"They dont see how much I’m pretending."

Alone in a Crowd of People
Jessica D. Vega, age 22.
Jersey City, NJ.

Alone in a crowd of people
They see me
but they don't see the real me
They see my smile
but they don't see how fake it is
They dont see how much I’m pretending
pretending to be happy

Alone in a crowd of people
Knowing I’ll never belong
never fit in to any group
always alone
always forgotten
always invisible

Alone in a crowd of people
Wearing this mask so well
hiding all my emotions
hiding all my doubts
hiding all my fears
hiding all my scars

Alone in a crowd of people
no on really knows
no one really cares
no one really understands
how I feel
how I really feel
and the way I feel
is alone in a crowd of people


I feel like I've been wasting time.
Jessica D. Vega, age 22.
Jersey City, NJ.

I never got to do the things
that I really wanted to do.
I wonder if it’s to late to start now.
Even if I did start now,
I wouldn’t know how or where to start.

I feel like I’m trapped in a box
that’s sealed tight.
I can’t get out.
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
I’m suffocating.

I scream,
but nobody hears.
I cry,
but nobody sees.
Because I’m trapped in this box.
And they can’t really tell what’s wrong with me,
because all they hear from me is silence.

So, how can I do the things I really want do,
when I can’t even get out of this box that
I’ve been trapped in for years.

"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 don’t need to be the hero."

Spoiler
Carolyn Ursabia, age 28
Toronto

Tell me how the story ends
I just want to know.
It’s hard to see beyond the moment
when you’re dealt another blow.

Tell me I’m the distressed damsel –
a knight in armour on his way;
The Deus Ex Machina ’round the corner
to materialize and save the day.

I don’t need to be the hero,
or the star that steals the show.
I’m not desperate for attention
when I’m feeling really low.

I need help because I’m cracking
under the pressure of the weight
of every little tiny thing
with which I’ve struggled as of late.

So don’t tell me I can do it.
When what I need’s a helpful hand.
Not just empty, pleasant words
that suggest but don’t mean you understand.

Oh but in the end, I know who’s the hero
The rising star that saves the show.
I asked you how the story ends,
but I guess I damned well know:

I’ll suck it up, and take the hits.
Maybe a couple times I’ll fall.
And when they ask me “How much credit…”
I will say, “I take it all.”

"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

"He has made me promise to not burn myself."

Nicole Easterwood, age 20
Jacksonville, AL

His hands are smooth,
uncalloused,
as they touch my skin.
At the beginning of each
of my phalanges
lay thick calluses.
My thumbs,
and sometimes index fingers,
are torn up
and bleed from picking.
I can’t stop.
I’ve tried so many times.
I’ve thought of him
and pleaded with my mind
to stop.
I’ve tried.

His arms are free of scars,
so strong.
I look at mine and am ashamed.
Reminders of cold bathroom floor,
mixing with the flame of a lighter.
So many sleepless nights.
So many days of curtains drawn.
So many panic attacks taking over me.
I’ve tried to be calm.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried.

No one seems to understand
how it feels to think
that you are alone.
But when his hand brushes mine,
breathing ceases
and I am not thinking
of how I can make it stop.
It culminates and I am fine.
Nothing matters
except simply being.

He has made me promise
to not burn myself.
To stop
inflicting pain.
I promised.
And I will
keep my promise.
Because he’s worth it.
Because I’m scared
to say I love him.
To tell him
he deserves someone
who is well.
To tell him,
“You make me
feel less alone.”

100th post to You Make Me Feel Less Alone!

This is the 100th post to You Make Me Feel Less Alone! Thanks to everyone who has submitted, read entries, and commented. Keep the submissions coming!

Karissa Doll, age 18. California.

Just Another Drink

Just one more sip
But somehow the bottle's already gone
It never stays full for long
She lays in her room
She knows nothing's okay
She knows she's right
But it's all wrong

Through a nights sleep
The day disappears
It just disappears
It's already gone

Just another drink
And another bottle
Things fall apart
The roots so deep
What you've come to be
Just another drink

So unforgiving
It won't leave her glass
This isn't her
It's all just a blur
But I see so clear
The ending so near
Of my loss of faith

Another drop
And my heart stops
It can no longer feel

I've become so numb
I'm just too young
To know who you've become
Would you want that for me
To do as I see
To give up everything
For just another drink

"I'd just stick with you If it were up to me."

Colleen, age 15. Kentucky.

Poem: Too Many People

Their is too many people
in this world I see
I'd just stick with you
If it were up to me

Exposure Therapy I might need
but, even after sessions
I still believe
that their's

Too many people
& I feel like I have
no room to breathe

So many people
that I block out
So I can't see
because it causes so much anxiety

If it were up to me
I'd just stick with you
I don't like being alone
but, I would be okay with finding alone with you.


