“Call me.”

“Call me,” she’d say, when she was wheeled along the downtrodden path as her family watched on from the gates teary-eyed

“Call me,” she’d mutter again as the glass doors opened

as if sealing the true longing behind the previous time

but the only ones who heard it were the receptionist at the counter with the plastic smile

and the watchman who tipped his hat regardless of whether those who he met could see or remember his reverence.

What always escaped them

and would continue to

was that her voice would always be too loud

her personality unable to be contained within the aged skin of her existence

like a burst of sunshine on a cloudy day

to someone hoping for rain

“Call me,” would ring out with more exuberance than those white walls could ever understand

to the doctors and nurses

who constantly wore their hearts in their mouths and words on their sleeve

“Call me,” she’d whisper to the girl in pigtails from the next ward over

before she ran back again

who opened her heart again with an orange crayon

a burst of color among a sea of grays

and a smile with teeth as crooked as hers

“Call me,” she sounded sadder as somebody’s son left flowers on her bedside table

kissed her on the cheek and asked if she remembered the boy with the blue eyes and dress shirt

who visited his mother everyday

“Call me,” she’d said every day until recently

to a man with the same blue eyes and a dress shirt as he left for work

who made her feel

just feel

but not anymore.

For a while they were just more words that could not match her grief

and she couldn’t recollect his scent or his smile when she felt low

the years had taken those memories away

perhaps for good

as recently there was a step in her soul, a shine

in eyes that had seen all, and was seeing all again

with childlike mirth and wonder

and the nurse with the kind smile agreed that nothing should taint it

she also eyed the peace that had made its way over into her

“Call me,” she had began to murmur to the cross on her bedside table

next to the diminishing white pills and a worn out photograph of a beautiful family

She used to urge her mind to conjure up some semblance to her life in vain

but now when she prayed it didn’t matter

“Call me,” became a ritual.

To her and to him.

So it wasn’t much of a shock when soon enough

He did.

And it was the only one she remembered.





Sky dive from walls we built.

Dimples make you 30% more attractive.

It’s a fact.

Another fact…

It’s also an actual deformity of the facial structure.

A lesser known fact that we ignore though, is that we see no other deformity in the same manner.

Ever wondered why?

The human brain has been forced to adapt to civility through discipline of the mind throughout the ages, and for the sake of uniformity, also been forced into the illusory concept of normalcy.

The human brain is also stupid and gets carried away often.

Yeah, we easily say stuff like, ‘No one’s normal,’ or ‘Everyone’s made differently,’ but the minute our brain finds something out of the ordinary that we know of, it goes into protection mode as though another person has no right to challenge our familiarity whatsoever.

I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t seem too right to me.

And because I’m a rebellious teen with too much on her mind, I’m about to tell you why.

What we all fail to acknowledge is that lack of acceptance is a whole other issue, when its fear halting us in the first place. I agree, judgement is supremely easy, I’m no stranger to it. So are you, if you live as a part of society and care about what people think.

(To all the people who rolled their eyes at that, I don’t know who you fooling.)

Just like how that doesn’t make you a bad person per se, it doesn’t make these so-called ‘abnormal’ people bad either.

I’ll wait while you process that. Take your time.

“What?! So they’re not going to hurt my super sensitive ego just by existing? WOW!1!!”

Sigh. Yep.

I wish it was that easy though, and it’s not for lack of trying. It’s more of a battle within and outside ourselves. We’re caught between doing the right thing and fear of judgement ourselves, and possible rejection when we do try.

The truth would be easier to swallow if I was talking about just one group of people, but in some twisted way I’m talking about…well everyone. ‘Cos its not just dimples, it’s also cold hands and shaky breaths before having to speak in front of a crowd. It’s keeping your opinion to yourself because of a stammer that you could never control. It’s avoiding any sort of outdoor activity because of the possibility of being lonely. It’s hiding behind layers of make up to seem less conspicuous. It’s just…everywhere. Manifesting its way into the solace of daily life, creeping past walls carefully built.

There’s no flawless perfection, and no one’s free from the clutches of fear. Whether its your mind or your body that makes you stand out, we can always share qualities of basic respect, compassion and want for peace and happiness. Putting others down is the last way to go about it.

If we can accept that we have differences, and have that fact as what makes us similar, then maybe, just maybe we can put ourselves in someone else’s shoes and just be nice. It won’t kill you, and it most definitely doesn’t hurt anyone, unlike comments on bodies and minds that aren’t even yours to begin with.

“Respect my existence or expect my resistance,” holds true now, and has always held true.

