not knowing the girl blinded by the sight, believing the lies telling her she is not enough. and the memory of beauty is all that remains as you lose yourself. 'beauty, redefine me.....' was the beginning of disaster, Beautiful. they forget to tell you the truth."

Fifth batch of entries to the poetry contest!

Here's the fifth batch of entries to the poetry contest. Check back next week for the final submissions! Read about the guidelines and the prizes here.
Don't forget to submit your poem by 4/26.

Nafeesah Haliru, age 17
BROKEN
In the deepest of tears
With a fearful heart
Uncertainty filling my mind
Bewildered I stood in reality
Searching through memories

In the darkest of nights
Running through memories of lost love
Stumbling on faults and un-answered questions
Aspen was our relationship
Blown away by the wind

Gone are the sunshine
The stars that sparkle in the darkest
Broken in silence is my heart
Flowing through confusions
Your absence taking me slowly

Cold and lonely amidst uncertainty
Shocked by the hard hit of the hands of love
Shaking in fear of lost
Without a tear I kept crying
Forever gone or forever mine?

Un-noticed days turned to nights
Still time kept walking
Passing with each second
Minutes creeping through me
At a standstill was mine

Slow have gone all the music
With my tears dancing to the melodies
Lyrics lancing my heart
Echos of your name filling my head
With an image of you I made a scene

Uncolorful nature have become
Dead are my flowers in August
In lost beauty of the earth I lived
Wishes are all I’ve got
In the silence of my memories I make a life

Ashley Rose, age 16

It hurts so much to remember the past because,

I had a parent to guide me
A mother who once loved me more than the world
That person no longer exists
I wish I didn't have to watch it drift away
I never asked to lose her love
It all just makes me scream
But I've lost my voice
I've lost my strength
Tell me,
Where can I find you?

Felicia Monique, age 41
My Mirror

It may appear that I ...
stopped turning my mirror around
stopped looking at my own face
have it all figured out
am fixed
unbroken
no longer scathed.

Truth is, I can never stop ...
seeking the reason behind the reason
seeing my faults, imperfections, and flaws
hoping for change and growth with each new breath
learning to be courageous in the moment
looking forward to each sunrise and each sunset.

I know ...
the mark has been missed
the stop sign unseen
the mind unconscious
the trust lost.

I spoke from an unhealed heart
forgot the lesson
placed unexpected expectations
turned the mirror away
seeking and seeing you
forgetting about me
my image
my face.

Today ...
my mirror is in its correct place
unblocked
without its shield
turned toward the owner's face.

Anonymous, age 21
Don’t Be Fooled

Wow, who is that girl in the picture?

She looks like the happiest person on earth

Huge smile, glittering eyes, must be

I wish I was happy

Even half as happy

It’s better than nothing, torture, and fear

And look at this one

She has so many friends

They look so close

I wish I had friends

Yeah I know people

But they just put up with me

And they don’t even really know me

Acquaintances not friends

Awww, look there she is with a guy

I wonder if it’s her boyfriend

She must have guys chasing her all the time

I wish guys liked me

A guy would never want a girl like me

I’m so lonely

There she is posing on the beach with friends

She looks so care free

I want to be free like that

But I’m trapped by my problems…

And who I am

One last photo of what appears to be the happiest girl on earth

I wish I could recognize her

“Hey you, do you know who this is?”

“Don’t be silly, that’s you…

From yesterday”

Allie Marie Birch, age 14
White Rose

My heart is gray, but it still beats with a white rose laced between my fingertips.

It wraps around my heart as the petals fall into my soul.

As the vines grow my love expands even more.

The thorns sometimes prick but I understand.

The petals whither and decay over time.

They disappear as if they weren't there.

My heart absorbed the color of the petals,

Now its pure white.

But the thorns keep pricking me.

Then I begin to bleed.

My heart turns red.

The deadly vines dissolve and die.
My heart is then alive.
All because of a little,
White Rose...

Third batch of contest entries!

Here's the third batch of entries to the poetry contest. Check back next Monday for more! Submit your poem by 4/26.

Melissa Phillips Martin, age 38
MY JOURNEY
Why is this happening?
What did I do?
Why was I born?

I can't do this
I don't want to be here

Dizzy, scared
Heartbeat
Too much

Normal
I can't be

No one understands
Get out
Take pills
That will fix it!

