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D'BEST Nov 2014
I remember a calm sort of bravery in the way that she was.
Not the kind that you find advertised
on billboards and television,
or in mothers and soldiers, no.
It was a kind that you could see in her eyes
(the only animate part of her body,
besides her leg, which shook without her approval,
like a dog fresh out of a river, annoying and unpleasant.)

It was there in her eyes even as she'd lie her bed in the nursing home
at the ripe old age of 20.
It was there as she stared down from the headrest on her wheelchair
at her disabled body,
trying to forgive it for betraying her.

And I remember sometimes when I looked at her,
I could've sworn I saw her thoughts floating around in her head,
like fish in a tank too small for comfort.
I could almost hear them bouncing off the walls of her skull
and echoing, echoing, echoing too, too loud.
I could see her trying to make sense of them,
and I wanted to, too.

And every now and then a look of concentration crossed her face:
her eyebrows furrowed,
her jaw tightened just a bit,
and that was the full extent of the control she had over her
own
*******
muscles.

It was times when that look appeared on her face that I wanted,
more than ever,
for her to be able to just say what she was thinking.

After two years of various types of therapy,
learning to eat through her mouth again instead of a stomach tube,
and the expectation of a long and happy life,
a second brain aneurysm came and did what the first couldn't quite do:

it killed her.

It's been about six or so years since then,
and I still remember how cold her hands always felt,
and wish that I had taken a better look at her the last time I had the chance.
I wish I had told her that I loved her more often and really meant it--
not those absent "I love you's" that only exist as fillers before goodbyes.
I wish I had gotten to say goodbye to her,
but the doctors wouldn't let me in the room where she was,
attached to the life support machine,
because I was too young.

It wasn't fair--she was too young, too.
Too young to be dying,
too young for freaking working lungs to be cause for hope that 'she
just might pull through!'
instead of being a given.

But she was braindead.
That was that.
And our parents held her hand and let her die,
like no parent should have to.

I can picture my mom in the room with a dead daughter and a silent husband,
sobbing as her daughter's heart stops and her world collapses.
And I don't know if that's the only corpse my mom has seen or not,
but it was one that no mother should witness.

And because of all of this I can't **** myself.
It's not a lack of resources or desire to do it.
It's the fact that I've experienced the loss of a sister,
just like all of my siblings (except for one.)

It's the fact that I've seen my mom on mornings when she wakes up
and, like a ball and a paddle in slow motion,
it hits her over and over again throughout the rest of her life.
I can't do that to her again, no matter how badly I might want to die.

I saw my other sister fall on the gravel, screaming, "No! No!"
I heard her say through tears, "You know, I don't think God is a very nice guy,"
and I can't have her think that it's even slightly her fault now that we both know God isn't involved here.
She would miss me too much. It would hurt her too much.

And those are the real reasons I'm not going to **** myself, Doc.
Dealing with some pretty bad depression lately. I have an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, and I know what he's going to ask. It's a rough poem and I think, even for its length, it ends too abruptly, like some other things tend to do. There's more I want to add, but I am too tired and cold and sad to keep writing. Like a sim can't do certain things under certain circumstances in the older sims games. My morale is too low. I'm like Amarantha. "boohoo my bf doesn't remember me wwyaaa" That would ****.
D'BEST Jun 2014
It's unhealthy, the amount I think of you.
I don't plan to pursue you.
I don't want to meet you--
at least, not for a decent amount of time.

I just want to figure you out,
to witness your creations, as dark as the desire may be.
I want to feel a corpse and understand
exactly what it is you've done to make it one.

It's not just a heartbeat that's missing;
the inhale-exhale rhythm of breath is not the only thing that has ceased.
A living body is much more than blood pumping,
or converting oxygen into carbon dioxide--

but I can't decide what makes it truly alive.
What makes a person truly alive?
Do you even know? Could you tell me?
And if so, am I, too, truly alive?
D'BEST Jun 2014
I made a mental note that the way that you were looking at me was different.
I told myself to forget it.
Maybe you were just having an off day?
Everyone has off days, so what?

But then it continued.
Consistency had never been so terrifying.

When we first met, you saw me as a sad girl who rarely spoke.
Then, when I spoke, you saw me as a sadder girl that could sometimes make a good joke.

When I looked at you, I saw a beautiful, but misunderstood soul.
When I looked at you, I imagined a galaxy, your freckles spread throughout your body like the stars.
When I looked at you, I saw mischief.
When I looked at you, I saw my lifeline.

But you never looked at me, in love with my smile--
you never looked at me, in love with anything about me.

You weren't in love.

And maybe I was and maybe I wasn't,
maybe every person who is older than us is right and I'm too young for that.
But what I felt...
It was real.

I know it was real.
I've analyzed my emotions a thousand times--you know me, I have--
and I was nothing but honest and raw with you.
I wasn't putting on a show for you, acting, like I did for everyone else.

No, you were the one doing that.

You told me I was beautiful when I was sweating rivers.
You told me I was brilliant while I failed Algebra 1 three years in a row.
You told me I was better than Emma Stone and that weird British guy with the funny name.
You told me that you felt the same way about me as I felt about you.

You made me feel like every ****** thing about me was magnificent and beautiful,
like I could make no mistakes.
I know now that that is not the case.
I think I was the only one of us who actually believed it anyway.

Intentionally or not, you fooled me into believing that you would be there for me when I felt doomed.
I believed that I finally had someone to trust completely.
I realized, alone in my living room, that you wouldn't be drying my stupid fat tears...

So I cried for hours.
I laid my cold and sorrow-heavy body on the carpet and wept.

I loved you so purely, truly; I promise you that.

But you owe me nothing for not feeling the same.
Titled for my favorite line.
I am just rambling. Typing some stuff that I'm thinking about. Reminiscing. The person this is for will never read this, I'm certain, so I'm goin' all out--all the feels are bein' expressed to-night! Not face-to-face, of course, because that would cause me to have 6000 panic attacks, but somehow, in a safe way, so yeah!
Woohoo!
D'BEST May 2014
Here's my story--it's sad, but true:
I've got nothing on my mind.
The sky isn't blue and the ocean's not grand.
I thought I'd be a hero.
If you've ever wondered why, Disney tales all end in lies.

I've been spending money like a king, but I'm not a king.
There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light.
I've got these habits that I cannot break.
Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?

I think that, possibly, maybe, I'm falling for you.
I don't know, but I think maybe.
I'm going to be a mighty king.
When the night has come,
I'm not surprised--not everything lasts.

All the ghosts of the grandmothers have been haunting me in my living room.
Did you see the sky?
You say hello, and I say hello back.
You may tire of me.

In the light of the sun,
I never loved nobody fully.
Where have all the good men gone?
After all is said and done, I feel the same.
You know, this may turn into the longest day of my life.

Once upon a time, not so long ago,
Three little birds sat on my window.
"Hey, ain't life wonderful?"
When I see you, I really see you upside down.
Today, I'm going to write a sad song.

Follow me and everything is all right.
I just want to be okay, be okay, be okay.
I hold on so nervously.
I want to ask you, do you ever sit and wonder,
Why do birds suddenly appear every time you'e near?
I sense there's something in the wind that feels like tragedy's at hand.
It's pretty odd, I know. What I did was put my iPod on shuffle to write this. Each line is the first line of each song that came on. There are more to come.

— The End —