I often find myself jealous of the oceans
For the way the waves can crash without being accused of causing commotion
The way she can rage and storm without being called dramatic
The way she can howl and scream and still be admired for the way she glistens
Nobody ever leaves her
No matter how bad the storms get
I'm quite jealous of that.

By E.V. Seegmiller

-poem, photo-
​

I am good at painting a perfect picture.
I am good at saying what you want to hear and meeting your looks no matter how judgmental.
I am type-A as hell.
Obsessively Organized.
Compulsively put together.
I am a puzzle that was done with the edges first and then the center.

But every puzzle has creases where the pieces meet.
To really know me, that's what you have to see.
The cracks bleed in sentences that tumble out in a mess,
it's flushes and stutters, and obliviousness.

To love me you can't just want the image I produce.
You can't just love the picture the puzzle presents.
You can't love the neat precision and the satisfaction of everything having its place.
You have to love the process,
the dumping of pieces and the way they scatter across the table.
You have to enjoy figuring out what goes where,
Whether I fidget from an anxious storm brewing,
or just something to help me feel better.
You have to want to help put me together.
Because I'm a new box every day, and you have to enjoy the challenges that presents.

I am perfectly put together to every stranger I will ever meet
But only the select few have the privilege of seeing the unfinished puzzle
One we get to figure out together,
because we are all puzzles.
We just want somebody to unscramble ourselves with.

By E.V. Seegmiller
-poem-

I don't think Death is ugly.
I think it just has its own colors.
Ones you can't see until this life is over.
Life is vibrant as we can all see,
and I believe death has its own beauty.
It brings value to everything around.
From the birds in the sky,
to the grass on the ground.
It brings us seasons and changes.
It makes us grateful
Teaches us to appreciate each moment.
You never know which will be the last.
You never know how much time you have.
However, so long as I cannot see the colors of death.
I will buy flowers, and paint in color,
and try my absolute best,
to not forget the colors of the living.

By E.V. Seegmiller
-​poem-

I'll confess.
I did it.
I killed them all.
I started plotting at thirteen.
You have lots of time to think when you're stuck in the closet.
When I realized I couldn't be her I knew she had to die.
So I developed a plan.
Followed the steps perfectly.
A masterpiece of how to become me.
Come out as bi after graduation - right before you drop off the grid.
This gives everybody time to come to terms with it.
6 months later reappear in the world.
Come out as a lesbian.
Tell them you only like girls.
They'll be more open minded.
Cut your hair the way you like
Finally dress the way that makes you feel right.
Slowly start to get tattoos.
Systematically murder every version of you they had in their heads.
Be fully prepared to become the disappointment.
Embrace who you truly are.
Go to therapy.
Move away.
Make some real friends.
I killed each one of them.
Every single expectation.
I did it so I could survive.​

By E.V. Seegmiller
-poem-

I think I prefer to be a stranger.
A mystery that ebbs and flows with time.
I think I prefer the surface of me.
Charismatic and elegant.
​With no issues to be seen.
I will travel the world and meet people all over.
I'll be a part of some romantic fairytale.
The helpful side character.
I'll hop from adventure to adventure, so nobody sees.
the turmoil I have underneath.
I will smile and wave.
Always doing something new every day
Then go off to somewhere better.
always perfectly content,
to be a stranger.

By E.V. Seegmiller
-​poem-