E....E-R-I-C
I wrote about you once upon a time, when I didn’t have the greatest ability to rhyme.
With you or even with my words but you didn’t care, but frankly you never knew.
When I was writing poems about you and everything new, I didn’t tell for you probably would have told me it was silly.
Just like I was when I let you break my heart for the first time, and I welcomed you back without a second thought.
But who am I kidding, I thought about it everyday, the way you had told me you thought she was the most attractive girl, your “ideal” type.
Next thing I know you fell into your self-made hype, and put your lips and hands on her skin the way you did mine.
The love for you would still shine.
It would shine in my eyes until I saw her, I would bury the knowledge down and swallow my frown. And then I’d see her.
Eventually all was forgiven but not really
You went to college, deep down I knew it was going to happen, but I really held on to the hope that you wouldn’t do that to me again cause you saw how bad it hurt me to begin with.
But you did it once and you did it twice.
for months I was downing shot after shot, I get drunk and have a hangover that hurt almost as bad as the heartbreak that continued to shake.
It continued to shake my armor, the one I worked so hard to make and just like that it was gone.
Three months, I don’t remember any of it, but I know during those three months, I remembered all of it. All of us.
E....E-R-I-C
We were bestfriends once upon a time when I couldn’t rhyme, not with you, not with me
But now I’m free
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
My parents think I just have a mental illness
they know nothing of what is wrong with me
if they knew they'd feel like they failed,
Failed at being parents.
In therapy, I tell about how I love my parents and that they love me
but they cause my heart to hurt.
They are the most talked about people in my therapy sessions.
But they'll never know about the whirlwind of seasons my brain goes through.
These seasons are controlled by mother nature
mother nature being them.
But they just think I'm naturally mentally ill.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 7:55 PM UTC
I want to love myself
I want to love myself the way I love how you smile at me.
I want to be able to allow my eyes to touch my skin and to believe I am truly amazing
as amazing as you say I am,
as you believe I am.
I wish I could look at myself and not want to be put back on a shelf.
That is the way you look at me, you pick me up off the shelf, you take in my bruises and scars and you think I am totally and utterly
Beautiful
I want to be able to look at myself and say
I love you
The way you can
I can only hope to love myself the way you love me
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
Today I told my therapist.
I told my therapist about what you did to me.
I told my therapist about my hardships,
about how these hardships are sinking me like an anchor.
I told her how tired I am,
from the nightmares of your hands on my wrists
I told her about my family.
How I am a messenger that bears bad news that breaks
my dad's heart.
I have to ask the question for him that my mother doesn't have
the answer to.
I told her about the abuse that has been unleashed on my soul,
drowning me like deep blue water.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
The growling of my stomach reminds me I'm alive.
Over and over relapse after relapse, when will my body finally collapse?
Not eating for days, is it from the depression or for the control?
The control that I cannot grasp so I try harder and harder
as my heart beat gets softer and softer.
Never will I be thin enough but I can sure try if I can't control my mind, why not the size of my thighs.
Summer twenty-eighteen, five days of no food, five days of stumbling upstairs and stumbling from the hall to my room.
Falling in the shower, black spots in my vision.
Fall of twenty-eighteen, trying to recover, but now I scream in the spring.
In my mind, I yell not to eat hoping to control the storm of insecurities in my head.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 3:51 AM UTC
I listened to your words like they were the rush of nicotine I crave.
I listened to you as you played victim to your own crimes.
Your crimes against me.
Cheated and bruised I still relied on you.
My reliance on you was like my cigarette addiction.
I craved you, I wanted you, sometimes needed you, but in the end, you were cancer in my lungs just like the smoke.
Soon enough you broke, under the pressure of cleaning up the mess you made.
The mess you had made of me.
You left pieces of me scattered throughout the yard of an old house where the memories of your lips on my skin lie.
The memories of the promises you shattered while you left bruises on my heart and skin.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 3:24 AM UTC
I sit in the dark corner of my bed. No spark of light in my head. My thoughts like a hurricane
Scratching at the body that no longer feels like mine your hands on my wrists and thighs taking my light.
Once bright and filled with joy, now feeling like a toy
you did what you pleased while I could only freeze.
too young to know what it was for sure, old enough to know it wasn't right.
Six years old there goes the light.
Maybe I shouldn't still hurt, but it still rushes through my mind like a strong current.
It's been ten years, the nightmares making me scream.
Years have gone by and I still cannot dream.
That man still has no idea what he took from me or what I received.
He gave me anxiety, recurring nightmares. Pushed the demons to visit me while I sleep.
New nightmares have arrived from that night some taking my breath till I lose my fight.
Staying up all hours of the night.
Sixteen now, where is the light?
Fourteen told one soul. He broke the strength I had gathered. With an iron fist, it was shattered.
bestowed with trust he ****** into a form of intimacy I wasn't ready for ultimately.
Pressured and manipulated into acts that shouldn't have been done.
Now he visits the nightmares.
Sitting in the dark corner of my bed pulling the hair from my head.
The walls screaming at me telling me what he stole from me.
My room is no longer a room it is a cell that keeps me caged.
Allowing my demons to point and laugh at my desperate attempt to swim.
to swim from the grim blackness that flows from my bones.
The room that once saw my light now lets it take
flight.
Migrating to warmer places while this winter storm rips me to pieces
There Goes The Light
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 3:01 AM UTC
I fill my lungs with smoke.
Hoping one day I'll choke and the breath will leave my lungs.
This breath is what everyone wants me to hold onto. Just as I want to hold on to the hope that is slowly dispersing.
Dispersing through the air. I lay bare.
My fears, lies and , truth come to life.
Surrounding me.
Screaming filling my lungs with smoke.
Telling me to choke.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
Everything is numb, my heart beating in my ears like a drum.
It hurts to breathe, as I slowly lose sense of reality and everything is a blur.
As the tears fill my eyes, the corrupt thoughts leaking out through them,
I feel the numbness leave and all the pain hit at once.
A storm of thoughts fall from my eyes I watch my self die.
Every ounce of light being drowned by the black ink,
harboring all the unreasonable pain and anxieties that lay dormant in my head.
Feeling forgotten and pushed aside by all who matter,
I can’t help but to feel as useless as an empty platter passed around at a party
Everything matters, but nothing pulls me to care.
Everything hurts as I try to heal the bleeding wounds holding me captive in my own hell.
Sitting and letting the pain grow.
I shouldn’t hurt this much. I’ve no reason too.
But the demons in my head say I deserve it.
Nightmares and anxiety, sleeping too much or sleeping too little.
Always tired it’s inevitable.
Tired of living, tired of trying, tired of everything.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Maybe if I continue to fall, the most important people of all will see.
Maybe they will see me desperately trying to breathe as the black ink fills my lungs.
The ink stains my lungs, maybe if I really show what goes through my head people will agree I should be dead.
The more depressed I get the more fine I feel, my control is tearing at the seams.
Nothing feels real as I’m trying to think of a new deal.
A new deal as in a new way to cope.
I have tried to pray the pain away, but all I think of is hanging from a rope.
Smokes, alcohol, slicing my skin to bits.
No matter how hard I try the demons are still crawling from their pits.
To wreck havoc on my soul.
Maybe if I let them win people will realize that I was falling.
As I lay in bed bawling, I wonder why I’m staling.
Maybe if I end it all..I won’t have to fall.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC