Heart! - We Will Forget Him!

It’s always flowed so easily. Creating words and sentences that fit seamlessly together. And...

Wed, 22 May 2013 11:50:15 -0400

It’s always flowed so easily.

Creating words and sentences that fit seamlessly together.

And then all at once;

It just stops.

My brain forgets how to write again.

The words that I can hear screaming in my head,

Freeze at my fingertips.

And the screen is cracking,

Little lines mocking me;

Taunting me.

My head is filling up with ideas.

Faster than they can come out.

And I start things that I can’t find the ending of.

So, I shut the computer off.

I go watch another movie.

I talk to more friends.

I deal with more pain.

And then when I return to the computer…

Nothing…

No experiences to draw from.

No way to spell out the pain I’m feeling.

Everything is a distraction.

So, this is Writer’s Block.

Letters to a Lost Lover - #1

Fri, 10 May 2013 15:22:00 -0400

Sleep Well

I think about what could be, if anything. I think about you on a Sunday morning, waking up slowly. Eyes opening and glancing around the room. Flecks of hair dancing against them. I think about your little yawns and your soft sighs. The way you look so fragile and innocent, as though you haven’t a care in the world. But I couldn’t imagine the weight of your body on the left side of the bed. I don’t know what I would do if I woke up and saw you next to me. Would I kiss you, the way I do in my dreams? Lips hovering ever-so slightly above yours. Brushing my nose against your own in the sweetest eskimo kiss. Would I be bolder than that, and touch you in the places that make you shiver and moan? Hands exploring every new frontier? Traversing through the landscapes that had only been previously explored by other women? Would I just hold you tightly to my body and never let you go? Would I do all three? I look at your picture and I imagine lying beside you, seeing the way your eyes would light up early in the morning. Imagining the rays of the sun just catching your face through the blinds, heightening the beauty that is within you. I imagine how soft the skin of your bare back must be as my fingers run along it. I even imagine how good your mouth would taste. Would there be the bitter flavor of cigarettes on your tongue or would it be better than that? Would it be a flavor I could never forget? One I can’t distinguish? I imagine how beautiful your sleepy voice would be. Would it be gruff and gritty like I’ve heard you use before or would it be soft and gentle like I dream it would be? I know that I dream all of these things. Hell, every time I look over at my empty pillows, I imagine that you’re there, watching me as I get ready for bed. But if I ever looked over and I really saw your face beside me and knew that you were there just for me, I don’t know what I would do. I might just think I’m still dreaming.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 18:11:27 -0400

I’ve been told often to respect myself.

To hold myself up to a higher standard.

And I do.

I try to,

But constantly I am treated like I’m not worthy of anything.

I am ridiculed.

Mocked.

Used.

Lied to.

And then they turn around and say, “have more respect for yourself.”

Let me tell you.

I respect myself.

I don’t think I deserve the ridicule I get.

Even if I am weird, annoying, and a bit morose at times.

I don’t deserve to be mocked.

Though I may fangirl over fictional characters and like strange music you don’t enjoy.

I don’t deserve to be used.

Even if I enjoy being pinned down beneath you and treated like a whore.

And I don’t deserve to be lied to.

Even if I’m guilty of telling a few good lies myself.

I do respect myself.

I do hold myself at a high regard and I trust myself.

So, when will other people start respecting me?

When will you start respecting me?

I could take my clothes off.

I could leave them on.

I could hide in the corner.

I could hit your right back.

I could tell all of your secrets.

I could take them to my grave.

I could give you a house, kids, and a loving wife.

I could cheat on you with the next guy who gives me a look.

I could run a thousand miles to prove my love to you.

I could also destroy your heart and make you wish you’d never met me.

It doesn’t matter.

Whatever I do.

No one will ever have any respect for me.

Stop telling me to respect myself.

I already do.

Start telling others to stop treating me like I don’t deserve respect.

Since I respect everyone until they give me a reason not to.

Respect.

Give it, get it, or fuck it.

Short.

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 16:24:06 -0400

He’s not who he used to be

Hair so soft; lips so sweet.

I used to think that we would be together

forever.

But he’s not who he used to be.

No, I don’t see the same beauty.

Who is he? Not the boy I fell for long ago.