Poem: His Kind of Red Sky

Lying in the grass
Staring up at the sky
I got a glance
Of his kind of red sky


Poem: He Comes Close

You're a fighter
& you've come so far
Holding on
So don't let go now
No one will ever understand completely
But, he comes close
With your thoughts & your feelings
You may be alone
& in severe pain
But, tomorrow's a new day
& it's never too late
To begin again.


Poem: Though You Hurt

Though you hurt
Though you suffer
Though you may never be the same
You are constantly picking yourself back up
& trying again
'Cause all you really want
All you really need
Is happiness somewhere in between

Things are starting to change
You're realizing you won't be the same
Though you hurt & are afraid
Who says things haven't ever been this way?


Poem: To Make it Make Sense

To make it make sense
You call it beautiful pain
Is it possible the sun will come out tomorrow?
Will the moon & stars show again?
Does something beautiful end?
------->YES<-------

"Like a captured rabbit I pounce at a chance of freedom."

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

Pain

Reality flickers on and off
Like a lamp in my mind
Sacrificing sanity in the process
I am lost
Anxiously breathing, heart pitter pattering
Like a captured rabbit
I pounce at a chance of freedom
But I am lost

I am unsafe alone
But worse crowded within the mob
Reality an occurrence
I am uncomfortable
Now a light which once flickered
Is the spotlight on my mind
I am forsaken by my spotlight
Still I am uncomfortable

My spotlight shines
When it once flickered in and out
Now blinding my eyes
I am in pain.

At last, new poems!

Sorry, folks. It's been a really long time. But here are several new posts for YMMFLA! Check them out. Post comments about what you think. Send in your own work!

Anonymous.
[break her down]

Like a flower in the sky, I fall gently, creating disturbance beneath me and natural disaster across the seas. I take my place on the stone ledge, fixing my eyes on the edge, begging some part of me not to go through with it, all the while knowing I won’t do it. I witness fear enter in, starting to call revenge my closest friend, daring the eyes to see all they have done. I pinch myself, this is no dream, catch a deep breath, finding in me, searching deeper for more meaning – nothing. Getting closer, feet are trembling, my heart keeps beating; now its racing, somehow being torn between, never knowing if it is worth it to stay alive. I hold my head above the water, those who follow, somehow stronger; though they stumble they find footing absent from my own. No one sees me, the sun betrays me, I jump into the black beneath leaving behind my last words and a final goodbye - not even a shadow. I am beauty, see me falling? Catch me.


Latoya Brathwaite, Age 18. Barbados.
Suicide

I smashed the mirror on my bathroom wall
And watched my reflection shatter
Depressed, sad, ugly girl...she was gone
The memories, the revolting pain, it all ceased to matter
I smeared on some makeup
I dyed my hair red
And that night...that night,I left her behind
Lost within the sharp shards of glass, her face, once was mine

My words dripped with forged bouts of happiness,
Sentences punctuated with the whitest "Oh-emm-gee"
Ten, eleven, twelve...ficticious tales of a wild, exciting life
I laughed until I cried, I cried on the inside, inevitably
I signed on to Facebook
I added my new "friends"
And when in pain I told myself, she would fade after a while
So I drowned her out in sleeping pills and bullied my mouth to smile

The moon hid behind the cloud, the crickets screamed
The night I lost my virginity
When it was over, he pushed me off the bed and laughed when I started to cry
Where were my friends
I felt ugly again
Depressed
Lonely
In my hand, the butcher knife gleamed
Before I could carve a line on my wrist...I saw her reflection
The knife distorted the image but I recognised her
Clarity replaced insanity...the wrongs I did to her,came flooding back to me

I made her overdose on the wild life
Evertime I pretended to be like them, the noose tightened around her neck
I stabbed her in the heart when I gave away my innocence
Clarity.
Her reflection would always be mine
When the knife slid from my hand...I realised, I had already murdered
Me.


Joshua Diehl, age 18. Denton, Texas.
Concerning Inadequacy

Inspiration,

How you torture me as a flipping switch
Turning swiftly, repeatedly, from marriage to suicide
Between art and happiness, I cannot decide
But sorrow never seems to kick me into the ditch

My heartstrings have become sanguinary
But this could never be a fault of yours
Lord, I do not think this has been a dream of sorts
Although I am not certain of anything, anymore

No longer shaped like a cradle, both hands on the rusting rail,
Barely shuffling up perished steps
I forgot to take the time to reconstruct a liar’s bed
No wonder I come home only to the coffee she left

Time will spread her wings and fly
If you let her stare too long into the sky
I do not think your love will fix everything
But God, how I would quite love to try