They walk in my shoes
They know it all

I don't want this journey
I'm scared

Karissa Doll, age 17
Mirrors
My eyes are searching
And they find you
A simple blur in my vision
But it's so much more then that
I reach out
But never close enough to touch
Never close enough to feel
I'm never close enough
The image floats away
The blur is gone
And I'm all alone
Nothing to reach
I can't be let down anymore
Except for the mirror
Another blur
I turned it around
I don't want to be her
I've got nothing left
And she mocks it at me
And as much as I want to
I can't change a thing
I've been tied up and beaten
Into this person called me
And the more I try to change
It's all I can be
And I reach out for help
But the blur went away
And I talk to myself
But I never make sense
And my problems are here
And they're going unsolved
And my mind works so fast
But it won't get involved
And my heart is still beating
But will I survive
I've been here for so long
I wonder if I'm alive
And people come and go
But they just don't see me
They just don't hear me
They all blur into one
They all let me down
And in the mirror
Is where the blur can be found
So I shatter the glass
It feels good to see it break
Then I realize I'm feeling
So have I finally escaped
And the shattered pieces
All look at me
They try to keep me here
But I just can't stay
And I'm searching this place
Nothing left
Nothing right
I'm just lost in this feeling
That nothing's alright
Then I hear a voice
Or am I just crazy
I go back to the mirror
And she says she wants to save me
She knows I've got nothing
And that I made her cry
And when I'm looking at her
She looks me straight in the eye
Then I wake up
And I know where I am
The light is so bright
From the window I smashed
And though I got out
The feeling won't go away
That the girl in the mirror
Follows me everyday
And I know it sounds crazy
Because I'm the one in the mirror
But this girl's not me
She's something so unclear
And still I see the blurs
They pass me everyday
And again I reach out
But still too far away
And I don't know what to do
I just feel so insane
And asking for help
Is out of the way
And the mirror holds my secrets
Smashed to bits
And they all call me crazy
And it's starting to fit
But how would it not
I speak to my mirror
And the words she speaks back
I don't want to hear
And my mind is racing
I'm feeling sky high
And somebody's dropped me
So how long 'til I die?

James William Cowan, age 21
I wake to the smell of rain
Each one dies in vain

The cement has no need
For the water that feeds

R. Saxby, age 35
Insecure
standing like a smudged sullen statue
scrutinizing my broken reflection momentary glancing back
is this how people see me as well?
i analyze, i criticize, i close my eyes
contaminating myself with negativity
like a cold shroud clinging to my skin
hands finger tipping face to torso
recoiling away as I disperse into fragments

Libby, age 20
Rest in Peace
Little girl there's no need to fear
I'm going to heal from these horrifying years
but in order for me to move forward
you have to listen to these words with courage
the abuse was not your fault
there was no way for you to scream for help

Little girl I need you to understand
he can no longer hurt you with the touch of his hand
he's far away from you
I know what he did makes you feel very, very blue
but a better life awaits
so you can stop planning your escape

Little girl you have to stop blaming yourself
it's okay to let go and get up
you don't need to haunt me anymore
I'm dealing with your memories hard core
one day I'll sew up these broken wings
so let go of all your hatred and be free

Little girl you have to stop playing your tricks
you're holding me hostage at the wrists
you have to let go for good this time
so I can get myself together and be fine
you have to stop pretending you're okay
our paths have crossed and I know you're in a broken state

Little girl it's not too late
our soul can come back from the grave
but your shadow is holding me back
I need you to lay down and relax
I promise this nightmare will come to an end
I'm no longer afraid of myself or him

Little girl I'm not trying to forget you
you've done an incredible job holding on to this as I grew
so lay down your head and rest
I'm going to take this painful load off your chest
the healing is coming but not in one piece
but don't worry, I promise it's coming please believe

Little girl it's time for you to rest in peace
so put the past behind you and breathe
go back and play on the swing
remember the days before you had broken wings
we may never get justice for this crime
but finally, you can now rest until the end of time

Kina Nicole, age 17

Neither my flesh nor my bones seek truth through this pain
Deceit seeps through my pores and a shield is maintained
Keloids obscure the voice that you strain
The only things that are real cannot be explained
The clock that you watch ticks different than mine
A face with no numbers cannot tell the time
Past, present, or future were never assigned
A moment lived forever, in the absence of mind
Maggots will creep, spiders may crawl
Lashes locked tight, I cannot see them at all
Empires of imagination are built strong and tall
On my sore tippy toes I barely see over the wall
What stands beyond my sight is something unknown
The option to take flight is an option postponed
Everything within these walls I can call for my own
So I’ll continue to waste away in silence, alone