Fiction

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 01:51:07 -0400

She is everything. Anything I want her to be. She is a child, a teenager, a woman, an elder. Her hair can be red, blonde, purple, orange, or green. Her eyes are hazel, blue, white, or red. She is a goddess - strong and stable. She is fearless or fearful. Whichever I choose for her to be. I can tell her to get good grades in school, and she will. I can tell her to kill a man and maybe, if I’m lucky, she’ll kill twenty. I can make her be anything I want her to be. A dancer, a rock star, a actress, a stripper, a prostitute, a porn star. I can set the highest goals for her and then destroy all of them around her. I live vicariously through her. I can make my favorite celebrity fall in love with her. I can dream up a man… or a woman who will give her what I so helplessly desire. I can make her the most confident human being in the world. She’ll have sex on the couch, in the car, on the beach, wherever. With whomever. She can drive a piece of shit car or fly on a broomstick. She can kiss a werewolf, kill a vampire, or become a zombie. I can imagine her into my favorite movies or my favorite TV shows. I can imagine her - her body, skin. She’s black, white, asian, hispanic, native american. She is everything, because she is nothing. She is fiction and she is my puppet. I can make her do whatever I want her to do. That’s the beauty and the power of it. I write it down and she comes alive. She breathes, opening her eyes and staring back at me. Waiting… wanting to do whatever I tell her to. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is the right thing to do. Now I know it is. I exhale, and she inhales my ideas. She goes where I tell her to go. She does what I tell her to do. She loves who I tell her to love. She fucks who I tell her to fuck. This is the simplest form of control. She won’t fight back. She won’t turn away. She just does whatever I want, because that’s the only way she can survive. If she doesn’t listen to me, she knows I won’t write anymore. She knows I’ll put the pen down and then, she is forever frozen in time. Unfinished. Never knowing what her ending will be. Will she be happy? Find love? Find friends? Win that award she wanted? Will she lose everything? Will she even live until the end? Her life will be a neverending story of questions. I create what she is. I create who she is. And in return, she let’s me step away from the darkness that is my reality and into the light that is fantasy. She grabs my hand and away we run. We explore new worlds together. We gain new powers. We attempt new skills. We hone old ones. We get new jobs. We achieve our dreams. We kiss the men of our dreams. We fuck the ones who aren’t so dreamy. We wear our favorite clothes. We talk about reality and how much it sucks. And sometimes, it sucks too much for her. Sometimes she wants to trade lives. She asks me if it’s better on the outside. I can’t say. I hold her. I comfort her. I make sure she gets what she wants. And hopefully, I give her the ending she deserves. I am her. She is me, but she is fictional. She can do the things I will never do. She is fictional, but she will always be me.

I Remember Her: A Memoir

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 15:36:39 -0400

I remember her as a sullen girl. Lonely, angry, full of hate. She didn’t talk much, but that was to be expected. Not very many people listened to what she had to say. She had dark hair and brooding eyes. Her lips hardly ever smiled. She sat with a frown on her face while everyone around her would laugh.

I remember her as a quiet girl. Her words falling hardly on anyone’s ears. She would only speak when spoken to. She feared having opinions, though she had very strong ones about everything. Deep down, I think she yearned to share them with other people, but she knew that no one would care. Most of the time, she’d just nod in agreement. Nothing more to say.

I remember her as a terrified girl. Fear always stayed in her heart. Fear of the light and fear of the dark. Afraid of family who believed that she could do more than she felt capable of. Afraid of friends who told her that she was important to them, but didn’t know how to show it. Afraid of lovers, past and future, who would fill her heart with glee, only to rip it away once things got difficult.

I remember her as a lonely girl, who sat alone in parks reading. Who went to coffee shops and bookstores, to hide away from the world. Her fortress was her bedroom. Her shield was the door. As long as she kept it closed, she was safe from lies, deception, hurt, and pain, but she longed for someone to penetrate those defenses and bring her out into the world again.

I remember her as a young girl. Eyes wide with wonder. Refusing to grow up and accept her young adult responsibilities. Desperately seeking a way to keep her youth in tact. Afraid of the demons that waited outside in the real world. Her imagination was the only thing that would keep her safe.

