Jaylen

Hello!!! I'm Jaylen but for some reason, people call me Nikki :p. I'm an autistic soon to be 21 year old who LOVES to express herself through writing. I've been through A BUNCH of shit so I'm as strong as can be :) and judge me all you want, no one asked for your approval ;)

[jaylenniki]

Women’s Rights

I just felt like I needed to point this out. I don’t know if anybody will read this, but I find this important to be mentioned. Hopefully this doesn’t become controversial. I feel like Republican men believe that men are superior to women and that men are the best and superior gender. Sometimes religion ties into this, but just let me say this: if God made men first and women last, that doesn’t mean that men are better. I’m agnostic so I respect both religious and non-religious views but I know that the first time you do something, it’s not the best. I bet God made men first and then thought “I can do better” and then made women. So for the men who say “Well, God made men first, so men are better”, you’re an idiot who speaks bullshit with every word you speak. Just because you have a penis doesn’t mean you create life, women do that much more than men. Yes, you need sperm from a man, but here’s the difference. A man just has sexual intercourse and that’s about it. The woman can get pregnant and suffers for 9 months. We get swollen ankles, nausea, dizziness, we can feel the baby kicking which is painful; basically we have pain, hoping we don’t lose the baby through a miscarriage, which happens more than you think. When we lose a baby, we get depressed. And what do the men do? NOTHING. All they can do is try to console her but consoling isn’t enough. SHE JUST LOST SOMETHING SHE WAS REALLY ATTACHED TO. Female hormones make us want to have a child and we care for it before it’s even born. Men, imagine losing your dick. Now, that would REALLY take you for a ride. For a woman losing a child, it’s similar to that feeling and it’s even worse if the woman goes 9 months and births a stillborn child. Having a stillborn is like if a man lost his dick and a tiger tried to eat it and you had to get it back and reattach it. IT’S HARD. That’s the reality of that. The man does just one simple thing and the woman has to suffer. How does that make men superior to women? Maybe if men had to suffer like women, maybe you would think twice before you say women are inferior. Men should NEVER have the ability to tell women what they can and can’t do with their bodies. If you’re religious, you’re most likely against abortion because you believe that you are rejecting God’s will to give you a child, by not having an abortion, you are essentially saving a life. But those same people who want to “save a life” won’t take the Covid vaccine, which saves lives. This logic makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER. Plus, for all those people who prayed to God asking for a solution to stop the coronavirus, He gave it to you!! The vaccine is the solution you’ve been praying for and now you won’t take it?! YOU WANTED A SOLUTION, YOU GOT IT SO TAKE IT FOR GOD’S SAKE. Anyway, I’m digressing. Let’s go back to men and women. Like I said, men shouldn’t have a say in what women can or can’t do with their bodies. What if a young woman got raped and it resulted in a pregnancy. That woman does not want to have a constant reminder of that traumatic event so she should be granted an abortion. But men think they control everything (which they don’t) and they believe they can “control” women’s rights. For many years, women have had to fight for the right to vote, the right to own land, the right to have equal pay and we’re still fighting for equal pay in the workplace. Men have passed law after law, making sure that white men were considered first and the top priority while tossing women and minorities to the side with no remorse or compassion. We had to fight for ourselves in an unfair male dominated world. Why can’t we just be considered equal? That’s all we want. We don’t want to be better than men, we just want to be treated fairly. What’s the problem with women--who are are the same species as men, we’re all human beings with thoughts and feelings--being considered the same as men? It’s so simple. Just let women be equal to men! How hard is that? Like, seriously, how hard can it be? We don’t want to be superior to men, ‘cause that’s just low. We don’t want to be inferior anymore. We’ve been fed up for hundreds of years and we’ve done everything we can but men--being the savages that they are--are not budging. I’m currently being paid $13/hr for a job that a man can do but men could be being paid $16/hr with the same job that I’m doing. If I was working in sales, I--being a woman--could be earning $30,000 a month but a man in the same position could be earning $60,000 a month. That’s just unfair. I believe I have now said my piece. I’m just really passionate about this topic so I apologize for how long this post has become. But it’s important to see the world as I see it, because if we see different perspectives from different people, then maybe we can make a change in our society. So, Jaylen, out. 

