Light it up
Light it up
Oct 16, 2014

Everyone around me is falling into a pit of depression
Self hate, self concept, self image, destroyed
And I am desperately struggling to pull them out
But when I reach for one hand,
It means I'm letting go of the other

precarious self-concept, hunger for sorrow
Shiterary
Mar 17

Wake up to the morning,  cradle the sorrow: nurture your own.
Light cigarette,
reminisce lost love: feed it with visions.
Drag feet, numb against the ground --
to the car,
snow piles outside, project suffering onto the world,
attend to the ache,  recycle fragments of memory, of psyche.
precarious self-concept, hunger for sorrow

Stranger.
Witness the charade, colleagues dancing to an unworded ordinance.
Forego friends, family
Cradle the despair
Visions of loss into the night,
Wake and light cigarette...

alking through the halls today, from my self-concept I canot stray
InsertFakeNameHere

I know my heart, I know my soul but my face is so unknown
No one knows my real desire and my self-esteem is drowning in fire
I turn my head and close my eyes and I take off this disguise
With no sight I can see and pretend that I could be anyone,
Anyone but myself

Walking through the halls today, from my self-concept I canot stray
Lest I see my true self, avoiding the eyes of everyone else
Just so I'll hold together, will I be like this forever?
When I fall asleep at night, I see a shining light and I'm anyone,
Anyone but myself

In the morror I see myself: the one hidden from everyone else
And then I see my physical face, the one I wish I could erase
But I won't admit defeat, for maybe someday I'll get my release
Every day, every hour I've lost my power, but in my mind, I'm anyone
Anyone but myself

Waiting anxiously inside, worrying about what I hide
The words exist only on paper, my plan for what I'll do later
Ticks of the clock break my heart, my impatient heart tears itself apart
But, just for now, I'll have to slow down because I'm not anyone
Anyone but myslelf

lt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept.
Kathleen
Kathleen
Oct 23, 2010

Cry me a river.
Douse me in the irony of conflict.
I'm just a rock on the edge of it,
sitting patiently for your sigh.
We both sit idly by, tensed for the precious birth of words in silence. Trust the ever-living body of guilt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept.
Don't speak to me as if I'm some dignitary for justice,but simply as if I might irk out some monochrome of truth whilst I sip my coffee in exasperation.
Irritation is also intoxication might I remind,
so I'm fumbling and tripping over my own flawed reasoning.
I got to this point somehow,
so let us examine it rationally and see why I drowned in the liquor of my own rhetoric.
Or, we can sit tentatively vacant waiting for some resolution to spring from the ether that is the growing chasm between us.

creative commons
s and feedback of me rather than my own self-concept,
teaxstains

I...am a robot, my buttons pressed by your thoughts and feedback of me rather than my own self-concept,
My many gigabytes made up of comments from years ago:
"You'll never be one of us..."
"Intimidating freak...",
Only...unlike other robots, I have a mind of my own,
Instead of merely beeping out the words my creators have programmed me to in mechanical monotone, I say things completely opposite in nature with a variation of rise and falls in all the appropriate places- just like a normal person might,
Heck, I do it even better sometimes,
All the better...
...so they wouldn't suspect a thing when the time comes for me to literally throw off my (human) skin, exposing my true hard, steel body underneath, soon to be
...covered in
BLOOD, bitches

I know this is really dark and all but keep in mind that I'm writing this from a "yangire's" perspective (google that if you don't know what it means. It's the Japanese term for a certain type of personality type- derived from manga/anime)
th, trust in their own perceptions, and self-concept.” I'm not quite sure if I'd label a que
Ella Schmeits
Ella Schmeits
Jul 19, 2014

Sometimes I can't fall asleep. I wonder if my brain is physically incapable of shutting off; if the thoughts constantly running round my head and through my arms to my shaking fingers and twitching legs have anything to do with her. I think I was a little bit in love with her, to be honest-- if a fourth grader can be in love. I looked at the yellow spots on her teeth and saw a beautiful birthmark- distinguishing the interesting from the dull and the good from the evil. I observed her frizzy, black hair and deemed it noteworthy to the highest extent, and although I don't remember it, I'd be lying if I said I had never dreamt of kissing her. She was so beautiful to me-- an enigma wrapped in a conundrum with a side of a heightened, fourth grade quandary.

The online counseling center of the University of Illinois defines an emotionally abusive relationship as “brain washing that systematically wears away at the victim’s self-confidence, sense of self-worth, trust in their own perceptions, and self-concept.” I'm not quite sure if I'd label a questionable elementary school friendship as emotionally abusive, but looking back, I could never really figure out what bonded us together other than mothers who enjoyed sewing and a mutual lack of trust. Her deficiency was in herself. I was just cement to fill the gaps.

Currently, my chest feels constricted and my hands are shaking like the revolution inside them hasn't yet been won, and neither the rebels nor the authorities can remember what or who they're fighting for. I think it's the caffeine that set it off, but I wouldn't put it past her to inject the cement with poison and shove it back down my throat like medicine. Maybe that's why I've been having trouble breathing.

Last night, I forgot to brush my teeth. I'm not sure if it was because I forgot or because the long term effects of my iron deficiency finally kicked in. The cement hasn't yet hardened enough to fill the cracks.

was worthless back then, let alone our self-concept.
Scribbling Feelings

I've been dreaming about my lunchbox days again.
When imagination was the smallest word we had heard.
Back then, medicines were what we all ran from,
And not one of the ways to leave and run.

Pinky promises were enough to define our little forevers.
None of us knew that infinity had an end.
Fighting was over lollipops and candies,
And we could become whatever our heart said.

And God helped us pass these tests that give us anxiety now,
Life was all about jumping in muddy puddles in the rain,
When darkness was only at night, and we had bigger beds to crawl into,
It was just lawlessly easier in the lunchbox days.

Catching fireflies, not knowing that there were enormous stars up there.
When Oswald was the only celebrity we wanted to be, the only toy we wished to have.
When our ice creams fell down, and our wails and screams stopped,
By sharing our best friend's and holding their little clumsy hand.

Nothing was worthless back then, let alone our self-concept.
Flying to the moon was the only struggle we went through.
Mommy and Dada kissed us goodnight, and walked us to our classes,
Still packing our lunchbox, those days are what I wish I could run back to.

 
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