Simon and Scarfunkle Return

I messed up the bridge in the version with harmony, so this fork will have to do.
Snail on.

“Emmylou” by First Aid Kit


My cry to teachers

I never wanted to ask for help.
I thought it would get me into further trouble,
And some of you knew, and didn’t really do anything.
Some of you knew, and did a lot.
And some of you had no clue.

I wonder, for those who knew –
why didn’t you take more action?
For those who didn’t –
Didn’t you hear my silent screams?

In Kindergarten, when I bit my own arm –
because I thought maybe if I had something on my body
to show you,
it would make it valid.
Because it was always my body people wanted.

Or how about in First grade,
when every time someone rubbed their feet or hands
on the carpet I freaked out.
Sensory overload. My tongue itched.
You sent me to time-out.
That’s not what I needed.

In Second grade, you reprimanded me
As you do all students.
But immediately I felt hatred for you,
heat rising in my face –
I wanted to fight you back.

Did you know in third grade,
when I did everything in my power
to get your attention, to be perfect?
To be liked, to be someone?

In fourth grade,
Did you find it at all concerning,
that I was sent to school with a fever?
It would be inconvenient for me to be home..

Or how about in fifth grade,
when I started continually missing music lessons,
for fear.
And when you got mad at me –
I cried, because I didn’t want to see him.

Did you notice in 6th grade?
When I learned to fear people so strongly,
that I couldn’t make friends?
When you watched as students bullied me,
and you didn’t intervene.

How about in Junior High School.
7th and 8th grade,
When you saw the cuts on my arms
and the bruises.
When you saw me stop eating at lunch,
When you asked me “What’s wrong?”
And my fearful response was: “I’m just tired.”

Then in High School?
In 9th grade, one teacher asked…
Are you safe, is home safe?
But I couldn’t answer.
And I sat on a desk in her room after school
and dissociated for the first time that I can really remember?
Or the teacher who had me write about myself,
And I wrote how my chameleon eyes were my depression.
I channeled my energy into reading I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.
and then I really felt like I connected to someone for the first time.
Or when I wrote my term paper on bipolar disorder?
The one teacher openly criticized my family,
but was there any effort when I showed up to school
with pneumonia?
Did my coaches ever question why I missed so many practices?
Was it just okay?

And later in 10-12th grades,
when things got out of hand.
And I was sick.
Nobody suspected what had happened,
nobody suspected what was happening.
I slipped by,
The sick student –
who walked the halls instead of going to class
and ran the track to get herself grounded.

My teachers have taught me a lot.
I am grateful for them
It scares me how easily,
I slipped through the cracks,
and my traumas continued under their clocks.
And I silently screamed,
for help that never came.



Corn and Tomatoes

I come from a land
where turkey hill is a place –
not a brand.
where corn grows tall
and healthy
and children try to do the same
but we can’t
because society tells us that we’re bad.

“Why can’t we be corn?”
I asked my dad, tears in my eyes.
My young brain feeling the protection of husks
as my kernels brighten their yellow and white shine.
and with my husk protector
none of my peers can judge me.

But Instead of corn,
I live in a society of tomatoes.
Am I a vegetable or a fruit?
Do I have to be either?
When people look at me,
do they see my wrinkles and bruises,
then throw me away?
my vine attaches me to my siblings,
who are stronger and juicier.

I have no protection.
I am not in the land of Turkey Hill –
where corn lives in fields without worry.
I am not a tomato either.
I am a child,
and like a tomato
if I am rotten or bruised,
I am thrown to the side.
I am an adult
and like a tomato
if I am rotten or bruised,
I am thrown to the side.

I am a minority,
I am a target,
I am an individual,
I am alone.
I am not corn.
I am not tomatoes.

And it may be okay for other people
to throw me to the side
in today’s society.
But I will not choose to throw anyone
to the side.

In spite of my childish idea,
of corn’s similarities.
I yearn for difference.
To teach me.
I like that tomatoes are different.
I guess instead of corn or tomatoes,
I’d like to be human.
And have humanistic ideals.
I’d like to have the strength of corn,
and the variation of tomatoes,
for a society of difference.
And I’d like to live,
in a world where even the most wrinkled tomato-humans
are loved.
because they are not tomato-humans.
they are humans.


What I’ve Acquired

In the past two years,
and about 10 hospital stays,
I have acquired a large amount of things
from the people that I’ve met.
It’s just something that kinda happens.
I never asked, people just gave.
And sometimes I didn’t want to take.

There are good things like index cards with hope,
Suitcases that carried my things home after 2.5 months..
Ladybug stickers on the wall of my room.
Mandalas drawn for me.
There’s T-shirts, K bought for me when I didn’t have clothes.
Or the cat bookmarks she gave me.
Pants the janitor bought me from goodwill,
mint beadlets to keep me grounded from A.