You say that don’t need an angst filled sixteen year old, or anyone for that matter, telling you what to do, but your actions speak otherwise. I really don’t know when we began competing against each other regarding things we can’t control or shouldn’t rather, but imagine the amount of beauty we’d see and appreciate if we encouraged each other rather instead of putting ourselves down.

Seems like it’s simpler for me to type my thoughts out at one in the morning than for some people to care, so I guess I’ll continue to do it. Keeping my gaze focused on that tiny ray of hope that one day everyone can see through the deformities that make us human, never hindering, like a dent on the side of a cheek designed by a smile.

But what do I know right?















When I think of home

What should come to mind are shoes at the doorstep and steaming cups of coffee,

Foggy smiles through cold window panes looking over greenery like no other,

But I know deep down

That home is not where you come from, grew up or end up

You create it, no matter where you travel

For home is not a place, it’s a people.

Who said we needed the stars to guide us home

When we found ourselves underneath them instead?

Home is just another feeling, just another time we try and convince ourselves that we can make something last, some eternal concept of feeling safe that we can’t let go of.

It’s in sleep laden eyes late at night as you try and stay awake to get one more word in edgewise, ‘cos a lifetime of conversation ain’t enough.

It’s in a hug that makes you feel like you aren’t as broken as you thought you were.

It’s in that comfort when you realize that you want nothing more than to see someone happy, and your happiness in their existence alone.

It’s pulling each other back from the brink of insanity, laughing and shouting.

It’s in saying with conviction that I’m not perfect, but we definitely could be.

So when I think of home,

I think of three misfits on a park bench, surrounded by the unmistakable sound of laughter

A sort of calm descending upon me

Happy and aware, of how lucky I truly am

To be able to say, “There’s no place like home,” and mean it,

Without the silly red shoes.



Reaching Cloud Nine: Part 1

I found cloud nine three years ago.

And sifted through yellowed pages and soft toys I don’t play with anymore,

broken pencils and laughter on swings along with a park bench

and then I fell.

I fell hard on guitar riffs and broken dreams

dusting meaningless words off my shoulders

but it seems like it wasn’t enough,

Because I jumped again.

Into an abyss of worthless feelings and shards of glass from a shattered hourglass.

I contemplated jumping further.

I heard a laugh and as I turned to look

I felt a push.

and just like that I was falling all over again

arms flailing and control spiraling out of reach.

I land with a thud and the wind knocked out of me.

I see flames that don’t dry the tears I don’t remember shedding

I can’t hear the songs stuck in my head anymore

and just when I feel like I couldn’t go any deeper

I hear that damned laugh again

“You don’t deserve any better.”

So worse is where I go, I guess.

This time I fall on grass

slipping on tear drops and brushing my hair out of my face

ignoring bloodstained veils and fake smiles.

Hope is even further away than clarity

and tragedy more prominent than remedy

Wolfish eyes threaten me all over again

“I can’t do this anymore,” I stutter.

Did I lose my voice along the ride too?

“Who asked you to jump?” he smirked.

I gulped down my fear as he advanced towards me, green eyes gleaming.

I was walking backwards stumbling right into the pit of despair,

but I stop.

“I think I’m done.” I mutter.

He disappears.

Reaching Cloud Nine: Part 2


I look up to see darkness.

One twinkling star. Another. One more.

They littered the sky spelling out the hope I’d lost

and I see a ladder drop out of seemingly nowhere.

A thud as she falls clumsily on the dried grass.

I frown as she dusts herself off.

“What you doing here?” I ask puzzled.

“Ready to go home?” she asks me.

I scoff. “Where’s that supposed to be?”

She shrugs and adds, “Out of here at the very least.”

I look up again. and then down at my feet.

“I’m fine here.”

She rolls her eyes. “I did not climb down three fricken’ stories to go back empty-handed.”

I refuse to meet her eyes.

I realize I don’t wanna leave. I’m too tired to.

“Well I brought this,” she holds up the headphones I probably dropped in cloud nine like some sort of a trophy.

Tears spring to my eyes and before I know it I’ve snatched it from her and run my fingertips over the once smooth edges.

Familiar chords and beats decorate the air above me.

“Come with me,” she whispers. “I kinda miss you.”

I swallow my trepidation but it cuts through me like a dagger.

“I’m better off here.” I whisper back.

Right then the music flows through me.

Familiarity surges through me faster than panic ever could.

I take in a breath and my hand moves to the ladder with a mind of its own.

I hear a sigh of relief from behind me.

My hands clench around the splintered wood.

I shut my eyes tightly.

I don’t know if I should even bother…

A tap on my shoulder snaps me out of my reverie.

“There’s no end, you know that right?” she says.