[jaylenniki]

Without a struggle, there can be no progress.

Frederick Douglass

[jaylenniki]

Never get to the point where you will be ashamed to ask anybody for information. The ignorant man will always be ignorant if he fears that by asking another for information he will display ignorance. Better once display your ignorance of a certain subject than always know nothing of it.

Booker T. Washington

[jaylenniki]

I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has had to overcome while trying to succeed.

Booker T. Washington

[jaylenniki]

An inch of progress is worth more than a yard of complaint.

Booker T. Washington

[jaylenniki]

The happiest people are those who do the most for others. The most miserable are those who do the least.

Booker T. Washington

[jaylenniki]

I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and to incur my own abhorrence.

Frederick Douglass

[jaylenniki]

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality… I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.

Martin Luther King Jr.

[jaylenniki]

The Day of Death

It was December 1st, 1958. I was at work at the Chicago Fire Department in the West Side of Chicago. It was a very slow day, as the station is only busy when there’s a fire somewhere. I had started working here about a year ago and I saved a lot of people in that one year. I was in the middle ranks, happy where I was. But to be honest, I was never happy. I walked into the quiet hallway at the back of the station, wearing my heavy beige uniform, gripping my firefighter’s hat in my left hand. I slouched down in the corner and put my hat on my chest and let out a sigh. Finally, I thought. Some alone time. I closed my eyes knowing that I shouldn’t because I knew that it would be the same every day, but I did so anyway. Flashbacks of memories, painful memories appeared in my vision. 

It was September 19th, 1945. I was twelve years old. I had just finished school for the day and arrived at the bus stop on the bright yellow school bus. I got off at my stop and walked one block home from the bus stop with a large smile on my face, ready to tell my parents everything that had happened that day at school. The air smelled of early fall and rainbows of leaves were scattered all over the sidewalks and the street, colors of orange, yellow, and bright red, just like the sunrise in the morning. I skipped the entire way home and once I arrived, my younger brother was already home from elementary school and was at the kitchen table doing homework. He heard the front door open and close and saw me put down my school items by the shoe closet next to the front door. He turned to me and tried to insult me. But I basically roasted him, he was in second grade, he had terrible insults.

  “If I were a bird, you’d be the first person I’d poop on,” he said in his nasally voice.

 I scoffed and fired back, “Watch out guys, threatening insults over here.” He tried harder.

  “Are you insulting me? Shock me. Say something intelligent.”

  And I said back, “Brains are awesome. I wish everyone had one.”

  We went back and forth until Papa stepped in. Papa had the black hair and blue eyes like me. Anyone could easily tell that we were related. 

  “Woah, woah, hey guys! No need to argue and insult each other.”

 My brother, Alex, pointed at me and said, “She started it!”

 “I did not!” I replied.

  “Did too!”

  I narrowed my eyes into slits. “Why you little-”

  Papa stood between us and told us to knock it off. Mama stepped into the kitchen with a smile on her face.

  “Marcus, they’re just kids. They’re going to fight,” she said in a soothing voice. Oh, how I miss that voice.

  “Carolyn…” Papa pleaded,

  “It’s fine, Marc.” Mama looked away from Papa and turned her eyes to Alex. “Alex, please do your work.”

  Alex looked at his paper and said in a defeated tone, “Okay, Mama. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, baby. You are forgiven,” she said with a smile.

 I glared at Mama and Alex, feeling defeated by Alex and unsure of who to blame for the anger inside of me.

  “Ashley, let it go,” Papa said sternly.

  I clenched my fists so hard I had pinched through my skin. “No!” I screamed.