There is the flannel in the back of my trunk,
from the night T overdosed in my bed.
The hospital wristlet from the night J stabbed himself
There’s the paintings and the memories.
And today while cleaning I found the ring.

The ring which I had purposely forgotten.
Blue and white.
The lady who gave it to me, L
she cried,
as bandages covered her wrists
and her neck was bruised.

We had known each other for a while,
From one hospital,
To a program,
and now to this hospital.
It almost seemed as if our crises were in sync.

“I don’t know why I wanted this ring.
But I made my husband buy it for me,
and now – everytime I look at it
I remember trying to die.
Wrapping the belt around my neck.
Take it, so I don’t have to remember.”

I took the ring.
And I wore it.
And I felt uncomfortable,
and when I got home,
I searched up the value –
To find that L had given me a ring
worth $279.
And I didn’t want it either.

And now I have found it.
And I remember L.
I am sad,
because I honestly don’t know
if she’s alive or not.
And I hope she’s doing well,
but last time I saw her,
she truly wanted to die –
and that is something I understand.

I have acquired a lot of things over my stays.
And it’s not about the material stuff.
It’s not about the ring, or the suitcases, or the cards.
It’s not about the paintings, or the stickers, or any of that.
It’s about the people, the relationships.
Some people I keep in touch with,
others I do not –
but every person changed my life.
And from them I have acquired a lifetime of experience,
A mountain of hope and survival skills that each person taught me –
And mostly the incredible ability to love.
Because when we were all struggling,
we gave, even when we had nothing to give.
And that is how I acquired so much.



A Letter to the Friends With Whom I No Longer Talk

Hey friend,

I miss you. A lot. And maybe we just grew apart, or maybe I did something, maybe you did. It doesn’t really matter. Since we talked last, a lot has probably happened. Depending on whom you are, A LOT has happened. Some of you have had kids, some of you have gotten married, some of you have graduated college. For me, not so much. I’m moving at a different pace. I guess we’re both completely different from when we knew each other. I have learned a lot about myself. And god, I wish we were still so close so that I could gab to you all the drama in my life and explain why I was away so long or what’s been going on in my brain. And then tell you how things are gonna be okay. Soon.

I wish I could have been there for you. For whatever you may have gone through. I wish we could have cried on my couch together or devoured junk food so we could mourn each other’s sorrows and celebrate our feats. Every moment I spent with you when we were friends, I absolutely loved. I am grateful for the little time we had together. And honestly not a day goes by that I don’t think of you because there are little reminders everyday. Necklaces, drawings, pictures, furniture, postcards, your family, events, so many things remind me of each and every one of you. Maybe one day, we will get back together and be acquaintances or even better yet friends. And if not… that’s okay.

I just hope you know, that you are fantastic. No matter what happened. And I love our memories.

Thank you for being a friend.


The First Time

The first time,
is not when people thought it was…
The first time,
she was scared, she was little.
She was not in college, defeated, depressed.

The first time,
she was innocent.
she was  sad.
she was confused.

That nine year old girl,
thinking thoughts so deep
so complex,
they needed to be analyzed
with a microscope.

If we could scoop the thoughts of that little girl
and spread them on a mannitol plate.
If we could take those thoughts and perform a quadrant streak,
we could find, just maybe,
each string that broke her.

And so she lied that night.
Of a headache,
and carelessly her mother told her to get herself medicine.
Everything as planned.
And she did.
She got tylenol. and tylenol. and tylenol.
She began to cry,
as she walked back to her bed.

For hours she looked at the medicine.
She banged her head on the bedpost,
hoping her headache would be real.
And her attempt to die, was really just an attempt to feel better.
In the end she took the tylenol.
She didn’t take that much because the bottle scared her.
It said not to take more than 2 every 4-6 hours.
But she thought certainly 12 will kill her.
And it didn’t.

And she woke up sick,
and her head really did hurt.
And she cried,
because she wanted to die
just a little bit more than she wanted to feel better.


SUBMISSION: Fairwell, my fair indifferent love

Yay, a submission once again. It has been a while. There is no denying the power of words and people who know how to use them. I am grateful for this beautiful work of art and for the person who made it to, whoever they may be.

Farewell, my fair indifferent love,
The flowers bloomed,
My hopes did rise
My love I did entrust to thee
But clouds moved in and frosts did freeze my mirrored waters
Without sun to see your glorious reflection
You turned your heart away
And while the sun may shine again,
My hope is frail, my persistent love will whither soon
Farewell, beloved indifferent one.