Bullied.

Throughout my blog you'll discover that I love poetry. Writing it, reading it and taking it in. So of course when my teacher tells us we will be writing one, topic of our choice, I get a little excited.

Rules - 10 syllables per line and a "ababcdcdefefgg" writing pattern aka a sonnet.

Bullied,

It takes being the jinxed or an outcast

To understand what hiding in plain sight 

Means, even with Sun there is an overcast.

Why is his own opinion never right? 

No one cares until you've rounded third-base 

Or you’re dying, wait why are they crying?

How many more ugly words will we have to take?

Course those words hurt, what were you implying

Words of warning we couldn't have been primed 

Bullying shouldn't be used for others' clarity 

So next time before you speak keep in mind 

A bullet is cheaper than therapy,

Remember don't blame the shaken finger, 

It's always the thought behind the trigger. 

_Hayley Olivia_

Some of my friends said this made them cry and others didn't know what I meant. I think now a days people tend to over-analyze too much or try too hard to understand poetry. On that note I'll let you all decide for yourselves what this poem means.

Hope all is well,

Hugs from Hayley 

A Message to my Generation

A message to my generation

by - Molly Kate Kestner

This poem sums up our generation perfectly, and once again brings out my love for poetry
Enjoy,
Hugs from Hayley

"Couples Therapy"

Every Thursday I go to couples therapy with my depression. He whispers in my ears to stay in bed for another day, presses his palm to my chest afraid I'm going to escape the covers. After I scrape myself out of the shower I still smell like him. Like midnight panic attacks, like first in basis with CBS pharmacist, like I'm not hungry I already had a Rice Krispies treat today. Our sessions with our therapists are 50 minutes. We spent that time restating the same issues to her. We've been on again, off gain since high school, but this time it has been a solid year that got to me into getting serious.
She asks about my appetite. No, I haven't been eating but he likes me skinny, it makes it easier for him to be big spoon, it's like I disappear in him, like his body swallows mine. She asks if I have done anything with my friends lately. Not in a while, we usually stay-in. My friends aren't that thrilled when we are out together. That's what happens when you've been with someone so long. She asks if anything has changed since I started with the Zoloft. He digs his nails into the chair, grates his teeth, she asks me again. He gets jealous, but Zoloft treats me well.Takes me to breakfast in the morning, feeds me French toast. He got mad though; something like cheating on him, threatening to take out the scissors so I threatened to see Zoloft even more; all of them. Allat once; I almost did.
She asks if that was the night took me to the health center. "Yeah, but it was just one time." And the nurse said no visitors, takes Zoloft away from me, so we got to spend some quality time as a couple again. Our therapist thinks I'm only with him because my father called mother a whore, or because I still sometimes wish I were straight or because I have never had a serious love life. She doesn't understand this is the most serious relationship I have ever had. She says time's up, come back next week. He mutters, “Fine." under my breath, slams the door on our way out. Our therapist said that there have been improvements over the past few weeks; that he and I would probably always be together, but that I'll be more independent soon.
Lately, I've started thinking more about that. Mornings when I wake up hungry. My body remembers how to live the matters on its own, feel its arm shrink from my waist for a few hours, so I can finish a poem. Watch, "Pats and Rick". Eat a sandwich; make the bed without crawling back in even when he says that without him I would be a guarded house, scraped clean, creaking and caving in. Sometimes I still think he's right, but last week I stepped on to the scale I gained three pounds. It's only three pounds but it's all me. It's all me.

By - Patrick Roche

While this poem doesn't apply to me it gave me chills. This guys interpretation of depression and the situation shows his talent and brings out my love for therapy.

Hope you enjoy
Hugs from Hayley

Shane Koyczan the "Hilarious and the Haunting"

 https://www.ted.com/talks/shane_koyczan_to_this_day_for_the_bullied_and_beautiful

(Overlook the cursing) 

To This Day ... for the bullied and beautiful

Going with my little poetry theme tonight I decided to shared this last one that I find both hilarious and Haunting. While watching this video I laughed, teared up, and got chills. 

It's worth 15 minutes of your time I promise!

Goodnight everyone,

Hugs from Hayley

"High School Training Ground"

Random selfie from my first YouTube video

 At 7:45 a.m., I open the doors to a building dedicated to building, yet only breaks me down. I march down hallways cleaned up after me every day by regular janitors, but I never have the decency to honor their names. Lockers left open like teenage boys' mouths when teenage girls wear clothes that covers their insecurities but exposes everything else. Masculinity mimicked by men who grew up with no fathers, camouflage worn by bullies who are dangerously armed but need hugs. Teachers paid less than what it costs them to be here. Oceans of adolescents come here to receive lessons but never learn to swim, part like the Red Sea when the bell rings.

 This is a training ground. My high school is Chicago, diverse and segregated on purpose. Social lines are barbed wire. Labels like "Regulars" and "Honors" resonate. I am an Honors but go home with Regular students who are soldiers in territory that owns them. This is a training ground to sort out the Regulars from the Honors, a reoccurring cycle built to recycle the trash of this system.

 Trained at a young age to capitalize, letters taught now that capitalism raises you but you have to step on someone else to get there. This is a training ground where one group is taught to lead and the other is made to follow. No wonder so many of my people spit bars, because the truth is hard to swallow. The need for degrees has left so many people frozen.

 Homework is stressful, but when you go home every day and your home is work, you don't want to pick up any assignments. Reading textbooks is stressful, but reading does not matter when you feel your story is already written, either dead or getting booked. Taking tests is stressful, but bubbling in a Scantron does not stop bullets from bursting.

 I hear education systems are failing, but I believe they're succeeding at what they're built to do -- to train you, to keep you on track, to track down an American dream that has failed so many of us all. -Malcolm London

 I don't live in Chicago but this poem still means a lot to me and I assume my fellow teenagers everywhere all over the 50 states and possibly even across the world. I felt the need to share this with everyone because I walk through the "Red Sea" 5/7 days out of the week and see kids who need to be reminded that they aren't alone.

Stay strong (:

Hugs from Hayley