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

Binds me to the past, like a pair of steel clasped hand cuffs
Tightened to my wrists, I feel them squeezing the blood
Blood that should be flowing from my hands to my heart

My heart beats rapidly as I am linked to the past barely surviving
Laughing at the notion of thriving ever even considered
Soulless it seems from the lies of the deep abyss

Light indigo lines ran rapid in the child’s eyes
Or were they dark like the color of the soil
Forgotten now the simple description of the doer

Look what ignorance has done to the Molested
Ignorance of the molested and the doer
Ignorance of the guardian, the watcher, the closeness

Binds me to the past, like a shackle of a slave
Crippled I am soul, body, and mind
My innocence forced out

Driven out of the soul like a whipped, beaten horse
A stallion beautiful once, but now a simple ass
Loaded with the stress of a strain not its fault

HA! Says the molested, HE! Says the ass
I am wounded, forgotten, overlooked
I am bound to this past, the emotion of a tumultuous storm

The storm rages on and pours down over my body
Cleans dear lord of all my oppression
“Blessed are they who mourn,

For they will be comforted”
I can only pray
The binding of the my soul to the molested


Anonymous.
Little Word

If I were going to write you
it would only be one word—
hi.
I’d print it so small
that it would be barely
visible, just a whisper
of lead on paper
saying
I am still here.

"I look in the mirror and I see a stranger."

Nicole Easterwood, age 20. Ohatchee, Alabama

I can feel the heaviness again.
I am driving down the road
at ninety to nothing,
flooring it so I can get home,
so I don’t have to do this
in the middle of the road
alone.
My sister’s there.
She knows what to do,
what to say to me
to make me begin
to calm down.
Even if I don’t tell her
what’s going on.
There is nothing here,
but blackness
and my mind
is pacing back and forth.
I keep trying to figure out
what triggered it this time
so I can know not to do
whatever it was again.
But each time
it’s something different.
Each time the “thing”
that makes me feel like I am
losing
control
changes.
I can’t pinpoint anything anymore.
I can’t figure out what it is this time.
All I can see
when I turn around
each corner is
fail,
Fail,
FAIL.
Like nothing I’m doing matters
and the sea of brackish water
is consuming my lungs
when I am mute.
Like all it would take
to make all of the tension
and pulsating stop would be
making a stop by “Blunt Guy’s” house.
I could waste away
into the pot
and the alcohol and,
for a little while,
I wouldn’t feel like
I was dying.
The offer is
so tempting.
Then I think of Jake
and my mentor and
what they would think of me
if they knew all of this,
but I can’t take all of it anymore.
I look in the mirror
and I see a stranger,
someone who
could not possibly be Nicole,
someone who should not still
be here in this town,
someone who should
be gone by now.
And Jo is the only one
who really understands
that I can’t be
in this house anymore.
That even driving is a task
and my chest is still heavy
and stomach churning
as I pull in the driveway
and try to breathe,
breathe,
breathe.

"The knowledge that I’m not alone helped me find balance."

Amber McLain, age 18. Michigan

Panic rises and grips my throat, my heart. I feel like death has his arms around me, waiting for just the right moment to move his hands around my neck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Why does no one understand that? Can no one understand what’s going on? I’m too shy to ask for help, but is it really not obvious? Mom, dad, sisters one, two and three – do you not see how much I’m suffering? No one understands, until…a book. A book gives me hope. Many books, actually. They help me realize that what’s wrong isn’t that I’m crazy; what’s wrong is that I’m depressed; I might very well have panic disorder. This is oddly calming; just knowing that I am not alone in this struggle helps. I don’t feel as bad, don’t feel the need to hide, don’t self-medicate. The knowledge that I’m not alone helped me find balance.

"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.”

"This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light."

Colleen, Kentucky. Age 15.
Song: Road to Recovery

I felt good today
I haven't felt like this in awhile
You were walking with me
You have a way of making me smile

(Chorus:)
We've been on this road together
It's been a long journey
But you've held my hand this whole time
On this road to recovery

I don't know what I'd do without you
You've saved my life
This tunnel has been dark but you showed me light
And stayed by my side


(Repeat Chorus)

"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.

My first novel comes out in Oct!

To celebrate the 10/1 launch of my first novel, You Are Not Here, I am going to write 10 new blog posts in the next 30 days. Check them out starting 9/1.

Among other things, they'll be about my writing process, inspiration, and my favorite: behind the scenes photos of the real places the book is based on.

More to come soon!

Pre-order here.

"Can I heal?"

Colleen, age 15.

Genre: Song

Title: Circles

Verse 1:
Everything is in circles
Around and around
I’m seeing pieces
Of my mind running around
They would just disappear
So I knew they weren’t real
And it’s only a matter of time
Before I realize
It’s not real at all

Chorus:
The way I feel (I feel)
Can I heal?
The way I feel (I feel)
Is it all real?
The way I feel (I feel)

Verse 2:
Everything is in circles
Even in my mind
Around and around
All the places you can’t find me
All the places I hid above the ground
I remember when I first realized that something was wrong
With

(Chorus)

Last Verse:
There’s a place I could go
And you’d never know
That I’m there in circles
It hurts over and over again
Because it’s around and around
My tears
My fears
Are in a cycle of coming down.

"I write to let go, to feel, to express, to cope..."

Katie K., age 17. Florida.

When I "grow up" I want to be a writer. Whether I’m writing a memoir, a childrens book, fiction, non fiction, whatever it may be. I want to write. Because it is the only thing I feel I am good at. Even on those very frequent days where I feel almost as if I am on mute; like I am at a loss for words that need to somehow be verbalized. Writing is joyous to me, but more importantly it is and always has been an emotional outlet for me. Something that I have always managed to be able to turn to. Even with writers block. All my life I've been blamed for pretty much bottling things up or not telling everyone every detailed aspect of my life, but this is because I write. I write to let go, to feel, to express, to cope, and even sometimes, to just let someone else know “hey, I know what you’re going through, look at me. I’m a mess, too. We all are in our own ways, really.”

Point is, I just hope to someday reach out to others with my writing. More than I already have. If there is anything I want out of life, it’s that. Because I know that personally, I’ve gotten through some of the most challenging parts of my life because of a book I read. And no, I’m not asking to be famous. I sure as hell don’t want to be the next Stephenie meyer (mostly because my forte isn’t sparkly vampires, anyway) but I am asking to be heard. But mostly, I want to make an impact and leave my mark somewhere, anywhere, on anyone in the world.

"The tears flow but they do not over power me this time."

Cathy R., age 34. Brooklyn, NY

I am trying to make life simple again.
The panic is constantly taunting me.
Threatening to show itself to company.
This feeling is unbearable.

I haven't felt this way since I was 16, and then 22,
and then now,
and all of the times in between that I blamed it on life being difficult.
Circumstances forever changing. Relationships ending.
The day to day tasks and obligations that others seem to navigate,
but make me freeze.

The walking in circles.
Back tracking my steps.
Misplacing things.
Forgetting details as soon as I allow my mind to wander.
Trying to figure out why I am here and not there.
The constant worrying.
Is just time consuming.

My chest feels like it's going to cave in.
My stomach in knots.
The comfort of having water close by at all times soothes me.
And antacids in my bag.
And the ability to phone a friend.

It is difficult to grasp because the highs are so high.
And the lows are terrifying.

I am unsure if I should go on medication.
Psychiatrist thinks I should.
Therapist thinks there are other ways.
I just want to be uncomplicated.

Do I really need them?

I function, I create, I am a friend, a daughter, a coworker, I get through my days.
I also cry, panic, hoard, have rituals, and I am afraid.
It's all very confusing.

Everything is sitting on the surface and I feel naked and exposed.

When I'm not productive,
it makes me feel invisible.
I am wrapped with guilt.

All I hear is my head telling me that I'm not good enough,
Not strong enough,
Not talented enough to make this life.
And though I know different,
It makes everything black and makes me grip onto nothingness as if it defines me.

This weeks challenge is allowing the emotions to happen as they come,
instead of suppressing them until I cannot breathe.
The tears flow but they do not over power me this time.

It was not always like this.
This will pass, again.
It has to.

"The lines once created were easily torn."

Sarah Pepper, age 20. Detroit.

Change

What is my life revolving into?
I do not recognize people anymore
they are different and I am hazy
this one I used to love and adore
is confused and hurt by what Ive become
we all change some time
I take my turn
you take yours
We cant not be equal to understand
Change causes the once funny to be nausiating and cold
the lines once created were easily torn
I have crossed to the side, a side of just windows
for watching and hoping "He" will put in a good word for me
or that the vibes of nature, all interconnected,
will reach out to each other and help.
In here I see only the feeling is there
but meek then blowing
My days of fear are over
I must take this challenge
this battle, with no ending,
battle it with my courage, laughter, and love
one day the spinning and changing will go
and I will still be here, forever a glow.

"Thoughts of you are forever in my soul."

Caroline "ButtaBRn65" Davis

I Found

Inner most wanted desires come and go, thoughts of you are forever in my soul...sweet whispers of love gather around my ear,...I listen with joy, passion. My heart dances to the sweet songs of you and I...never will a day go by without you knowing how much "I love you". I have seen, and heard of magic, now with you I feel it, over and over again each and every day, keeping you close for always and forever