Inner Speak

In the morning, my inner monologue wears mismatched pajamas with one button that doesn’t line up

And in the afternoon, a black blazer and patent leather pumps that click against my veins

And at night, she dazzles in a teal chiffon prom dress that twirls out full and wide and maybe has a bit too much glitter

My inner monologue speaks in a british accent after too much Downton Abbey

And gets a little dramatic- and a little latino- after too much Jane the Virgin

And says things like “my hands grasped the cold brass doorknob” after making a bed cocoon, binge reading books until emerging in a butterfly of tied up pages and burst open metaphors

My inner monologue talks in tweets and captions and song lyrics

In tiny nibbles of poetry belonging to missing authors

It speaks in soft smiles and flowery whispers

Barely there

Vapory ideas for smoke cloud dreams

It speaks loudly and proudly

It screams things for the people in the back

Angry and excited and sometimes rambling

Often times rambling

Okay, Always rambling

It takes big, gasping breaths between phrases

Loading up with air to belt and pelt words at me

Telling me to stop

To listen

My inner monologue says things it doesn’t mean

Says things it shouldn’t mean

My inner monologue can be a real bitch

And yes, my inner monologue cusses

Which is why I have to put her through the purest, pickiest filter

Sometimes, I just want her to be quiet

When she stutters out thoughts of failure against my heavy hitting heart

As my hands slick against my racquet

My fingers shake along the keys

My tongue dries against the words that beg to be let out

I listen to her berate me

Degrade me

Tell me I could lose a few pounds

That Nobody will ever look at the lines of perfect people and chose to love the mess of red hair and long legs and lostness that is me

That I will fail every time I try

That those girls over there, they do not like me

And those boys over there, they never will

My inner monologue nags me, says that my body's a temple I am gratifying with chocolate cake and six hours of sleep

And I am breaking the environment with every carbon footprint I place

And I should be helping more

So I push her down

Until she curls up in my pinky toe

Small and afraid

I feel bad for her

She is lost without my brain

Lost without the colorful inspirations that fuel her

I tell her to come back

I tell her it’s okay, I will not hurt her

She peeks up from my ankles

Checks twice to make sure it’s all clear

Then she sprints up my legs

Bounding about my body

Speaking tongue twisters that unravel rapidly and wind around my mouth

Yelling like a tiny child, learning a new trick

“Look!! LOOK! Did you hear what I said???”

And sometimes I just want to yell

SHUT UP

Grab her by the collar and push her up against the wall

Because she is never, ever silent

And I wouldn’t mind some quiet

But she is endearing

And she keeps me alive

She is the pageant mom in the stands of toddlers and tiaras

Pushing me when I resist

Telling me “I can do this”

Believing that I deserve the world

Celebrating when I win it

She holds my hand when I am lost

Nudges me in the right direction

Coaxing me to figure it out

Get stuff done

My inner monologue is the most hypocritical

Passively political

Averagely atypical

Infuriatingly fickle little voice

And sometimes, I wish my inner monologue

Would chose to be a bit more outer

Exposing opinions and injustices

Dreams and Ideas

But she stays inner

Private, waiting

Perched on the tip of my tongue

Ready for when I finally decide

To speak out

Teenagers are just so dramatic

We are teenaged girls

The ones believed to be moody and rebellious and beautiful

The ones who slam doors on television and sneak out to wild parties

The ones who are always texting their boyfriends and mending broken hearts with a pint of Ben and Jerry's

Who scream “I hate you” at their parents and cry rivers of mascara and blue eyeshadow

The ones that every stereotype seems to know

We are teenaged girls

We are empowered

But too easily offended

The voice of change

That talks too much

The girls who can do anything

Especially a STEM career

Because, you know, there aren’t enough women in the work force

So you should take that extra science course

Don’t be a teacher

Don’t be a nurse

You’re settling, be an engineer

Who cares if you hate math

Women need to take a new path

We are independent

But should submit to our husbands

We are unique

But all are believed to be the same thing-

Moody, rebellious, beautiful

Caught up in boy bands and reality T.V.