“Please keep chasing me,”I sang, wondering if she’d remember the song lyric. I let go of the wood.

“Your southern constellations got me so dizzy,” she said without missing a beat.

“Heights do that to a person.” I said stupidly.

“I don’t really care. I’d rather not leave you.” she said with conviction,

“No.” I said, my voice haggard, unlike my own.

She shrugged again, like it didn’t matter all of a sudden. She continued walking towards the ladder.

My heart sank further when she didn’t look back.

She climbed the first rung.

I couldn’t hear myself think.

Sirens screaming with the lie I told.

Eyes wide I screamed at my legs to move, go after her.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t move.

My chest constricted, as if water had filled my lungs.

I’d have preferred it to be honest.

I’d at least have known what was going on.

She turned to look at me and the sirens halted.

One breath. Two. Three.

Four steps.

When did that happen?

Her eyes bore into me, urging, pleading, as she slowly extended her hand to me.

I looked up again at the sky.

“Fuck it.”

She laughed and grabbed my hand.

“We’ll be fine you’ll see.”

Just this once, I let myself believe her.


Unexpected Consequences

The ball bounced over the wall and the boy ran after it cursing his luck. With every step he took, he came closer to what every teen feared the most – embarrassing themselves in front of their crush. The situation was especially bad for Erin because he was a geek and everybody knows what the popular people think of geeks. Loser. Crazy. Nerd.

He shivered as his brain supplied him with all the ways the encounter could go horribly wrong. Standing in the front of the gate, he cleared away the scenarios running through his mind and forced himself to stay positive. He paused for a minute assuring himself that nothing bad would happen and was feeling almost confident, before he looked down and realized that he was wearing the nerdiest t-shirt he owned, which was saying something because he owned a lot of nerdy t-shirts.

Any confidence that he had managed to capture flew out of his grasp. The anxiety flooded his bloodstream again and he decided that his ball was not worth the clammy palms and racing heart, even though it was limited edition and featured a beautiful rendition of the throne room of Dragonstone.

Just as he was turning to leave, however, the gates opened and standing in front of him in all his crush-worthy glory was Arden.

“Oh hello! This is your ball right? I was just coming to return it,” he said, as if he did not just give Erin a heart attack.

“Meep,” Erin squeaked, internally screaming at himself for being so awkward.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Arden replied with a confused smile and an utterly adorable tilt of his head.

“I, erm, yes. It’s mine. Sorry for bothering you. Thank you for bringing it to me. Or. Well. You know, wanting to, seeing as I’m on your doorstep. Oh. But, it’s not a door. So gate-step? Anyways I’m sorry for rambling. You’re probably busy. I’ll get out of your way. I’m sorry and thank you. Again.”

He started to walk away, blushing furiously but stopped when he felt a hand on his elbow. He turned to see Arden smiling at him hesitantly.

“Do you have to go just yet? I was just about to start watching the season finale of Game Of Thrones. If you’re free, we could maybe watch it together?” Arden questioned, lightly scratching the back of his neck.

Erin’s brain short-circuited.

“You want to what!? I mean, why would you want to do anything with me? Wait, is this a pity thing? I don’t want your pity. Or is it a dare? I refuse to be entertainment for yo–”

“Hey, slow down! This is not a dare or a joke or a pity thing! I promise you that asking you o– uh, that is, wanting to watch the greatest show ever with you is a purely selfish motive as, unfortunately, my friend circle would rather not deal with me screeching at a TV. However, that leaves me to watch it with you, so maybe I’m not so unfortunate after all.” He winks and gestures to his house invitingly.

“Well? What do you say?”

Erin hesitated. His self-esteem would never recover if this turned out to be a ploy to capture his shame. But Arden just asked him to watch a show together! His favorite show at that. He couldn’t not do this.

Which is how he came to the conclusion that he would. Purely out of loyalty to the Starks, of course. Not because he had a crush or because said crush winked at him. No, that would be stupid.

Eh. What was the worst thing that could happen.

Lots. Of. Things. So. Many. Embarrassing. Possibilities.




Ostriches And Loose Change.

“Jasey Rae” by All Time Low.

I press play.

Music was my release. Always has been, always will be. After such a pressing day in school (which I say to myself every day), I can’t do without it.

It’s not a coping mechanism, I try to convince myself.

Inner me knows better. I shake myself out of my thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. Which happens to be finding a bus so I can get home.

Easier said than done, as always.

I sigh and switch the song playing.