I remember her as a crazy girl. She made up stories. She made up friends. She made her own life inside of her head, because the one outside of it was shit. She pretended more often than not that she was someone she wasn’t. She lived vicariously through people she knew and people she never met. Some didn’t even really exist, but she lived through them as well.

I remember her as an ugly girl. Looking in the mirror, she criticizes every part of her body. Head to feet. She compares herself to everyone. Sister, cousins, friends, models, actresses, singers, that girl she saw at the bar the other night. She doesn’t believe she is beautiful. There is nothing and no one that will change her mind. She sees herself as the Beast more so than Beauty.

I remember her as a suicidal girl. Her life revolved around death and death waited for her. He lurked in the shadows, watching her. Smiling at her. Telling her to just do it; come to him. She wanted to, but something kept pulling her back to the surface. She couldn’t tell what it was, but she knew she couldn’t leave just yet.

I remember her so well. I remember her laughs, her tears, her smiles, her frowns. I remember every little detail about her. The flecks of gold in her eyes. The dimples in each cheek. Her cross-bite. I remember how much I wished I could’ve been on the outside, looking in. I remember looking at her sad eyes and wishing I could’ve taken care of her. Gathered her up. Told her that it’s all OK. I remember thinking that somebody will love her someday. Someone will see how much she’s worth. Maybe someday she’ll see how much she’s worth.

I remember her. She’s hard to forget. Even with her sadness, it stays with me. Even her pain… I remember. I try to erase her from me, but she crawls right back inside of my veins and she tells me, “You can’t forget me. You can’t control me. You can only become me.” I want to forget her. I really do, but no matter what I do. I always remember her.

Happy

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 11:18:05 -0400

I’m allergic to happy people,

And their crooked little smiles.

I’m sick of pretending.

Think I’ll rest for a while.

I’m annoyed by their laughter,

And their happy little games.

I’m upset by their sunshine.

I like it better when it rains.

I’m allergic to happy people,

With their happy words of love.

I get sick with every sigh I hear.

I vomit with every hug.

I’m impatient with the hopeless dreamers,

Who believe life’s beautiful lie.

I’d rather be around somebody,

Who isn’t afraid to die.

I’m allergic to happy people,

Who say, “how do you do?”

Pretend that they’re interested,

In anything to do with you.

It bother me exceptionally,

But I pretend that I don’t care.

I fake a smile, though true happiness,

For me, I know isn’t there.

I’m allergic to happy people.

So much I can’t even feel,

The slightest little bit of happiness.

Is it even real?

It’s empty inside of my chest.

Nothing there to fill it.

There’s so much darkness inside of my heart,

But I’m trying not to spill it

I’m allergic to happy people,

And I hope one day,

That I can spread this unhappiness,

In some informal way.

I’m allergic to happy people,

But secretly I do wish.

That I was a happy person,

And my allergy would turn into bliss.

I Try

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 23:32:43 -0400

I try to forget how lonely I am,
While I watch all of my friends,
Walk away on arms of loved ones.

I try to forget how sad I am,
As I see pictures of happy people,
Smiling in their wonderful existence.

I try to forget how lost I am,
As I see friends who once suffered as I do,
Finding peace, happiness, and serenity.

I try to forget how forgotten I am,
As I look at my Facebook, my cell phone, and everything else,
And see no messages from not one person.

I try to forget how miserable I am,
As I look in the mirror,
Reminded of what a hideous monster I’ve recently become.

I try to forget how depressed I am,
As I pop more pills, cross my fingers,
And hope for the best.

I try to forget how angry I am,
While I have to stare those people in my face,
Who got away with hurting me.

I try to forget how suicidal I am,
As I hold the blade against my wrist,
And wish I could press down.

I try to remember how busy people are,
But when I see them contacting each other,
It makes me wonder if they think of me at all.

I try to remember that others are sad as well.
The world’s gone to hell,
Yet I still have to be alive to see all of it.

I try to remember how my friends recovered,
But I can’t seem to connect the dots,
And find my way out of this tunnel.

I try to remember that it takes time,
To lose weight, to achieve success, to find love,
Because I’m impatient and I don’t want to wait anymore.

