No, mom.

You are not being supportive when you ask me what gender I'm attracted to.

NO, mom.

You are not being supportive when you tell me "I've developed too much to be feminine" (which, fuck you- I totally could be)

NO, mom.

You are NOT being supportive when you tell me I need to "just talk to the counselor" instead of you.

NO, MOM.

YOU ARE NOT BEING SUPPORTIVE WHEN YOU AVOID THE FACT THAT I EVER TOLD YOU ANYTHING.

THAT'S NOT BEING SUPPORTIVE AND HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT YOU ARE WHEN YOU CANT EVEN FATHOM WHY YOUR CHILD COULD POSSIBLY WANT TO KILL THEMSELVES. NO- FUCK YOU MOM. FUCK YOU FOR MAKING ME WISH FOR A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LIFE WITH A MOTHER WHO ACTUALLY CARES AND WILL HELP AND SUPPORT THEIR CHILD.

NO, MOM.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPORTIVE.

My skull is a cage

With a broken lock.

The key fits-

But the door isn't opening.

Pressure's building up

Up

Up

I'm ready to explode

In a fury of

"What if's" and "could have's"

I'm tired of fighting

I'm tired of falling

Giving up has never sounded so blissfully sweet

Yeah, I'm putting one foot in front of the other

But what is that worth when the enveloping mass of black is nipping at my heels

Threatening to swallow me whole

A fistful of pills

A hand gun

A razor blade

Has never looked so inviting

There's not much fight left

And it's a lost cause I've given up on

It's not a matter of "if" anymore

It's a matter of "how long" and "how soon"

Please hurry

So I can be over with

Obliterated to nothing

How long until I can return my life energy to something that actually matters?

I don't matter.

This doesn't matter.

I'm done.

I'm lost.

I'm over with.

Finish me, please.

Please.

Please.

I'm ready.

Take me now

I'm waiting for the code word

Signaling when it's time to end

I'm tired of fighting this fight that's never ending

Endless

Infinite

Paradox

I'm done with hurting and I'm done with hurting others just take me now so I can give up. I'm ready, I promise.

I'm ready.

"Be thankful you woke up today, for God let you live another day."

Fuck this.

FUCK. THIS.

Fuck God.

FUCK GOD FOR TAKING CREDIT OF EVERY ACCOMPLISHMENT I EVER MAKE. HE WASNT THE ONE WHO LET ME LIVE- I WAS. I AM THE ONE WHO SAYS IF I GET TO LIVE OR NOT. I WAS THE ONE WHO DIDNT GUZZLE DOWN PILLS LAST NIGHT- NOT HIM.

IM SICK AND TIRED OF GOD BEING SEEN AS THE CONTROLLER OF ME. I AM MY OWN PERSON. I AM NOT RULED BY A HYPOCRITICAL BASTARD WHO LET'S HIS CHILDREN SUFFER. I AM TRULY RULED BY THE SHADOWS IN MY THOUGHTS AND THE DEMONS IN MY BRAIN THAT GOD COULD NEVER SAVE ME FROM.

FUCK OFF, 'GOD', BECAUSE YOU ARENT AS POWERFUL AS YOU LET PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE. YOURE TERRIFIED OF LETTING PEOPLE KNOW THAT THEY ARE THEIR OWN GODS AND THAT THE POWER TO SURVIVE AND TO CHANGE AND DESTROY LIES WITHIN THEM. BUT YOURE JUST A TYRANT RULING OVER A KINGDOM OF A WEAKENED SPECIES.

BUT GUESS WHAT, GOD? EVERY KINGDOM HAS A LIFECYCLE AND THIS ONE IS ABOUT OVER. WHY DONT YOU LET US LIVE IN PEACE FOR THE TIME THATS LEFT AND GO FUCK UP SOMEWHERE ELSE.

Cooler nights.

A glass head.

Fall me asleep.

I can see the leaves

dropping

in a month or two.

And then the world

will just be brown.

I never thought

I’d feel this way.

I found it

on the cusp of Fall

about to go dormant.

I’ll lie in the leaves

for as long as you’ll let me.

Little bits

will get caught

in my hair.

I will smell of

a gentle decay.

The wet earth beneath

will dampen my clothes.

The evenings will grow dark.

I’ll get cold.

Fuzzy socks

and soup

and tea

won’t warm me.

Mere hours of sleep

won’t hide

a lack of hibernation.

Golden red

will turn to dark slush

under snow.

The world will go brown

except for my blood.

Except for

something yellow

sewn into the dirt.

A bulb I hope

will burst forth

come Spring.

It is still Summer.

Green and vibrant.

But I am ready for change.

To feel a freezing wind

against my cheeks.

To see which way

my mind sways

during life’s

next repetition.

To complain that

Summer isn’t here.

For snow to bead

into liquid

on my boots.

To trod upon stiff grass

and frozen mud.

And eventually see

that first day

warm enough

to not need a coat.

With new knowledge,

and more grey hair.

Stardust. That's what we're all made from. The chemicals that build our bodies originated in stardust just the same way we started in our mothers' wombs.

When I told my mother this in tenth grade after I learned it, she laughed at me. "Stardust? Please, Kelsie, you're nowhere near that special."

As always, I sighed and feigned a smile. My mother wasn't the best as making us feel our best, but she was our mother. It may not have been written anywhere, but we were bound by law to love her in some portion.

I went to school the next day with a bruise on my cheek and a scrape on my knee. Of course, they weren't from my mother. She didn't think I stole her cigarettes at all. She hadn't gotten drunk last night and pushed me to the ground after punching me. That was absurd, Mrs. Young, my mother had never laid a hand on any of us.

I lied the bruise and scrape off as an elaborate story about falling from my bike. Despite being battered every day as a child, I had a creative mind. In fact, maybe I had my mother to thank for the creativity in my imagination. After all, I'd spent months on end imagining what it would be like in a loving family, where I would have a father who did not die from alcohol poisoning and two brothers who didn't hate their lives and get locked up in jail. We would sit down for dinner every night, have long, happy conversations, and retire to bed after playing games or watching a movie.

The life I longed for never came, though.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer within two weeks of the cigarette incident.

She died three months after being diagnosed.

I wasn't too torn up.

I'd plunged into my schoolwork as usual to hide from her, did things around the house, and spoke with my brothers. One of them was getting out of jail in two months, and I would live with our aunt until he got out. Then I would move in with him.

Mother was too weak to yell at me, let alone hit me, so I was actually kind of relieved.

Dressed in a brand new black dress, I left the house with my aunt on the day of the funeral. Blonde hair, finally trimmed and tied back the way I liked it, spilled down my back, and my dress swished around my legs. I'd never worn a dress before, and I found I enjoyed it. I'd have to buy more when I was able.

Mother looked exactly the same she did when she passed out. Her blonde hair was shorter than mine, trimmed by her chin. Gaunt, sharp features stared up at us from the coffin. Her tanned hands crossed over her beer-gut of a stomach.

Even if it was a little morbid, I reached out and touched her cheek gently. A small smile crossed my lips. "Goodbye, Mom," I whispered to the corpse.

I could hear her response ringing in my mind. "This isn't 'goodbye,' Kelsie, it's 'see you soon.'"

When I took my seat in the front row of the seats, next to the brother I would soon be living with, Kyle, something left a shiny powder on the hem of my dress. I frowned at it before realizing it was make up.

"Kelsie McCollough has a few words to share with you all about her mother."

I stood slowly, rethinking all of the lies I was going to tell these people. I didn't know if I could do it.

When I faced the group of family and friends, standing behind the microphone and podium, I simply stared. My lips parted a few times, like I was ready to speak, but I stopped before saying anything.

I looked down at my fingers, the ones that had touched my mother's cheek and picked up the shining pink blush.

Swallowing hard, I glanced back up.

"The components that make up the human body originated in stardust," I begun, leaning forward slightly. The group around me simply stared. "Most of the chemicals within our bodies grew into what we have named from stardust, and they fell to Earth for us to find and name. Isn't that awesome?"

Some people laughed and agreed. I caught my aunt's eye, and she grinned at me.

"Mother didn't seem to think so. I told her this, and I told her that the chemicals were born of stardust like we, made of these chemicals, were born of our parents, like we left the mother's womb. Her reply to me was this: "Stardust? Please, Kelsie, you're nowhere near that special." Special- that was what my mother seemed to want. She wanted to go out special, and she wanted to be special, but she never got the chance."

The whole crowd seemed to be holding their breath.

"This is her chance. Ashes to ashes," I said, licking my lips, repeating the minister that had introduced me, "dust to dust. You know what I say to that? Let's transform it. Just for this woman- this abusive, abused, torn apart, drastic disaster of a woman- let's change this. Let's transform it into something new that applies better.

"Ashes to ashes." I say, proud for the first time in my life. "Stardust to stardust. Goodnight and goodbye, Mother. Perhaps I'll see you in the stars one night."