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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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 How did we get here The creek, with its moss adorned rocks Never seemed quite that slippery until I fell headfirst Into the water deep as you, shallow as me Sugary as my hopes, lemony, caustic as the truth Dark as the future that is evitable So it now seems, at least As I swam deeper, Formed relations with the fish That tickled my toes with their fins Anatomical external appendages Flapping at the speed of light Away from the future everyone tries to ignore, Turn a blind eye to I was once a tadpole, ugly and unassuming And while my physicality has Neither improved nor worsened, I am now mature and forced to Make decisions for myself I could have prevented it though What awaits me beyond the gates of unsurety Was defined by every step I took, Every thought I formulated, End every decision I made I could have done it differently If I hadn’t allowed dreams and aspirations Seduce me and my heart, Vixens with a split up the side of their gowns Whispering in my ear, beckoning me to come closer Sea nymphs, whose soprano voices sang a song Doused in honeysuckle syrup, Too sweet to not stick a pinky into and taste Napalm bombs drowned my eyes, but I swore It was just rain Grenades popped underneath my toes But I swore they were just fireworks Machetes bore slits into my back, Amber pus flowing in a marriage with my blood, But I swore it was just a scratch I dressed everything in what gold is incomparable to And diamonds have always been jealous of Too expensive, too priceless, Too rare to come by in any bootleg form: belief I would have been just fine If I had been an underachiever Like those closest to me Free to gallop and roam the prairies of existence Hooves, pounding on the unresponsive soil Ignorant of the snakes and ticks preying on their downfall But me, I had to be different, of course An antithesis to formulaic familiarity It leaves a foul taste in my mouth Every time I recount the way I jumped at the chance to feel special Pseudo-intelligence, pseudo-superiority Just to name a few pins that adorned my lapel Now, it tastes like pathetics garnished With a tint of durian and desperation Now there is an air of expectation hanging Over my head, like a noose That just missed its mark The throat of goals, the jugular of hopes Now I have no god of sky to pray to And no sunshine adorned prayers to bless me And to think that there were nights Where I stayed up talking to the moon Beckoning for the distance to be closed between us So that I could whisper sweet-nothings into his ear You have to pay to play, he said You give me something, I’ll give you something in return Now here I am, drunk off of cough syrup, Disillusioned with reality as psychoactive depressants, With their talons, drag me to the core of the earth, Drained of disappointment, Deprived of a heartbeat that Once ran at an allegro tempo, and Dissociated with the future I meticulously crafted for myself Olivia C is a writer from Tennessee. She is passionate about poetry and entertainment/social journalism. She can be found editing/writing for The Teen Magazine, TeenInk, and her personal blog the Cyrus Piece (https://oliviacyrus.wordpress.com/). When she is not watching football, she is learning how to cook roti, procrastinating, and dreaming about learning how to play the jazz flute.
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