I concede,
I yield,
I cave,
I give in.
My 2 weeks put themselves
in centuries ago.
I've fallen from my self-righteous high horse;
a stallion meant only for
those full of their own capability.
For so long
I've fought more than 'tooth and nail',
more than 'blood sweat and tears'.
Fought harder than 'life or death'.
I've fought to the diminishment
of my brazen,
furious soul.
Worn my own sharp
rapturous vigor for this life
down to a dull
dull syringe.
Even the most skilled,
determined ****** couldn't
tap a main line vien
with what now remains.
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 7:26 PM UTC
How did I get here?
What year did I get
hooked? I can say
it began in 7th/8th grade,
but this has been going on
much longer.
I was born addicted
to breathing too hard, kicking,
screaming, fighting everything
going on around me.
I was born addicted to
burning. I have always reveled
in my own shadow. Been addicted
to addictions. Been hooked on
the Boogey man and the monsters
in my closet.
I remember,
I was 5,
tried to play with
my nightmares, but
they were playing with
my dreams and psyche.
I'm in a downwards
roller coaster. I swear it was
going up,
Then again after all
the drugs I'm surprised
my inner ear has any sense
of direction.
I've been lost in a hurricane
filled with marijuana,
amphetamines, all the alcohol
you could wish for.
Valium, ******* Percocet, acid,
shrooms, Ecstacy, Xanax, I've
popped pills with no clue of the
name.
Snorted so many different chemicals
I got a nose bleed for 2 hours.
and took another bump
when the road looked safe.
My path of addiction is
embedded in my DNA.
I swear I was born
on fire.
I burn through each day,
I burn through each moment,
I burned through my own brain.
Burn out... That's what you call it.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I don't believe in done.
I don't believe in unbroken,
or finished, perfection,
spotlessly clean.
It's all a lie.
We all breaks, cracks,
I don't believe in always.
Then again...
When it comes to my brother's
addiction he will always be
drowning in alcohol. ***** whiskey, tequila.
His brain has become and will stay
barren.
I don't believe in recovered,
or survivor, trauma rotting into
your brain. The person you were, just
died, a masterpiece scrapped.
I believe in lost. Hopelessly lost.
Because I am there, or here. I
no longer walk the ground of this
earth, but rather the quicksand of
my memories. Stepping as quick
as I can, trying to find a way
out of my most recent delusions.
I can feel each hurricane of
another flashback and revel in it.
Thinking I'm revolting against him,
but really I'm just letting his
fingerprints from the crime scene
strip me of my pride again.
I'm not sure I believe in hope,
in love, in reality. I don't know my
stance on revenge, hate, vengeance, pride.
I know I'd rip his tongue out, or maybe
just half. So he can still taste his own
blood. Jam my fingers in the mess, so he can
see how it feels to have his blood on my hand.
Play our relationship in reverse. Rewind my nightmares,
see my body being put back together by
time. Slowly I am no longer burning.
I would simply slip away. Get out
of his hold, head locks, and being restricted.
No bruises, no police, no reports, no detectives,
no more holes missing from my being.
I believe in avoiding possibilities.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
How long do I have to keep fighting
until I feel like I've finally won
something
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
Boom!
White light,
you plummet,
feel the cold air
of a fresh start.
Limbs not in your control,
you think it's a critical
hit, not able to speak
barely any motor skills.
You think it starts to rain,
water on the battlefield
washing off your blood,
wrapping you in nature's embrace.
Warm like an incubator,
keeping you warm and safe,
your eyes sliding closed.
Boom!
White light,
you plummet,
leaving the warmness
of the explosion
you cry out in confusion.
Doctor taking you in his arms,
you think you fell asleep
somewhere between here and there,
feel limbo hanging in the air.
Boom!
Another flash of light
in your new eyes
sounds ringing through
your new ears,
they're counting your toes
and fingers,
seeing how much you weigh.
Swaddled you are given to
mother nature once again,
3 explosions,
you're dead,
and born again.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
I'm supposed to be an artist.
I'm supposed to be a writer.
Everything that has happened to
me I have taken
and made it kiss my *******
***
But this I can not make into
art.
I can not take this memory
and deface it with my hate
and pain.
I did this to myself.
This was a decision I made,
sat in the shower,
and cried for so many
hours thinking about.
This was not forced upon me.
But with her expected
delivery date arriving,
I want to make this some
beautiful piece I can
look back on.
Not cold hands and instruments
put inside my body
pushing and pulling.
I can not make this art.
Staring at the clock and
watching the seconds tick
by to distract myself from
the pain.
I can not count seconds
to forget her now.
I can not count hours
To forget the suction sound.
I just...
I can not.
Make this art.
The reality of my abortion
it too cold and hard
and real
to make this into metaphors,
into some abstract
piece about how life
was taken out of me.
I didn't cry that day.
I didn't cry that week.
But when out of habit I went
to rub my stomach
I flinched. Pluto was gone.
I could feel her sweetness
and strength. I could feel
that I was not ready for
such a strong love,
I was not ready to look
my child in the eyes
and know that I could not
take care of her.
I want to honor her memory
for the strength that she has
passed on to me.
I named her Pluto for she was
such a small planet to me.
A sweet companion to guide
me through the pain that I was
enduring.
I don't think I was supposed
to have her.
I like to think that her
purpose was to make me
stronger. To make me a better
person.
I haven't dropped out of high
school yet because I want a good
life for any child I decide
to care for. I haven't ended my
life yet because
then her's would be a waste.
She grew inside of me for 3 months.
Caused me some intense nausea
and cramps.
She was strong, and bowed down for
no one, stretching my body apart.
