What’s wrong with me?
I can’t do anything they can do
And they do it so easily
It doesn’t help that they reinforce this inferiority
By telling me constantly
that which is wrong with me.
They mock
And they laugh
What a worthless joke I am
Still living at home
Watching the time go by
Remaining in the same place I was left years ago
Still don’t have a driver’s license
Or even a job
I sit in my bed
And let the painful memories flood in
It’s a shock I’m not dead
How have I not committed suicide yet?
They can mock me if they want
I’m already numb
To the cruelty of humankind
You ask what’s wrong with me
with that arrogant nature
Your smug expression
wrinkles your painted face
To put down another for their flaws and disabilities ...
I should be the one asking
What is wrong with you?
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
Have you ever had lives
In your hands?
Every choice you made
Would affect them
Either way
I have lives in my hands
I hold them on opposites ends
I want them both to be safe
But both of their safety
Can’t exist in the same place
I strip one of their freedom
Gifting them a rusted chain
And forcing them to stay
While the other flourishes
And I water them with love every day
I see the chained one lying down
I can hear their crying at night
My heart squeezes until it bursts
I can’t even describe how much it hurts
I look down at the flourishing one
And take away their water
And worry if that one day
Was the day that it would matter
The chained one
Now free, rests in my lap
They love me
And cling to me
Happy that they’re no longer lonely
But then the flourishing one wilts
And I can’t save them
Their very roots are dead
It is all my fault
I hold their corpse to my chest
The chained one then dies
They must exist together
But they can’t both exist
Happy and free
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
The very phrase of
“How are you?”
Is more of a habit
Than it is out true interest
And concern
Strangers and people you don’t know well
Ask you this
And the instant reply,
you know this is true
Is, “I am good. And how are you?”
They answer the same
And that’s the end of the game
But there is a time where that answer can change
A family member
Pats you lovingly on the back
You look at each other
And the love and closeness between you
Is so strong
it can be felt
Out of habit, they ask
“How are you?”
And for a moment
You really want to—
You really, really want to tell the truth
That life has gotten worse
That you are depressed and can’t move on
That every day you’re in pain
Oh, sadness! What a terrible curse!
But instead, you say,
with the most fake-ass smile,
“I’m good. And how are you?”
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
It doesn’t matter how much time passes by
Days, months, and even years will pass
But I... I will still be right here
Right in the same place
Where I lost everything
Time does not heal wounds
It only gives you more time to dwell on the pain
I’m sorry
I truly am
But even if I’m pushed
Even if I’m drowning in fortune and love
I will still be here
Waiting
Waiting for everything to somehow—
somehow turn back
And give me a different story
But until then
I’ll be here
Waiting
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
At times like this
what you need is to cry
Not a little cry
A tear gracing your cheek
But an ugly cry
A downpour to lose yourself in
Those droplets hitting the floor
As you feel the holes in your heart
The cracks in your soul
The last bit of your happiness
You hold in your hands
With no concern left in the world
The weakness of it pleading to you
Through empty space, voice unheard
You dream there,
From the bottom of the world
Of distant places
Of different people
That you could be
That you can be
That you were
An escape is all you ask
Of those people
Of those places
But this place is all your own
Crafted by your own two hands
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 10:29 PM UTC
I am deaf, blind, and mute
Though that's untrue, physically speaking
I still feel it deep within me
Blinding my eyes from truth
From reality
Deafening my ears from hearing others' encouraging words
And their feelings of warmth and love
Muting my replies and true thoughts
From ever springing up
To prevent me from prying my fingers off the cusp of this palpable insanity
Ah, this addiction is overwhelming
I need a moment
Just one second
Of truth to burst in and scream into my ears
Crying and begging me to come to my senses
Reminding me of the past failures
And how I said this time would be different
Just one moment of honest truth
But, you see, I'm deaf
I can't hear anything
Edging on this addiction
Knowing I'll fall
And have to start all over
I just need a moment...
A brief time of clarity
To open my eyes
So I can see clearly
That all the excuses I'm spewing out are lies
A memory I can view
Something that jogs my memory
And reminds me of why I wanted to stop in the first place
But you see...
I'm blind
I can't see even this truth that lies right in front me
The addiction is winning
Knocked me out so hard
My head is spinning
I need to convince myself to escape this battle
Its power is so terrifying
And I can't even speak
I choke out pleas
But they are unintelligible
The addiction hears nothing
And nor do I
But I need just a moment...
Of someone's words to recite
To clear my mind
And be who I was before I commited this sin
Please, I beg of you, Me
Speak, speak, speak!
But I am mute
I can't say a single thing...
...
Oh, what a tragedy
To be deaf, blind, and mute
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
"You're not depressed," your ignorant mind speaks
Telling me there's no proof
Not a single piece of evidence
That I am depressed
Excuse me?
What proof is necessary?
Do you want me to ramble on about the days I cried alone
In my bedroom comforting my own?
Do you want me to discuss the many ways I harmed myself?
I cut, I scratched, I picked at my flesh
I bit, I smacked, I punched myself
Bruising my skin so sore
That I felt it as I walked
Do you want me to tell you about my suicidal ideation?
Thoughts and prompts of firearms, pills, and suffocation
And how to use it effectively
On myself?
Do you want me to tell you how worthless I felt?
That I punished myself for every tiny mistake
And never felt worthy in others' presences
That I can hardly keep eye contact
Because I'm so self-conscious?
Tell me, what proof do you need?
Because I know **** well
I'm depressed
I feel it pulsing through my mind, heart, and soul
I feel it picking at my heart
As if I'm an instrument
I feel it with every thought
That comes to my mind
I feel it with every step I take
And every breath I inhale
How is that for evidence?
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Everyone tells you to never give up your dreams
But I am one of those dropouts
Of that philosophy it seems
I used to repeat that inspiration in my head as I drew
Pictures and pictures of things I decided were not good
At least not good enough to achieve my perfect future Where everyone is in awe of my work
And gushes about me over and over
I decided that my paintings would have to remain in the garbage
Where I believed they deserved to be
Because I had a shortage
Of belief in me
And what I thought I could be
I need money to survive
So I'll give up what I love
For a life of financial consistency
But whether or not my dreams ever come to fruition
I'm going to say what everyone else did
And tell my children and grandchildren
To never give up their dreams
While I throw away my last paintings and drawings in the trash
I pray that they will get what I never had
A dream that came true
And a job they love to do
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.
She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.
At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.
What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.
"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC