Day 1-100 

My stomach is filled with bunnies doing cartwheels, 

each palm is coated with a thin sheet of sweat. 

Every molecule that composes of what makes me, me 

are firing action potential of what I could be. 


Day 2555-73 

"Blah-Blah" ripped the stars right out of my galaxy. 

Merciless as she yanked and annihilated nebulas- 

leaving nothing but black holes pitted with emptiness. 

I've never been so ashamed 

that I know a different tongue. 

My skin was neither dark or pale 

or that on the announcements my family's legacy 

butchered by the normal tongue. 


Day 4015-57 

The girl looks similar to me

At one point, the girl was me, but 

the girl from the picture 

never experienced the first day of 7th grade. 

The girl was composed of molecules that dissipated as I aged. 

Growing pains are synonymous with middle school. 

Expectations are made, limits are set. 

It is now up to me if I can- 

I can't accomplish them. 


Day 5110-33 

I am physically and mentally stuck. 

I am pulled apart ligament by ligament, 

then put together haphazardly 

by all the voices around me. 

Confusion- check, 

Annoyed- check, 

Restless- check. 

Computer science, designer, banker, accountant 

NO, no... 

I am lonely. 

My high school curriculum has been dictated by 

others who know me- better than me. 

Who am I? 


Day 5840-0 

Letters that formed words, 

words that formed sentences, 

sentences that are out to wound me. 

Syllables that can be heard, 

reverberated in between my ears. 

2 pills don't hurt. 

Syllables that can be heard, 

reverberated in between my ears. 

Handfuls and handfuls do hurt... 

Each palm coated with sweat. 

Merciless as she was, each enunciation 

slow and agonizing dull blades cut...



Day 5940-100 

My second tongue is what puts me ahead. 

My goals are set for me

made by me. 

My classes are taken to what fulfills me. 

Mother, she's trying, I'm trying for me.

I am loved,  because who loves me is me.  

I am filled with bunnies doing cartwheels, 

I am filled with molecules that make me, me

they are firing action potentials of what I could be. 


This poem is about: 


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