I cry for her often.
And I don't believe in much.
But I know in whatever after life
or reincarnation that I may have,
I will see her again.
I will hold her someday.
But for now, getting a tattoo
of my little planet
in the palm of my hand will
have to do.
She had a beautiful soul,
a beautiful burning will.
Maybe I can make this art.
Maybe I can make her smile
knowing that I will always love her.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
-My Personality-
The important thing
about my personality
is that it's me.
It's cruel and
shifting
It's too nice at times.
But the important thing
about my personality
is that it's me.
-My words-
The important thing
about my words is that
they're strong.
They're loud and
quiet, sometimes
they're confusing and
twisted.
But the important thing
about my words is
that they're strong.
-My Journal-
The important thing
about my journal is
that it's patient.
It's empty and
scribbled all over,
some pages torn
off.
But the important
thing about my
journal is that
it's patient.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
I think I
need to accept
that we're
not meant for
"facebook official"
We were hidden
behind locked
doors, whispers
in ears, hidden
under covers
with a substance
we could blame
our actions on.
We weren't meant
to hang on each other
in front of people who
could tell.
I'm good at keeping
secrets, I promise.
But I've never fallen
In love with one.
I don't think you intended
that to happen.
I don't think you
intended to fall
in love with it
either.
But your legs have
always been
ready to run.
So when it
became clear
that we could
happen.
That the curtain
would be pulled,
you wanted no part
of it.
And I think I
need to accept
that we weren't
meant to be
known.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
I haven't been happy
in a long time.
I'm not sure I even
know how to be happy without
being surrounded by other people.
You see I'm in a relationship
and I have never been this happy.
When I'm with him that is.
But I have a problem with
cheating.
There are girls with
fire in their eyes
and flower beds in their
nails and there are guys
with a dark look
that says I won't be able
to walk.
And the only reason I haven't
left my love yet is just that.
Love. I don't know a lot
about it. But I know that
I can't ignore it.
I may be cold, but I am
not heartless.
I have a lack of feeling.
My mom said I have no empathy.
I told her I must be a psychopath.
She just shook her head
and corrected me, sociopath.
Maybe when a man decided he wanted to
break my ***** without my
permission, I think I lost a part
of myself.
I went into my head because my words
were no longer being listened to.
I went to a place where
nothing mattered because I couldn't
stand a place where it did.
I haven't left that place yet.
My therapist says it's
Dissociation disorder. She says I have
PTSD. I have a personality disorder,
and a mental disorder equal to being
bipolar on crack.
So don't tell me that I wasn't *****
Don't tell me I asked for it.
Don't tell me I wanted it.
Don't tell me that **** does
not matter.
Becuase if it didn't it wouldn't
have a name classifying it as something
other than ***
I would be okay. I wouldn't be this
loony case who needs her
medication so that she doesn't
have flashbacks and feel her
wrists being held down again.
I think this explains why I can't
be faithful. I'm lost in a universe
where nothing matters, and nothing
is real. I don't know how to feel
love when it's not by my side
and I think that's why I always need
to be by his side.
Because when I'm alone I don't exist.
I am grey and everything is just a
black hole.
I am a shape shifter
and I don't even know
myself. I don't think anybody
really knows me.
I am liquid that has been
melted in his hot abusive
gaze. And I am mercury.
A girl with firework kisses
said that I was toxic.
So I guess the metaphor fits.
I just wish I understood why
I can't be real.
I feel like Pinocchio and I just
want to be a real boy.
When I am held in someone's arms
and attached to someone else's
lips I am a leech and I'm *******
color out of them hoping
that the feeling of being
alive stays.
But I really wish that I could
just be real
and faithful.
I just want to make him as
happy as he makes me.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
I don't like stories
that end with questions.
I can't stop thinking about
it until I get some resolve,
I'll find questions
pestering the author
until my imagination is
no longer running wild.
You changed your name
from Mars to Athena.
And honestly you should
of changed it to Aphrodite.
Becuase it was so *******
easy to fall in love with you.
Someone might ask how Mars
was accurate for our relationship.
It's the roman god for War.
And there's a constant battle in my
mind over what could have been.
Tears running down my face
like the blood you have spilling
from my heart.
I don't know why I can't
forget you.
You don't want me.
I know you don't,
and it hurts as if I was
an orphaned child
and what my parents did wrong
was beat me.
I know that we'd be terrible
for each other.
We'd be so destructive.
but I can't eat.
The only problem is that,
now you can.
With me gone, you don't
have to deal with my
toxic air.
But I can't imagine
a perfect image
without my backbone
showing just to prove
that I actually have one.
I'm sorry I'm so cold.
I'm sorry that frostbite's
the only kisses I've left on your neck.
You give me butterflies,
but I am cellophane to you.
While I'm begging for your attention
for some god **** closure
you're silent.
But I can't stand stories that have
questions at the ending.
All you are is a god ****
question mark.
Which is kind of funny,
because remember when we gave
ourselves tattoos?
You put a question mark on
the inside of your finger
and I didn't understand.
You are the opposite of closure.
I don't believe in ignoring an
opportunity because all that gets you
is remorse. It gets you pain.
Or at least that's what it got me.
But really, I don't think you care
anymore.
I've been abandoned before.
Athena works for your name too.
Your strategy for breaking my
heart worked so **** well.
You knew just how to
break it completely.
Have your god **** cliches
back, and all of the kisses.
All you've done is break my being.
"Don't take my words, they're
all I have left."
But you've done exactly that.
I'm speechless on what to do.
If you love something, let it go.
Right?
I'm letting go, baby.
Just like you wanted me to.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC