Staying:PassageI pressed my knees to the floorand prayed to God you heard me scream.I said good-bye to no one in particular the next day.-There is a silence so intoxicating in leaving. It's a hit or miss, every time.People either miss you, pretend to miss you, or forget your existence.And I've come to find the sooner they forget, the easier it gets to remember you're the only one watching your back, and holding your hand.I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be remembered. The whole reason I came back to Winchester was so I could be held, loved and dreamt of. Not even five days after I made it to the "sacred land" I found myself face first, asphyxiated and blinded underneath a starless sky, silently screaming.I never told anyone this.My anxiety gradually grew worse no matter how low the population density was and I forgot what it was like to have sex for love and not just sex to fuck. And then I decided that to live a decent life I'd have to forget everything, even the rapist who held
StarvedThere was a soft un-tucked tethering in her brain,a wallowing that gave sound to the bitter symphony silencing her elusive twitches, which no one seemed to notice. She breathed in stale air, and tasted remorse. Not for anyone she knew, but herself.And the thing was, she didn't know herself anymore.It was just past 10:00, too early to sleep and too late to grumble down the streets, her bag tossed over her shoulder, still shaking without her fix. The nearest gas station was closed and it was over an hour walk to the closest open one. Cigarettes were the closest thing to speed, and she wasn't close enough to get that deal anyway. All the pill-dealers knocked out on their recent swing of high-indulged habits. This wasn't enough.Luckily, for her, there was a brand new cartridge in her purse.A set of steel, sharp shattered razor blades.Close enough to a speed induced high as she could get,and far more dangerous.She took a round about, spun on her heel, and let the light from the post
Boyfriends who were never thereMy worst fear was saying I love you,knowing that someone has the power to take those words and twist them into something sinister and bold.And when I crossed over that bridge, I feared for you leaving.It is 3 months after I stopped being afraid,and the worst thing has become of us.You don't care if I leave or if I stay.So we sit on opposite sides of the town,with everything to say but no words being exchanged,and I worry for the love you once said you had,and the promises you gave me.I've done everything you asked me to.But you still don't love me.
Spontaneous MeThere is this thing in the center of my spine, sucking secretly, the life from me.It harbors, hollowing the bone, and while I dream at night,I dream of that winter gray water tower, on Senseny Rd.Hovering.Drifting.Floating.Fa l l i n g.You gave me my power, pushing it up and out, my stomach and my throat. I gagged on a prison before you opened its cells.I didn't know what this was. A rebound, relapse. Something to relax.I was 300 miles away,in the dark,in the rain.He drove up, parked the Cherokee, and yelled me by name.I shivered off my outer layer,the part you gave me,and asked when he reached for my shoulder,why he was touching me.He pursed, growled, and bit.And you were no where to be found.Four days later,I got a stronger taste,ice cold in April,and you didn't warmme.I pushed out the power, grounded myself on you.You who taught me to be patient,quiet, and loving.The exact opposite of everything
I am a birdi've been chasing stars for four years counting,the harbor pulling me in before i even knew what the ocean looked like.now that i'm here, all i want is to chase the Appalachian mountains,climb the mighty trees.they say God lives in the woods, and his song is heard through the wind.so i write my prayers at night, singing back, play it for me, please.i am a pigeon,lively alone.i am a goose,my chin held up high, my neck baring blows.i am a raven,breathing heavily at night, words leak down the pages.i stretch my wings, form a shape of a trianglewhere secrets etch the surface,midnight sea claiming lives too bold.i am a seagull, screaming with the howling wind; hear my call.i fight in flight,with the stars in the sky, blown up against the night air, brushed up gracefully in dark contrast, silver against black, the frosty clouds provide the obvious.i am a bird, singing for the morning,breathing for the night.
Kid with a sob storyyou were sixteen and you used to call me kid, like i was the one who needed to grow up, not you.well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and i guarantee that i'm way ahead of you on every aspect.so when you got engaged to the same girl i was so jealous of the first time, and i realized you were an actual human being with actual feelings, i didn't get angry, i got numb with content.-you were sixteen when you took the best year of my life,lonely girl at fourteen, heartbroken for a year, and ready to give up everything important to someone who certainly didn't deserve it.i look back, read the words i screamed at night and realize,shit could have been so much worse.and i realize, you were sixteen, barely past being a kid, yourself.well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and you're probably playing tricks for steady living, and i'm busting my ass seven days a week,clean, honest, minimum wage, two jobs, at eighteen.call me a kid.
Visibleit is sad to sayin the least that it is 2:00in the morning andi still don't know yourname, but the color of youreyes and the deep soulsearching personadrives me up the wall at nightand i have nightmares.
PassageI don't know if I am weak for forcing myself to forget, and say good-bye, or if I am strong enough for staying alive.There is a silent rule in my family that when bad things occur, we just don't talk about it. If you can give me a reason other than the emotional capacity of my family is at level 0, I'll consider it. Other than that though, we stay silent. I think this is the reason I became a vulture for trauma.I've heard there are ways the brain automatically deals with trauma. And usually, people who experience trauma in their lives, the ones who deal with it unsuccessfully, end up with some other mental illness.Somehow I ended up with an on again off again suicidal, angry depression harboring in my rib-cage.Regardless, the first stage of trauma I ever went through was when I was barely two years old. My mom's boyfriend, Robert, an abusive fucker, beat the hell out of her constantly. I don't know what demons he possessed, but they were strong enough to persuade him that hitting h
FallingWhen we broke up the first timeI compared you to every boy I'd ever deemed important.Why you were better than every one.Why you were worse than every one.When the second time came around,I stopped asking questions,and just reflected on how different you are nowfrom then.You don't see you the way I do,just like I don't see me the same way.You've grown so much,that same insecure devoid of emotion boy,hiding through distractions,same as me.I stopped being so insecure,stopped blaming everyone else,stopped being afraid of feelingand stopped hiding.You were my revelationto all the lies, and all the secrets I held in.And I don't know,but I hope that anger you hold means the same thing.