I try to remember that life isn’t fair.
People will hurt you and walk away,
Without ever facing judgment for it.

I try to remember that there are people who love me,
But I have a hard time seeing them,
When their backs are always turned on me.

I try to remember to smile, laugh, and dance more often.
My mouth won’t open. There’s nothing worth laughing about.
My feet can’t move.

I try to remember that there will be more to my story someday,
Beyond addiction, depression, desolation, and pain,
But I can’t see far enough ahead into the future to know that it will all be OK.

I try…

But I don’t think I can try anymore.

I think it’ll just be easier to quit.

Day 1: Fire

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 00:35:34 -0500

She carried this flame with her wherever she went.

A bright burning torch, lighting up the night sky.

She knew it would burn out eventually,

But until then, she would never let it die.

The flame was lit when her eyes met yours,

And from there; it flourished and grew.

She nursed and cared for the every single ember.

Oh, if only she knew.

There was another beacon that had been lit.

Its flame casting upwards towards the sky.

Another woman had burned it for you,

And vowed to never let it die.

The third torch appeared from your side.

Where once was all dark, light did shine.

You burned your torch for someone else,

And broke her heart for all of time.

Still, she carried her flame above her head.

Arms stretched upwards towards the sky.

She knew, one day, her arms would grow weary,

And then her flame would die.

Until that day, so shall it appear,

She knows she shouldn’t cry,

But as she looked up to her dismay,

She saw the flame…

It finally died.

Heck Yeah Tumblr Challenges!: 11 day "fiction writing" challenge.

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 22:23:57 -0500

Heck Yeah Tumblr Challenges!: 11 day "fiction writing" challenge.:

Create a scenario. Write about it, describe it as much as possible.
(It continues from day 1) add characters. Describe one a lot, how does he-she looks, what does he-she do, her-his hobbies.
(continues from day 2) your character falls in love. Describe the situation, write about it.
(continues from day 3) write a plot twist.
(continues from day 4) finish your story. Put it all together and post it, write as much as you can.
How often do you write / do fictions.
Write a fictional story of 20 lines. It has to have 2 characters, 1 problem and it has to have a happy ending.
Write a short story. It has only have to have 3 lines (do it as creative as possible)
Create a fictional world and it’s characters.
(continues from day 9) write a story about them, don’t make it longer than 17 lines.
Write a story of 20 lines. It has to be about 5 persons with 1 problem and a sad ending.

15 Day Elemental Challenge (Drawing or Writing)

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 22:13:29 -0500

heckyeahtumblrchallenges:

Fire

Earth

Air

Water

Electricity

Light

Poison

Darkness

Bubbles

Ghost

Blood

Hearts

Sand

Time

Space

[Suicide] Gurl

Tue, 19 Feb 2013 21:43:00 -0500

She writes down those words in her diary.

She tells it all of her secrets.

She let’s loose every demon,

But then, she tucks it away.

Secretly, she prays that someone will find it.

It’s still in its spot when she gets home.

Untouched.

She types up those words on a blank Word document.

She tells it how much she hates herself.

She calls herself every name she can in the book,

But then she titles it with an inconspicuous word.

Secretly, she believes someone will find it.

She checks when it was last modified.

It hasn’t been seen since she wrote it.

She posts those words on her blog.

She tells the world how fed up she is.

She begs them to give her a sign; a sense of hope; anything,

But then she makes that post private.

Secretly, she contemplates letting somebody find it.

She stares at it on her page.

She deletes it.

She writes to a stranger online.

She tells them that she’s going to do it.

She hopes that they will call the police and get her some help,

But she makes her statement anonymous.

Secretly, she hopes that they find out who she is.

They never do.

They stop responding to her statements after a while.

She cuts those words out of her.

Deep gashes across her arms.

Bloody palm prints stain the paper of her diary,

The keyboard of her computer,

The bed where she once slept,

And then she covers them with bracelets and sweaters.

Secretly, she hopes someone notices the scars; a cry for help.

They never see them.

She doesn’t stop.

She finally gives up.

Crying out and never heard.

She finds the pills,

And the gun,

And the bottle of gin.

One gulp of the medicine.

A shot of gin as a chaser.

Point the gun at her temple.

Secretly, she prays that someone will call her, text her, message her, even walk through her bedroom door.

Secretly, she hopes that they’ll see her pain and try to help her out.

Secretly, she wants to show the entire world the journals and the feelings and the scars.

Secretly, she doesn’t want to do this. She just wants to stop the voices in her head.

All she wants is for someone to answer her cry.

They never hear it until it’s too late.

Thoughts...

Wed, 26 Dec 2012 14:47:24 -0500

Thoughts...:

Trapped in a freeze frame.
Caught between the edge of sanity and the bottom.
And nobody knows it.
I smile so sweetly at strangers passing by.
Not allowing anyone to know the sounds of screams are taking form at the back of my throat.
You’re fooling me.
I can’t admit.
I wanted to say that you did,
But I couldn’t.
How could I expect you to understand?
You were in no state to comprehend my feelings.
And yet, I still felt troubled by how true your words sounded.
Were they what your heart really feels?
Or was it just the highest state of intoxication?
Next time…
There won’t be a next time.
I’ll make sure of it.
Can’t afford to let my heart get tied around you when you keep pushing me away.
Can’t admit that just the thought of you drives me crazy.
The sound of your voice makes me felt.
The slightest touch of your hand sends me to my knees,
And for a moment there, I actually believed that you really wanted me,
But I guess that’s what happens when alcohol slurs your words and blurs your vision.
I guess that’s what happens when the Devil’s nectar touches a young man’s lips.
You got close to me and I didn’t want to believe that this was all a lie.
I didn’t want to believe that it was just another image created by the monster.
But it was.
And I can never let it happen again.

Alone

Sun, 23 Sep 2012 23:36:14 -0400

I realize more and more everyday

That I’m better off alone.

Loneliness is highly underrated.

We find ourselves running around

Wasting time trying to complete ourselves.

There is no completion for me.

Alone…

It sounds so scary.

But in the end, it’s so healthy.

I don’t have to worry about anyone but me.

I don’t have to fear get left and being lonely.

When you’re alone, you’re alone.

Always alone.

Forever alone.

I fear the day I fall back in love,

Because then I’ll get a taste of together,

And let’s be honest;

Together is not something I can ever be.

There is no ‘togetherness’ when you’re around me.

It’s impossible; you see.

For another human being to truly love me.

Maybe that’s because I hate myself.

I don’t want to be alone because I fear myself.

And that makes everyone else hate me, too.

That makes everyone else afraid.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that being alone is better.

Better than promises of forever.

Better than together.

Loneliness is better.

Found this really awesome poem type thing I wrote earlier this year.

Thu, 13 Sep 2012 10:42:00 -0400

So, gather ‘round and listen up.

All you girls around the world.

Are you getting tired of your stockings and your pearls?

Is there anything in life that doesn’t require recognition?

Are you tired of being knocked on your back in a missionary position?

Well, I’ve got a simple remedy,

And it’s very common to find.

Here’s a little something to take over your mind.

Tell your parents their precious flowers have wilted and died.

It’s time we take control of the raging beast inside.

‘Cause they never had a chance to control our generation.

I’m spreading happiness and love and power all across the nation,

To the girls who are told that they’re not good enough.

Now, here’s a lesson to the boys,

Who believe they have control.

Who do you think takes care of you when you’re gray and old?

Should you touch when the signs are simply saying no?

Is it fair that you walk free while we’re hanging up your coats?

Now, politician’s promises,

Are good for one thing.

You have to find another gal to wear your diamond ring.

I refuse to let my uterus,

Be filled with so much trash.

I decide what gets inside.

Not government or husband or class.

‘Cause they never had a chance to control our generation.

I’m spreading happiness and love and power all across the nation,

To the girls who want to wear their bras on the outside.

But I’m not the type you’ll want to wife,

Or the type you’ll take home to mother.

I’m the girl you’ll be running from,

When you try to fuck her with your brother.

So, girls all around the world,

Lift up your hands.

Be proud of who you’ve become and who you’ll be in the end.

Listen up and listen good,

I’ll only say this once.

We’re the only bitches who can call ourselves, “cunts.”

Lift up you dresses and dance like you’re drunk.

Does your mother have any idea that you’re a slut?

Stick up your middle finger like you don’t give a fuck.

Say it loud; say it proud. Baby, you’re a slut.

Don’t try to demean me with your ifs, ands, or buts,

Because I have a lot of pride by being a slut.

Fool

Tue, 28 Aug 2012 21:23:57 -0400

You were the sad man.

You played the victim.

And I played the messiah.

I wanted to save you.

I wanted to make you see yourself through my eyes.

Lonely; and under-appreciated.

Abandoned by everyone else.

I picked up the pieces.

I tried to solve the puzzle.

Sleepless nights;

Tears and fights.

I stood in front of you wanting to make things right.

Called you my friend.

Believed till the end.

Wordswordswordswordswords.

Again, the clock has been broken.

I’m frozen in time and you’re never looking back.

You’ve had the last laugh,

But he who laughs last,

Laughs alone.

Just remember:

On those nights where no one will pick up the phone.

Just remember:

When you’re feeling scared, helpless, and alone.

Just remember who held your hand.

Just remember who helped you stand.

Just remember.

Just remember who cared.

Why?

If it was all lies,

If she is the number one prize,

Why?

Why were you in my bed?

Why?

Why were you coming to me?

Why was I the shoulder that you needed?

Why?

If in the end, you were going to just phase me back out again?

You needed a quick fix.

Enter in the one who loved you.

Drove herself insane trying to protect you.

Now, she’s twisted up on the floor,

And you don’t look back.

You never look back.

You don’t wonder if she’s even alive.

You don’t wonder if she’s sitting back and crying.

You don’t wonder.

You don’t care.

Lies.

It’s easy to tell someone what they want to hear.

As long as she’s batting for you, right?

As long as she’s taking on all your fights.

So what, she already hates herself?

Time to make her feel even worse.

Let’s broadcast the people who hurt her before.

Let me abandon her when I know she’s run down.

I don’t need her.

I’ve got back what I lost.

I don’t need her… Right now.

You don’t need me… Right now.

I sit.

I wait.

I try not to go crazy.

I try not to think about you.

I don’t call or text or even write you a lame message on Facebook.

I don’t.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I will?

Nope.

You made me believe again.

Believe that there was a chance for us.

You leaned on me as a friend,

But now that the cat’s out of the bag, you run back to her.

Let me watch and try not to crumble.

Let me watch and try not to burn.

Lies.

More lies.

That’s all you spill.

Your actions maim;

Your words just kill.

“You mean the world to me.

I care about you.”

Another lie?

Just one or two.

How could I be so stupid?

How could you be so cruel?

How could I believe that you would ever love me?

Oh god, I’ve been such a damned fool.

365 Day Poem Challenege!

Wed, 14 Mar 2012 00:15:46 -0400

heckyeahtumblrchallenges:

My friend challenged me to write a poem a day for a year, I’m on day 159 (though I have cheated and skipped some days!), check it out/try it yourself, it has made me look at everything I experience differently; I try to find something poetic in my everyday life, it’s truly been an amazing experience. http://positivelyharrison.tumblr.com/

I am gonna try this starting tomorrow on my poetry blog. We’ll see how it goes. :P

The Mind of a Robot: Boy, you better quit pulling a Houdini on me.

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 14:23:00 -0500

The Mind of a Robot: Boy, you better quit pulling a Houdini on me.:

Again, you disappear without a trace.
We spend days on end together, acting like best friends on the borderline to becoming lovers.
And as soon as we separate, we go back to playing strangers.
I lie in bed, staring at the spot where you laid,
And I wonder, did you want anything more in that moment?
Did you want to move closer to me and kiss me again?
Am I just imagining that there’s a spark between us when we’re together?
No, I can’t be dreaming.
It’s gotta be real.
I’ve forced you to the back of my mind after another weekend where I wanted nothing but your love.
But still, you appear at the most convenient of times as soon as I close my eyes.
I hear your voice, speaking to me, saying my name the way you do.
Softly singing a song next to me.
I fall back on every text message and every conversation where we complimented each other.
I know what’s happening, but I’m scared to admit it.
I don’t want it to happen ever again.
Especially if you keep running from me.
Especially since I can’t tell how you feel.
I don’t want to say what’s building inside of me every time you’re near.
I just pretend like we’re just friends.
It’s cool that we’re just friends,
But something tells me that fate wants us both to be more.
Just stop disappearing.
Stop hiding.
Come into the light,
And let me show you what you’re missing.

Problems of a cutter.: This is a poem that I wrote a few years back about my cutting habits. Just wanted to share it.

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 09:47:00 -0500

Problems of a cutter.: This is a poem that I wrote a few years back about my cutting habits. Just wanted to share it.:

Even though I used to feel,

I can no longer tell what is real.

I see myself; a distorted reflection,

Lacking self-control; lacking discretions.

The thoughts inside my twisted head,

Have often left me feeling dead,

And I can no longer wait,

For what claims to be my simple fate.

A blade forced into my sweaty palm,

First cut has got me feeling calm.

The blood shoots up to assuage my tears,

But it leaves me with regret and fear.

If someone sees my bloody wrist,

It’ll ruin me in a manner such as this.

My friends will turn and walk away.

My family will slowly drift away.

My head will spin around and round.

My soul will get sick of being bound,

And when I think the pain will end,

I grab the blade and cut again.

The blood is trickling down my arm.

It feels so comforting and warm.

I hide my face in beaten shame.

A body without a soul; a face without a name.

Someone reaches out a hand,

But alone I walk; alone I stand.

Incapable of being loved.

Eyes cast upward to the stars above.

We are full of so many unsung words,

And I’m afraid we’ll never get heard,

But despite this scary, unavoidable fact,

We’re left alone. Unable to fight back.

Struggling on the bumpy road to life.

So imagine why we relate to the knife.

Falling forward fast enough, not afraid to bleed.

Crying out for a sanctuary, lost in your needs.

I take another long swig of the rum.

Hating this self-destructive robot I’ve become.

Looking into God’s eyes and wondering what’s wrong.

Why can’t I stop myself? Why am I not strong?

A violent solution to everyone’s problems,

They beg me to stop, but there’s only one way to solve them.

The blade digs deeper into my skin.

This is a battle I just have to win.

Sold my soul, now I’m paying the price,

Death would be a gift now, but Satan’s not that nice.

I ask my Father to set my soul free,

But He whispers that he has better plans me.

I walk along this empty road,

Knowing what no one else knows.

Smiling on the outside so no one sees,

The beast that is hiding inside of me.

I’m sick, I’m sad, I’m battered and broken.

Sewing my mouth shut so these words cannot be spoken.

Letting the pen set these words on a page.

Praying you can hear these words on the stage.

My hand is twisted around the pen,

Stopping myself from caving again,

But something tells me to let it bleed.

It’s become like an unconventional need.

Maybe someday I’ll be OK,

I’ll be able to live another day,

But for now the blade is my best friend,

Until I can no longer cut again.

I know it's a day late, but I wrote a poem back in high school about revival inspired by MLK Jr's famous, "I Have A Dream" speech.

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 18:59:54 -0500

It’s called, “At Last.”

At last.

I have looked in the mirror at

The face I soon forgot.

Touching my skin to see if I

Was still living.

At last.

I was trapped behind the mask.

Only seeing my weary eyes.

Racked with the knowledge of

All it’s seen.

At last.

I have learned to smile as little

Fingers wrap tightly around mine.

At last.

I have felt true love for another

Now that the mask is removed.

I found myself.

Soft skin.

Strong limbs.

Tired…

But still fighting.

At last.

I have heard the laughter that

Has saved me from the tears.

At last.

I was starved.

Deprived of light, but saw the

Beauty in the darkness once I

Became its friend.

At last.

I found a friend in an unexpected

Visitor.

At last.

I no longer know the pain of

Sorrow.

The emptiness of loneliness.

And the darkness of insanity.

At last.

I can look at myself in the mirror

And say,

“There is beauty there after all.”

At last.

I unraveled the strings of the

Mask.

Watched it shatter as it fell to

The dirty floor,

Took a breath and faced the

Truth.

“At last.”

I sighed.

I am free of lies and I can finally

Become who I wanna be.

I moved away from the mirror,

Opened the door to the bright

Sunlight.

Inhaled sharply and said,

“Thank God Almighty, I’m free

At last.”