  Papa’s face twisted with intense anger and his eyes turned into those of a demon’s. “Go to your room! Now!”

 Mama just stood there, looking at Papa with her hazel eyes that was so beautiful with her amber hair, looking uncertain. She opened her mouth to say something but she closed it immediately. 

  I hadn’t moved from the spot and I was livid. Papa’s face twisted with even more rage. “Now!” He yelled. 

  “I hate you!” I yelled and ran upstairs, stomping on each step to my room and slammed the door.

  “Marcus…”

  “Carolyn, I don’t have time for this.” Alex was smiling, but Papa caught him. “Get rid of that smile, young man. You’ll get no storytime.”

  Alex’s smile immediately vanished and was replaced with teary eyes and a quivering mouth. “No storytime?” his voice cracked.

  “Yes, bad children don’t deserve storytime, they must be good children.” He stormed off and went into his office.

  Alex started crying. I observed everything through a crack in my door. “Papa, I am good! I want storytime! Forgive, Pa, forgive!”

  “Alex…” Mama pleaded.

  “No!” He threw his pencil to the floor and ran crying to his room. 

 I closed my door completely and hot tears streaked down my face. I heard footsteps, and then a soft knock on my door. It was Mama. 

  “Can I come in?” That voice she used, it sounded pained and sad. I reached my hand to the doorknob without getting up off the floor. She entered and looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Ash.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Papa was so...mean.”

  “I know, honey, but-”

   “How many more days will he be in this house? He’s rude to you, and he’s mean to his children. He’s not the father I wanted. I want the old Papa, where he was so happy and he was our home and we were his. Where did that Papa go?”

  A single tear ran down my cheek. Mama gently washed it away. “He’ll be back.”

  “No, he won’t. He’s changed, a monster. And you keep him here! With us! Why?! Don’t you see he’s hurting us?! He made a five year old cry! He yelled at me, and he just ruins this family. You keep him here! You…” I was out of words to yell at her. 

 “He’ll be gone soon.” She left the room and closed the door. 

 I turned away from the door and realized that I’d been holding back an ocean of tears. I let the dam holding the ocean in place break and I cried as hard as my small body could. I brought my knees to my chest and buried my head into my chest. I sobbed for what felt like hours. I never left my room the rest of the day. I even skipped dinner. I was just too upset, plus I had lost my appetite. The sun had set and the clock read half past nine. I remember that that was the worst night I had ever experienced. I had fallen asleep in my bed without noticing and I was woken up by the smell of smoke. I quickly opened my eyes to see black smoke coming through the door. 

   I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Mama! Papa!” I rushed to the door, dark black smoke making my eyes water. I opened my door to see a large fire near my parents bedroom. I could hear Alex screaming from his room. “Mama! Papa!” I screamed again, even louder than before and heard a small cry from Mama.

  “Ashley! Alex!”

  “Ashley! Help is on the way!” Papa sounded scared, I’ve never heard that tone from him.

  I could hear sirens coming down the street. It felt like time was slowing down and each second that passed all I could think was that I was going to die. Then I heard the front door being banged forcefully. It was locked to prevent burglars, and it came down in seconds. 

  “Mama! Papa!” I screamed again, unsure of what to do. All I could do was scream until the blazing inferno consumed me and everything I knew. 

  I heard shouting coming from downstairs. Then, fast paced footsteps up the stairs. I started bawling my eyes out, helplessly watching as the fire had reached my parents door and had completely covered it. Alex had come out of his room holding his favorite teddy bear he got from Papa when he was three. I saw Alex make his way through the smoke, screaming and crying for his life. The firefighters had made it upstairs and rushing to Alex, attempting to save him but they were too late. The doors exploded with Alex nearby. His last noise was a scream and then everything became silent except for the sound of lapping flames. His brown teddy bear was all that I could see as the flames started to devour it.

 “Alex! Mama! Papa!” No answer, the only answer I got was from the fire. 

  The firefighters yelled and pulled me out of the house and I was struggling in their death grip on me. I was pulled outside and they put out the fire with a water hose. I fell to my knees on the soft grass, crying so hard that I might have exploded right there on the spot. I looked up to see firemen carrying Alex’s burned dead body out. When I saw him, a rush of pain and sadness coursed through my veins, causing me to scream his name and cry harder and louder.

  “Alex! Al-A…” I was at a loss for words.

 The only thing that came out of me were tears of sadness, pain, sorrow, and guilt. I was never nice to him, and the last thing he will remember is how mean I was and how mean Papa was. I cried even harder when my parent’s blackened burned bodies were carried out, both Mama and Papa. Mama was so nice to me and I was rude to her. She will remember that moment for all eternity. And Papa, I loved him. He was mean, but he still deserved my love. I never gave him any. I cried my little heart out, they were my life and now my life was gone, so I was gone. I wanted to die with them, we would be reunited in heaven and never be apart. I had lost everything I had cared about, my family was my home. That home was gone. When things are broken, sometimes they can’t be fixed. This couldn’t be fixed; forever broken and thrown in the trash, never to be able to be found and never could be replaced. Like a piece of ancient expensive china, one of a kind, never to be seen again.

   I opened my eyes, warm tears running down my cheeks. I sniffled and wiped the tears away with my arm. An announcement and a siren filled the building. 

 “All units, report for duty. I repeat, report for duty. There is a fire, all units respond.”

  Here we go, I thought. Let me make sure it never happens again.

 I stood up and focused my attention on the present day, knowing if I even had one thought of my family, I would start crying uncontrollably again. I had to be the tough one now. I put my hat on and headed to the main part of the building and slid down the pole. All my ranks entered the fire truck and we set course for a Catholic school called Our Lady of the Angels in the West Side of Chicago. When we arrived, all I could see was total chaos. The entire school was being eaten up by bright orange and yellow flames that haven’t eaten in decades. The most intense part of the fire was on the second floor, trapping innocent kids and nuns inside. I could see parents rushing to the building in groups. At first, I didn’t know why they were all crowded in front of all the windows. I then saw children in the windows. The parents were running to the windows to tell their children to jump from the second story into their arms. And kids were actually jumping into their arms. We all got out of the truck and my co-worker Patrick grabbed the ladder and I grabbed the hose. I kept telling myself my purpose. Remember, don’t let anyone die, I thought. It’s my only sole purpose in life. I saw Patrick put up ladders to the windows for the trapped victims to use. I was watching the frenzy going on and I knew a hose wouldn’t cut it. All the screaming took me back to that September day in 1945. Something came over me and I dropped the hose and rushed up the ladder into the burning building, ignoring everyone’s calls for me to use the hose. I entered the building and saw children stumbling, crawling, clawing and fighting their way to the windows, trying to breathe and escape. Many young kids jumped or were pushed out of the windows before all the ladders had been put up. Many small children who managed to secure a spot at a window were unable to climb over three foot high window sills, or were pulled back by others frantically trying to scramble their way out. I helplessly watched in horror as classrooms that were still filled with frightened children exploded in flames. I shielded my eyes from the bright flash and the explosion made my ears ring. I entered classroom 208 which was full of forty-seven students. Several ladders were placed near the windows. A ladder placed by a janitor reached high enough to the window, allowing several students to escape. But three boys were still at their desks, not moving. I knew that I couldn’t save them. They had died from a spurt of heated gases. There’s still hope, I thought. Even though three are gone from the world, I can still help, right? I entered classroom 209, and found the door hard to open. I forcefully pushed it open and I saw that someone had stacked books at the door to slow the entry of the smoke which had provided an easier jump for their survival. Everyone had already escaped. I went from room to room, saving as many people as possible. I entered room 212 and saw a young boy--he looked to be about ten years old--who was gasping for air. I picked him up and carried him out the window and climbed down the ladder. I remember a photo was taken of me by a reporter carrying the boy out of the building. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Every child who escaped made me happier with each rescue. That didn’t last long when most of the nuns and children didn’t survive. My happiness faded when a worker named Richard carried a deceased burned boy out. The next dead person was a little girl. A nun, more children. Images from my past flashed before my eyes when I saw the children’s parents cry and scream upon seeing their deceased children. I would never be happy after this; I had let these children die from a fire that mysteriously erupted in the stairwell.

  After all my work was done, my shift done at the station, I drove home. All I could see was innocent children and nuns burnt, faces disfigured, skin burnt off, so many images, I couldn’t take it. I ran to get something from my collection box that held all my collections of souvenirs and hunting items from adventures and camping trips as a kid. I pulled out what everyone would hear. I closed my eyes and my family dying came up, then the fire, all the feelings I had bottled up all these years, I let it control me. I cried loudly and thought, I’ll be happy soon. I’ll find you Mama, with Papa and Alex. We’ll be a family again. I put the pistol to my head, and I was free. Everyone heard the gunshot, and the public saw the cause of death was suicide. A day of death ruins all.

[jaylenniki]

True Colors

Sirens filled the hills. The girl remembered all of her cop encounters from running away and prank calling the police. She was afraid, there was even a bomber plane belonging to the army flying above her head. She kept looking back, as if someone was chasing her. The plane disappeared into the gray, lifeless clouds and the sirens faded away. She crossed the bridge going over a creek full of fish. Everything was quiet, and the girl didn't know what scared her more: the police or total silence at 3 pm. The air was cold, but she felt hot in her purple jacket, the only thing that seemed to be colored in with life in this dreary landscape of road and grass. The grass was dying, leaves were red and falling, but she did not see red, only gray. Gray bridge, dark water, gray pavement, gray sky. Nothing seemed nice at all, silence and more silence. It was so quiet she could hear the wind's voice: one belonging to a woman begging for help, one from a stillborn child, and one from a old man's last breath. She expected to smell death, but all there was to smell was empty air. The plane reappeared in the sky, now looking gray as ever. She didn't wave, even though she thought she should, as Veterans Day was approaching. She held on to her backpack shoulder, took in a deep breath of lifeless air, and continued to walk home. She looked at every house, all different colors, and it seemed no one was in any of them, and even though they were not gray, they seemed gray in her mind. Lifeless and empty. It was like she was in Hiroshima after the United States had set off the atomic bomb, and she was the only survivor, left for the rest of her days seeing gray dust, gray fog, silence and destruction. Then, with the smallest thought, she saw in her mind that she was there, but all alone in the silence. Every house she passed, she felt more and more isolated from the world. No one was in sight, it was just her and the world with no one in it. She started to remember the people in school that would choose to make her feel like she didn't exist; they were too focused on themselves and their own friends that they never saw her as one of their friends, but as an acquaintance with weird quirks. She hated that, and it hurt. She felt her eyes well up, but she didn't cry because the wind removed them from her eyes, as if it were saying, 'you can't cry, little coward. Keep watching this grayness that you call life.' Life to her turned gray, and she kept a straight face, emotions building up that the air somehow got rid of as she walked. As soon as they formed, the air took them away to add to its voice. The wind was teaching her a lesson, but she did not understand the lesson. What was there to learn if she couldn't see color or happiness? Everything was gray, and it didn't change. Maybe the world wasn't supposed to be happy and occupied. Right then she knew the lesson: people will hate you, rate you, shake you, and break you, but how strong you stand is what makes you. When she had learned the lesson, the colors came back, one by one, and she grew happier and happier until she arrived home, seeing all colors and her dog was full of color, so bright, she smiled. The dog even seemed more happier than usual. This was a good day.

[jaylenniki]

Friend Saver

I remember it very clearly. I had just moved from North Carolina to Illinois to start middle school. That’s the worse part; I knew no one and no one knew me. I walked the halls of Fischer Middle School seeing everyone smiling and laughing with their friends from elementary school. And me? I was all alone. I also didn’t speak like a typical Midwestener would. I spoke with a Southern dialect. The way I spoke when trying to make friends hindered me because people would judge me by the way I spoke. I say soda, not pop. I say chocolate sauce, not chocolate syrup. I speak fast, not slow. All of those things added up to make others think weirdly of me. I felt all alone. I even stopped trying to make friends because I kept failing. I started listening to how others spoke so I could mimic the Midwestern way of speaking so I could fit in. At lunch, I would sit all alone. I ate my food with my eyes darting around the room, hoping someone would sit near me. No one ever did. If I sat next to others, they would scoot over a few seats. I felt hated. I felt like I couldn’t be myself. But one day, I was saved. I was sitting alone at lunch, as per usual. Then a girl with long brown hair, about five foot two, and a bit of a bigger body size came over to me and sat down next to me. I looked into her blue eyes and noticed her eyes were telling me that she meant well. She introduced herself as Krystal. 

   “I’ve noticed you sitting all alone here for the past couple days,” she said. 

I nodded. She continued. “Why don’t you sit with me and my friends?”

 “I’d love that,” I remember replying. 

 That was the day I gained a friend circle. I met a bunch of girls who I’m still friends with to this day. There was Jennifer, Grace, Jasmine, and others. Jennifer and Grace were the sarcastic ones. Jasmine was the joker of the group but was also calm and collected. Over time, I made more friends. I made a best friend--other than Krystal--through other friends, that best friend’s name was Gabriella. We are still best friends today. I was finally able to be myself because my new friends didn’t judge me. They embraced all of me and I embraced all of them. That was the day that I started to find my place in a new part of my life. I was no longer longing for friends. I was no longer sitting alone. And I was no longer afraid to make new friends. I don’t know where I would be if Krystal didn’t invite me into her friend circle. I’m very grateful for what she did. She saved me. And I’ll always remember that.

[jaylenniki]

The Day I Schooled Society

I’ve been writing with intent since sixth grade but before then, I never knew that I could write. I just saw it as simple school work that everyone had to do. I thought that writing something was no big deal. I don’t know if I enjoyed it or not but I only just wrote what was assigned to me. Back then, writing was just writing, it’s as simple as that. I remember receiving awards in elementary school, but those awards I got were not for writing. I got the award for Most Improved Student every year from third grade to fifth grade. I never got anything else so of course I never knew that I had any gifts. I wasn’t thinking of any gifts I had, I just focused on getting good grades and being a good student. 

I remember in fifth grade, we had to take a test to let the teacher know where her students were at in certain subjects so if someone needed help with a subject they could improve on it before going to middle school. The test had four categories: reading, writing, math and science. I remember overhearing from my parents a conversation about my reading score. It wasn’t bad, but rather shocking. I learned that in fifth grade, I was reading at an eighth grade reading level. I was--and still am--a huge bookworm. I was ahead of my peers in reading and I read the entire Harry Potter series at the age of six. When I was in first grade, all the books at the school library were too easy for me which made it boring. I started to read advanced chapter books at a very early age (hence reading Harry Potter). But in 6th grade, there is an award ceremony at the end of each year where students get awards for excellence in school. I was thinking that I would get most improved student again and I was bouncing with anticipation waiting for my name to be called. But when someone else got the award, I was no longer excited; I became very sad and wanted to cry. I hid my sadness from my special needs assistant teacher who helped me in classes, who was standing next to me. Then, my name was called. It felt like a million years had gone by from the silence that really only lasted a couple of seconds. The teacher, Mrs. Klen, announced my award and it was an award that I would never have expected in a million years. The award was best creative writing. At first, I was confused. I never realized that my writing was that great. This award ceremony includes my entire team. I was on team 6-1, which was about almost half of all the students in the entire sixth grade. Out of all of those students, I was the only one with the award for outstanding creative writing. That’s when I realized that I had a gift. I then started writing with intent ever since then. 

