Don’t dream, it’s over. 

No, no one will read this. 
The school year is over,

The school is over 

It’s over. 

The doors are locked,

It’s summer vacation. 

Parking lots empty

Hearts full

I but on a cap and gown the color of the blood I shed for 12 years 

Blood

Pumping

Pumping 

It’s over. 

No more back to school shopping 

No more knights 

No more Friday nights 

No more Friday night lights 

No more 

No more grass stains on football pads or red court-burn rashes 

Only bright eyes.

Track season is over 

you don’t have to run in circles anymore. 

It hit me 

Like a kite in the wind

Not powerful, but gentle 

Like a tap on the shoulder

Like a shake of a hand and a paper saying 

“You did it” 

12 years. 

12 years. 

And no, it wasn’t bad. 

It was nothing like jail, not for me. 

But I didn’t learn negitives or simple algebra until senior year

But I didn’t know the difference between WWI and WW2 until I read something on twitter 

But I’m not an idiot 

I just don’t care

I never cared 

I half-assed everything. 

So thank you teachers 

Thank you faculty 

For all you’ve done 

Truly, 

12 years

Wasted 

It was always the same(last post)

I think I make people uncomfortable.
Wait, scratch that, I know I make people feel uncomfortable.
I’m very very loud and unapologetically myself and I think that makes some people feel safe; and others feel cautious.
My scream is way too low and my hair is always tangled.
People aren’t sure what to think of me, I think.
They have an opinion, but I don’t think they’re sure it’s the right thought.
I throw people off. I make them question things.
My mom says that I attract a certain type of people, and I’m still not sure if she meant good people or people I should stay away from.
I watch films instead of movies, because there’s definitely a difference.
I’m spontaneous, and it worries people, I know that.
I’ve always had the desire to travel, ever since I was a little kid I’ve wanted to be a waitress in a million different small towns.
I can’t explain how I am, but I like exhilaration.
I’ve always tried to love people radically; in so much, that people are stuck wondering why.
They don’t understand.
And that’s okay.
Because I really don’t either.
I know I lost a piece of me when I was too young.
I know I fell in love at age 15.
I know that I don’t believe breakfast has a set time.
I bite my nails sometimes, I take hour long showers and I sing very loud and dance even louder.
I enjoy risks.
I only regret the things I didn’t do; and I will never regret the things I have done.
I believe people dislike me… And that’s okay with me.
I can’t get my mom to understand that, though.
I enjoy wind in my hair and listening to music.
I have so much music.
And honestly, I like to believe I’m just like you.
I’m no different, besides the fact that I don’t live through other people
or thought-out decisions 
reputations or opinions
dirty looks, mean words, or hurtful hits.
I live through me, and worry about the path I’m pursing.
And I know a lot of people can’t truly say that.
I am truly, rawly, unapologetically, me.
And I will not filter myself for the sake of approval, for anyone.
And I don’t get a lot of friends through that.
But I like to believe it gives me some respect, whether it does or not.
So, I am me.
Karlee Ana Ownbey
17
5’7″ and a half
girl
psycho
– 

Thank you to all for being so nice 

And so not nice 

And so neutral

And so natural

And so un-natural, like Amelia McEwans’ tan

I really hope she doesn’t get skin cancer. I really hope none of you get skin cancer. See ya never chumps. 

when the lips touch

i feel….

lips touch.

i dont feel fireworks or happiness

i feel…

lips touch.

lips meet.

that’s all.

it’s just…

empty.

i don’t feel like laughing

or running really fast,

or screaming from mountain tops.

i feel

lips.

just like i would feel kicking a rock with my shoe

or turning the key in the ignition of a car.

it just feels so

normal

so ordinary

so… every day life.

it makes me feel like harsh bagpipes playing in a love scene.

or a broken ferris wheel where im stuck at the bottom.

or maybe it makes me feel like nothing

nothing at all

 

 

 

mars dreamt of me

i had a dream i went to mars

it was white, though, not red

and for some reason i was standing right on the top

there was no blue sky to veil the stars

it was just

galaxy

everywhere

and it made me feel…

soft

and fragile.

like i could levitate

like floating on water.

ive always wanted to be tough,

like a rock

like a rock on mars.

but when im standing there, all alone

looking up at the stars, i think

maybe there is beauty in simplicity

maybe there is mystery in delicacy

maybe mars isnt so far away after all.

 

ouch

Do you know what it’s like to break your own heart?

No?
Well, I can promise you,

If you’ve ever loved someone, you’ve done it.
Maybe it never shattered to a million tiny pieces, maybe you were just lucky.

Maybe you never gave it all up for someone.
But I know for a fact, you have held it in your hands and given pieces away.

If you ever loved someone, you have.
This is for the ones who have never had a significant other.
This could be for your mother or you sister.

Your father, your brother…

Your best friend.
You have given up parts of yourself.

Broken them off, like porcelain.

Until one day you wake up, look in the mirror, and you are Swiss cheese.
You’ve got holes, like the moon.

But this isn’t just a phase.

Nah.

This is you.

Or… what’s left of you.

You stare at yourself in awe

and wonder how this all happened

Where it all started

You try to trace it back…

but sometimes it’s hard to discern which hole came first.
So you try

You cover up yourself with clothes and words and an ocean of smiles

And you walk around, and act like everything is okay

But you grip the straps of your backpack, with white knuckles

Because you don’t want anyone to see that you sometimes stay awake at night, wondering, or replaying, or regretting, or plotting.

Tough. You are tough; you say to yourself

And maybe you are.

But you are never healed.
And maybe you’ll sing to your favorite song, or pass a field of flowers, and you feel a hole dissapear for a while

But you are never healed.
The past is over, but it will always be apart of you.

Leached onto you.

Until one day you see the blood drain from your face.

You feel

Lightheaded

Like you’re walking around on stilts, on a floor of glass
Nothing makes sense anymore.

You become scared of everything
You become scarred from anything

crayons

Sixteen 

my father dies of a drug overdose, I do not cry. Months later I read his suicide note to me. It reads; “you look beautiful.”

I lay on my bed motionless as I replay in my head the past five years of my life and realizing now that I am not who I thought I was

Fifteen

My dad packs his things in the middle of the night. He hasn’t spoken to me for weeks… I can’t remember the last thing he said to me. I want to leave my room and say goodbye, but I am frozen

I took 27 sleeping pills and hoped they wouldn’t wake me up in the morning

My mother is breaking down, my brother is breaking walls with his fist, my sister is breaking teeth on her words and I am breaking my own heart

Fourteen

I am selling my clothes and mowing lawns and sneaking money into my moms’ wallet and sock drawer

My brother moved out and my sister is mentally checked out and I am out of strength and ideas and mom doesn’t come out of her room anymore

Thirteen

I can’t look at myself in the mirror anymore

My 8th grade English teacher asks me why I have bruises on my face and I feel my blood turn to ice but I do not dare tell

I come home from school to find my dad passed out covered in his own vomit, I scream his name and with tears streaming down my face shake him until he regains consciousness, then beats me until our positions are reversed

Twelve

I hold my mom in her bed as she cries, and now even though I understand why, I can not cry.

My dad tells me this is all my fault and that “sorry” isn’t good enough and I understand that actions speak louder than words but how am I supposed to show him I love him when I’m always stuck cleaning up his messes before mom gets home and cook dinner as if I haven’t lost my appetite

I’m failing my 7th-grade art class because I can no longer keep my mind focused enough to keep my coloring inside the lines

Eleven

Dad doesn’t say hi to me when he comes home anymore… Sometimes I dress up, but he hardly looks at me – how am I supposed to feel beautiful when no one is there to tell me I am

Moms been crying a lot lately and I don’t understand why, but I go into her room and hold her anyway. I wonder where dad is… Isn’t it his job to do this sort of thing?

We don’t go to movies anymore

Nine

We had to move to a smaller house because daddy lost his job, but it’s okay because mommy said that change is good

I see my daddy drinking something that smells gross. I’m not supposed to touch it, or tell mommy that daddy has it. Maybe it’s a present for her birthday

We still go to movies, but I’m getting too old to dress up. He stopped making his stupid jokes and side comments that I hated so much… but I missed them. –  I guess he’s getting too old for them, too.

Eight

Seven

Me and daddy go on this thingy called Daddy-Daughter Dates, and Saturday after he comes home from work – My mom dresses me up and curls my hair and I get to wear my black shoes with heels that made me feel like a movie star. He always stands at the bottom of the staircase with a big smile, and picks me up and spin me around and tell me how pretty I am. He the only boy that I don’t think is icky, he makes me feel b-e-a-U-tiful. But I don’t tell him that.

My daddy comes to my third-grade class and does magic tricks, my friends tell me he is the coolest dad ever and I tell them I know that already

Daddy hangs all the pictures I color him in his office on the walls!

I love to color.

Six

Daddy teaches seminary

Five

My daddy helps anyone he can! Even with strangers! He’s the coolest dad ever!

My dad comes home from work and kisses my mom on the mouth, I cover my eyes but they don’t care about cooties. I sit at the counter and watch them dance in the kitchen, and I draw and laugh with them

Four

 I want to be like my daddy when I grow up.

Three

Two

One

Zero