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Deisphorios Apr 2016
Why do you yell at me?
Why did you never yell at him?
When I'm defending my mother from you and you look back and tell me,
"Why don't you keep your ******* mouth shut and speak when I tell you to speak"
Why do you only say that to me?
Why do you say "it's none of your buisness"
When you're yelling at my ******* mother
Of course it's my buisness and if you think I'm not going to fight back then you're dead ******* wrong
But why
Why do you
You only yell at me
You never yelled at him
When he spoke his mind and pointed out your wrong-doings
You didn't do anything
You didn't yell at him and tell him to shut his ******* mouth
You didn't tell him that
And now that he's in college I'm alone to face him
God knows that he doesn't care what my mom has to say
I'm alone here and there's nothing I can do
All I can wonder
Is why he does this to me
And not you
Why does he yell at my mom when she didn't do anything wrong
Why does he get mad when I defend her
Why does he get mad when I open my mouth
Why does he yell at me for this
What am I doing wrong
Is helping my mother wrong?
Why am I not allowed to fight back?
Why won't you let me talk until I'm spoken to?
Is what I'm doing really so wrong?

Dad...
Why?
I'm crying and this is **** but I have to let it out
Deisphorios Apr 2016
Please don't open this door,
Just let me be.
Alone here with my lies, can't you see?
Perhaps not, but that's okay,
Because maybe you'll see them another day.

Scratching my skin,
Wishing it would tear open so I could finally be free.
But fairy tales don't come true here,
And I am stuck forever in this reality.

There is no way out,
For I’ve learned the hard way.
But I've also come to accept the fact that,
Life has become completely grey.

Please don't open me, I am perfectly fine,
Because I can just sit here and pass the time.
12:08, Sunday night, dreading a tomorrow.
c Ashrah
Deisphorios Mar 2016
“Inconvenience.”
“That's all I've ever felt”
With parents that work too much, and very few friends,
“I never got any help.”

As young siblings we hated each other,
The social gap between me and my best friend grew,
“There really wasn't much else I could do.”
                                               “Is there something wrong with me?”
               “Do they not like me?”

“But mom, we never do anything together. We don't go anywhere. And there’s nothing to do at home.”

“That's because we don't have the extra money to do anything fun, sweetie. And I’m sorry, you’ll just have to deal with what we have.”

I don't think she knew that all I would have wanted was a walk in the park together, a block from our house.
“Even then, she never had the time.”
                            “Why does she have to work so much?”
                                                                ­  “Am I really asking for a lot?”

I knew I was no normal child.
But it would have been nice if my father would not have acknowledged it,
If he would have played along like my mother,
To not signal me out so harshly when they had a perfectly good son 3 years older than me.
“Why’d they even have a second child?”
            “We all know he’s way better than me.”                                                  
       “He’ll hardly talk to me… I guess he knows it too…”
                                                                 ­      “Do I matter to them?”

As I got older, I asked my parents for more things. Simple things. They were simple.
“I swear”                                    “I swear”
                  “They were simple”        
                                                ­                             ”Am I asking too much?”

However, with these requests came harsh answers, harsher than I expected at age 10.
I eventually learned to quit asking, knowing what the answer would be.
Every time I asked I felt that I would only be an inconvenience.
I felt that I would only cause them trouble.
This was the start of a habit.
“Wait, no”
                  “That’s not it.”
                                            “It was more than that”
           ”It was life lasting”
It was the start of a whole new section of my personality.
The fear of causing trouble to others.
The fear of people going out of their way for me.

“I can give you a ride home from school if you want?”
“I can pay for your lunch today, it's no big deal”
“No, it’s fine really. I’ll figure it out. It’s fine.”

As long as I don't have to feel any guilt,
I promise I won't accept help from you.
I promise I won't accept favors from you.
I promise I wont cause trouble for you.
Please..
Please,
Please.
              “Please”
         ­                      “Please”
                                               “I can do this on my own”
                                                           ­ ”I don’t need help”
                             ”My only request”
         ”Is to please…..”

*
Don't let me be an Inconvenience to you.
No matter how much I explain, the people around me never seem to understand that I cannot take things lightly.
And I never knew how to explain this dilemma to them. Even now, I feel as if I have not explained it properly. This topic is nothing light to me. I cannot lighten up. This is how I am. I hope that people around me learn to accept this.
Deisphorios Jan 2016
However,
There’s one more dilemma...
I love the quiet,
I welcome the dark,
For the same reason that I hate them both.

Because no one is around me,
No one is there to worry about me,
There are no voices whispering in my ear to grow up, get married, have kids, get a job.
I'm not ready for that yet.
And other voices, although caring, telling me to eat more, sleep more, never forget to take care of myself.
But I can't do that.
I must hold back on my mental issues to do what I must.
And eating and sleeping is no must in my book.
As long as I can make it through a day.
As long as I can get good grades.
As long as I’m not a disappointment.
I don’t need them.

In the dark, my imagination and anxiety take over my thoughts alarmingly quickly.
But at the same time,
I can hide here.
I am safe here.

No one has to see me,
I can do whatever I please.
And no one will judge me for it,
No one will be inconvenienced based on my actions.

You see, I never quite know what I want,
Trapped in a circle of light and dark.
Which one can I stay safe in?
Which one can I stay happy in?
Which one will tear me down first?
Which one could I tear down first?

All of these questions,
I have answers to.
However, I'll choose to ignore them,
Because I don't know which is better yet.
I cannot decide yet.

*Thus, the never ending cycle of internal conflict.
c ashrah
sorry mom i know you expected more
Deisphorios Jan 2016
The dark terrifies me,
The quiet engulfs me,

Fictional phantoms fade into my vision as their hands claw through the gloom like a fog in the night.
I never know what shape they'll shift into, like a new opponent that I know I can’t fight.

Could it be a black figure with nothing on its face but a mouth,  eyes in the back of its throat,
hiding in my closet?
A creature with a twisted face contorted in agony,
waiting just outside my door?
Perhaps a four armed creature with 6 eyes, no nose, and a wicked grin,
to come crawling along my walls?
A young girl in white, presumed to be innocent, but only the presence of an insane smile upon her lips,
groaning from the corners of my room?
Or maybe, simply a ghost with no form, just a pair of wide eyes,*
watching me from my window?

It's on quiet nights like these,
(which are more common than you might think),
that I can hear every whisper the house makes,
every groan of the trees as they wave in the wind.
It’s on nights like these...
that I can feel my heart pumping and my blood rushing and I suddenly remember something that is deathly important.

That I'm alive…

Which reminds me that I'm afraid.
Almost like being alive is nothing but a dream, a terrible one that I've been waiting to wake up from.
But sadly, I cannot.
It’s on nights like these that I am reminded...
That the thought of living haunts me,
That the thought of growing up petrifies me,
I can't see my future self doing anything special,
Mostly for the fact that I can't imagine it.
I can't imagine myself doing anything.
I can't imagine myself living that long.

These thoughts burden me every time the sun goes down, a constant battle between the physical world and my mental hell.
c ashrah
Deisphorios Jan 2016
Yes, this poem has come much too late,
And I hate to say that you've already met your fate,
But it seems that your soul took the bait,
and wrought a trail of tears on its way.

I remember our days back in kindergarten,
We spent our time playing during recess,
And I remember your birthday party with a bright yellow pinata in the back yard.
I remember that small toy turtle you gave me,
I remember your gentle kindness, even for a child,
And I wished that our friendship would last forever...

However…

That was back in kindergarten and schools separated us in elementary,
Until I had the chance to meet you again in 7th grade.
No, we never became as close as when we were kids,
But it was a past relationship that stood solid on our eyelids.
We never forgot,
We acknowledged each other,
We respected each other,
Like good friends did.
And I was fine with just that.

And then, a few years would go by and I'd finally hear the news…
(one of the last to know, might I add.)
That you had grown sick, too ill to leave the hospital bed,
And the thought of the true name brings tears to my eyes to even think of.

Yes,
I made it seem like it was nothing,
I carried on just fine,
Like it was no big deal.
But I'd never told anyone how much I was truly worrying.
(But there was also a part of me that “knew” that you'd make it through.)

Six months past,
And we had good laughs,
You seemed like you'd get better, you really did…
But one day, out of the blue, you caught a cold.
Which lead to a lung infection.
And finally, it was enough to bring you down.

The next thing I know I was told the news while going to lunch that day,
Four of us were told by a friend,
We sunk down on the stairs, our appetites gone.
We were brought to a room in the back, all four of us in tears.

I remember the stark white walls reflecting cold light on a dark table, which was surrounded by my friends.
The four of us joined them, we immediately slumped down on the floor and cried.
We hunched low on the ground, never dared to show our red and puffy faces.
When I looked at the faces surrounding me, only a few were actually in tears.
The only thing I could think for the next hour was;
“How are you not crying?”

I distinctly remember one of my friends coming to sit by me and another friend,
The three of us cried together for a while,
and we could not go back to class for the rest of the day.

It's almost been 4 months since that day.
Only four months.
And it never fails for you to cross my mind at least once a day,
And every month on the 14th, I always think of you.

I know this is late,
But if i'm being honest,
I was really hoping to never create a piece about you.
However, I don’t think I can get over it if I don’t write something.
**Forgive me, my friend, for it seems that I’ve always been a little late, am I right?
For my Friend.
Deisphorios Sep 2015
Why am I even here?
“Why are we even here?”
It’s not something I’m asked if I’d like to do...
“It's because we’re forced to!”
.
.
.
Teachers that no longer care,
Assignments I can hardly bare,
Anxiety that I wish not to share...
Every whirl of motivation I had sloshing around in my brain,
It all seems to flow down the drain!
Now...
Students. Always.
Gossiping,
Cheating,
Climbing their way to the top of the social food chain
In any way possible.
While I sit here on the side slide lines,
Contemplating why they try,
So hard for something that'll end in 4 years!
None of this means anything.
"It's all a test!"
"A meaningless game!"
That most students misunderstand
All the teachers complain now a days
It doesn't even matter they say
So long as they get paid
"Am I right?"
They care not for kids that sit in the back of the class
Their hands trembling at the thought of getting called on to speak
Or the kids whose bodies are shaking because they will have to present their project next,
"Oh, how meek!
School is harder for some people than it is others,
And sadly I am not the latter.
I'm bored in class
Because everything they teach is the same
Every year, the only difference is that there's more details, there's never any aim,
For what they try to teach.
This has driven me to an immense amount of boredom
I no longer have the ambition to learn something new
Because I'll already learn what I already knew!
Top that off with speeches, presentations, and reading in front of the class
*
"There, now you've made a girl as fragile as glass..."
Copywrite Ashrah
Just some thoughts on school
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