I learned to express how I felt through writing. I started to hate the society that I lived in. I felt that society wanted everyone to be the same, that unique and different were bad things. I was a different and misunderstood kid. I have Asperger Syndrome, a type of autism, as well as verbal apraxia. Due to my apraxia, it was difficult to speak normally and people had a hard time understanding what I was saying. I would drop certain sounds and blends, I would talk very fast, I would stutter and air would escape when it shouldn’t. Since I couldn’t talk well, I would write in order to “speak”. I remember my most successful piece of writing. It was a slam poem that I performed live at open mic for a large crowd of people. It was called “Society Kills”, and it was about how the media distorts the truth, how Photoshop destroys true beauty, and how people like to spread rumors about others which hurts them. I had to use a special speaking app on my phone to be intelligible but it worked well as everyone could understand and I got a standing ovation. Afterwards, people would come up to me and tell me that they felt the same way I did or to tell me that they loved it. 

Ever since, I’ve been writing and that standing ovation inspired me to keep writing knowing that I’ve been heard; I’ve been listened to. And that’s all I really wanted from the beginning.

[jaylenniki]

Escaping The Abyss

Some people don’t understand what living with anxiety is like. Some days you wish the world would let you feel like you matter. Some days you just want to cry and lock yourself in your room, put loud music on so no one hears you screaming. You feel like there is this massive void consuming all light and hope and you wonder if you should jump, take a leap of faith, or just refuse to accept how you feel and tell everyone you’re okay, but in reality, you are crying a million rivers, you are thinking you don’t matter, unsure of who to blame. You feel that you should blame someone, maybe even society, but then you feel that they shouldn’t be at fault, then you search for someone else to blame when you know you should blame yourself but you can’t admit you are at fault. Some days you are confused, other days you feel trapped. That dark, bottomless black void is always there, every single moment, every minute, every second. There is no escape from that bottomless abyss, everywhere you go, it follows, just like how a sweet-toothed child follows the sugar they crave. You know you can’t escape but there is always a glimmer of hope that tomorrow can be different, that a new day could erase the pains of yesterday. That sliver of hope is your savior. As long as you have hope, no matter the size, you will survive. That hope was always there in plain sight, but you couldn’t see it because you didn’t believe. You narrow your vision so you only see that abyss, but you never bothered to look up at the sky, full of light and happiness, that you never believed. I looked up and saw a thousand suns, more suns in the sky than you can count. That was tomorrow, your future. I believed in a better world. I dreamed of a better world. I wanted that better world. This all happened 8 years ago. I have now changed for the better and I found the courage to make a real smile, not a fake one. The truth is, all I did was follow the light. You have this power within you. The only regret I have is that I didn’t recognize it sooner.

[jaylenniki]

The Unspoken Word

Paper

Pencil

And pens

This is how a story begins

Loose leaf

Or computer paper

Words appear from invisible vapor

Scribbling or neat

Print or cursive

Introverts turn themselves into extraversive

With a pencil or pen

Imagination comes to life

Where anyone can create their own wildlife

A story told unspoken

But reached by millions

Where everyone listening is no longer a civilian

But inside the unspoken words

Cursed and stuck on paper

Only a eraser can make this power

Turn to water vapor

Where people get lost

But find themselves through

Unspoken words

Where words appear to us as if they could be

Birds

Chirping in the morning or afternoon

Where the sun is happy with what it sees

Words make us see trees, flowers with bees

As if we were there

When we’re not

Where you could be on a yacht

Partying or in a beautiful meadow

Where the streams flow

Where anything is possible

Where things are seen and heard

From the unspoken word

[jaylenniki]

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

Martin Luther King Jr.

[jaylenniki]

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Martin Luther King Jr.

[jaylenniki]

When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.

Helen Keller