identity crisis

she staggers around in her six-inch heels
leaving lipstick stains on her shot glass
slurring about how she feels like she's soaring but she can't feel her face
yet somehow she makes it home every night,
but she never lets anyone know how broken she feels
because she knows that there's no one left to pick up the pieces.

her morning ritual is advil and coffee and pain
but like a moth to a flame
the bright lights draw her back every weekend
because life never feels as lonely in the midst of a crowd

he's a creatine
gym machine
all hard lines and clenched muscles
a boy with a punch
the boy we can always count on for a fight
he's a 2nd string linebacker and a first string slacker
always late to school
always too cool
and the only time when he feels whole is when he's got a book in front of him.

his days pass in a smoke-filled blur
and his nights are black lights and bad dancing
and he would rather be writing than gyrating with the masses
but someone once told him that men can't be vulnerable
they aren't allowed to be soft or emotional or, heaven forbid, poetic
better not to let your guard down
and I heard that chicks like bad boys

they're charming,
rambunctious
always good for a laugh or two
the center of attention in every class they're in
they're shaking hands under desks as they deliver yet another punchline
and the only time that the bricks on their chests are ever lifted
is when they're too high to even care

their nights are dark thoughts and panic attacks
keeping attention on their teeth where everything sounds good
but behind the tongue there's something rotting in their brain
the words that they've held captive for so long,
but they have been told that the only way to fit in
is the hide behind the laughter that keeps them coming back for more.

these are the bridges between yourself and destruction,
and each brick is the place where the artist was told to consider a more sensible career,
where the 4.0 students was told that their A- was synonymous with failure
where the dreamer was told to stop reaching for things they'll never achieve
and one day it all comes falling down
because when the outsides and the insides don't fit
when that essential part of you goes missing,

that is when

you

 lose 

yourself

THIS IS THE REAL WORLD

I remember at four years old,

sitting on my mother’s lap

watching the towers fall with her tears

“don’t be sad,” I said

“it’s just a movie.”

but she just shook her head

“this isn’t a movie.

this is the real world.”

the snowcapped mountains act as guardians

and white picket fences protect our fragile hearts

we’ve got the one-way ticket to heaven here

as long as you keep your nose clean and your eyes closed

kids lose themselves in a smoke-filled haze

while others get lost in the smoke of the bombs

and white boys in snapbacks who’ve never bothered to pay attention in history class

throw the n-word around like kisses on the pedestal

sorry, rosa, they say

sorry, mr. king,

but how can you be sorry when you dance on their graves?
this isn’t hate

but we’re still asleep

and our history stays chained beneath our beds

there are graves underneath our pillows

voices rooted deep within our blackened lungs

whispering in the silence

this is the real world

so please

wake up

this is the real world

this is the sunburn that blisters after a day at the pool

the heartache that follows the whirlwind romance

this is a father’s last strangled breath on the concrete ground

the blood of those whose only crime was to write

this is the bullet holes and the rioting and the mother who hangs one less stocking on christmas day

this is the real world

and you can’t sleep through it like you slept through this class

blankets can’t protect you now

this is the real world

not the history resting tidily on a textbook page

this is the present

expertly wrapped and tied with rusty chains

while the only chains I’ve ever known are those of the playground swing set

that allowed me to skim heaven with my sneakered toes

there’s no anne sullivan to lead us out of the dark

and the blood moon only shines so bright at night

and the bliss that comes with ignorance also comes with the price of a child’s tear-stained cheeks

a child that can’t understand why this is her reality

while I’m still living with the stars in my eyes

this is the real world

don’t sleep in another day.