Lights out
I still hear the rain
These images that fill my head
Now keep my fingers from making mistakes
Ironic how tiny droplets of drizzle cover the pavement in front of me. I look around as is expected, and see a friend of mine coming towards me enthusiastically.
Play it cool, my anxiety whispers.
Stand up straighter, my self esteem ushers.
I do both as nonchalantly as possible, taking out one of my earphones.
We exchange the usual hellos, and talk for a bit while she waits for her Dad.
Then the expected question. She asks how I’m going back home.
“By bus,” I say, motioning to the road in front of me.
The traffic drowns out my voice.
“I couldn’t hear you, what did you say?
My demons smirked and flashbacks of when I was younger clouded my head.
Tell my voice what it takes
To speak up
Speak up
And keep my conscience clean when I wake
My teacher telling me to be a little louder in class as I told a story, as my ten year old self looked at her shoes wanting to disappear.
My parents telling me that there was no point saying anything worthwhile if I wasn’t loud enough.
My friends hesitantly telling me that me singing well didn’t matter, because they just couldn’t hear me.
Or maybe no one wanted to, whispered my mind.
I blocked that out too.
Maybe that’s why I turned to writing, I contemplated.
This took all of about five seconds before I realized I’d zoned out, so I cleared my throat and repeated myself with a smile.
I’m used to that too, but what the heck.
Don’t make this easy
I want you to mean it
Jasey. (say you’ll mean it)
We said goodbye, and I gladly put my earphones back in.
I wish I’d stop thinking about so much while talking to anyone. It’s just simple conversation, but in my head I’ve dissected every single word and what it may have meant, could have meant.
You have a bus to catch Iris. Get it together.
You’re dressed to kill
I’m calling you out (don’t waste your time on me)
I finally see a bus that takes the right route and hop into it.
…is what I wish happened.
Instead I probably resembled an ostrich running across the road, wisps of hair flying across my face, and my clumsy self clambering into the bus.

With a raised eyebrow, the conductor looks at me, and then asks me where I’m headed to. I mutter the name of my stop and dig my hands into my pockets searching for change.

I feel the eyes of the other passengers in the bus bore holes into the back of my head.

They’re probably wondering why you take so long just to get a ticket. They’re judging you, as usual…

Constantly telling myself that I’m paranoid, I take out the required amount and hand it to him.

Dropping a coin in the process.

Now there’s an aching in my back
A stabbing pain that says I lack
The common sense and confidence 

To bring an end to promises

Cursing all over again, my anxiety laughs at me.

That I make in times of desperate conversation
Hoping my night could be better than theirs in the end
Just say when

“I’m sorry.”

Two words bordering on meaning too much and yet not enough.

I grab the coin and give it to him, and he didn’t seem too pleased as he handed my ticket.

Don’t make this easy
I want you to mean it
Jasey. (say you’ll mean it)
You’re dressed to kill
I’m calling you out, (don’t waste your time on me)

I grabbed a seat right before the next speed breaker, ignoring the pain that shot through my shoulder as I hit it against the bar.

Stuffing the ticket and the damned change back in my bag, I turned up the volume.

I’ve never told a lie
And that makes me a liar
I’ve never made a bet
But we gamble with desire

This is anxiety. Welcome to the world of 25% of people everywhere.

Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to just do – you know? Act, not contemplate. Without thinking so much or let it get in the way of every single thing my body does or says.

It clings to me like a second skin, always there, subtle, but making its presence known, always.

I’ve never lit a match
With intent to start a fire

Take talking on the phone for example. To order a meal. Gosh, the irrational fear of the phone call, the person itself, them judging you- it all gets too too much. And I don’t know why.

Why is a question I’ll probably ask myself forever.
But recently the flames
Are getting out of control

It seems never ending…will I end up living my entire life scared? To ask for a napkin at a restaurant? To dial an unknown number? To just exist?

While everyone passes me by, talking animatedly, continuing with their lives because they don’t worry about every single thing that happens in their life.

Call me a name
Kill me with words
Forget about me
It’s what I deserve

Yeah, it’s exactly what you deserve. You totally deserve those stares and that constant pain of why you can never do things right.

But…I don’t. Do I?

No one deserves impatient receptions or waitresses, or to make phone calls they’re terrified of making.

But everyone deserves a chance to try and get it right.

I was your chance
To get out of this town
But I ditched the car
And left you to

Sometimes, I don’t know if I should feel sorry because so many people feel the way I do on a daily basis and like their feelings aren’t valid enough to even be spoken about.

Wait outside
I hope the air will serve to remind you
That my heart is as cold as the clouds of your breath
And my words are as timed as the beating in my chest

Meanwhile the practical part of me insists.

I’m not the only one who feels this way, and it’s totally okay. We’ll find a way. And some day we can buy ourselves a chocolate with confidence.

Until then, I got my music.