If I could make sense of who I am
Perhaps I'd see you clearly
If I could make heads or tails of me
Then, maybe, I could begin healing.
If my brain could find order and peace
It's possible I'd love you freely
If I knew that I was right side up or upside down
I may finally stop abandoning you, may stop leaving.
But I've no clue who the mirror is showing me,
I've never seen that thing once in all my days.
And, ********* there's pitiful little good in knowing me
But you stayed and that saves me in a million, million ways.
If you'd put your arms around me, I know I'd push away
And if you told me you loved me I'd say 'it's just a phase.'
I haven't jumped into the unknown because I'm scared of where I'll land.
And I can't trust you until I make sense of who I am.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
Question: If you look back at your life from this point, what do you see?
Answer: I see the constant struggle of figuring out who I am; the many successful attempts at please people; instant coffees; notebooks I didn't finish; the wish to reach the point where everything is better; the need to run away but can't; waiting, waiting, waiting.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
I wake as your friend You wake as my lover
I speak as your lover You speak as my friend
I act as your possession You are my possesion
I rebel as your cover A means to an end
I hurt for your compassion You live for my acceptance
I injure for your respect Though it's never been withheld
I confide for your emotion You crave my direction
I give and you collect Never will you rebel
This is madness This is Sparta
This is insanity This is the price of exellence
I can't be everything for you I am your everything
You can't be everything for me I am magnificence
You treat everyone the same I am fair and righteous
As a friend, yet as a lover And yet you seek more
And it's a cruel, cruel game Dare you grow capricious
From your twisted love, no one recovers You'll become one I abhor
I am done You are confused
(I am never done) And I will not calm you
I am sick *As I am amused*
(But I'm not tired) As I drop little clues
I will run You'll never leave me
(I won't run) But I'll abandon you
Because I love you You'll always need me
(A better word is 'desire') And I'll never need you
Let me go! My grip is vice-like
(But you're not holding me) I'm not ready to let you go
Bring me back! If I lose you, 'my dear'
(But I never left) I must find yet another 'beau'
Love me only! And I've not the time to put effort
(But you love equally) In little minions like you
Push me away! I've not a care to give for
(Or bridge this rift) You insects I never knew
Please, disappear I am your torture
One day you'll understand But I am your salvation
That the twisted way you love I am your executioner
Could coax death from any human And I am your redemption
Please, disappear! You'll wish me dead forever
Though I'll weep when you're gone You'll wish me dead I know
I know sanity will return And you'll wish yourself deader
And I'll eventually move on. When away I finally go.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Clothe me with the iridescent dress you've got locked up downstairs,
Sprinkle me with the star-cut glitter I stole for you last night,
Stain my lips with the tube of color you call broken light,
And drown me in the pool of blue smoke filling you faulty, strained lungs.
I'll light up your sleeve long worn out by numerous anxieties,
And kiss your cuts with my lemon flavored lips.
I'll cut your hair, weave it into a necklace and wrap it around your neck with the gruesome help of barbed wire.
We'll hold hands with our nails digging into each other's flesh.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Life isn't fair.
*Sometimes it's taking more than it's giving.
Yell for justice, if you want or
dream of somebody saving you,
of someone giving you happiness
like buying it in a shop as a gift.
Get depressed, stay at home,
get isolated, get even more depressed,
get frustrated, get lost,
counting the chances passing by.*
Life isn't complicated.
*It's a complex simplicity, not a simple complexity.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you loose,
a simple truth of life,
you never learn in school from your teachers
or at home from your parents
or by listening to your friends
or watching anybody else.
It's something life tells
occasionally.*
Life isn't serious.
*It tells you a joke almost every day;
a joke so surprisingely good, you will cry for months
a joke so intensely captivating, you won't be able to laugh
a joke so terrifyingly amusing, you cannot listen to it again
or it will burst your chest in hilariousness.
Laugh about it, loud and crazy,
don't retreat a chance to look,
as life's osbcure and obtrusive faible for grim sarcasm,
is always worth a level-up or two.*
Life is just living.
It's about hanging on, about clinging to it;
There is nothing special to it, no mysteries to be solved,
no desire and no craving, except you go for it.
It's a game you can't refuse without playing it anyway,
so trying to win is as good as loosing by doing nothing.
And when you are not satisfied with the outcome
or you always end up loosing despite your biggest efforts,
you can always change how, why and with who you play
and start anew.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
I am different. I always have been.
A little girl is crying in the corner. Her tears are on the inside.
Long, tired streaks down the ***** windows of her soul.
Her soul is old.
Her soul is different.
Shame. Her t-shirt is never quite enough.
It stretches over her knees just short to cover her shame.
Exposed. Her shame; it burns.
Her shame is different.
Her hair. Long and twisted; a curtain to hide the pain behind.
His scent lingers as it curls her hair into knots of hate.
Her hair; it would be beautiful.
Instead her hair is different.
A little girl. She is still to let the corner hug her.
A plaster embrace will have to do.
A wall that hugs; it's not so bad.
This corner is safe.
Her hug is different.
A grown up girl stands in another corner.
Afraid to touch the pain across the room.
The tears are gone. Clothes are hers.
Her hair is the same.
That different corner still remains.
Go to her.
Clean her up.
Dress her shame.
Give her human comfort.
Any other girl. But this one is different.
She is me. And I am different.
Undeserving. And indifferent.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC