Can't I be clean?
Is it okay to try and scrub away
the failure from my tongue and
the disappointment from my heart?
Would it be possible to look
in the mirror and be okay with it?
I want to be happy with the reflection
but all I want is to cover it in fog
with the hopes that there will be
someone different when I wipe it clean.
I want to be someone you deserve.
I don't want the hate, the jealousy, the fear
that this is all I'll ever be.
I want to say sorry for being
***** Tainted. Hideous. Sad.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
We are not born with hatred swirling around in our skull
It is something that is built within the structures of our environments
This civil war whose bombs wake us up in the morning
and whose grenades disturb our sleep.
We are not born with fatass/faggot/nigger/spic/dyke/slut on our tongues
This is the product of this billboard society that teaches us
to spit daggers rather slip our tongues around and caress
We are not born in fear of the other
It is not genetics that implore us to engage
in the ongoing battles between
fat and skinny
black and white
religious and faithless
straight and curved
Our world is a wasteland
filled with our soulless cardboard cutouts
doing nothing more than occupying space.
We examine our fingertips in search of identity
and are shown skin that has been scrubbed smooth
by the buffers created to stop our minds from
expanding too wide and our dreams from growing too big.
We look to the too-distant stars for directions but must turn to a foreign map
to tell us where home is.
What we are born with is excitement.
With adventure running through our veins.
With eyes the color of flawless wonder
and skin scarred with wisdom.
We were born with longing.
Longing for a great escape.
For rebirth.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
Love.
Love is
awful/wonderful/
terrifying/beautiful/
frustrating/amazing/
foreign.
It's amazing how something that you've never had
can leave such an empty feeling inside you.
I was made with an empty space in the middle of my heart.
Meant to be filled with someone's "I'll love you forever."
There must have been a mishap in the factory, though,
because there seems to be no complimentary piece.
I have a mantra I go through, a set of excuses I remind myself of
whenever a chance is lost, an opportunity runs sour. '
I call them "The Three Things I Know To Be True About Love."
Not interested? Someday he will be
Isn't into relationships? Someday he will be
Isn't attracted to you? Someday he will be
Well, I can't say I know the third part to be true.
I know what you're thinking.
Sad, whiny fat kid complaining about something he caused himself.
Look, I know what I look like. I know what it allows me in life.
To be fair, it is my own fault. I've let myself stretch,
outgrowing my skin and confidence till they're threatening to burst.
I know it would be hard to look at me and say "I love you."
I never have been able to do it.
I think if I heard it just once, though, I'd be satisfied.
Just to give me the sensation having the words
pass through me, enveloping my insides
with warmth, hope, promise.
I'm not asking you to mean it. I couldn't ask you for that.
Even though I'd know of their false implications.
I have always been a fan of playing pretend.
I know that I'm young,
and that I haven't been far outside of the
cornfield fence that has enclosed me for 19 years.
But patience has never been a virtue I've held.
I'm just someone who is desperately tired of "somedays."
All I'm asking for is a "today."
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
I remember the day we first met.
Two scrawny, energetic young scamps too excited to make the transition into our education.
From day one, we were together.
All day, every day.
People asked us if we were brother and sister.
And everytime, our answer quickly escaped our grins...
Yes.
Let's fast-forward to the third grade.
Our heads were still innocent enough not to know the flaws
we would eventually have but I was still mature enough to know
that when you walked up to me that morning with
tears and terror streaming down your face,
letting the words "My mom left us" seep through your painful gasps.
I was nine years old when I first saw someone's heart break.
I tried to sweep the pieces back up and glue them back together...but I failed.
It wasn't until later that night that my mom woke me
in the middle of the night to explain that your mother didn't leave,
but went to prepare a safe hiding spot from your father's fists.
We talked on the phone every night until you came back.
The stupid chatter of whatever a nine year old even thinks about
tying up the phone lines for hours at a time.
That was the first time you told me you loved me
It was the first time first time I ever believed it.
Now let's fast forward to the seventh grade.
Junior high.
A boiling *** of hormones and hate.
By this point, I hadn't talked to you in two months.
The judging panel of life had already confirmed what I knew was to happen.
Bubbly, boy-crazy blond girl rises to the top
Insecure, boy-crazy ****** boy sinks like a boulder.
I was thirteen when I first felt my heart break.
My eyes were opened to the **** life was ready to dump on my doorstep.
I knew that lines were to be drawn
I just never would have guessed we'd be on opposite sides.
I got called ******
You called yourself silent.
Next, let's talk about year that ended everything: senior year.
A year of endings.
Graduation from the hell hole that was high school.
Leaving my mother for the first time since birth
Leaving my friends since the first day we stepped onto the playground together
thirteen years earlier.
We started off strong.
We were determined to end our school years the way we started them: together.
We would go off to the same college, get an apartment,
and everything was going to be fine.
Six months had passed
We hadn't spoken for one of them.
You had me pegged as your sworn enemy.
I was terrified to wake up in the morning
because I knew I would have to look at you
instead of seeing you.
I was eighteen when you broke my heart for the final time.
Your army of farm-town morally upright teenagers
had done their best to destroy me.
But I still walked. I still dragged myself around,
****** and bruised from your attacks.
I thought things were cooled down.
I just wanted out.
Then you said it.
That final day.
You called me a ******
and said you hated me.
Now, almost a year later, whenever I think of you my eyes start welling up.
Your words, spoken and unspoken, still sting.
I know that I hate you.
But I don't know why I still care.
What I do know is that I don't need you.
I've met the most wonderful group of people
far greater than I could have ever imagined.
But still, whenever I'm with them, I'm thinking of you.
Wondering what I need to do for them that I didn't do for you.
I just hope their feet are more stable than yours.
I can't handle anyone else running away.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
Guilt
The worst feeling in the world.
It slowly eats away at my mind
Until that’s all I have left.
The guilt.
The hardest part about
dealing with it is I know
it’s something I’ve caused.
The difference between
feeling and being.
It’s my fault.
I could have prevented it.
But it’s too late now.
All that’s left are what ifs.
What if I would’ve thought before I said that?
What if I let you make your own decision?
What if I wasn’t here?
What if I would’ve answered that phone call?
What if I really do have a choice?
I wouldn’t have hurt so many people.
You wouldn’t be filled with guilt.
You wouldn’t want to die.
I would’ve been able to say goodbye.
Maybe I caused all of this.
I can't fool myself.
Not again.
It's all true.
Every part of it.
I need to man up
and face my jury.
On the counts of
being an *******
being too domineering
being a mistake and a reminder
being selfish
and being what you never wanted me to be
I'm guilty.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
I am tired
of feeling this way
and being like this.
I am so sick
of having these thing
living inside of me.
I should have tried
to get rid of it sooner.
But I let it grow
become it's own being
now it has a face
it has a personality.
I'm done being sad.
Of having gloom
draped around my shoulders
every time I get dressed.
I'm done with looking in the mirror
and seeing a monster
who I fight everyday
and always lose.
Paranoia.
Being unsure.
Always second guessing angels.
Being selfish.
Putting myself above others.
Knowing what I'm doing is wrong
and continuing to let myself
get wrapped up in a hopeless
situation.
It has exhausted me.
I am done burning.
I want to extinguish
the nest of flames that lap
under my skin
that have me thinking
the only way to relieve myself
is reach under the skin
and let the fire slowly trickle out.
I need to learn honesty.
I want to be a better person.
I need to stop kidding myself.
I want to let it go.
I need to let myself be happy.
I want to let you be happy.
I have the reassurance
that I don't know better
than the universe.
It knows where I will be going
and who I'll meet along the way.
I have the knowledge that
overcoming tyranny isn't easy.
But my willingness
to be happy is stronger
than any depression.
It may be tomorrow
it may be in ten years.
But it will happen.
Happiness will happen.
I'm still pushing against a boulder.
Trying to climb over
only to scrape at the sides
leaving my finger tips ******
But I know I have something.
pushing me. Carrying me.
I have the hands of the angels
that sit on my shoulders.
Elevating me and helping me
to get my footing.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
Everyday.
Every ******* day.
I have to have this conversation
with you.
About what an idiot you are.
How ******* pretentious you are
to think you could ever have him.
Do you think he even notices you breathe?
Probably not.
Maybe you should try not to
That might get someone's attention
you pathetic little piece of worthlessness.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
How arrogant can you be?
To think you would ever be considered
worthy of his time and attention.
He is everything you lack.
Everything you will never be.
You are a monster.
He is everything that is good.
It amazes me that even though
you know you don't have a chance in hell
you still make up these
little fantasies in you head.
You still write poetry about it.
You mind keeps convincing yourself it isn't so
but your idiot heart won't let you forget.
It's a little cute.
How impossibly naive you are.
It's time to end this little charade
and just give up.
You could turn off your feelings.
Or you could just stop thinking about it.
Or you could really show you care
and **** yourself.
Stop the embarrassment.
End the nuisance.
But suicide would be pretty pointless since
you are already dead.
Everyday.
Every ******* day.
I have to have this conversation
in my head about you.
I want to scream it so loud
that you can't help but hear it.
But the truth is, I know
you already know I'm right.
So I stop talking.
I look away from the mirror,
away from my reflection
and continue with my day.
Praying I take the advice.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
*******
That's the first word that came to mind
when I met you.
"What an ******* I want nothing to do with you."
It's funny how things change, huh?
Not the you being an ******* part.
That's still true.
But now all I want
Is to be around you.
Inconvenient
Why are feelings so inconvenient?
My luck, I guess.
That's what I deserve for playing make believe.
For all of those time I fell into a daydream
Where we love each other
and everything is alright.
We'd be together and my fears
of being alone would be gone.
I'd get to wake up in the morning
next to your warm body
your head on my chest
listening to my heart saying thank you
for being alive.
Dreaming
I like dreaming.
A dream is like a blank canvas.
When you drift away,
you arrive to a giant mass of white
getting to stab at it with your brush
until it fills with color.
I love when I get to paint.
There is always
sunshine
rainbows
and you.
Reality
I wake up and get slapped in the face by reality
I'm forced to look in the mirror
And see everything I've been afraid of.
Nothing will happen. With us.
You've got your eyes set on someone else.
And I've got mine set on the softness in your eyes.
The fact that I'll never have you
is what I've come to accept.
It's what I've come to know.
But that can't numb the feeling
of tiny knives dancing around a fire
burning in my belly
every time I see your face.
It doesn't dim the light I see
when I work up the courage
to look you in the eye.
It doesn't stop me from wanting
to wrap myself in your laugh
and just melt.
From wanting to walk in front of you
and shield you from the
hate
ignorance
and dagger-like words
being thrown your way.
From wanting to walk behind you
and catch all of the pieces
when someone crashes through
that beautiful puzzle
called your mind.
From wanting to walk beside you
our fingers intertwined
with a promise of never letting go.
Always
I'll always have a place
in my heart for you.
For all of the moments
when you chased away the rain clouds
on my stormiest days.
The way your shining smile
never fails to create
a speck of beauty
against a dark silhouette of ugliness.
Instead, I'll just dream
and hope I never wake up.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Love.
It's such an easy word to scoff at.
We are born with our parents
nursing us on it.
With promises of never letting
that well run dry.
We live the rest of our lives
dedicated to finding that love in another person.
To discover that true, pure chemistry with someone.
As much as I hate to admit it
I want all of this and more.
I'm only human.
I just can't break out of this cage.
A cage built on a foundation of
ignorance, Jesus, loneliness, and hate.
That must be what a tiger feels like.
Living everyday enclosed by thick glass walls
watching everyone else live the life you want.
To be able to walk outside
with my fingers interlocked with the person I care about most
Without being stared at
Without being told it's unhealthy
Without having bibles thrown at us.
I'd ask my parents to make me free
But they'd just swallow the key
So I'd stay in there forever.
Because letting me breathe the outside air
would be conceding to what their upbringings told them.
It would be admitting that their baby boy is abnormal.
Somehow they didn't get me the memo
that I can't share my love the same way the normal people can.
That I'll never be able to feel the soft skin of my own child
or be able to hang a piece of paper on my wall
announcing my promise to keep my love forever.
You know, it's not like
I ever wanted to be in here.
I didn't choose to be trapped.
I didn't choose to have my life criticized and nitpicked.
I didn't choose to feel like a pariah.
If there was any choice involved
It certainly wouldn't be this.
I spend my life screaming
and pounding the glass
hoping people hear me but
really wanting to hit hard enough
to shatter some of the glass
and let the shards meet my skin
so I can feel something other than
guilt
shame
and embarrassment.
For now, I just stand hear
Wishing, hoping, needing
Someone to see me.
Someone to hear me.
Someone to find a key
And free me.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Just breathe.
That's what people tell me.
Angry? Just breathe.
Emotional? Just breathe.
Sad? Just breathe.
Breathing will relieve you.
But what if breathing is what you're most afraid of?
What if breathing feels like a million lit cigarettes
dancing a tango all over your body?
What if breathing feels worse than not?
The most basic act you need to perform
to stay alive is what gives you a longing to die.
Ironic, huh?
Deal with it.
Things could be worse.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
As much as people would like to think
I'm doing this for attention, I'm not.
I would never put myself through this
for a few minutes of spotlight.
I wish I didn't have to give myself a pep talk
every morning just to walk out the door
because I'm too ashamed of people looking at me
and seeing what I see.
As much as people would like to think
I feel sorry for myself, I don't.
I feel sorry for the friends that choose to stand by me
wanting to take away my hurt but not knowing how
because I'm too arrogant to accept their help.
I feel sorry for my mother whose own sadness
I've failed to find an answer to.
I feel sorry for both of my parents,
because they live in such small minds that
being my true self would be too much
and crush them.
As much as people would like to think
I should just deal with it, I can't.
Maybe I don't know how.
Maybe it's a puzzle I can't find the pieces for.
Maybe deep down I'm just selfish.
Maybe I let myself get this way.
Maybe I like feeling the pain.
Maybe I'm scared of what I'd feel instead.
Maybe I wish I wasn't such a coward.
Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to let
the shiny sharp silver take the ride down the river
of my arms and watch all of my disappointments
and failures and ugliness and mistakes
drip from my skin to the concrete.
Maybe I'll deal with it.
Maybe I'll stop being selfish.
Maybe I can find the strength
to muster up a weak smile,
and fool everyone.
Maybe I'll just breathe.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC