Riley Choma

I am an individual that looks in the mirror and sees a body but not myself.

In a world that forces us into defining bubbles I ready a handful of pins.
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I know lonely
I know lost
I know judgment
I know fear
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Last picked.
Last sought.
Last seen.
First fought.
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Breath and release like the wind, not with destruction, but rather creation.


Exhale your words and throw yourself out, and not out like gone, but like forward.
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It wasn't suppose to be like this.
I wasn't born for wet lashes and salt upon my lips; quivering.
I wasn't born for public silence and internal screaming.
It wasn't suppose to be like this…
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My days fill me with memories I grow to regret, and just that thought makes the sky bend
Like ink from a broken pen unannounced staining what was once clean
My life is plagued by a darkness that can't be risen
Words I can't say fill my lungs with water and I choke
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It's summer vacation and it's thirty degrees.

A sixteen year old girl feels rejected like oil in water and despite how she tries she knows she'll always be separate from those who are wanted.
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Silence; an absence of sound but louder than any.

Like drowning you feel suffocation with-in imperfection.
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Have you ever sat in your room alone starting up at the ceiling all day?


Every part of you aches as your mind says just give up, so you lay there asking yourself..
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There is a knife in my back.

Blood is running out as the rest drowns my soul, but it seems to be just out of reach and I can’t pull it back.
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She was glass that scratched like the screen of a smart phone.

Down the hallways she was kicked around as she waited for the day when she would be picked back up, but when ever she were it was never long before she was thrown back down.
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From an early age I remember wanting to be 16, and how good teens looked on TV.

I dreamt of frilly dresses and parties full of people; I dreamt of my self all grown up.
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With-in the mosaic in which I live I coexist with many.

I coexist with different religions, cultures, languages and dialects; I coexist with race, sexuality and gender.
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Search and seizure.

Search of the mind and seizure of the expression with-in.
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Soft like fleece was her skin, and oh how beautiful it were when rosey after the cold.


Her love is warm like the sun, and even though not meant for me I can't help but feel it.
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Day by day, crosses and graves stones lay..
Row by row we all gather..
When they go we get sad then grow sadder...
When they all fall we no longer stand tall...
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Peace and quiet, it was the fourth of April..
The phone rang and I sprang..
This news was unbearable..
Tears rolled down as I hit the floor, shattered, beaten and tattered..
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One want, One need, Strugeling to maintain...
Life darkens, brightens and fades, and so soon it shall drain, strugling to maintain..
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Don't tell me what i feel, you don't control me...

Don't tell me what i can and can't do, you don't own me..
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