Dreaming barbie dreams with Ken doll men

Men who force us to break and bend

Except for the good guys, there are still a handful of them

The teenaged boys

Taught that they are only hot if they know how to play sports and use tools

But if they are too much of an athlete, they may get called a tool

And they’re cute if they're sensitive

But gay if they cry

Or dress nice

And if they’re normal, they’re boring

But teenaged boys

They're a whole other story

We are teenaged girls

We like white converse

Or are ashamed for liking something as basic as white converse

Or think something is wrong with us because we don’t like white converse

Or would rather converse

Converse about something substantial

As substantial as the love that we have for our parents

Because no, we have not all yelled the classic "I hate you" at our mothers

And then there are the others

Who are not as lucky as they may seem

Who may have genuine reasons to hate their mothers

Whose lives are like the set of a play

A frothy, glittery production

Thin as cardboard

A facade ready to crumble in a mess of circumstances and missed chances

But even if the pictures we post are fake

We are still real

As real as the tears that come when we think we are ugly because nobody catcalls us on the street

Or the tears that come when we are catcalled on the street and feel like a piece of meat

As real as the muscles that stretch taut when we run

And the lungs that shake and laugh when we have fun

And the skin that glows and freckles in the sun

We are teenaged girls

And we are real

And different

And resilient

And refuse to all be carbon copies of the same sitcom archetypal sixteen year old

Because we’re more than just boyfriends and slamming doors and hair dye

We’re 51%

Of the future

Dates

I know who I am.

And I know who I’m becoming.

I am becoming someone unafraid.

Unafraid of what people think of me,

Unafraid of the actions I do,

Just unafraid.

Yet I’m still terrified.

Terrified of who I used to be,

What shadows lurk behind me,

What people have to judge me upon.

And I'm terrified of my future .

Not of what I do in the future,

Just who I become in the future.

Will I suddenly suck on a microphone,

Just to get my voice to be heard.

Will I start flapping my hand,

Just to get my visions out.

Will I just lay on the river,

Without a care in the world.

Yeah, Maybe.

But it’s because of that very fact that I’m terrified.

Because I don’t know what my future holds.

I’m a human,

I like a list,

I like my things charted on a calendar.

So hey future if you can give me the dates,

That would be great.

The dates of the important things,

Do I find love?

Do I find a job?

Do I live long?

Just write my life down for me.

That would be great

But I know you won’t.

That’s why people only plan two years in the future.

Because our future is unwritten,
And people are also afraid of what it holds.

Our future is a math equation,

With infinite solutions.

That’s why we can’t solve life,

Because life is the biggest math problem in the world.

I’m afraid.

Afraid to find out I’m not good enough.

I’m afraid to share myself with the world just to be shot down,

Shot into a million pieces,

That no one will ever pick up,

And piece back together.

Scared that the pieces will drift

They’ll fall through every crack of the earth

Ever small incision they can find.
I am petrified of not being able to escape those cracks

To slither out of them cracks

But mostly I’m afraid that no one will help me out

Because in that point of my life
I want to know if someone will be there

To help me when I fall

To catch all of my tears

I want to know that someone will give up their lives

Just to help me

Because that’s what I need

I’m afraid of my future

But I’m not afraid of what’s going to get me there

I just hope there will be someone there

At the end of the finish line

Waiting

To give me water

To give me a towel

And say

You did it

Then I know

I won’t be afraid

So future hold back on those dates
Don't tell me yet
I'll tell you when I'm ready
I just hope
You're ready for me.

Tryhard

How is it that a majority of a generation looks down on people for trying

Do they not see any point in it all, just know that everyone is dying

So what’s the reasoning behind spending an evening deepening our knowledge

Working on a project

Dreaming an idea

Only for it to be shot down by the crowds

Screaming out loud

Get your head out of the clouds

You’ll never make anyone proud

It’s a waste of time

I’m trying to climb a mountain of doubt

And all you can do is shout

About the drought inside your own mind

So blind

Lost in the forest of the academically inclined

Guess I’ll just be unkind

Maybe when they’re assigned the role of a tryhard

They’ll stop trying so hard to pick up the shards of their confidence

Alone since everyone decided giving it their all was just a call for attention

But it’s not

It’s their ascension

While others face detentions and suspensions

We face the comprehension that nothing in life comes easy

Not breezy

Makes me queasy to imagine all the struggles to come

Use the beat of a drum to remember when to take a step towards my destiny

Searching for clarity

I know it’s a rarity,

But the key to prosperity

Is knowing how to focus on the positive

Rather than listening to the hate filled rhetoric

That the concept of trying in life is prehistoric

I’m telling you it’s euphoric knowing the truth

That while everyone should enjoy their youth

We need to know when to grow up

Metal Bodies: Chapter 9

The most infamously uncomfortable place Emme had woken up was a pile of tin cans in the back seat of a jeep. His heartbeat flipped as he began to move. This was in juxtaposition to his dawdling movement as he opened the jeep door. But when he finally did, he tumbled down to the ground with a few cans following after him. The landing was softer than expected due to a coat of snow on the earth.

The horizon was stark, but the landscape was snow painted, twinkling, and had tracks and prints peppered here and there. Emme began to stand up as the situation presented itself​. Ahead of him was a train track, but in between the rails was Alex, who was bound. In between Emme and Alex was Stone Hand, who was sermonizing toward the latter. “Ho-es that hold safe thriving -eings, -ut -ehind us are cities and towns that have only -ecome corrupted over time. -ut it was us, the Riot Suitors, who rescued the innocent from those destinations. And we -rought them to that -lace, that haven, where they could thrive and live like they never could have -efore. It was only relatively recent that we had decided to take action against those who have somehow -ecome corru-ted whilst under our hands. That is why you are here, you shall -e -unished for your corru-tion and attem-ts at corru-tion of Emme-,” Stone Hand was silenced as Alex yelled to the executioner. “I don't care about corrupting Emme or whatever, all I wanted to do is return him to that town and then I would just disappear,” Alex’s voice clutched rage, but it was a thin veil for dread.

“S-eaking of which, Emme,” Stone Hand spun around, revealing a rifle held by the menacing statue of a being “I wish to give this to you, with this you can take action toward reclaiming your -eing. Take this, and -ith it extinguish the fla-es created by Alex.” Emme took hold of the gun from a cold gloved hand. He walked forward, the snow crunching under his feet. Alex’s face began to become clear, with the fine detail of a trail appearing. As he gripped the metal and wood of the weapon, memories of being shown how to shoot different types of firearms, just in case something was to happen. Emme raised the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, put his finger on the trigger, spun his body around, and aimed at Stone Hand. The bolt only jutted forward when he fired. In response, a combat knife came flying at Emme. It hit his chest, he was blown over, and became still just outside the tracks.

A train whistle could be heard in the distance.

“I should have known that you would fail that test if that -astard had cut his claws dee- enough into you,” Stone Hand grumbled as Emme was plucked and drawn up by his trench coat collar. The boy’s face was stared at with bits of disappointment, anger, and the feeling of wasted time. Emme grabbed the knife in his chest and stabbed at the mask in front of him. He only punctured it, but then was thrown to the side, leaving a long cut above the mask’s exhalation valve. “Why are you resisting? If you would su-mit there will -e only the cleansing of your -eing. Have you been so corru-ted that you cannot see reality,” Stone Hand pondered as Emme forced himself up. He felt about the inside of his trench coat then withdrew his hand, it more like a fist with a knife in its center. The snow crunched as Emme recovered his footing, and as soon as he assembled himself Stone Hand, who had put the rifle in one hand, hooked the cut in the mask, and pulled down, “Do you think damaging my equi--ent would hurt -e? Hundreds of you have acted the sa-e -ay, destroying our gear. -ut it is not the gear that -akes a Riot Suitor, -hat -akes us is our trained DNA that has -een -assed down and strengthened,” Stone Hand snapped, and by the time the anger subsided, Stone Hand had severed the exhalation valve from the mask and launched it to the ground. This exposed the uncovered coral teeth and puce, pulpy gums of the executioner. The pair were enclosed by ring of scars. The rifle was loaded and aimed at Emme. Stone Hand was abrupt to fire, but the shot was botched and barely hit the rail beside him. “Da--it! Why can't I ever get shooting right! I-it -on't -atter I can't get cut again,” Stone Hand erupted as the rifle was reloaded.

The train whistle was now a booming.

As Emme raced forward, Stone Hand clenched and reeled back the free hand. The fist was thrown forward, but it was met with a knife. It slipped between the fingers, but only was halted when the top of the handle exactly met the knuckles. Stone Hand's body retracted as a scream of agony exploded. A loose glove now held the rifle, and Emme yanked it into his possession. The towering mound tried to regain a strong stance with the enemy shown his size, but this only left an open face that stared down at Emme. He bashed the face above him with the butt of the rifle, knocking pink teeth down their owner’s throat. With Stone Hand choking, Emme ran over to the still bound Alex, who was stunned by what the boy had done. He tossed the rifle to the other side of the tracks, brought out the combat knife, cut, and pulled away the ropes. Once this was done, Emme went behind Alex and pulled him away from the tracks. He sat up and grabbed the rifle when he heard vomiting. Alex stood up to see Stone Hand was now boiling with anger. The steam engine’s fists were solid and movement toward the two were blunt stomps. Alex readied the rifle, steadied it. Stone Hand was now standing in the same place Alex was moments ago. He fired, the bullet did hit, but it hit Stone Hand in the dead center of the chest. Alex's​ hands loosened from the rifle and his face went pale “I missed,” he admitted. The fists, and even the body, of Stone Hand seemed to release. After that time seemed to be frozen, the only movement was blood dripping from the gums of Stone Hand.

It seemed like hours later when the train’s whistle returned, and with it came its originator. And just like that, the tower was obliterated and replaced by a wall of moving train cars. Emme and Alex stared at them. They heard music, but eventually this shifted into moos and stamping. After the train’s last car passed out of view, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, not even the cold seemed to touch the two. “We need to talk,” Emme decreed with drops of regret in his voice.

This is how a star goes

Let me tell you how a star goes

She is a small star
Yet her gravity draws a multitude
into her hypnotic orbit
To some she fills the sky
To others she is the faraway white pinpoint at night
But to all she is the sun
Tiny but blazing
Her rays far reaching
Her heat felt light years away
And when she goes
She contracts to erupt
She expands
to swallow all those near her entranced
scarring them
yet leaving them better than before she appeared
when she goes
she floods their atmospheres
bursting into thin layers of color
stroking the edges of her solar system
she is the melting purple in the sky at the end of the day
she has conquered the clouds
and signed the horizon
hold onto now
and hold onto her
because she is the warmth in your cup of coffee
faith at its finest
frozen in flight
she is a daylily
she is light
but drags your heart to your feet
and takes away the breath that she can't keep

But let me tell you
When a star goes she's never done
she becomes a supernova
a memory blinding in resplendence
bright enough to upstage the Milky Way
and never to be forgotten.

Metal Bodies: Chapter 8

“-ank you for making tracking you down easy. It’s good to see that even after what you’ve done you’re still on our side of the just. I’ll -e at Rodentown -y midnight at least. Again thank you, out,” there was a beep then there was stillness. But before Emme could acknowledge what he heard, he lurched back into rest.

When Emme woke up, the motel room was uninhabited. But a flood permeated his mind. “Where is he? Wait… he… was that a dream?” he mused.

On the table was a seemingly prematurely written note that was scribed on the map. It read, “GONE TO GET CAR YOU GET GAS THEN WE LEAVE -ALEX” Emme discovered this with a building wariness. Tracks began to burrow into the motel carpet as he began pacing. He swallowed the sprouting feeling and moved on, trying to break away the puzzle pieces he forced together. “That wouldn’t make sense, I just was having a nervous dream and I’m…” Emme took a deep breath, “we’re OK.”

Though the gray door had to be opened with the same amount of force, it seemed to open smoother this time. Emme shambled inside the box with a slip of confidence, but a sheet of nervousness. Drew and Jay were gathering up snow that had slipped through the vents. In the left corner was a modest pile of snow. “H-hey, I-i’m here guys,” Emme stuttered. Drew produced a double take when he saw him, “Kid you showed up, that’s great!” “Yeah um... do you have the uh… gasoline?” Emme mumbled.

“Yup, we have it ready. We’re also getting the dinner ready.”

“Yeah… wait, no I forgot to get the sample.”

“Oh that’s fine, we wouldn’t be eating till, like, tomorrow.”

“OK, so other than that, what have you guys been doing.”

“Well, we were talking about just sorta the previous people that were here when you came by. Like Jay’s parents or what not.”

“Cool,” by now Drew handed Emme a gas canister, “I’m gonna go get that sample.”

“Man, I wonder how juicy this sample’s going to be.”

“Juicy? Like a steak?”

“Yeah… why would you ask? You’re the one who has it.”

“Oh… n-nothing I just had a small slip up and forgot some stuff. I’m nervous, that’s going to happen,” then there was a lull of silence. “I bet you are nervous,” was the only input Jay put into this sequence.

Emme shuffled back to the motel with his slip crumpled and his sheet now a poster. When he reached the room, he set the canister on the table. His tight grip upon it loosened like a claw machine. He returned to digging the tracks in the carpet. But before he could work himself up, Alex burst into the room. “Emme, grab the knife, the lighter, the map, and half of the cheese, I’ll carry the other half! Oh yeah, also the gas,” Alex blurted out into the room. Emme jumped back, “God Alex, you almost gave me a heart atta-”

“Just get the stuff and we’ll get going,” Alex sputtered as Emme stuffed most of the tables contents into his trench coat pockets.

As the two jogged to the center of town, the people they passed started to murmur to each other. The center of town was a small clearing that held a single podium and many chairs, and in front of this was a jeep. Far behind the podium were the mechanisms that Emme saw before. When he reached the car, he opened the fuel tank and poured the “gray matter” into it. When the two were roaming toward the driver's seat and passenger's seat doors, the other duo could be seen down the street. “Hey kid, I wanna ask you something,” Jay yelled at Emme. Alex was already sat with his load of the cheese on the floor. But Emme had just a foot in the car. Alex grabbed him by his coat and pulled him onto his seat. “Just drive! Let’s just go,” Alex barked. Emme slammed the door, started the car, and put it in drive. Just as the two burst into drive away, Jay yelled obscenities and began to chase after them. Emme swerved to avoid people, but Jay began to gradually slow down.

When Rodentown was just out of eyeshot the sky had turned a navy blue. “It’s good we got out of there, I don’t know about you but I didn’t want to be caught up in that,” Alex mentioned. Emme’s sludge of ideas started to boil, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, it’s just… nothing.”

“No, tell me what’s happening.”

“Emme it’s fine, you don’t- why did you park the jeep,” Alex stared as Emme got out and stood looking back above Rodentown. Emme’s sludge began to finally solidify. On the far horizon, colorful combustions appeared. Alex got out and also stood staring at the explosions. “Is this what you were worried about,” Emme breathed out.

“N-no I w-was, no that wasn’t.”

“Is this what you Riot Suitors were planning?”

“What? I don’t-”

“It makes sense now, you’re just using me as bait.”

“Emme I don’t-”

“You’ve attacked me, knocked me out, almost kidnapped me, and you made yourself look like you were on my side so I would be trusting of you. But you’re not smart, and I’ve found you out.”

“Emme just,” Alex stared at the person that was talking crazy “get into the car and we can talk about this later.” There seemed to be abounding moments and yet nothing between Alex saying this and him being pushed down by Emme then him whirling the car back to Rodentown.

When Emme arrived, the entirety of Rodentown were gathered at the center of town and one person was talking at the podium. “Thank you all for gathering at such a quick pace. I know to some who are new to our rituals these cloaks and masks are weird and unnecessary. But it is a small choice to participate. But why do we do this? It is to honor the child. The child who sacrificed themselves for our continuing. But there was but one thing that forced our people into that point. It was the gathering of demons that stole their souls. But those times are long gone, and we have now thrived,” the speaker preached. Emme frantically scanned the scene, but nothing was unordinary or out of place. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Two of the citizens took a quick glance behind them, getting just a slight look at Emme. They turned around, scolding the confused boy behind them. One of them formed fists. He started to stomp forward toward Emme. When Emme realized this, he slowly began to back away from the statue towering over him. Jay finally spoke, “You bastard, have you come to steal from us again.” Though he tried to talk, Emme’s throat was shut. Jay was about to speak as a knife flew from his left side, striking through Jay’s neck. Out of the shadows, marching toward the gathering of people which at this point were shaken by what had preceded, was a single tall figure. Emme was one of the few people to truly recognized them. The figure stood over the dying body that they had created. “How dare you insult the innocent,” were the striking words that the figure spoke. Emme turned around and ran away. But the figure was quick to chase after him, run in front of him, stop, and slam their fist into Emme’s face like a stone, knocking him unconscious.