They Say The Skys The Limit, But Youre My Galaxy. -a Ten Word Story

They say the sky’s the limit, but you’re my galaxy. -a ten word story

6:45 a.m. I wake up tired. Not drowsy, but the kind of tired that settles deep in the marrow of your bones, the kind of tired that makes you shake. 6:48 a.m. I spit the blood into the bathroom sink. I try to ignore how the insides of my cheeks taste like raw meat. I cough, and roses bloom on my lips. I think maybe I should invest in a mouthguard, or a therapist. 7:05 a.m. Study in the car on the way to school. 7:55 a.m. Last night my friend and I agreed we’d rather die than go through another school day. This morning, we are both in homeroom, with half-moons of regret hanging underneath our eyes. 9:45 a.m. Two classes in and I’m already numb. 12:15 p.m. Prom committee meeting, Spanish club, and trying to finish a history paper all at once. I don’t have time or the desire to eat. 1:30 p.m. I’ve heard seven people mention suicide today and they were half-joking at best. 2:30 p.m. Poetry Club is trembling verses read by kids who are all hanging somewhere in the balance between college prep and an early grave. 3:15 p.m. Time to run 4 miles on 2 hours of sleep. 5:30 p.m. Look at the bed and think about collapsing into it. Look at the desk and think about AP credits. Look at the desk and think about working for McDonalds. Look at the pocketknife and try not to to think about anything at all. 11:10 p.m. The rest of the family is asleep. I hope my Spanish teacher disregards the shaky handwriting, the teardrops on the page. I’m sure she will. She’s seen it all before. 3:15 a.m. I’ll get three and a half hours of sleep; tonight is a good night. 3:30 a.m. That is, if I ever drift off. 3:40 a.m. I lie awake, but I am dreaming. Dreaming of GPAs higher than the average amount of hours I sleep, Of SAT scores to match the number of panic attacks I’ve gone through in the past few years. 3:49 a.m. Now my stomach is in knots. I dread the Psychology test next week, I dread the project due on Friday, I dread the laundry I haven’t done in two weeks, but most of all I dread 6:45 a.m.

A Day In The Life Of A Student (via poppyflowerpoetry)

I Wish

(I think I should have titled this "This is my first poem ever on here and I literally just wrote it and I don't understand why or how??"

I wish I didn't taste you in my alcohol 

(because god, you burned going down)

and I wish i couldn't write a poem about you 

(it's all puzzle-piece words and jagged edges anyway)

because you hid her name under your tongue while you caressed me 

with those same hands that stroked another girl's hair

(and I should have known when you played the strings of my body for the first time as if you had practiced for years)

and they tell me to get over it 

as if you were a lost dog, a misplaced toy 

but how can I get over it when it's 4 AM and the moon is lying to me

because there is no light within these dark times

and it's so ironic to make romance out of this 

but I have to 

it's all I know how to do 

“Nah son, get outta here!” 😩😭

Abuela, did you ever figure out how to stay in love? I promise I won’t tell a soul.

Denice Frohman - Abuela

Denice Frohman - Dear Straight People

Dear Straight People, Who do you think you are? Do you have to make it so obvious that I make you uncomfortable?  Why do I make you uncomfortable? Do you know that makes me uncomfortable? Now we’re both uncomfortable. Dear Straight People, You’re the reason we stay in the closet. You’re the reason we even have a closet. I don’t like closets, but you made the living room an unshared space and now I’m feeling like a guest in my own house. Dear Straight People, Sexuality and gender? Two different things  combined in many different ways. If you mismatch your socks, you understand. Dear Hip-Hop, Why are you fascinated with discovering gay rappers? Gay people rap. Just like gay people ride bikes and eat tofu. Dear Straight People, I don’t think God has a sexual orientation,  but if she were straight, she’d be a dope ally. Why else would she invent rainbows? Dear Straight Women, I mean, “Straight Women.”  Leave me the fuck alone! Dear Straight Men, If I’m flirting with you it’s because I think it’s funny. Just laugh. Dear Straight People, I’m tired of proving that my love is authentic. So I’m calling for reparations.  When did you realize you were straight? Who taught you? Did it happen because your parents are divorced? Did it happen because your parents are not divorced? Did it happen because you sniffed too much glue in 5th grade? Dear Straight People, Why do you have to stare at me when I’m holding my girlfriend’s hand like I’m about to rob you? Dear Straight People, You make me want to fuckin’ rob you! Dear Straight Allies,  thank you, more please! Dear Straight Bullies, You’re right. We don’t have the same values.  You kill everything that’s different. I preserve it. Tell me, what happened to  Jorge Mercado? Sakia Gunn? Lawrence King? What happened to the souls alienated in between too many high school walls, who planned the angels of their deaths in math class, who imagined their funerals as ticker-tape parades,  who thought the afterlife was more like an after party. Did you notice that hate is alive and well in too many lunch rooms, taught in the silence of too many teachers,  passed down like second hand clothing from too many parents. Dear Queer Young Girl,  I see you. You don’t want them to see you so you change the pronouns in your love poems to “him” instead of “her.”  I used to do that. Dear Straight People, You make young poets make bad edits. Dear Straight People, Kissing my girlfriend in public without looking to see who’s around  is a luxury I do not fully have yet. But tonight, I am drunk in my freedom, grab her hand on the busiest street in Philadelphia, zip my fingers into hers and press our lips firmly, until we melt their stares into a standing ovation, imagine that we are in a sea of smiling faces, even when we’re not and when we’re not, we start shoveling, digging deep into each other’s eyes we say, “Hey Baby, can’t nothing stop this tonight”  because tonight, this world is broken and we’re the only thing that’s going to keep it together.